Escape from Harrizel

by C. G. Coppola

  Jace cracks his knuckles again, Kelly picking his nails with a new tool he’s produced. It’s small, capable of hiding easily in the palm of a hand.

  Clark gulps, deciding if it’s best to keep going but before he can make up his mind, Reid draws the attention back to himself.

  “If we return… is it to the same time?”

  “Same time,” Clarence responds first. “To the exact moment. It’d be as if this never happened—any of it.”

  “And we wouldn’t remember?” Reid clears his throat, finding focus with the table, unable to look up. A punch to my gut and all the air has been vacuumed from my chest.

  “Not a clue,” Clarence shakes his head. “You’d just be older and mostly, none the wiser. Although…” and he debates revealing this, strumming his fingers on the table, “dreams may occur. Habitually, if they’re strong.”

  “What do you mean?” Reid narrows his eyes.

  “Well,” Clarence sits back, threading his fingers over his stomach, “you wouldn’t remember this place because it’d be like it never happened. But it did. It’s happening right now,” he glances around the table, “and even if we wave our hand and make it all disappear, it’s still in you. Still part of your core, your physical being. A small part of you will always be aware—and it’s in your dreams that it’ll reveal itself. Whatever you keep hidden away, locked here—it will reveal itself every night. You’ll see it and not understand it.”

  “So you’re saying I’ll never get rid of this place?” Clark groans under his breath.

  “Come on….you should be used to nightmares by now,” Able grins.

  I piggyback off his comment, “Hope I say hi.”

  Clark recoils. “It almost doesn’t seem worth it to be haunted by you.”

  “No it doesn’t,” Reid mutters to himself as I glance over. His eyes quickly fly from mine, landing on Sampson. “How long will it take?”

  “Hmm?”

  “To transport everyone back? How long? A few weeks or so?”

  “I think we could manage in about a day. Maybe two.”

  “A day or two?” Clark gasps. “That’s wonderful! We could be back home in about a week!”

  “Well,” Clarence sits up, “let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Even if Beshib comes tomorrow—and I’m not saying he will—that doesn’t mean the fight won’t go on for a bit. Knowing him, he won’t surrender until he’s dead. This,” Clarence takes a breath, “may last for a while.”

  Clark lets out a loud gruff.

  I look to Sampson, “Really? All four hundred or so in two days?”

  “The actual transporting doesn’t take very much time at all,” he nods, “it’s locating the when that eats away the minutes.”

  “So, once we’ve won…” I start.

  “Everyone will be on their way home!” Clark slaps on more enthusiasm, nearly all the Rogues’ eyes narrowing to sharp slits, sending a violent wave of fury his way.

  But he’s right. If we win this battle, the next topic will be returning everyone home who’s able. It’s inevitable. Still, the familiar pain shoots up my chest as I force myself to see only Sampson and concern myself with what’s immediately at stake. We haven’t won yet.

  “And Beshib?” I try, “Do you have any additional information on him? Can you communicate with him the same way you do as Blovid?”

  “We can’t make connection with him—our lines have been cut off now for a while.”

  “Lines?” Able asks curiously.

  “Yes, lines of communication,” Clarence explains, “like a tunnel to hear another’s thoughts. Dofinikes are born with an ability to be able to listen and be listened to. We can suffocate a tunnel though, if we no longer trust the connection or, if it’s serious, the tunnel can be severed completely. Knowing Beshib has partnered with Reuzkimpart, we severed the link a long time ago.”

  “Well what about Tetlak?” I ask, “Jeb? They’d know something, right? I’m sure they have something useful we can use.”

  “Tetlak would never talk,” Clarence shakes his head, “but Jeb may. What do you think?” he poses to Sampson with a bit of a shrug. “Want to have a little chat with our old friend?”

  “Certainly. Tucker?”

  Tucker rises to a stand, moving for the room’s exit as he pokes his head out. Speaking lowly, he whispers something before returning and taking his seat again. “Well I know your question’s been answered,” he glares at Clark, “but mine hasn’t been.”

  “And that is?” Clarence turns to him, sitting back once more.

