A scientist dives past Reid, jumps over Able and soars to knock me down. Again, slow motion takes over. It’s like time is stilling before me, playing out in loud, sluggish seconds so I can see better, hear better. Everything comes to me with clarity and total consciousness, so that I always know what to do seconds before I do it.
Just as the custard coat flies for me, I dive to the side, allowing him to land in my previous spot. Already anticipating his location, I unload bullets into his head until he falls, quickly sweeping my view back to the girl on the table.
“Away!” I scream, moving through the beds around her, aimed and ready.
Something’s shifted.
In me.
I’m the last person here expected to even fire their gun and now, I won’t part with it. I can’t. All I want to do is tear down this lab. Tear it to pieces. Something has exploded inside me, something ignited by the sight of all the girls in here. All the various stages of possible life destroyed. Keeping the bile from overflowing at the thought of such waste, I move forward, past the few remaining duels, searching. There’s got to be at least one.
At least one.
“Any still alive?” I lower my gun, only to dart in and out of the tables.
Scanning each set of eyes, hope dwindles. They’re all the same—open but glazed over, cloudy. Gone. Biting back the urge to kill as many Vermix as I can, I keep going, keep searching. At least one. There’s got to be at least one. I’m not sure how many beds I’ve passed but other than the different lengths into their pregnancies, they’re all in the same exact state.
“Fallon!” Reid calls.
The sound of my name forces me to look up. When I do, I find Sampson and Jothkore standing ahead, amongst a pile of fallen scientists. The Vermix moan on the ground where they lay injured. A few yelp while the quieter ones try to pull themselves away unnoticed. Jothkore’s quick to trash that thought, dragging them back to the center with the others.
“Are you okay?” Reid joins my side, cupping the back of my head and shifting me toward him.
“Fine.”
“We secure?” he gestures to Jothkore who’s dragging a fleeing scientist back to their heap of custard coats.
Sampson nods. “And your end?”
“Tying things up as we speak. But we need to get moving.”
“What’s the time check?” I ask.
“Three minutes,” Sampson exhales, glancing back to the rest of the Rogues still working on binding the remaining scientists. Once they’re locked back to back—like they did with Jeb and Ergiloff—the Clansmen drag the pairs out, tossing them in the same sleeping pile of Vermix in the corner with Tetlak and the others. “We’ll need a few to stay, watch over,” he’s talking to Reid now, “I’m not familiar with the dosage so the time may be off.”
“How many? And who?”
“Three or four,” Sampson shrugs, “maybe Moss and Cramp. Werzo… Booker.”
“And yours?” Reid gestures to Sampson’s loot. “Vix fixing them?”
No sooner does he ask than Vix slides past, the same small device she’d pulled off the wall from inside the weapons room. We all watch as she goes to each bound scientist and presses the cylinder part of the object to his or her throat. They squirm for a second, fighting the injection. After a few futile attempts at ripping through their restraints, they pause, slumping over in exhausted sleep.
“What is that?” I ask.
“It’s Pillypees,” Reid answers first, “sleep potion. Knocks you out. Two minutes,” he looks to Sampson. “Anyone else staying here?”
“I think the four should do it. Have Irie check in from time to time and we’ll be fine.”
Reid nods, jetting back to his Rogues and we’re on his heels. Once we reach them, Reid pauses to take count of his Clansmen.
“Everyone still breathing?”
“Yeah Boss…” most exhale through heated breaths.
“Yeah Rox,” someone pants.
“You got it Boss,” someone else gulps, wiping his arm over his brow.
“Good,” Reid looks around his Clan, “Moss, Cramp, Werzo, Booker—you’re skipping all the drama downstairs. Need you to stay here, keep an eye on things so I don’t have to worry. I’ll send Irie to check in but I’m putting my trust in you,” he narrows his eyes. “Booker, can I count on you?”
An ebony skinned mountain with arms the size of tree trunks steps forward, answering for his team. “Yes, Rox, you can count on us.”
