The Garden

By Josie Dorans

May D'Angelo, 1st Horseman of the Apocalypse thought her job was simple. Then the devil showed up in the details. Can she kick off the end of the world even though nothing about task at hand is what it seemed?

Bolivia Ridgely wanted a quiet life. Instead, she finds herself making friends with the 1st Horseman of the Apocalypse and on the front lines at the end of the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Josie Dorans
• Release date: Dec 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005957872

Josie Dorans

Josie Dorans is the pen name responsible for unleashing the feistier side of a rather nice indie author who grew up in the heartland, currently lives surrounded by the mountains, but sometimes wishes her toes were still in the ocean of her twenties.

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THE GARDEN

by Josie Dorans

The Garden

Published by Brittney Cassity

Copyright © 2022 by Josie Dorans

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

ISBN- 9798367607321

For those that bring light to my life.

IN THE BEGINNING

Twig danced coyly away from May's outstretched hand. His wet hooves reflected the deep orange sunset. He knew what he wanted and he knew that May knew what he wanted. Without it, there was no way he was going back to the stale-smelling stall.

Twig, I'm running late! Knock it off, you spoiled Horse! May didn't bother gentling her voice. Twig wasn't some dumb animal in need of coaxing. He was a blessed, smart Horse who knew better than to give his Horseman a harder time of things than necessary. He stamped his right foot twice and snorted.

I'm not the one who wanted a job to do my Job! It was an order. You know that. May put her hands on her hips and glared at her Horse. Twig glared back. The stare-down lasted until May heard her watch alarm go off.

Fine! She threw her hands up. You win. I'll get your blasted carrots before I go. But this means that you don't give me any more lip about the straw. I can't do anything until I get paid because we are stuck dealing with this ridiculous system.

Twig held his ground until she returned with the carrots. A Horse couldn’t allow his Horseman to cut corners, after all, and Twig knew that May was not above forgetting his carrots if he was silly enough to go into the stall before he had them.

He ate the first where he stood when she came back. Halfway into the stall, he demanded the second. The third brought a removal of his hoof from the door jamb so the door could be closed. Twig was used to both battles and wars and he knew which of each was in his best interest to win. He might be in the stall with nothing much to do for the day, but since he had his carrots and felt rain in the air, the situation had gone exactly as he planned.

You are such a spoiled Horse, May said. There was deep affection in her voice, though, and she pressed her cheek to his and stroked his mane for a moment. Then her alarm went off again and she pulled away. Halfway to the door, she turned back and whistled. Twig tossed his snow-white head and caught the carrot as it sailed through the air.

I'll be back in the morning, you blasted, blessed Horse, May called out as the barn door slammed shut.

She bypassed the little house she wasn’t allowed to live in and slipped through the fabric of the world back to the confines of her miserable apartment miles away. The walls there were thin. The air quality was cringe-worthy. She loathed her neighbors.

At least I could have been allowed to live by Twig, she grumbled as she pulled the ridiculously large tote bag out of the closet and ran out the door to the bus stop. But no. I get no real break from humanity like Twig does. No break at all! Why? To appear normal. Normal! Me! It’s humiliating!

To make matters worse, The First Horseman of the Apocalypse would have nothing better to do than fill out paperwork and kill time at a human job that she neither wanted nor saw any point in performing.

A half an hour, May said as she rushed into the nonsense of the world of man. It would take me all of a half an hour to do what needs doing if I were just given free rein over the situation. But no. No, no, no. I have to deal with people. It’s a nightmare. A complete and total nightmare. She glared up at the sky and tapped her foot as she waited for the approach of the bus. Father, why? What have I done to deserve this?

The only answer was the soft shushing of leaves as a breeze drifted through the trees sheltering the bus stop.

CHAPTER ONE

Welcome to The Garden, Miss... Nurse Franklin trailed off to check her clipboard, ...Ridgely. As you know, we are a new, state-of-the-art, sixteen-bed switch facility with seven functional Conduits currently supplying the processing and deep storage files for the Greater Atlantic Fulfillment Sector. You will be in charge of Conduit 8. It should be up from intake this afternoon.

