Escape from Harrizel

by C. G. Coppola

  Suddenly, a black whip flies between us, slicing open my forearm. A long red gash runs from my elbow to my wrist, the skin separating with a nasty hiss. Crying out at the agonizing sting, I snatch my hand back on impulse, tucking it into me.

  Irate at our loss of contact, Reid trades the Traxpire from my hand for his Chaisle. Unloading it on the impending Vermix, Reid fires, lighting the tunnel with the fiery explosions. The Dofinike fumbles, falling to his knees as tiny bursts of orange erupt throughout his stomach. Once he’s still, Reid gestures to my arm, panting. “Let me see.”

  He rips off his sleeve, using the fabric to construct a bandage and applies it to the gaping gash in my arm. The sting is nearly unbearable, but I grit my teeth at the tug of the material. Tearing his second sleeve free, he wraps the red gash until it’s covered. He takes a moment in tending to me, before slipping his hand in mine again, taking off.

  Only seconds in, more sunlight hits the tunnel behind us as the pattering of multiple pairs of feet echo. With my heart thundering at the possibility of dying down here, in the dark, I squeeze Reid’s hand tighter, my arm throbbing in response. He squeezes back, clutching me in his grip like we’re glued together, like we’re one extended person.

  Refusing to slow down, he takes tunnel after tunnel, the growling snarls following, gaining. My body is aching from being thrown, from the searing heat still pulsating up my left forearm and the overall exhaustion. But adrenaline, the need to survive this keeps me moving, keeps me following Reid, wherever he’s leading us.

  Pushing faster, turning left, then right and selecting tunnels without so much as a second’s hesitation, I’m not sure Reid knows where he’s going. We could be moving absentmindedly just to flee the Vermix, or he could know each and every turn down here. Regardless, I’m right behind him, on his heel, keeping so close he barely has to tug me at all.

  At one point he stops, tucking me into one of the carved tunnels as two Vermix fly past, ignorant to our whereabouts. Trying to conceal my winded breath, I wait for their hungry, vicious sounds to die off. They keep rushing around—traveling in circles by the sound of it—their growls disappearing until they’re no longer audible.

  Suppressing my heavy panting, Reid takes my hand again, leading us out silently. We move through each passageway creeping slowly, every once in a while hearing a screaming Dofinike, lost in the labyrinth. When the sound draws close, Reid presses me against the wall or into a nearby tunnel to hide long enough for the sounds to pass. Then, when they’ve wandered off again, down another wrong turn, Reid starts, leading us back. We travel like this, in and out of the frantic Dofinike wails, back toward the base of the Castle. Heading for the Auditorium, we take the route to the West Wall, Reid’s grip on me so tight he could break my bones.

  Flying through the narrow, marble corridor, Reid stops at the door. He slips it open with ease before I’m even able to see the outline. Once I’m through, he closes off the exit, racing through the Maze with me at his heel.

  Have to get to the center.

  Emerging from the Maze, a relieved wave washes over me. There are more people than I expected, most clustered around the central glowing trunk, huddled together with terrified eyes. Tucker and the Rogues line up at all stairwells, a number of others just behind them, all firing at the oncoming Vermix who are slowly fighting their way in.

  Whips and talons fly through the air, descending down the stairs but the Clansmen and others manage to hold them off. Some people shift back and forth between the battle and the middle of the room, arguing with themselves on whether or not they want to help. Should they? Can they even? The others grasp one another, quieting screams and calming cries.

  “This way,” Reid takes off in a run, crossing the Auditorium floor in seconds.

  I follow, glancing to the hoards of bodies huddled together, screaming in terror. All unarmed, they’re dead in seconds if the Vermix push their way through. Like sitting ducks—there’d be nothing we can do, no way to stop their imminent death. This thought runs over in my head as we catch up with Tucker who pulls away just as we approach.

  “Not for much longer,” he pants in response to something unasked, “our boys are taking a beating. Almost out of ammo… any idea when the reinforcements are coming?”

  “They should be here,” Reid shakes his head, “but we didn’t get a look on our way in.”

