Six Deaths at the Mound of Eden

By Ben Serna-Grey

Five went up the hill.

The group huddled in close, the dread-filled air raising everyone’s hackles. Lynx’s fur raised to needlepoints. “It’s coming!” Wolf howled, and the five drew together, huddling in close, shivering. Involuntary fear response bred into them over eons by Eden. Ancient Malthusian programming engineering the populace to be easier to cull.

“Protect the shard!” Ferret yelled, bringing up the shields on his interface. The ground grew cold, the oak saplings surrounding the group dried to mottled gray spears. Wind raked over the rocks and crags of the hill with a sharp whistling howl. Finch wept. Wolf reached for xer hand, squeezing tight.

Even through the safety of the shields, unknowable claws raked along those huddled along the outside of the group, pressed around Ferret as he curled around the shard. Gashes and thin cuts sprouted in rows, deep beneath fur, scale, feather, and blood flowed like rivers, pooling on the earth below them.

“She’s fading,” Ferret whimpered, looking at Skink’s hands as they grew transparent. The group pushed her into the center and Ferret pulled her in close, smacking his interface in a fearbrained attempt to give more power to the shields. Everything ended in a burst of sunlight and green, rainbow arcing overhead at the sudden return of life and moisture. Skink moaned as her hands filled back into life, withered and scarred. But she was alive.

***

When the deep dark fell upon them the group broke for camp and Ferret printed a campfire from his interface, the pyramid of logs popping and sizzling into a bonewarming blaze. They ate. Comforts from the Old Memory. Cinnamon rolls, bowls of hot broth full of chewy noodles and greens, meat sandwiches on warm, pillowy bread.

Ferret washed down his sandwich with a swig of warm tea and opened the pack at his side, pulling out his guitar. The rest of the group smiled, some pulling out instruments of their own. Finch grabbed xer electric harmonica and blew through a few times to wake up the reeds and circuits, sparks flying on some of the more stubborn sections. Lynx pulled out her wind synthesizer. The others leaned back and closed their eyes, always ready to hum or sing along if the mood struck them.

Ferret tuned up, cleared his throat, then started in:

“Walking up a craggy path

With a handful of friends

Ain’t never been one for knowing god

But I heard he was dead

If I should find that I’m wrong

And stand before him

I’ll spit in his face, drag him with me to hell

Where he can answer to ol’ mom and dad

And the rest of the world

But until then I just walk on this hill.”

Skink was crying. Ferret walked up and patted her on the shoulder, leaving it at that, but open to more if she needed. Bedrolls and tents were pulled out and the group padded down for the night, exchanging pats and touches of affection.

***

Morning came with blades of sunlight pushing through cloud, birds and frogs raising their voices to raucous madrigal. One by one the group stretched, smacking lips and yawning, rubbing grit out of their eyes before a chill settled over them with a mournful howl from Wolf.

“Finch,” was all he said. On the bedroll where Finch had lain that night, an outline of xer body in thin gray mud dragging up and then away from the path was all that was left. Whimpers and cries rose around the camp at the loss of a dear friend. Ferret tugged the shard chain from his neck, holding out an empty crystal memory chip and letting it take in what was left of Finch, growing with a warm amber light when it had obtained all of xer it could.

“I’m sorry, friend,” Ferret said. He took a deep breath and gave the others room to mourn for a moment. “Okay. We need to go.” He knelt down and pulled the electric harmonica out of Finch’s pack, holding it out to Lynx. “Xe would probably want you to take this,” he said. Lynx nodded, tucking the harmonica into her pack. The group gathered at the edge of the clearing, sniffing around until they had found where the path resumed, then plodded on.

***

And up the hill they went.

As if to mock them, the day was beautiful, but progress was slow. Everyone moved cautiously, chary and anxiously expecting the Gray to fall upon them and take someone away. Ever-culling the herd.

In the distance they saw folk of the cloth, heads bowed, staves heavy with glowing shards of many colors. One or two still held the form of Old Memory, scant-haired apes with pensive faces and unspoken loneliness.