The clack-clack of Nurse Franklin's serviceable heels punctuated each word like a metronome. Bolivia Ridgely swallowed hard forcing the nerves and bile back down to the pit of her stomach. Her eyes followed the river of light reflected along the floor tiles just in front of her own, quiet, nurse's shoes. She fought to pull her gaze to Nurse Franklin's back before speaking. Chin up. Eyes steady. Sound confident. She needed this job. Nurse Franklin didn't sound like the type to keep the weak around long.

The instruction manual I received on hire was a bit short on specifics. Is there an orientation? Boli asked. She hoped she projected confidence she didn't feel.

Nurse Franklin glanced at her watch. We have enough time for a quick tour and overview. Orientation is a time-waster. Each Conduit has its own set of conditions for optimal operation. The manual is only a primer in general maintenance. You'll find most of the upkeep is simple and straightforward even with their little quirks.

Boli glanced at her surroundings. The fluorescents hummed over a room full of equipment and devoid of workers.

Where are all the other techs? she asked.

Lunch break, Nurse Franklin answered. I've found that it's easier on everyone if new hires get the tour before they meet the staff. We have a fairly high rate of applicants who decide this is not the place for them once they see it up close.

I can see how that might happen. Boli traced the wires and cables leading from the main switch to the Conduit on her right. It took an effort to smooth her brow. Nurse Franklin caught the look as she turned around.

Not much like Sim work, is it? Nurse Franklin said, adding an empty chuckle. We keep petitioning the schools to drop the Sims entirely and go live or at least include a final internship at a real facility. It would make everything run smoother for the system, and that is what we are all about, after all. Smooth, efficient facilities make for smooth and efficient routing.

It would definitely reduce the adjustment time, Boli agreed distractedly.

They claim lack of funding. Nurse Franklin let the disgust cling to her words.

Boli could only shake her head and follow the clacking of her guide's heels to the last station on the left.

Here we are, Miss Ridgely. Once your paperwork is done, this will be your station. Please inventory your supplies and verify the functionality of your equipment before your Conduit is installed.

Boli nodded. Nurse Franklin paused at the second tech cart and sighed.

Your night shift partner was hired yesterday evening. It seems she has a small problem with organization, Nurse Franklin said through pursed lips. I'll speak to her when she comes in tonight. See that you don't develop a similar problem, Miss Ridgely.

Yes, ma'am, Boli said.

Nurse Franklin's sensible heels were already carrying her back up the aisle before Boli could steal any more of her precious time with questions. The Garden, Boli noted, wasn't a place where questions were encouraged.

Boli shook her head and muttered, Good thing there's a map in the welcome package because this 'tour' didn't even include the restroom. Still, first things first.

There were two carts in the space. Bolivia Ridgely, C.C.T. had been scrawled in black marker across a piece of surgical tape on the neater of the two. The other held a handful of generic personal items: a coffee cup covered in primary-colored parrots, a dog-eared copy of a three-month-old women's magazine, nail clippers, and an open bag of chocolate-covered raisins. Nothing to tell Boli who her night tech was except a neatly lettered name sticker that read May D'Angelo, C.C.T.

The listed supplies were all there. It looked like the amount had been calculated exactly. So much for the hope that being in the field meant less stress about necessities. Boli figured any extras would come out of her paycheck just like they had been tacked on to her school fees each month. That explained the array of locks on the other carts in the room. Boli added a note to the little memo pad she kept in her purse. It would come in handy when she saw sales out in the real world.

The function test was textbook. Then it was a waiting game charged with the shushing and whirring of the equipment at the other stations. It felt planned. A last calculated pause before the action to weed out those that finally had a minute to absorb their surroundings.

Boli let the silence nudge her out of the main room but, with rent past due and no milk in the fridge, she only went as far as the immaculate chrome and glass restroom down the hall. The mirror above the sink showed three faint worry lines dead center between her eyebrows. She spent an extra minute forcing her face to relax.

Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick-tick... The unmistakable sound of rubber wheels on linoleum snuck under the bathroom door.

Shit, Boli whispered. She tossed the paper towel, unaware that the worry lines were back deeper than before, and speed-walked after the delivery guys back to her station.

