Escape from Harrizel

by C. G. Coppola

  “I…” my mouth drops and just as I’m about to tell him it doesn’t matter, I see it. Hear it.

  Fire.

  Crackling as it cooks the night, the trees, the houses and the bodies. Children screaming, running from black clouds, desperately clutching bits of food, clothes, pieces of once- somethings.

  “You see it, don’t you?” he steps closer. “You remember now?” Another step.

  Grey skies linger as ashes lie strewn about school graveyards. Nomads crossing deserts in the former cities, garbage overflowing like water from a mountainous fountain.

  “Fallon,” Clarence approaches slowly, extending his hand as he nearly closes the gap between us, “come with me… let me help you. Let me take you home.”

  He moves for the final step but I swing around, jetting out the door.

  A gravel driveway leads to the same type of road ahead, the only interruption in an otherwise grassy field. There are no houses, nothing other than the road, which disappears into the distance both ways. Everything’s out in the open, especially me, my heart racing as I quickly try to recalculate. I jet to the side of the house, passing an open garage and round the outside walls, keeping low, searching for a hiding place. But there’s nothing.

  “Fallon?” he steps through the front door.

  Pressed against the wall, I slide down, inching my way toward the back. My pulse speeds, my breath coming in and out in rapid beats.

  “I’d rather not do it this way…” his voice travels.

  Behind the house, off in the distance, lies a thicket of trees following the road in both directions. It’s a good fifty yards away but offers a canopy of coverage. If I sprinted, I might be able to—

  “You won’t make it,” he calls from above, standing atop the roof. “But… might we hurry this up? I do have other appointments.”

  My stomach drops.

  I’m running before I’m able to ponder, darting to the front of the house and into the open garage. An old Cadillac greets me, the walls lined with boxes and Christmas decorations, tools and lawn chairs. There’s a door in the back and I race to it, pulling it slightly ajar. It leads into the house, across from the kitchen and dining room. Backing up, I head for a blockade of boxes and shrink to the ground behind them, waiting.

  Footsteps enter.

  They stop just as quickly. “Really, Fallon. Why are we playing this game?” A heavy sigh escapes. “I’m only here to help you.” He moves on the other side of the car, toward the open door.

  I creep in the opposite direction, behind the shield of boxes, back toward the outside light.

  “The sooner you trust me,” Clarence closes the door, still in the garage, “the sooner this will all be over.”

  He’s rounding the front of the Cadillac and I’m nearly to its back bumper. I just need to slide out and make for the tree line and then…

  …I’ll figure something out.

  “Fallon…” Clarence tries again but I’m already slipping past the wall and out of the garage.

  Once outside, I book it. Running as fast as possible, I take off for the trees behind the house. My heart’s racing, threatening to explode, my long legs not moving fast enough. I don’t look back. There’s only ahead. Only the camouflage that’ll keep me hidden. I’m halfway there when his voice sounds next to me.

  “The sooner you understand I’m here to help you, the sooner I can take you home.”

  He must be running next to me, but I don’t stop.

  Keep going. Just keep going…

  “Fallon…” he tries once more, his hand outstretched as he glides along next to me easily.

  Almost to the trees…

  But suddenly, he’s there, in front of me by a yard, cutting off the tree line as an available exit. I dig my heels into the grass with a sudden halt. Which way? Which way? I’m ready to collapse but the fear of death keeps me moving. Spinning, I race in the opposite direction, back toward the house.

  I don’t get far.

  Three sprinting strides and the ground’s been slapped out from me. It slams into my back and head again, jolting my body with a sting before everything tightens to a paralyzing state.

  “Boy, you can move,” he sails in front of me, landing on his feet with catlike ease. “I expected it but…” and he exhales to himself, surprised.

  I try to run but my ankles are bound, magnetized by invisible restraints. I sit up too quickly and without help from my arms, my stomach roars with instant regret. My hands are stuck, glued to the small of my back, bound by tangible space, like handcuffs made of air. Clarence approaches, standing over me, his body cut out from the grim, gray sky behind him.

  “Now wasn’t that fun?”

  I search, my eyes darting fiercely, trying to find some way out of this. What are my other options? What else can I do? Is there someone nearby? I’m as good as dead anyway but I’ve got to try.

  “Fallon…”

  I let it out. The one good scream I’ve got in me. It’s a blood-curdling cry that rips all the air from my lungs, alarming someone—anyone—that I’m here. That I’m about to be gone if they don’t come and help. I know it’s a long shot but what else can I do? Screaming is the best reaction to this. And also, the only reaction to him. How is he on the house one second and running side by side with me the next? Who is he? And better yet… what is he?

  “There’s no point in screaming…” he laughs, indicating the obvious openness, “no one can hear you.”

  I’m tempted to do it again, to let out all fear pumping through me, but his light heartedness distracts me, boiling my insides with contempt. I’ll be another dead body in a few seconds and he seems utterly amused by it. I’m not giving him any more pleasure.

  “Do it!”