  “What happens after this? After Beshib returns and everyone’s been taken back… What happens then?”

  “You mean,” Pratt speaks up. “What’s going to happen to us?”

  “Well…” Sampson clears his voice. “I’d assume you’d want to accompany us further. This battle is not the last fight in this war but perhaps… merely… just the beginning. I’d hoped you’d continue with the Arizals. Of course, you have allies here—friends.”

  Tucker, Jace and Pratt exchange glances, then look to me. I nod, speaking for all. “I think that sounds good.”

  “Great,” Clark rushes us on, “next topic…”

  “Hinson,” Griffin speaks up, startling me. With his overpowering silence, I forgot he was here. “When do we get a cure for Hinson?”

  Sampson and Clarence eye one another before Clarence takes a breath. He leans forward, toward Griffin. “That depends. I’d have to assess the damage. Possibly have the healers take a look. But… it’d take time.”

  “I can wait.”

  Another worried glance and Clarence goes on. “You’re more than welcome to wait, Griffin, as long as you want… but please understand, it’ll take time some time…” he’s careful with his words, “…if there even is a cure, and it’s not the next item on the agenda.”

  “I said I can wait,” Griffin repeats, just as Merritt walks in, half-dragging Jeb in his human form. The two stagger closer, Jeb just awakening and drunkenly leaning on Merritt who seats him in the empty section between Clarence and Griffin.

  Clarence smiles at him. “Very good—we’ll see if Jeb knows anything. Jeb? You awake?”

  “Hmm?” His eyes open groggily, looking around.

  “Wake up, buddy,” Clarence slaps him on the back. “What do you think?”

  “Please repeat the question,” Jeb mumbles, rubbing his eyes with his palms.

  “The people you’ve been taking. The,” I hesitate at the word, saying it gently for Griffin’s sake, “experiments out in the woods—can you fix them?”

  Blinking, Jeb wakes up, surprised to see me. “Fallon.”

  “Answer the question.”

  He takes a moment to consider it, keeping our eye contact locked. Finally, he shakes his head. “No. They cannot be fixed. Not in the way you’d want them to be. They are attempts at a whole—at something better than themselves, so to fix them would be to complete them, which is being perfected in the laboratories.”

  “Not anymore,” Jace says.

  “Nope…” Harrison echoes behind him, “all done.”

  Surprised for only a moment, Jeb brushes his face clean with serenity. “Fallon, please believe me—it’s best this way. Your prime utilization was questioned many times. You can give,” he glances to my stomach, then back to me, “so much more than just service.”

  “How do you undo it?” I ask through gritted teeth.

  “There is no undoing.”

  I’m afraid to go on, knowing Griffin is in the room but since we’re here, since he’s able to tell us, I can’t stop now. I need to know, and so do the rest of us. “Why not?”

  “There’s nothing to undo,” Jeb sits up, the crazed hint lingering in his eyes, “they’ve already died. There’s no bringing them back to what they were before. This growth, this attempted rebirth is the product, the result of our most vigorous work, so far.”

  “So undoing it…”

  “Would be taking their life again, leavi
ng them dead, which, technically speaking… they are. We have to keep going. Keep going until we perfect it—please, you must understand.”

  “Why?” Reid winces.

  “To create the perfect solider,” Jeb turns to him, “one that could be useful even after death, one that could reanimate time after time.”

  “But if your war is against the humans, why would you want to make them indestructible?” Able asks.

  “We fight two enemies—the Arizals and humans. Before we can take your planet, we must secure our own. The inexhaustible supply of a reanimating human army would surely secure our victory over the Arizals who will never surrender. Of course, when the time comes,” he says calmly, considering, “we’ll set this great weapon free on Earth so as to prevent the prophecy.”

  “You can’t prevent a prophecy,” I correct. “That’s why it’s a prophecy—it’s bound to happen.”

  “Duh,” someone adds in the background.

  “And we simply cannot allow that,” Jeb ignores it, going on, “when the time comes, Earth will suffer, cut down by her own hand.”