Reid nods at the four of them. “Good. Alright,” he strengthens the volume and command of his voice, “this is it. Time to go. We’ll be heading down in two evibolas. When we hit the Auditorium, surround it. I want everyone in a tight circle around the trunk. I want them in a good spot to hear Sampson. Rogues?”
“Rox!” they roar in unison.
“Let’s MOVE!” he commands, the lot of us sprinting from the labs and back for the evibolas. We’re running down the hall, leaving the four Rogues behind with the sleeping Vermix as we make our way to the arches that’ll take us back downstairs. Reaching them, we split into even groups.
I get in behind Reid, Tucker, Able and his entire division, Rooney and Drenz following behind. Sampson’s on last and suddenly we’re riding it down to the Auditorium. My heart races. What if they don’t believe us? We have no idea where the memories are and haven’t even started looking. Can we force everyone to listen to us, or it just a transfer of oppression?
There’s no time to consider the what-ifs. It’s happening regardless so the power is in the present. We’ll get through this. Once they believe us, once we tell them what we know, and that for the moment, the Castle’s been freed, they’ll want to fight back. They’ll have to. Especially if they know what the Vermix have been doing to us.
Just as I feel the evibola’s moving hum shift to stop, the drumming in my chest intensifies.
“Here we go…” Able inhales.
We step into the darkened room, a thicket of bodies moving around the trunk, waiting for Reminders to begin. The Rogues spread out, flattening themselves along the shadowed walls, keeping their rifles hidden by their sides. Following behind Rooney, I keep my head down, the gun low on my right hip. None of the others—outside our group—cling to the walls right now. They know what time it is, that Jeb will request them to move closer like he does every night.
Glancing up, I search for the other Rogues, Jothkore and Vix but I can’t find them. Are they in place already? And where is Sampson? When will he take the stage and explain the situation? Before I have time to wonder, a scream breaks through the room, shattering the low hum of shallow commotion. Another scream echoes, everyone stilling to an eerie halt.
A third scream and suddenly, the Rogues have their guns drawn, pointed and aimed among the thick mass, herding them back. Cries of panic erupt, a loud shuffle from the inner core, those closest to the trunk. They’re too far in to know what’s happening.
“DON’T MOVE! JUST DON’T MOVE!” Rooney barks at a massive Arrival who moves closer to investigate. But with the Carpenter’s threatening warning and the black rifle in his face, the Arrival stumbles backward, into the patch of bodies screaming in terror behind him. “DON’T MOVE!”
At the same time, all the Rogues inch forward, weapons drawn and aimed. I’m not sure what to look at. What to focus on. The Rogues back here with me, holding the line, holding everyone in or the frightened herd ahead, fear in their eyes at their newest enemy—us.
“Just hang back and stay calm,” Able offers as he shifts forward, slow step by slow step. His body shakes as he moves, a lump crawling down his throat. But he doesn’t stop. The other Rogues follow, inching closer, tightening the massive herd into each other. Able exhales, keeping his voice strong, commanding. “We’re not here to harm you.”
Following in suit, I move closer, keeping aim on nothing, on no one in particular, just the thought that there’s nothing more to fire at. Putting the rifle safety back on the rifle, I glance at the glowing tru
nk in the midst of bodies ahead. As soon as my eyes drift to it, Sampson leaps up, back in his human form, a hoard of babeebs over him. With so many, it’s like a small sun glows atop his head, illuminating the spotlight he needs.
“We ask for your patience, please and your cooperation,” Sampson’s smooth words cut through the panic. Everyone turns inward, away from the ring of weapons surrounding them and to the man with a velvety reassurance. When he sees he has the room’s attention, he offers the slightest smile, a peace offering before the words. “Those armed are not here to hurt you. They are here to help you.”
With this, a little more tension is released. The room still stands rigid but with each soothing word from the mediator, the fear abates and is replaced instead with comfort. The comfort they need right now.
“I want to help you,” Sampson goes on, grasping at their need for him to save them, “but you must listen and you must listen well. Make no mistake, what I’m about to share with you is the truth. Something I, along with everyone armed here, risked their life to have you know.” Sampson takes a breath, surveying the silent mass staring at him in stunned awe. “There was no war.”