  “Do what?” his nonplussed expression takes me off guard. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you,” and now his voice strengthens. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  I roll my head back to the upside down trees, searching, seeking. But there’s nothing, nothing that can help me. If he hasn’t killed me by now, there’s got to be a chance. Maybe I can talk him into letting me go. He enjoys conversing. Maybe I can trick him into freeing me.

  “What do you want?” I look to him, trying to keep the anger from my tone.

  “Are we to have the same conversation?”

  “Tell me the truth.”

  “I’ve already tried,” he tilts his head condescendingly, just enough to make a point. “You won’t listen.”

  “Explain it again.”

  “Which part?”

  “What you are!” I shout, casting a stare out to the trees. It still seems like a dream. How did he get there so fast? And then back again?

  “I don’t think we went over that…” he brushes a finger to his chin, considering. “Although you rushed out so quickly…”

  “Clarence,” I speak through gritted teeth, unsure whether its anger or fear fueling the tone, “tell me again.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything!”

  He’s kneeling on the ground in an instant, his azure eyes shifting between mine. His mouth curves into a smirk. “You’ll figure it out… when you understand what you’re looking for.”

  Is this a riddle? Or is he trying to push me over the edge now he knows I can’t escape? It must be punishment for fleeing, for attempting to save my life. But what would he have me do?

  “But I don’t know what I’m looking for!” I scream at him again. “You’re not telling me anything!”

  “You didn’t want to hear any of it before…” Clarence scratches his chin again, weighing his options as if either could work toward his benefit, “but if you really want to know the secret to it all, here it is,” he leans closer, holding my focus with his. He wants to make sure I hear him. Make sure I’m listening to what he says. “Your memories are powerful… but your dreams will give you truth.”

  Another riddle. What am I supposed to do with that? He smirks as if he
’d revealed the location to Atlantis but I, a mere land dweller, can’t sail a ship. Back on his feet, he casts a view north.

  “It’s time.”

  “For?”

  “Our departure,” he looks to me as he begins to pace, hands casually in his pockets. “I told you I prefer the term ‘escort.’ The others just don’t quite fit. I’m not introducing you to a new religion—not yet at least. Once you get to Harrizel, you can decide for yourself. And I’m not snatching you under a cloak in the middle of the night.”

  “Just the afternoon?” I tug at my wrist restraints behind my back. Something hard like brick presses deep into my skin so I stop.

  “And liar,” he goes on, “well, that’s not really an occupation—just a way to get what you want. So again, it comes back to escort.”

  “Can I still call you Clarence?”

  He stops, offering a slight bow. “You may.”

  “Then why does it matter what you call yourself?” I ask through gritted teeth, struggling to sit up. “You’re taking me regardless.”

  “This is true…” he nods, peering down, “but I’d rather you feel accompanied rather than taken. You’re going home, Fallon,” he waves his hand slowly, as if wiping something clean from the air, the restraints disappearing from my hands and feet. “To start your new life.”

  I massage my free wrists, rubbing release into the joints. The thought of fleeing rises but the field is too wide to run off in any direction. He’d catch me. He’d catch me in less than a second. And I’d only be bound again.

  “You are correct,” it’s as if he’s reading my mind, his focus off on the distant trees. “Better to just come along with me. It’d be less painful for you.”

  “And these are my options?”

  “Sadly.”

  I scowl, angered and terrified all at once. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To your new home, Harrizel.”

  “Which is?”

  “Jeb will explain things further. I haven’t done a very good job and for that, I apologize. You’ll learn soon enough and if Jeb doesn’t teach you, the others will.”

  “Others?”

  “Yes—the other survivors. You think you’re the only one who escaped the war? Harrizel hosts a little over four hundred humans.”

  Other survivors? Humans? Then this is real? I shut my hanging jaw and replay his words. Harrizel hosts a little over four hundred humans. Is that all that’s left of us? Or all that he’s taken?

  “And growing?” I try to gauge an idea.

  “Hopefully,” he nods, “that’s my job. To find you… and escort you to Harrizel,” he offers his hand.

  Escape is futile. But if I go with him, there’s a chance I’d never be able to leave. I could try and make my way back… but to what? I don’t even remember this place. Not yet at least. But what other choice do I have?

  “Will I ever come back here?” I ask, slipping my hand in his. It’s oversized, like a catcher’s mitt and he uses it to pull me from the ground.

  “To what? This is no longer your home. This is no longer anyone’s home,” he threads our fingers as the same invisible air restraints lock our wrists together. “Ready?”

  The wind sweeps through the distant trees, shaking them in unison as if waving a final goodbye. I nod, squeezing Clarence’s hand tight.

  And then we’re up.

  Chapter Two: Arrival

  Gusts of purple air sweep past, billowing soft swirls and thickening as bursts of light shine through. Each light grows brighter, crackling the purple dust, parting like mini fireworks exploding around us. Clarence watches it too. He sits across from me, or maybe stands, his blue eyes smiling into mine, curious. They’re the only constant. That and his face. Even his neck and hair fade into the smoke screen of lavender gliding behind him.

  Am I dreaming?

  It’s my voice, loud and just as I would say it. But the words never left my mouth. It’s my thought. Am I dreaming? It would explain all this. Where we are and what’s happening. Him. Everything before. Why I can hear myself but not remember speaking…

  No.

