Escape from Harrizel

by C. G. Coppola

  “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.

  Many have chosen not to sleep in their
rooms, a testament to their new found freedom. They stay with others in their bunkers or, as most are, down in the Auditorium, like its one massive sleepover. I’m not in the mood to be with anyone and even though my room has been my prison cell here this whole time, it’s still mine. Heading down the corridor for my bunk, I stop.

  Reid’s there, outside the door, waiting. My heart pauses, all air gone. Are we doing this now? Can’t it wait a night? Like everything else? I reason that it’s probably better to get it over with faster. Reaching the door I stop and force a smile.“No sirolla?”

  He pulls it from his pocket, holding the marble-sized sphere between two fingers. “Didn’t want to be rude.”

  “So you’re learning?”

  “Guess it’s never too late, right?” his mouth curves into the grin that melts me. He glances down, eyeing the bandage. “How’s your arm really?” he steps closer, igniting the familiar heat, “and don’t give me a Pratt answer. I’m serious.”

  “Hurts like a bitch,” I find myself laughing. I try to calm the real pain raging through my veins. Does he know what it’s doing to me? Being this close and not being able to touch him? “I’ll survive.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  What’s taking so long? Just do it already. Tell me you choose her. Tell me.

  “Anyway…” he clears his throat. “You can always put some more Vilbrees on it.”

  “I did.”

  “But…” and now he’s stalling, “it can only do so much. Pratt was right—you’re lucky it didn’t slice off your arm. It’s going to leave a nasty scar.”

  “Well…” I search for an appropriate response, “thanks for cheering me up.”

  Do it. Just do it already.

  “Fallon…” he leans closer.

  “Please just… I can’t,” I inhale, doing everything in my system not to break down.

  His brows furrow at my response as he shifts just inches closer—my heart threatening to explode from this agony. Can’t we make this quick? As painless as possible? Why is he dragging it out? He shifts closer but I put a hand up to stop him, panicked.

  “Let me…”

  “Please…” I whisper, aching. “Just…”

  “This is impossible to understand,” he runs his hands through his hair. “You’ve got to give me… time to figure it out.”

  What does that mean?

  “You need… time?” I ask. Something about that sounds hopeful but the look in his eye says otherwise.

  “To adjust. Everything’s just so fresh right now, like it was yesterday. There’s that life,” he gestures to me, “and there’s this one.”

  A painful spark of possibility emerges.

  “Can you do that?” he continues, his eyes cast downward. “Can you give me some time?”

  “For what?”

  He wants to explain but doesn’t. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and my eyes drop to the Callix he’s withdrawing. He leans in and my heart stops, my body growing rigid. He slips the Callix into my hand and lightly brushes his lips against my cheek with the softest of kisses. I’m melting, my legs weak beneath me. Moving his mouth over my ear, he whispers in a language I don’t know, but somehow, deeply recognize.

  “Maya vu saplora.”

  I want to turn and kiss him but I can’t. I can’t even move. Reid closes my hand around the Callix and without another word, pulls away, leaving me in silence.

  He walks down the corridor without turning around. Not when he gets to the stairs, nor as he descends, disappearing below. I gulp, opening my hand to his Callix, my heart thundering at its sight. Leaning back on my door, I replay the whole thing, the intimacy of his touch, his words and this—this token. But I don’t understand. He told me he can’t… and now he’s giving me his Callix? Does that mean he’s staying? Or needs time to decide if he’s staying?

  It’s too much to digest right now, too much to think about after everything that’s happened. The only thing I can handle is sleep, drifting away from this place where the suffocating squeeze in my chest will fade and in its absence, hopefully will be peace.

  Bringing Reid’s Callix with me into bed, I climb beneath the covers, blacking out the moment my head hits the pillow.

  ***

  We’ve been working all morning and finally, now, in the early afternoon, we’re finished with it—the death count. Honestly, it’s better than I expected: one hundred and thirty-two humans dead, thirty-five Dofinikes in total. But like Vix, some people are still missing. Like Walker and Able. Their bodies haven’t been accounted for and they’re definitely not around here so…have they escaped somehow? And to where?

  We give the numbers to Sampson and Clarence who have everyone gathered in the Auditorium. Most people arrive fresh from the Bathing Bubble, taking advantage of it as often as possible now. After a morning of moving bodies, the stench of death clings to your clothes and no one wants to carry that scent into the afternoon.

  There’s a little less than three hundred people here, some bandaged, while others hobble to one another with makeshift canes. Reid stands with the Rogues and Scouts, surrounding the glowing trunk, the other survivors just behind them. Clarence and Sampson stand amongst the glowing green, back to their human form.