His four words echo throughout the Auditorium, their shadows lingering into soft layers that eventually die off. But for a few seconds, that’s all I can hear—all anyone can hear—repeating over and over.
There was no war.
It’s like he’s unlocked it. Whatever it is that’s needed to be unlocked, the freedom of saying what we all knew to be the truth. Thought over and over again, yes, but never uttered aloud. And definitely not here, in the middle of the entire Castle with everyone listening. With Sampson’s admittance, it’s like there’s been a shift, like everyone’s fear of having to deny the obvious rises, leaving them free to consider the alternative—were we brought here against our will?
“Not true!” someone suddenly yells, rattling the newfound ease.
“He’s lying!” another voice pops up from the opposite side of the trunk. Sampson glances about, locating the hecklers.
“I do not lie and it’d be wise of you to hold your tongue.”
“Where’s Jeb?” another voice calls out. “What have you done with him?”
“Please,” Sampson lowers his hands palms down, requesting silence. “I’m trying to help you. You have no idea—”
“He killed Jeb!” someone yells across the way, stirring the panic again. “He’s going to kill us!”
I glance to Reid who’s already nodding down the line of Rogues. They need this taken care of now. Nipped in the butt as soon as possible, but it’s coming from multiple people. These are either the newest Arrivals or the ones who’ve just lost it. Who are too scared to admit to anything that might rob them of their security.
“I repeat, we are here to help you,” Sampson’s voice, though calm, grows slightly tenser.
“Why the guns?” a new voice pops through the crowd.
Geez—how many are there?
Before I know what I’m doing, I lower my rifle to my right side and, in a tone of disdain, yell at the top of my lungs, “Are you all stupid? Can’t you see what’s happening? Right in front of you?”
The focus suddenly shifts to me, Rooney and Able who stiffen at the new sea of eyes pouring into us. Someone goes to grab my elbow, whispering my name to stop.
But I don’t.
“Sampson is here to free you from the Vermix. You know Beshib… Tetlak… those itching to get us upstairs so they can ‘cure’ us? They’re killing us,” I strain my voice for all to hear, “’infected’ by ‘infected’. List by list. We’re not coming back down but you don’t know that because of the pills. Because they erase everyone you knew on the list. And if you don’t wake up now, it’ll happen to you too.”
“Fallon,” Sampson’s smooth voice calls for me, his hand extended, “why don’t you join me up here? It was you, after all, who found the lost.”
A loud curse and I glance to Reid on my left. He’s exhaling tightly, definitely not happy about this. This is not how he saw it playing out. Stepping toward the massive crowd, he races in front of me.
“Move!” Reid barks, his rifle set and aimed, moving from target to target as a path clears for us. He doesn’t need to say anything else—people scatter as quickly as possible, rounding off to the side to make room for us, but Reid still keeps his rifle at the ready, his focus never wavering. Able, Tucker, Jace and Chief move right behind me, their guns aimed, protecting our bubble of space.
Glancing behind me, the Rogues retighten the line with five less Clansmen as we shift our way to the center of the knot, toward Sampson atop the great iridescent trunk. My heart, only beating before, now threatens to rip through my chest, leaping out and into the sea of people around me.
When we reach the center, Sampson’s hand dips down. I merely rest my palm on his and in one quick, effortless motion, he pulls me atop the trunk with him. All focus is really set on me now, my heart skipping as I survey the amount of eyes digging into me, wondering what information I have for them.
Sampson lowers his head, indicating that I have the floor. A hopeless whisper of I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this, threatens to stop me but I push on, lead by the other part, the stronger part that reminds me they need to know. All four hundred of them. If this is going to work—any of it—it’s with them on our side. It’s with an army.
“I went out beyond the jungle. I was looking for something, but not what I found. What I found was worse. Terrible. Something most of you won’t believe… and why would you? I saw it and I still don’t believe it,” I take another deep breath, glancing from face to face, wondering what they must be thinking, wondering if to them, I’m the insane one.