Her Conduit had arrived.

* * *

Installation of Conduit 8 took less than fifteen minutes. The techs, two bored-looking twenty-somethings who argued the merits of the latest sports drink flavor the whole time they were there, spent more time checking boxes on their clipboard and getting Boli to initial and sign for the delivery than plugging in the quick-fit connections. Boli caught the scrawny, bug-eyed one leering at her more than once during the process and wished that she had bought her scrubs three sizes too big and covered them with a bulky sweater. She doubted it would have helped. The naked lust in the twitchy little man’s eyes ran phantom fingers over her leaving behind the urge to scrub herself with steel wool and industrial-strength antiseptic cleanser.

Then they were gone. Boli watched their backs recede down the aisle longer than necessary. She tried to convince herself it was to keep track of Bug-eyes, but she knew it was just avoidance.

Bolivia Marie Ridgely, stop being a baby, she whispered to herself. This is not a problem so it sure isn't something to get worked up about. Rent is. Now, you just need to breathe and go through the test and turn-up procedures like you did a million times at Coventry. Just like the Sim, only more bells and whistles. Not even as complicated as your piece-of-shit laptop.

Still, it took her a minute to find that breath and turn around. Seeing her Conduit full-on with no distractions made her, for the first time in the process, glad that none of her fellow techs were back from lunch.

Boli stood very still, her breath shallow and fast. For a brief second, she considered walking out. Then she remembered her landlord's phone call the day before and pulled herself together. She traced her hand along each line the install techs had hooked up, checking for leaks. When each passed, she marked it off on her clipboard. Then she noted fluid exchange rates, ventilation gas levels, and conduit temperature. Since the last was still low from shipping, she tapped the plus sign on her control unit to raise the temperature of the gel-filled housing platform. She set the alarm on her watch to remind her to check again in fifteen minutes. Then she made appropriate notes.

Out of equipment, Boli took a deep breath and faced the real problem. She decided immediately that the Sims she had studied with had in no way prepared her for reality. Sure, they were roughly the same shape, but the clockwork movements of the analog did not represent the natural flow happening in front of her. The texture was much different as well. Silicone could never replace flesh. With a soft forest of hair, ranging from overall peach fuzz catching light across his shoulders to the coarser, black hairs populating his arms, legs, and groin, Conduit 8 had once been a beautiful young man. Boli guessed that he had been on the earth for around a quarter of a century before fate or choice had turned him into a breathing micro-processor for TransMigral Shipping. She noticed the track marks along veins that indicated long-term drug addiction, but angry scars webbed across his body implied that a car wreck had ended his awareness.

She knew that the policy he signed to gain free medical insurance turned his flesh and the vital lump of grey matter between his ears into serial-numbered company property. The first thing Boli had done after starting training at Coventry was to get paid health insurance. Seeing the flesh and blood result of the free option underscored the decision and helped her tight budget sit much more comfortably. Of course, it also meant she couldn't afford to change fields to escape the daily reminder.

Wiping a tear from her cheek, the only one she would allow for the shell in front of her, she picked up the Specific Details Manual linked to the bed by a three-foot-long plastic-coated cable and began reading. When her watch alarm went off, Boli adjusted the gel temperature. Then she dug out the blank schedule sheet on her clipboard and began penciling in the daily requirements of her job.

* * *

Paul Gibson wiped nervous sweat from the top of his lip pretending it was an imaginary sports drink mustache. Idiot Jeff cackled and mirrored him just like he always did.

Yeah, I tell you what, Paul, that new green shit's the bomb. Not a clue what flavor they were shooting for when they made it but Rainforest Meltdown sure does wrap it up good and tight for a name, Jeff smacked his lips. I sure could go for one right about now.

Paul knew the pause. It was Jeff's no-cash pause. Paul dug in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled five. Jeff had a pill-snorting problem that was the most open secret Paul had ever seen. It took all the money from Jeff's pocket but so far hadn't shriveled his brain enough to keep him from plugging color-coded quick connects together. Most of the time, anyway. Paul knew addiction when he saw it even without the perpetual money shortage. He'd seen it enough times in the mirror back before his life collapsed.