  It’s Clarence’s voice but not from his mouth either. His lips remain upturned in that curious, playful smile like he’s waiting for some reaction, some punch line to a joke. But I hear him just the same, just as he heard me, a monologue of our thoughts overhead.

  It feels like a dream.

  You’ve never traveled through space before, his eyes flicker between mine, it’s impossible to move at our rate and see an accurate portrayal of things. This is what your mind allows you to see.

  Then this is real?

  Yes.

  And we’re moving?

  Yes. It feels like we’re right across from one another and in a way, we are. But physicality and spirituality are two different things. They must travel in their own way as we are, right now.

  So where am I?

  Between.

  A soft gust of purple breathes roughly behind Clarence, tickling his neck hair and ears with the swirling wind. The same chill runs down my phantom back, a body I no longer possess. It’s attached but somehow not. I can feel its reaction though, tingling in my core, a shiver from an unexpected breeze. Maybe the sense comes from within, from what I expect it should feel like or would feel like if I was not here... wherever here may be.

  How is this possible?

  It is possible because it has always been this way. Your culture portrays travel by ship or craft. This is all they’ve known, but, it is not truth.

  My heart, wherever it is, pounds away in the tin drum of my chest. How can I feel my body when it’s not attached? None of this is real. It can’t be.

  I don’t believe any of this.

  Clarence’s mouth turns up, into that amused smirk whenever I disagree. His blue eyes focus on mine, shifting between them.

  It doesn’t matter if you believe it if it’s fact.

  Am I going to die?

  No.

  Then how does this end?

  The way it always does. With a landing.

  Then I’ll awake, to what it was like before?

  No, his smile finally turns down, it will never be like before…

  Familiar dread fills me, especially as he fades to black, stealing all light with him. The fireworks stop exploding, sucked into the darkness and even the purple smoke dancing around my head drifts away. I’m still here though, alone, in the black. The quiet.

  Then, suddenly, it all flies at me.

  The fires first, lighting up the trees, then the nearby houses and barns, deathly smoke rising into the night like demonic ghosts set loose on the world. And their faces, especially the children. Walking for days with pain from unimaginable, torturous thirst. Hiding in the caves, scrapping with others over a bag of found dog food. And the winters when there weren’t enough clothes. Bodies pressed together in long rows, hoping their heat might suffice this night, unlike so many others before…

  The images fly past forever, then just for a second in time. And they’re gone. And I’m tumbling in the darkness, tumbling and falling. Falling, falling. But I have no voice to scream, no body to break. Perhaps this is it. Perhaps this is end of me, whoever that is.

  Perhaps this is death.

  Suddenly, I plummet through an unearthly substance, the separation between my rapid descent and the new tranquility I sense around me. I’m no longer moving but still, standing, my body belonging to me again. It’s tensed, as if feeling balance for the first time or remembering what it’s like to use muscles after a long absence. Inhaling, I calm the thumping in my chest, reminding—or I suppose, convincing—myself I’ve survived, when I smell it.

  Rain.

  “Alright,” Clarence’s voice muses, “we’re here. You can open your eyes.”

  And then there are colors.

  Brightly glowing purples, blues and greens dot the mammoth-sized plant-life hanging over us, reaching with long, spiky-edged, yellow-tipped leaves that unfold like flower petals
to the dew-stricken ground below. Golden-coated lavender bulbs bloom from unruly tree roots with mammoth trunks extending like skyscrapers into the grayish-white clouds. Crimson blossoms grow wild among their hugging branches, interweaving a rope of ivy that drapes from tree to tree, like a limitless swing set in the sky. And it all sits in a soft, settling mist, gathering at our knees.

  “Where are we?”

  “This…” Clarence beams, breathing in the scent of wet plant-life, “is Harrizel, your new home.”

  “A jungle?”

  “Well…” he faces the other direction, his voice lowering, “that’s where you’ll be staying.”

  There’s no happiness in his words. What could change his demeanor so quickly? We’re already standing outside in the damp air—surely shelter can only be a positive?

  When I turn, Clarence points through a screen of netted ivy, built up by plump shrubbery and falling yellow-tipped leaves that fan over one another to obstruct the view. “Can you see it?”

  I pin back a leaf and then another, the jungle proving overly lush and damp. Water trickles down my hand and into the sleeve of my elbow as I swipe away more fauna and finally, through the broken fragments of jungle still ahead, it comes into view.

  The shadow lurching in the distance.

  It’s a giant’s domain of obsidian stone and rounded into towers on each corner of its boxed shape. Four peaks reach to the sky from each tower, like deadly daggers threatening to slice open and spill forth the watery contents from above. An enormous wrought iron gate encloses the darkened fortress, wrapping around it and separating us from the gray, flat land of dirt.

  “I’ve heard some refer to it as the ‘Castle,’” Clarence explains, “but it has no name really.”

  “So what do you call it?”

  He sighs, trying to find the correct answer, “Right now… Harrizel.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  He wipes the frown from his mouth. “There they are,” he points again, “do you see them? The last survivors of your human race.”