  “Well,” Tucker wipes his brow with the back of his forearm, “they better hurry or we’ll be overrun here in a second.”

  “That’s why we should get them out of here,” I warn, motioning to the large group behind us, then to the Vermix doggedly busting down the stairwells. “If they get in here, everyone unarmed is dead. We have to get them out.”

  “How?” both ask in unison.

  “Through the passage,” I glance to the entrance Reid and I just took, “we can lead them down there to wait it out… at least until more reinforcements come. The Vermix don’t know about it so they’ll be safe.”

  Reid and Tucker both look to each other for confirmation then back to me with a nod. “Okay.”

  They don’t ask me, but since it’s my idea, this responsibility lies solely on my shoulders. Fleeing immediately, I head for the mass of terrified people clustered around the trunk. Flagging my arms, I raise my voice so all can hear.

  “Listen up!”

  They award me sole attention, hope in their eyes I’m here to deliver good news.

  “I’m going to take you somewhere the Vermix can’t find you. It’s only for a short while and only because you’re unarmed. You stand a better chance if you hide. Follow me,” I sprint for the West Wall, a heavy rhythmic pattering of feet behind me. The pattering turns to a stampede as I glance over my shoulder and see the entire mass flying in my direction.

  Moving through the Maze, they follow in earnest, the quick shuffling of feet trailing far behind me. I should concentrate on which turns to take, which passages to avoid but somehow, I already know it. It’s like I’m being led there from the inside, from some blueprint already in my blood.

  We reach the exit and I push the door open, sliding it back.

  “Hold hands with the person next to you,” I say to a petrified redhead who looks like she’s about to break down. Indicating the person next to her—a boy equally terrified—I look back to the redhead, “When he tugs your hand, stop walking and don’t go any farther.”

  She nods, moving into the tunnel. I motion the person behind her, indicating I want him to do the same thing. I repeat the request down the line every few people, making sure others hear the plan as well. By the time I get to the end, nearly half are through the tunnel, everyone moving quickly.

  “When you get through, close the door and stay there,” I explain to the last person, a boy no older than Pratt, “pull your neighbor’s hand so they know to stop walking.”

  He nods and I race back out of the Maze. Running back to help the others, a new horror chills me. One by one, Vermix appear in the four nearly invisible evibolas across the walls.

  “Reid!” I scream, pulling my Chaisle free.

  He turns but I shift focus immediately, to the nearest Dofinike launching himself in a cat-like run. I don’t have time to react. I just do. Finding the trigger comfortably, I pull it back in three quick clicks. The Dofinike falls to the ground before he gets within ten feet of me. Others leap toward in me in a similar fashion, narrow yellow eyes set and ready. Letting whatever instinct it is take over, I shoot a few more Vermix the same way I shot the first—but there are too many. Too many swarming like hungry dogs on a piece of prime meat. And it’s now I realize it.

  I’m going to die.

  Right here—in the mob of Vermix about to pull me limb from limb. This is the end. Not some meaningful death like killing Beshib first. But by being ambushed, by being outsmarted by the enemy in such a foolishly obvious way. Is this really how it concludes? Here? Like this? My heart skips so fast, I think it might implode. The Vermix are almost upon me but if this
is how it ends, I’m taking as many of them as I can with me. Give the others the best chance they’ve got.

  Bracing myself for the inevitable pain sure to follow, I focus on the closet Vermix. His eyes enlarge to the only thing in sight, the two inch space between them like a field of green to aim at. It becomes the only thing that’s important.

  As I pull the trigger in the comfortable three click segment I’ve grown accustomed to, his eyes suddenly widen before dropping completely, along with the weight of his falling body. I move to the next closest Vermix, then the next, always shooting in my three click segment as one by one they fall. I know my death is upon me—and I accept that—but after a few seconds, I grow anxious.

  Nothing’s happening.

  It doesn’t come. I keep shooting the Vermix until it does, anticipating the sudden strike that’ll leave me broken-necked and still. But the Vermix start dropping of their own accord, something else collapsing them to the marble floor. With my Chaisle raised and aimed, I watch as the nearest Dofinike springs for me, tiny blades carving through his temple and neck. He drops in a massive heap as I turn to the next Vermix. But he too fumbles to the ground. I turn again, looking for the next Vermix but find Reid racing toward me instead.