Right on! Jeff nodded and took the five. Paul knew he'd never see the change, but it was worth it. He needed a minute. Besides, Jeff hadn't been his usual ham-handed self on hookup today. Paul might have had to clock him if he had managed this install like the last one. Conduit 4 was still bruised, and the stitches weren't healing right where Jeff had caught her thigh with a screwdriver. That had caused an uproar in the main office. That uproar cascaded into an upgrade in equipment even if it wouldn't prompt better hiring practices.

Paul watched Jeff shuffle away wishing the company would replace the waste of space with a monkey. Heck, he’d settle for just about any replacement that had a heartbeat and could pass the piss test regularly. Installation and maintenance skills could be taught – just not to Jeff’s kind of stupid.

Thank the powers for quick connects, Paul said to himself. I think I might have killed you otherwise and then where would any of us be?

The thought took root and Paul's knees buckled, planting him heavily on the wooden breakroom bench. He dropped his head, lacing his fingers behind his neck, and hoped the nausea would pass quickly.

Ah, Mattie. I'm sorry, man. I'm doing the best I can for you. He rubbed big hands over his bald head. I'm doin' my best. I swear.

Paul sat like that for a long time. He wouldn't give in to tears. Anger and determination had gotten him through the hospital, detox, and rehab. Now they kept this jaw tight and his shit pulled together. By the time Jeff shuffled his way back in with a lukewarm bottle of electric green, glorified sugar water, Paul's face was smooth and calm, just like usual. His plan wasn't complete but he had a good start. And with Matt up in the nightmare limbo of a Conduit station, he was committed to seeing it through. Come Hell or high water, Cousin Matt wasn't going to be anybody's computer. Paul would see to that.

Thanks, Jeff, Paul smiled. That's just what I needed.

Rainforest Meltdown, man. Can't go wrong. Jeff laughed his stupid laugh.

Better go clean up the loading dock, Paul said and pushed up off the bench.

Yeah, dibs on the foam, Jeff added. We're making a landing pit.

Paul shook his head. He wondered how long it would be before Jeff landed in a Conduit shipping container of his own. Then he wondered if there was anything worth using between Jeff's ears and chuckled. Probably not.

* * *

The quiet rumble of conversation Boli could hear in the hallway died at the door to The Garden's Conduit Room. Seven techs filed silently past Nurse Franklin's desk and walked on hushed nurses’ shoes to their stations. The first in line, a perky redhead with freckles floating over milk-white skin, met Boli's eyes, smiled, and mouthed the word wait. To Boli's questioning look, the woman rolled her eyes at Nurse Franklin's station and shrugged. Boli nodded and went back to her note-taking. The job just kept getting stranger and less appealing.

Fifteen minutes later, the resolute clack of Nurse Franklin's heels left the room and the door closed firmly behind her. A collective sigh rose from the techs and the atmosphere immediately began shedding its sterile feel.

I'm Evalyn. The redhead was the first to reach Boli's station but the others weren't far behind.

Sam. The shy-looking middle-aged man from right beside Boli in Station 6 smiled and offered an awkward handshake.

Maribel, announced the pretty blond diagonal across the aisle. I'd come over but the damned gel lost its temp again so I need to beat on machines and massage extremities until the useless maintenance crew gets here...again.

Does that happen often? Boli asked.

Only to me! Maribel let out an exasperated sigh.

We all have our quirks, sweetie. The tech from Station 3 was something to behold. At first glance, Boli’s cheeks warmed to blushing pink. He was quite possibly the most beautiful human being she had ever seen. I'm Tashi Morris, Human Being Extraordinaire. You can call me Tash or Tashi. Hell, in the right kind of minute, you can call me just about anything you want, sweetie.

Boli blushed deeper at the very blatant perusal Tashi treated her to during their handshake. Bolivia. You can call me Boli, though. That's what everyone does.

Tashi, let up. For Pete's sake. A sweet smile accompanied the shoulder nudge bumping Tashi out of the spotlight. I'm Sola from up at Station 1. You have to excuse Tashi. He’s fully aware that he’s entirely too pretty and he loves collecting new worshipers any chance he gets. Women, men, doesn’t matter. Nobody's safe, I tell ya!