Ferret hailed them and printed an offering, a special Old Memory treat for the vestiges in cloth. A box of glazed donuts took form, the treats glistening in the sun. The folk bowed their heads and slowly plodded over murmuring the ancient hymn “Three Little Birds.”

“We thank you, travelers. It is rare for folk of the cloth to enjoy such indulgences,” spoke one of the vestigial walkers.

“Our pleasure. We hope your travels are safe, holy ones. May you keep the shards safe as you carry them on their way home,” said Ferret.

The monk held up his staff, offering a tired-eyed smile. “Shards for Irkalla?”

“Shards we do have, but I’m afraid we plan to take them with us,” Ferret replied, motioning with his head to the craggy path winding up the hill.

“Ah. I see,” the monk replied, mulling over how to continue. “It’s ill-advised to attempt Eden. All the same,” the monk hesitated again, wondering about the extent of blasphemy about to be made. “I wish you luck.”

The folk of the cloth groaned down to sitting, chanting a prayer of thanks for sweat breads. Ferret and the others nodded amiably to the holy folk, then continued on their way. The monk Ferret had spoken to followed the group of friends with his gaze as they pushed up the hill path, a fist of worry squeezing his guts. Years ago he had taken an oath to serve Eden and bear the shards of the culled off to Irkalla to be kept in the rainbow mausoleum, but he had grown so tired, so alone. Once there were bright bursts of folk wandering the land, smiles beaming out from furry or feathered faces. Though he would hesitate to give voice to it, deep within he knew that the framers of the Malthus Cull had gone too far. He felt it in the weight of his staff, in the intense emptiness over the land. He took a moment before biting into his own donut, sending out his own silent prayer for the wanderers’ success.

***

By the end of the day, the air and surroundings had changed considerably. Trees had grown sparse and rich loamy soil gave way to dry gravel and sand. They were getting close. “We ought to pad down soon,” Ferret said.

“How about that bluff over yonder?” Wolf replied.

“I’d definitely feel safer with my back against something solid,” Skink said, staring down at her hands. Ferret nodded and the group set up camp. While the fire was printing Lynx motioned Ferret over.

“Can we set up some walls or leave the shields running while we sleep?” Ferret shook his head.

“Some walls, maybe, depending on what we eat tonight, but the interface isn’t going to keep enough power to have the shields running all night.”

“Okay. I’m just…” Lynx paused as she tried to push through a lump in her throat.

“Me too. And we all miss Finch.” He offered a hug, which Lynx gladly accepted. “I’ll at least try and set up a wall or two for us.”

The four friends ate simply that night, steaming bowls of savory rice porridge. Only the gentle hum of the interface as it slowly printed two short walls extending out from the bluff accompanied the sounds of their supper. Music wasn’t in anyone that evening. In the distance, at the base of the hill, villages and cities lit up for the night. Dimmer than even young Ferret remembered from his childhood, whole neighborhoods of empty beds and empty tables.

***

Five went up a hill to talk with god.

Ferret bolted awake at Wolf’s gut-wrenching howl. Where Skink and Lynx had lain, shallow puddles of gray water stood in the shapes of their bodies, streaks dragging away from camp and then down deep into the ground. Gone. Holding back his tears as best he could, Ferret pulled the shard strand from his neck and held the crystals out. They glowed as they processed the download, filling with green and purple lights with a flash at the end to signal the end of the download. The action done, Ferret finally allowed himself to weep.

“We should take these,” Wolf said, holding Lynx’s wind synth and the friendship bracelet Ferret had woven for Skink when they were in kindergarten. Ferret nodded, tears streaming down the fur on his cheeks, then tucked the wind synth into his pack and put on Skink’s old bracelet.

When the sun beat down on them from a noontime angle, the pair finally pressed onward. Hours later Ferret was shaken out of his trance by Wolf jostling him on the shoulder.