  “And we’re just stepping stones in your great journey to a zombie army… Jesus…” Jace swears under his breath, running his hand up his neck and through his yellow hair. “And why the girls?”

  “By creating soldiers from birth, we can better manipulate the genes from the origin. Results have proven more successful when engineered at the fetus level rather than a fully-aged human adult.”

  “When’s Beshib returning?” I don’t know why but I feel like asking him anything I want. He’s here, under our command for once. Clarence, Sampson and the others immediately look to Jeb who keeps his focus on the table in front of him.

  “No one knows... not even me.”

  “How many Vermix is he bringing with him?” Sampson asks.

  “He expects about two dozen or so, with some additional scientists, but again,” Jeb explains, “he doesn’t share this sort of detail with…”

  “He anticipating any of this?” Clarence motions to the rest of us. “He expecting it?”

  Jeb hesitates in his response but after a moment, lets his head tilt into a bit of a nod. “Tetlak gives him constant reports. I’m not sure when it was that they last spoke…” he offers a bit of a shrug.

  We all glance around at each other, considering the obvious flaw. Have we overlooked something that could destroy this whole effort already?

  Urged by the blood boiling under my skin, I sit up. “When I got here, how many people had been taken?”

  “Eighty-seven,” he’s quick to respond. “Sixty-four females and twenty-three males.”

  “Why the males?” Tucker asks.

  “They would not reproduce. Never sexually interacted with the females, some of them, and a few, only with each other. They were no longer viable for their initial service.”

  “So…”

  Jeb’s head snaps to me. “They were taken to the laboratories. There’s no reason for pointless waste.”

  “And you really do feel justified in what you’re doing?”

  “You must understand, Fallon. For many to be saved, few must be sacrificed. To protect Dellapalania and her children is the only thing that matters. We must collectively do what it takes to ensure her utmost survival.”

  “By killing innocent people who have nothing to do with you? Right, well, is there anything else you can tell us?”

  “Stop this at once!” he says emphatically, leaning forward with urgency, “you must abort your mission now before it’s too late. Ask for forgiveness and Beshib will be lenient.”

  “Oh, and how’s that?” Jace laughs. “By not killing us sooner?”

  “Fallon,” Jeb turns to me, “please understand, you honor us with your service…”

  I’m disgusted. Revolted. Insulted and enraged. How can he sit there and justify his evil? Their evil? I glance to Merritt for the slightest of seconds, then back to Jeb. “I think you’re done.”

  Merritt nudges Jeb in the shoulder with the barrel as he rises to a stand. Walking him out, Merritt glances back to Tucker. “Looper’s going on watch now, then Booker, then me.”

  “The Kings?”

  “Simon’s on shift tonight.”

  Tucker nods, dismissing them.

  “Okay, so, somewhat useful,” Able shrugs, just as the two leave the room. “Beshib’s return may be sooner than we think.”

  “Don’t know how soon…” Tucker grumbles the uncertainty we all feel.

  “And therein lies the problem,” Sampson exhales, “with Tetlak’s lack of communication, it could be any day. There’s really no way of knowing. If he expects it,” and now he looks to Clarence, “you think he’ll bring a fleet?”

  “No,” Clarence laughs at the idea of it, “he’s too proud to let others think he needs extra help. He’ll come back with the same amount he had planned. He’ll just prepare them.”

  “Then there’s nothing more we can do?” Reid speaks up. “Any way we can prepare?”

  “We’ve done it—we’re doing it,” Clarence says, “we’re training you how to defend yourselves. With the situation at hand…it’s the best we’ve got.”

  “Sampson,” I look him straight in the eye, “do you think we can do this? Can we really win this fight?”

  Sampson’s robin’s egg blue eyes never leave mine as a hint of a smile creeps along his lips. “I think anything is possible… with faith.”

  This is enough for me. Sampson has faith. And if he believes, then I do too. It’s possible. To win this so everyone can go back home and the rest of us can move on. To new adventures. To a new life. We’re not sure when Beshib is coming back so we’ll have to prepare each day as if it’s the one. But that’s to think about tomorrow, after the drain of today has been slept away. Even if there is more information to exchange, I don’t think I could absorb it. Right now, the only thing that makes sense is curling up on my bed and losing myself to its soft, inviting warmth.