“But you deserve to know the truth. The pills? They’re not protecting you from berry juice poison,” I shake my head, “there is no outbreak. They’re giving you pills to wash your memory of people, people…” I inhale deeply, “they’re experimenting on. People… I found out in the woods.”
Gasps and whispers erupt, buzzing through the crowd, igniting it with panicked life again. The Rogues instinctively raise their weapons, scanning for signs of a threat. Have I said too much? The wrong thing? How can it be wrong if it’s the truth?
“That’s why we are here,” I say, “to expose the truth and if you want it, a chance to fight for your freedom.”
“You’re lying!” one of the newest Arrivals—a boy in his late teens— jumps up, every eye and gun immediately redirected at him. “Where’s your proof?”
As quickly as their attention was stolen, the audience is offered back to me, eager for an answer. How can I prove this without their memories? I could bluff but it doesn’t feel right offering up their pasts if I don’t have them yet. It would be like jinxing ourselves.
“We can arrange trips out there, if that’s what it takes.”
“Right!” he scoffs, the sound echoing off the walls. “Lead us all out there and kill us ten at a time?”
“We could… kill you now,” I suggest, conviction ringing in my tone. “If you prefer?”
Everyone stills. Maybe they weren’t expecting this. I scan the crowd, finding a flabbergasted Walker and just a few bodies over, a shaking Ansley holding herself in her arms. Are they scared of me now? Is that what I’ve created? Good. Maybe it’s best for them. Maybe they should be afraid.
“But I don’t want anyone else to die—seems like a waste. Too many have gone already. Like Sampson said, we’re not here to harm you. We’re here to warn you.”
“You see…” and Sampson takes the lead again, resuming his confession, “there was no war. Not the war Beshib has been telling you about, at least. Of course Earth has had her share of battles but in this case, it’s not true. How do I know?” he stops, inhaling deeply, “because the war that this is really about has nothing to do with you. It has to do with my people… the Dofinikes.”
Sampson’s human form evolves back to his natural greenish-brown state, all
towering eight feet of him. Gasps break through the silence, a quick rush of whispers sweeping the stunned crowd at the sight of the giant lizard man next to me. After a few seconds, he changes back to his human form, a collective wave of shock flowing through the crowd.
“I have lived among you in secret,” he goes on, “a slave to my own kind. But I used to be free, a time, years ago, when this fortress wasn’t used as an operations base, but as a prison—makes sense with your bunker sizes, no? Humans and Dofinikes lived in peace together, here on Harrizel, out in the jungle beyond the gate. But it all changed,” Sampson’s voice hardens as he shakes his head, “when some Dofinikes—the Vermix—wanted you gone. It was a… massacre,” he whispers, “leaving almost everyone dead…” he trails off, lost in his own thoughts.
Despair seeps off him like a fragrance, a thick coat of mist surrounding him wherever he goes. How have I never noticed this before? The woeful story pouring from his ancient, heartbroken eyes.
What happened to you, Sampson?
“Vermix,” he repeats, the heavy, hard word breaking the silence. He keeps his tone void of the emotion he’s trying not to advertise. “Dofinikes who seek all human death. Reuzkimpart. Tetlak. Beshib. No matter what they’ve told you, no matter how sweet their lies may sound, it is the same for all of them—they’re here to see your end. For them, a good human is a dead human.”
More gasps spill from the room, panic rising again. The Rogues tighten their hold around the thicket of bodies surrounding our trunk. But Sampson wastes no time.
“As for us,” he quiets the room with his velvety voice again, “Arizals don’t believe in the unjust killing of any creature. But to be a Dofinike and Arizal is treacherous. Betrayal. So during the massacre all those years ago, when they broke apart our lives…” his voice saddens a tint, “the Vermix enslaved anyone who attempted to aid the humans, all Arizals—us.
“I was sentenced here, to live among you, as I’d done in my treachery. But Clarence…” he whispers his name, “…Clarence can never get away from it—the horrors of his past and what it meant to him personally. He must relive his original error as eternal punishment—taking humans from their normal, functional, everyday lives to live on Harrizel, for the use of the Dofinikes’ will.
Escape from Harrizel Page 36