  Face white with panic, he collides into me, panting from the dash. “You okay?”

  I nod, unable to form the words I need. How did that happen? The hoard of descending Vermix lie sprawled on the marble floor, a few still alive, twitching. I only killed a few so what happened to the rest of them? Surely Reid didn’t kill them all by himself? Glancing past his shoulder, Tucker, Jace and the rest of the Rogues stand pointed in our direction, guns and Chaisles now lowering to the ground. There’s nothing at the stairwell anymore, no Vermix pushing their way in. How can that be?

  “Reinforcements just arrived,” Reid explains, slipping his hand in mine and pulling me toward one of the stairwells.

  “How many?”

  “Enough,” he pants, leaping over Vermix corpses.

  I’m behind him but hesitant about leaving the people downstairs alone. What if a stray Vermix goes wandering and finds them? Who am I kidding—they’re probably the safest people on Harrizel at this very moment. But Pratt wasn’t with them and this thought brings a new pain.

  Pushing it from mind, we race through the Rogues’ border and up the stairs, Jace at my right, the other Clansmen joining our heels with ferocity as we storm the Courtyard. We reach it just in time to see the majority of Vermix pushed back, just outside of the Portcullis and into the open pen surrounded by trenches. A few small duels remain inside the Courtyard—all consisting of sparring Dofinikes.

  I don’t know who’s who—Vermix or Arizal? They move so swiftly, it’s hard to catch a decent glimpse of their faces. But really… how are we supposed to know?

  I turn to ask Reid just as the closest duel resolves itself. The smaller of the two springs on the other’s back, offering a vicious combination of sharp jabs and finally renders the larger Dofinike immobile. He falls to the checkered ground with a thunderous smack as dust flies from the weight of his impact.

  Tensing for the onslaught of combat, I reach for my Chaisle. The victor glances over us momentarily, a flicker of curiosity before setting off in a cat-like run to help other Dofinike duels lingering in the Courtyard. I only had a minute to see it before he fled, but he had the same marking as on Reid’s chest—the circle with alternating dots. And, like with Reid’s, it sits in the same spot, high on his right pectoral, engraved in his hardened shell.

  I want to stay and watch the remaining duels but we’re moving again, charging the portcullis. As we arrive, the Arizals have pushed them back—all the way back—so now the fighting remains mainly in the outside pen. Tucker and the Rogues run past, to either side of the Castle’s arched entranceway, weapons drawn and ready. Reid and I are right behind them, hooking to the right to take our positions, though the Dofinikes seem to be handling themselves well, going at each other without any concept of our presence.

  I watch in awe as eight to ten foot masses claw at each other with razor sharp talons and eyes intent on slashing their opponent open. Reid’s arm projects out, locking me back, behind him. As if I’d go any closer. There’s not much we can do except keep aim and be ready to fire when an Arizal needs help.

  I hold my breath.

  Is there a chance—even one in the slightest—that we could win this thing? Really win? The possibility consumes me. I was sure I’d die—several times—but I’m still here. Still fighting. In a battle we could very well win. A small smile creeps across my face until my eyes roam the ground littered with lifeless limbs and I’m reminded of Pratt. Even if we win, how much have we lost to get there?

  Quickly scanning the faces on the ground, I’m distracted by a new pair of opponents, rolling from the brush and toward the open wrought iron gate. It takes a second but as they draw nearer, I recognize them and their violent duel from earlier.

  Leaping to their feet, they launch themselves at one another. The smaller, more panicked one, bounds through the gate, Sampson on his tail. The rest of the fighting stops at their arrival, everything going silent.

  By the looks of it, Sampson and Beshib are pretty worn out.

  Patches of swollen green skin protrudes from shoulders and several shelled plates leak red syrup. Both snarling, Beshib favors his left leg while Sampson, equally impaired, keeps his right eye closed. Panting, Beshib twists to the side, aware all eyes are on him. Sampson, who seems less out of breath, watches with curiosity rather than fear, as if unaware he’s in a fight. As if this is just an exercise for him—an experiment—one he can end any time.