“Look.” He stared at the structure jutting out in the distance, a tall white block that looked almost as if it were bleeding the same gray puddles that took away his friends. The monolith of Eden. The pair growled, hackles raising. They tightened their packs and sprinted forward on all fours.

The Gray fell upon them. Ferret threw up the shields, and the pair made sure to stick close together, pushing through the cuts and gashes raking along them. Wolf screamed as the tip of his tail fell to the ground, caught by the howling gray, but he kept moving.

Eden loomed closely in the distance, centered in a well-tended garden surrounded by orchards of fig and apple trees. They crashed through the trees and the Gray dropped to silence behind them. It was over.

Wolf whimpered, looking down at his hand, cut down deep past bone and hanging onto his arm by only a thread.

“Oh, Wolf,” Ferret started before his friend silenced him with a shake of the head. Wolf breathed in deeply and quickly, steeling himself before tugging his loose appendage off with a cry and throwing it down to the ground where it melted away, a young fig tree sprouting in its place.

“Oh fuck!” he screamed, holding his arm tightly with his only remaining hand.

“You’ll be alright, just give me one second,” Ferret said, stumbling over the controls on his interface as he tried to print bandages and antiseptic for his friend and cursing at the slow pace of his cheap old model. Wolf held his stump tightly, eyes beginning to glaze over into shock by the time the bandages and ointment had finished printing. Once the wound was cleaned and wrapped, Ferret pushed a couple of painkillers into Wolf’s mouth, holding up his canteen to help wash everything down. “Can you keep going?” Wolf nodded, painkiller haze starting to fuzz over his eyes, taking the place shock had been occupying.

Ferret led the way through the garden, walking slowly and carefully for the sake of Wolf. In the middle of the garden of Eden stood a statue of a man, one of the Old Forms, his hairless ape form clad in a suit like those from the old memory. A plaque in front read “Luke Reeves, Savior of Our World.”

Good to know the name of the destroyer of everything, Ferret thought bitterly to himself, spitting on the feet of the statue as he walked past. There was so much life in the Garden of Eden, birds and insects flitting around the neat and proper rows of plants and vines. But free of people, just as Reeves wanted. The pair drew close to the monolith of Eden, its massive white form looming in front of them.

The door of Eden stood open, and gazing into the entrance caused goosebumps to rush along Ferret’s skin. “Alright, Wolf, time to try and clear your head a little.” His companion nodded and breathed deep, rubbing at his temples, then he threw up.

“Sorry. Pain meds always make me nauseous. I’m good to go.”

“Just in case, Wolf,” Ferret said, pausing as he let the words form. “In case something happens. I need you to know I love you. I love all of you. I’m sorry it ended up this way.”

“I love you too.” The friends hugged one another, pulling in close.

“I’m sorry about your hand,” Ferret said.

“It’s okay. I can live with just one hand.” He tried to offer a smile but gasped as tears blurred his vision. “We should get this over with.”

Ferret nodded and tried to move forward to Eden’s door, but his legs refused to move.

“I’m so fucking scared,” he whispered. Wolf’s hand found his and together the friends entered. Everything fell away to blinding light, then cold, sterile dimness along polished and perfect hallways.

Ferret looked around, and his heart dropped deep into his bowels. Wolf was gone.

***

God was never there.

Not even a trail to mark an existence. Ferret held out a shard with the weak hope that there was something of Wolf to download. The crystal pulsed and gave a dim flash of muffled red light. All that was left of his dear friend. He walked through the hallways, openly letting the tears course down his cheeks, wetting down his fur, his nose bubbling up with runnels of snot.

Nothing but empty and quiet roamed the halls with him and he walked till exhaustion took over. For ritual’s sake, he printed a fire and choked down some food, curling up into a fetal position. He blew a simple strain on Finch’s harmonica, then bleated some notes on Lynx’s wind synth before giving up and humming to himself till sleep pushed over him.

When he woke, a doorway stood open in front of him. Freezing water coursed beneath the room under a thick glassmetal floor, and row upon row of computing towers lined the way to the back end of the room where an inviting chair stood empty and bathed in comfortingly warm light.

