Escape from Harrizel (56 page)

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.

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.

“When the time is right,” he nods to
himself, his eyes lost ahead.

He starts to turn but I want to keep him
here, talking. There are too many things still left unanswered.
Quickly, I reach for another topic, one that’s been eating away at
me since we first decided we’d fight back.

“I’m confused…” I admit before he’s made it
a few steps. “You told us you couldn’t leave… that bad things would
happen if you did.”

“Yes,” he pauses. “Had I simply up and left,
Clarence would’ve been killed and I for him, if he’d decided never
to return.”

“Why didn’t you both just leave?”

“There are… other reasons...” he’s still
wary about sharing this information. Staring off into the jungle
ahead, he’s lost in its serene image. “But when I spoke to Blovid
the night you told me what you’d found, he said it was the very
thing needed to spark it… and it did. The crack in Dellapalania
finally split wide open. Up until then, the Civil War was
underground, unacknowledged since the Glass Chamber incident. It
increased with Ellae’s massacre but this,” he gestures around us,
“when you told me about the experiments here, about what you found…
that’s what really did it. Dellapalania is officially at war with
itself, both sides coming out into the open. And with the spread of
Arizals rising up against the Vermix, Blovid informed me what was
previously told no longer applied.”

“Which was?”

Sampson shakes his head, staring to walk
away, “I’m sorry, Fallon but I cannot—”

“Wait,” I round in front of him again,
“just… if you can’t tell me that, can you at least tell me why
Ellae is so familiar to me? Why do I feel like I’ve been here
before? Like…” I gulp, all my questions rushing forward, “like it’s
part of me? I know you know.
Please
tell me.”

Sampson narrows his eyes. “I would assume
you figured that out by now.”

Figured what out? I have a connection to
Ellae—I get that. But what? And why? Have they brought me here
before? Or maybe I
was
here, but in a past life or
something. Maybe that’s why I see glimpses of the way it
was—because that’s when I was here? I’m not sure, so I give Sampson
the best answer I have.

“I’m connected to it.”

“More than you know.”

“But how?
Why
?”

“It is not for me to disclose,” he starts
for the Castle, throwing me a look over his shoulder, “but, when
the time is right, you will understand.”

I’m about to storm over, demanding he tell
me the truth, when he pauses and motions to an Arizal—one of the
few left behind—to continue checking the jungle for survivors.
Almost all of the other Arizals left right after the battle,
rejoining Blovid in his flight, but a few, like the one Sampson has
scouring the green ahead, remain to assist further.

Sampson makes his way back for the Castle,
moving slowly and with exhausted strides. I’m dying to understand
the connection—what does it mean? Why won’t he tell me?—but my
thoughts turn to his involvement instead. I’m not sure why, but I
have to know what happened—what his part is in all of this. He
must’ve had a life here. A family. How did he describe it?

This paradise. This island for runaways, for
those not wanting to be found.

But if that’s the case, why wouldn’t he want
to be found? Because he was an Arizal? Or was it something else?
What was he running from? A flood of questions consumes me, drawing
me deeper into Sampson’s mysterious past when a friendly voice
breaks my concentration.

“Fallon!” Pratt calls.

Spinning, I find her leading Reid, Tucker,
Clark and Jace toward me. With exhausted steps, I meet them half
way.

“How’s your arm?” I focus on Pratt’s right
side. Her hand cups her back bicep where white cotton gauze has
been wrapped. A blotch of red peeks behind her palm but she’s quick
to cover it. “
Much
better.”

Reid turns to me with a serious face. “Clark
wants to go home now. Clarence is considering addressing the
survivors about their return options tonight…” he glances to an
infuriated Clark then back to me, “seems his decision is contingent
upon
your
opinion.”

Giving it no more than a second, I shake my
head decisively. “No.”

“No?” Clark gripes, his face turning red.
“
No
?”

“No. It’s too early. Jeez—give everyone a
break. Give Sampson and Clarence the night to recoup.”

“It’s not my fault! I should’ve never been
here to begin with! I
deserve
to go back!”

“And you will,” I grind my teeth, “but now’s
not the time.”

“Come on, Reid,” Clark tries, desperation in
his eyes. “Don’t you want to go home?”

Reid struggles for a moment with his
response, clearing his voice. “Fallon’s right. Let’s take the night
to rest… Clarence will address it tomorrow.”

Clark lets out an exhausted scoff, spins and
storms away without so much as a goodbye.

“Dude,” Jace laughs once he’s yards away.
“Why’d you hang with him? Guy’s a spaz.”

“He was Sampson’s only other confidant at
the time,” Reid shrugs. “Didn’t really have much say in the
matter.”

“Blows,” Jace shakes his head.

“Yeah. So listen, we’ll push the return
stuff for tomorrow...”

“Hey!” Pratt interrupts, “How’s your arm?”
She glances to the fresh bandage running from my elbow to my
wrist.

“Still functioning,” I demonstrate rotating
my wrist.

“You see the size of those whips?” Pratt
asks. “Lucky he didn’t take your arm off.”

“Death count first, I think,” Reid withdraws
back to the Castle, the rest of us following. He’s turned to Tucker
but speaks loud enough for everyone to hear. “We need to know where
we stand. Then Clarence can make the announcement tomorrow for all
those who want to go back and those who…” he picks his words
carefully, “…are staying. Maybe transport can be scheduled for the
following day.”

“Yeah, if Clark doesn’t have a panic attack
first,” Pratt laughs.

I’d return it if I wasn’t so distracted by
everything else, especially with how Reid won’t look at me. It is,
after all, business at this point. He’s just following the agenda
like planned and can I blame him for that? Can I harbor any ill
will toward him for just wanting to get this over with, like
me?

“I’m going to let Clarence know,” Reid takes
off. “Later.”

Jace smiles. “You ladies mind if we take
off?”

“Go,” I nudge him on. “Whatever you need to
do.”

He winks and then disappears, Tucker along
with him.

Once they’re gone and we’re alone, I glance
to Pratt who’s already grinning. “You look like you need to hear
something funny.”

“Got anything?” I ask.

“Well, just this. When Clarence took me to
the other side of Harrizel, Clark was already there…”

I wait a second, letting the anticipation
build, “And…?”

“And crying like a baby! One or two Vermix
landed nearby so Clarence had to fight them off. I was able to help
a little—I shot one so that he fell and Clarence had the upper
hand,” she smiles proudly of the fact, “but Clark hid behind me the
whole time! He acted tough when we took control of the Castle but
put him in front of a few Vermix—he’ll wet his pants! ”

The humorous image of a cowering Clark fills
my mind with ease. Pratt’s right—I did need to hear something
funny.

“Thanks,” I throw my arm around her
shoulder, leading us back toward the Castle.

Evening turns into night quickly. We
collectively agree to retire and start again in the morning, after
everyone’s rested and has a clear head. Tomorrow we’ll do a body
count and figure out what’s what. I head to the Bathing Bubble and
stay longer than I should, partly afraid to leave. The protection
of it, the warmth—all gone the second I step out. But after a
while, my body’s exhaustion over rides it’s need for physical
comfort and I finally leave, heading for my bunker again.