  But if that’s the case, why not kill Beshib out in the woods? End it so he can get back here and help the others? But with all eyes—Dofinike and human —staring down this battle, proud to witness such an event, it makes sense. Why hide a symbolic death like that in the dark for only the shadows to witness? No, Sampson waited to deliver his final strike for a moment like this. When all eyes—Arizal and Vermix—are upon him, so that they may see exactly what he wants them to.

  Beshib twists back toward Sampson, a tiny, rickety knife grasped in his talons. As he turns, intending to jab it straight through Sampson’s temple, Beshib stops, suddenly frozen. The rickety knife drops and for a minute, I’m not sure what happened.

  Sampson wasn’t holding anything, was he?

  Repositioning myself to see better, I almost gasp when I take it in—Sampson’s talons shoved deep into the soft pit of Beshib’s belly. No knife, no weapon, just his hand, as if holding onto something inside his opponent’s quivering body. Once the knife hits the ground, it only takes a second more for Sampson to rip the spine free from Beshib’s twitching shell. Only a part of the bones emerge but it’s enough to hear the snap as Beshib folds back on himself, crashing to the ground with a heavy, mountainous smack.

  For a moment it’s silent.

  The Vermix start ascending, quick to abandon the fight, the battle for them clearly lost. The ground is suddenly free of half the Dofinikes, the other half stopping and staring at Sampson who stands tall and victorious. The Arizals don’t chase after the fleeing Vermix, but instead, walk silently toward Sampson, their heads bowed.

  “Fychu,” the first one drops to his left knee, resting his elbow on his right. Clenching his talons in a fist, he holds them to his brow. “Fychu, Saya Saya…”

  He stands and the next Arizal repeats the gesture as a line forms to bow before Sampson, offering him their knee like some sort of fealty. This goes on until every one of the Arizals has completed the gesture, even Clarence who approaches in human form.

  The two look at each other, smiling. They turn to us, the remaining line of humans. Sampson offers the slightest of nods and I know.

  It’s over for now.

  Chapter Thirty: Departures

  We actually won.

  The second battle of Harrizel is over and we somehow managed to fight through, to win our freedom
and send the Vermix fleeing. Of course there are casualties. Too many, in fact. A little less than half the human population remains and scattered among the bodies, a few fallen Arizals too.

  Thank God Clarence scooped Pratt up almost near the beginning and took her, like many others, to the opposite side of Harrizel. He took large groups at first, still strong enough to carry up to five or six at a time. But after the seventh or eighth trip was made, when a Vermix momentarily intervened and slashed his arm, Clarence could only take one to two at a time. But he continued, relentlessly searching through the jungle and open lot. Thanks to him, many were saved. But not everyone’s been accounted for.

  Vix, for instance, is still missing. Was she taken back? To be used as a hostage by the Vermix? I tossed the theory at Sampson but he explained that Dofinikes were not the type to take prisoners, not unless it was someone of high ranking, like a Leader who’d have to await a trail. Beshib, possibly Sampson would be the type of Dofinike to be captured. But not Vix. She wouldn’t be of much importance to Reuzkimpart, not when we’re planning on leaving Harrizel soon.

  She’s also not one of the slain Dofinikes littering the ground either.

  “You can tell,” Sampson explains, walking me outside to view a corpse, “this is a Vermix.” He points at the three red lines on the back of the Vermix’s neck, “This red is not natural. It’s a dye they consume as a right to be part of it, initiated at the proper age.”

  “But you were a Vermix?”

  “Yes,” Sampson agrees, staring off at the setting sun, “and I will forever bear the mark.”

  He’s in his head again, lost in the despair that consumes him, eating away like a parasite to an unyielding host.

  “Sampson…” I need to know, unsure why it’s taken me so long to find out, “something happened at the massacre. You said Clarence hid something. But you never mentioned where you were…” a little voice tells me it’s none of my business and to drop it, but a stronger, more curious part pushes that this may be the key to it all.