He padded forward, stopping in front of the chair when an interface bloomed into view, a map of the 20 united states of America spread out, thin blushes of color indicating human and nonhuman population density. Locked cull settings. Next to the chair, on a small side tray, he lay the harmonica and wind synth, and pressed his lips to Skink’s old bracelet before taking it off and laying it next to the other artifacts in his makeshift altar.

A red-covered digijournal loomed out in front of the interface. On the cover it said Reeves. Ferret pulled the volume toward him and swiped the cover open.

“If the planet is to survive, humanity must be reduced. I came to this conclusion on my own, but with further research, I’m unsurprised to learn there were others to come to the same realization long, long before me. If only we had listened. More specifically one Thomas Robert Malthus in his Essay on the Principal of Population. With blessings of and a grant from the U.S. government, my team and I have been given access to build an ecological research station and wildlife preservation facility atop a recently completed neo-American mound, aptly named Eden’s Mound.

Wildlife preservation and ecological research we will do, but my team and I have devised a double-pronged approach toward ecological preservation — first will be an artificial intelligence that will control a culling program of humanity, hereafter called the Malthus Cull. With regular culls keeping the human population to a minimum, the rest of the planet should bounce back in no time.

The second is an injection of more primal characteristics taken from other animals into the human population. It has already become popular for people to cosmetically take features and slight genetic aspects from other species and modify themselves. If we introduce genetic programming into the population that carries an animalistic fear of the culling events to the point where after decades it becomes ingrained in a quasi-religious folkloric fashion the cull should be normalized within human culture.

I should say, it gives me no pleasure to make these plans. But there is no other way.”

Ferret flung the digijournal away in disgust. His family, his village, his friends were so much more than simple population density figures. He tugged the chain of shards from his neck and held it out, suspended in the air. “Raccoon … everyone, I hope I haven’t failed you all. I miss you.” The strand of shards began pulsing and Ferret climbed into the chair, wincing as the Old Memory-style interface cables stabbed into his skin. When the link was complete he could see them, his old friends, some shown more strongly than others. The interface chair granted him sight beyond himself and he saw past Eden all the legion of disappeared and dead victims of the Gray, suspended in shardmemory.

Silently his friends stared at him, fizzling at the edges with the imperfection of shardmemory. Wolf stepped forward, so dim he was nearly invisible, and tapped at his head. Ferret knew. They had spent five mooncycles before beginning their quest with one of the vestigial ones, one whose great-great-great-grandmother was on the team that had developed the programming for the Malthus Cull. By way of penance, she worked out a program to halt the cull, the Gray, and to end the reign of Eden. All embedded in an otherwise blank crystal memory shard. But there was a catch she had only told Ferret about.

He breathed deep and began, the last shard on the strand beginning to light with vibrant pink. The unlock code to end the Malthus Cull required a sacrifice of self, and a sacrifice of all stored shardmemory, something the builders of Eden thought insurmountable when they had set out to save the world in their own bloodthirsty fashion.

The pain of fading sucked all the air out of him, and through the edges of his pain, he could hear the Gray begin to whip through the halls of Eden, coming to slash at him, stop him before he could put an end to it all. It pushed through to the interface room, scoring deep cuts in the computing tower cases. It cut the interface cable at the base of Ferret’s skull, then stopped short. It was too late. Ferret’s own shard flashed and held the light, each shard on the strand joining in.

***

Five went up a hill and six of them died that day.

The folk of the cloth stopped their descent of the hill as the shards hanging from their staves first lifted lightly into the air, then flashed in unison, falling back down as empty memory crystals. Rainbows sparked along the air and flora from Old Memory pushed up from the ground all around them. A cloud of butterflies fluttered south to old Mexico for the summer. The vestige who had met with the kind travelers looked up toward where Eden lay and smiled.

“Come, friends,” he said. “It seems we’ll have new work to do.” They continued down the hill chanting “Don’t Worry, be Happy,” a nearly-forgotten oldprayer for rebirth.