  “Please,” Sampson says, his voice echoing through the hall as everyone grows silent. “I want to thank you all for your hard work. I’m sure these past few days have not been the easiest you’ve had to deal with. But you fought well and in that fight you persisted. And here we are, at the other side, the moment many of you have been eagerly awaiting—when you find out about going home.”

  It’s as if he’s said the magic phrase because the room inhales in one simultaneous breath.

  “You’ll be returned to the exact moment you were taken—the moment just before Clarence appeared. You will have no recollection of him or of anything here. It’ll be as if…”

  “…as if it never happened,” Clarence continues. “No memories whatsoever. You’ll be there in that last moment and you’ll start again, continuing on as usual, without the slightest idea anything happened. Once we take you back,” Clarence inhales, locking eyes as he scans the crowd. “Harrizel will cease to exist for you, forever.”

  Whispers erupt as Sampson and Clarence retreat, just enough room for Tucker who suddenly appears atop the trunk with them.

  “I’m sure by now you’ve all made your mind up about going home. But for those still unsure or for the other five percents out there, let me assure you—you have a place here. We have a small human guild which will continue on with the Arizals and we welcome anyone interested.”

  He nods to the other two before jumping down to the Rogues again.

  “We ask that you spend one more night here at which time tomorrow, Clarence and I will begin retuning you home. We’ll go by names—real last names—and it shouldn’t take more than a day’s time,” he begins to pace, cuffing his wrists at the small of his back. “Your clothes will be returned to you this afternoon, along with any former possessions still intact. Be ready when it’s your turn—we’re starting early, before sunrise with A-C,” he says, as I detect an excited smile quickly sweeping Clark’s face, “If you intend to go home, please be on time.”

  I pass the rest of the day between the solitude of my bunker and strolling the jungle’s edge to peek past the net of ivy. Back and forth, back and forth, for hours and hours, peering into the lush fauna, to all the things this jungle’s been to me. An escape. A nightmare. And most recently, a warzone.

  I’m tempted to venture back, but I don’t. Sampson says there will be plenty of time for that later, when we’ve finished returning the humans home. Once we’re back on schedule with the Arizals, we’ll be able to leave at our will, once Blovid sends his secured location. Until then—everyone needs to stay at the Castle or risk going missing.

  “Who knows what’s still out there lurking,” he says, “besides, we can’t afford to lose anyone else.”

  I do as he says, always
wishing for Ellae’s comforting arms to protect me as my left hand softly grazes the closest strands of foliage—tips of the giant tongue-sized leaves. I barely feel them.

  Can you do that? Can you give me some time?

  If all he needs is time, that should mean he’s staying. Or that he needs time to choose. Her or me. That life or this one. Andrew… or Reid?

  How is this all going to turn out? Where do we go from here? There are too many things to have answered and all I want to do is escape into Ellae. I need something comfortable and soothingly familiar and Granny Ruth isn’t here to make it better. And I need her. Even as Fallon, I need her. Trailing outside the jungle’s barrier—the best I can do—I wait. And wonder.

  ***

  The next day is here and I awake on my own. I’ve been half awake for hours, unable to drift into the sleep I’m still so eagerly craving. Just too anxious about the day I guess, about the weight it’ll bring as I watch each of the ninety-five percent leave one by one. By the end of the day, the Castle will be lighter by more than half of its human population —who knows, maybe more.

  The small window in my bunker still shines with star-light. It’s probably just before dawn, when they said they’d be starting. A shuffle of feet scurry outside my door and I know they’re heading outside, the first lot to bid the rest of this place farewell forever.

  I’m not sure why, but I have to see. To escape this pretend sleep and face the day. Going to join the shuffle outside, I realize I never changed back into my other clothes. Out of habit, or, due largely to the exhausted stupor that was last night, I slinked back into my scrubs by mistake. Throwing them off with near malice—as if it stings to the touch—the garments fly to the floor, discarded. I grab my gray and black baseball tee and pull it on over my head. I step into my jeans and put my Converse on next. Tying my laces in rapid haste, I jump up and head out, joining the skinny herd of travelers. Not going to watch all day, I tell myself, just the first few.

  I’m not expecting a large crowd, but when I find around thirty bodies in the lot, I’m taken aback. These can’t all be people with last names A-C. I do a quick scan and find Pratt hugging a girl to the far right as Clark rolls on his heels not too far away. He’s watching Clarence and Sampson with dedicated focus. The rest stand huddled, grouped together in their own clothing which vary from pajamas, school clothes and work uniforms.