Tashi gave an eye roll. I have a little something magical for everybody. You're just jealous.

Met your magic already, Sola dropped a kiss on Tashi's cheek. Moved on.

Geeze, you two, get a room already… or again. I don't care which. The tech from Station 4 looked like she hadn't slept in a week but still offered Boli a smile along with her hand. Chloe Green. Nice to meet you. Don't let the Wonder Twins over there rattle you. They just enjoy floozeying their way through the masses trying to avoid the fact that they are meant for each other. Fate, and all. You know?

'Fate' my pretty ass, Sola said. Still, she leaned into Tashi's side when his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

A man with the greenest eyes Boli had ever seen leaned through the huddle and shook Boli's hand next. Ruben. Ruben Miller. Sorry, I'm late. I had to do inventory. Frankin-nurse has been known to short us if the night shift needed extra.

Screw nights, Chloe blurted. Sorry guys. I'm still on doubles. Those people are a breed of their own. Pass down doesn't show the half of their strange.

Ruben's watch alarm went off. The creature returns. Back to it, people.

The bubble of introduction burst as everyone wandered back to their stations.

Drinks at 8:30 at Tyla's? We can give the newbie an inoculation of sanity to combat this crazy place, Maribel announced while vigorously rubbing the calf muscle of her Conduit.

Agreement was had from everyone but Chloe who gave a wistful sigh. Then the solid clack of heels in the hall announced the return of Nurse Franklin and the somber mood from before settled back into the room.

* * *

Paul walked into The Garden's maintenance office and waited for the human viper of a secretary to clear him through to his boss's private domain. He swallowed his contempt for the man's imported leather shoes, handcrafted suit, and silk tie. His loathing for the man himself only helped set the necessary scowl on his face to underscore the act he was about to put on.

Sorry to bother you, Mr. Ulee. That gel housing for Conduit 5 is acting up again. Won't hold its temperature. Since this is the third time since last Monday, I thought I'd ask you to swipe me through the server door so I can check settings and make sure there isn't some sort of feedback shorting out the switch before I go look the housing over again.

Howard Ulee didn't even try to look interested. He picked up the phone without bothering to raise his head from the tablet on his desk and punched the star followed by the four and seven.

Yeah, Arnold, this is Mr. Ulee. I'm sending one of my guys down with my card. Let him swipe in at the server. Something about feedback or circuits, Ulee said. He paused for the answer, then hung up and tossed his swipe card on the desk. Drop it with Ashley when you're done.

Paul left the room with a deeper scowl than the one he had worn in, but he had the swipe card. That was all that mattered.

His knee caught and clicked, caught and clicked, with each step down to the basement. He knew the joint was in the beginning stages of failure. The doctors had told him the signs to watch for when he refused replacement surgery after the accident. He didn't mind the swelling or the pain, so much. They, along with the clicking and occasional stumble reminded him that he was alive while Matt was stuck somewhere between life and death, wired up like some Christmas fanatic's dream tree. Yeah, Paul could live with the knee. He could live with it long enough to get Mattie out of Hell, at least. After that, he'd see.

Hey, Paul. How's the weather up there in the windowed world? the young security guard on duty asked when Paul made the turn at the bottom of the staircase.

Ah, you know, Arnie, Paul said with a forced chuckle, long days, small pay...

...but the girls are sure prettier than the ones in the basement! Arnie finished along with him.

Speaking of...Arnie raised his eyebrow and waited for the answer to his unspoken question.

Dayshift tech on 8 had Idiot Jeff droolin' more than usual when we did the install. I'm surprised he didn't short out the connectors. Thank God he's too mousy to talk while he drools but my guess is he's gonna do that weird stalker crap again like he did with the night tech on 6.

Is that why you got stuck with him? Arnie asked. I was wondering since he doesn't seem like much of a fan of daylight.

"The gift of being the boss's nephew. You skip the drug tests and have the uncle pay off your restraining orders. Only downside I see for him is that he