  “If that’s everything we need to discuss…” I stand.

  “What?” Clark snaps. “You’ll just be on your merry way?”

  “Kind of thinking about it—yeah. Little tired.”

  “I don’t know why you think you’re so special to be able to dictate…” his voice disappears behind a chorus of cracking knuckles. I want to laugh aloud at their support, until I realize Reid’s not one of them. His right hand grips the back of his neck as his left strums the table.

  “Do you mind?” I ask Sampson, my eyes narrowing on his face. It takes a lot but I manage to block Reid’s sight from creeping in.

  “No, actually,” Sampson grins, “I was just thinking it was a good time to wrap up anyway.” He stands as the rest jump to their feet too. “You all have had a heavy day and I’m sure, like me, are anxious to retire. We’ll resume training in the morning.”

  We leave Beshib’s office and head for the evibolas, splitting into two groups. Somehow, Reid and I end up in the same one, along with Able, Tucker, Pratt and Clarence. Reid’s to my right, arms crossed and feet just apart, focused ahead on the door. We’re only in here for a few seconds but it feels like forever.

  From the corner of my eye, his body stands rigid, like he wants to remain as still as possible. If he doesn’t move, I can’t see him and there’s no chance of that awkward talk. A sharp pain rips through me and just as I’m recovering, Clarence motions us out. I don’t hesitate. The sooner I can get to my room, the better.

  But someone else has gotten off the evibola too. Footsteps sound behind me but stop. Start again and then stop. By the time I get to my bunker, I put in the combination and push the door open. With a deep inhale, I glance to him.

  Reid’s nearly at the beginning of the corridor, standing rigid and watching me. His face has lightened, his jaw hanging low though no words escape. What’s he want to say? What? I wait for only a second more, glancing between the deep seas of his burning brown eyes before turning and heading into my bunker.

  C
hapter Twenty-Nine: Second Battle of Harrizel

  Beshib hasn’t returned for two days but Sampson doesn’t seem fazed by it. He has us training from morning to evening and mostly everyone in the Castle is finally participating. There are a few, of course, simply unwilling to get out of bed but Sampson says they probably wouldn’t be of much help anyway. We’re doing everything we need to be doing so when the time comes, we’ll be prepared.

  It’s mid-afternoon and I’ve been practicing with a Chaisle for a while, lost in thought. Swallowing the Reid pill is hard enough, but knowing I don’t have Granny Ruth is killing me. I want to talk to her about everything, everything that has happened and everything we’re planning on doing. What would she say? Would she be proud? The image of her body flashes through my mind and I feel like crying. No, she wouldn’t want me to weep. She’d want me to be strong. She’d want me to win this—for her.

  I roll the Chaisle over in my hands, focusing on the details of the weapon. As I practice aiming again, a strange new cloud descends, settling like a soupy mist over the open pen.

  I freeze.

  The cloud keeps falling, thickening, and rolling in heavy waves of gray around us. Everyone’s gone quiet. Everything, still. Squinting, I search for Pratt who stood feet from me just seconds ago. Nothing but thick gray fog surrounds me, swimming so close that I can’t see beyond my own nose.

  Someone screams.

  A pattering of feet sweeps the ground. Raising my Chaisle, I turn, searching, listening. The waves lighten to billowy sheets and only a yard away a distorted image drops perfectly on the ground. It rises to its eight-foot height before snatching another figure—a smaller, frailer silhouette—the two racing back up and disappearing through the whipping wind above. The next minute, a body falls to the ground, smacking it with a hard, gut-wrenching thud.

  Another scream.

  My heart stops. With the cloud thinning, one by one, limp bodies start falling to the ground, smashing with an unsettling smack—their bones cracking on impact. The entire lot breaks out in a ubiquitous chorus of panicked screams, people running into each other, abandoning their weapons to flee the monstrous silhouettes dropping around us like well-placed bombs.