Escape from Harrizel: Arizal Wars, #1

By C.G. Coppola

Fallon is like every other Arrival brought to Harrizel - an alien planet restoring the human race after a fatal war left Earth in ruins. But once viewing the all-day work camps and the nightly, orgy-like atmosphere, Fallon suspects her hosts, the Dofinikes, might have a secret agenda of their own.

 

With everything on a strict schedule and talking forbidden, Fallon makes up her mind to escape. Finding it's harder than she expected, hunger forces her to turn to the Market - an underground system run by two rival Clans. It's after an unexpected excursion that she crosses paths with Reid, an ex-Clan member who seems to know more than he's letting on, especially why everyone is so eager to do everything he says.

 

But with his newfound attention, the Clans have taken an interest in Fallon. The Dofinikes want more repopulating and with people going missing, time is running out. Fallon must solve the mystery of her rescue, and discover the truth behind Earth's ultimate demise, all while protecting her heart from the one man who could shatter it forever.

 

Book 1

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.G. Coppola
• Release date: Oct 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9798201702779

C.G. Coppola

C.G. Coppola is the author of the fantasy adventure series, Arizal Wars, and the contemporary romance series, Better Than This. In addition to short stories that explore magic and the paranormal, she writes books that involve a lot of kissing, kickass heroines, and fighting alongside best friends. When not writing, C.G. Coppola can be found watching Netflix, playing with her dogs, Appa and Regis, or dancing to Meghan Trainor in the kitchen.

Book preview

ESCORT

"C an you hear me?"

It’s one long blurred sound, like someone shouting at the other end of a tunnel. The words are there for a second, broken apart for me to hear, to make sense of, but then they’re gone again, swept away as their call dies faintly in the distance. They repeat a moment later, in four distinct verses, the third highest in pitch. It’s a question.

But what’s he asking?

It must be important by the way his blue eyes flicker between mine. But then they’re gone. Disappearing. They’re always disappearing, flashing in and out like an erratic switch offering intervals of sight. One minute he’s here, a moist brow wiped clean by an olive green sleeve and the next there’s nothing. Darkness that is also white, quiet and still. And I’m alone.

Fallon, can you hear me?

The sound of my name triggers a rush of questions I want answered all at once.  Is my name really Fallon? Why does that sound so wrong and yet, familiar? Where am I? What happened? And most importantly, why can’t I remember?

I nod, although my guess at the question is only that.

Tell me you can hear me. His voice echoes but grows tighter than before, more distinct.  The hum is gone and words are here. The spells of darkness turn to sight and he’s here, over me, wiping a brown curl from my face.  Fallon?

I can hear you, I say, surprised by the sound of my voice. That much is familiar.

Can you sit up?

I try, but my abdomen roars with soreness, like a muscle spasm from one too many sit-ups. My arms shake, but his hands are around them in a second.  Soft and papery, like an old man. Like a grandpa. Is he mine?

He helps pull my back from the floor and I stifle a cry at the throbbing pain. Once up, I see my legs outstretched in front of me—frayed bellbottom jeans with splatters of crimson on my muddied Converse.  The crimson dots the gray torso of my baseball tee, a few specks staining the black sleeves.  A heavy pounding erupts at the back of my head and I reach my hand around it, feeling a large lump under the crown. A curtain of curls pads the bump which cups easily into the small of my hand.

Are you alright?

I’m dizzy, I gulp saliva down a raw throat. I feel like I’ve been hit with a cinder block.

We’re in a narrow hallway, lined in brown cabinets, a few unevenly hanging from their hinges. A black oven sits to my left with a tattered dishrag of snowman and holly bushes hanging from the handle. There’s a plastic gray trashcan across from me, cornered by two walls of yellow and orange wallpaper.

Is this your house? I turn to the man. He has yellow-white hair peppered with gray, and eyes that glimmer an unnatural blue, as if he’d picked the color from a paint shop himself.

No.

Are we trespassing?

We’ll be fine, he offers his hand, Come, let me help you up.

I take it but my legs are unstable. It’s a struggle to put pressure on them but I manage and find myself upright, immediately overlooking a dining room with a solid oak table. Beyond it, a long, empty sitting space with a television, yellowy-beige couch and two maroon chairs—one near the kitchen and the other, caddy cornered by the sliding glass door. A narrow hallway separates the couch and chair on the same wall.

Can you stand? he asks, holding my elbows in his hands.

I’d rather sit, I lock eyes on the couch beyond him. He walks me over, hands still cupping my elbows, and places me down gently. What happened?

He drops his mouth to say something but instead, turns and heads for the kitchen, opening a cabinet that sends a piercing squeak into the air. Would you care for something to drink?

Water, if you have it.

The yellow and orange wallpaper continues into the room, lighting the space. A brown shag carpet lines the floors, sinking under a wooden stand which supports a small television at the other end of the room, a thin layer of dust coating the screen. There’s a large sliding glass door to my right with billowing red sheers on either end, whisking in the scent of oncoming rain.

Where are we?

In a friend’s house, he turns off the faucet.

Are they here?

He approaches, his smile turning down. Not anymore. Have some water, he says and hands me a glass of clear liquid. I take it and gulp the cool beverage quickly. It soothes my throat, the sensation trickling into my chest as the pain in my head abates.

He takes a seat opposite me, in the maroon chair near the television and crosses one khaki leg over the other. I empty the glass in one sip and set it next to me on a wooden end table.  I lick my lips, lapping up the remaining liquid. Thank you.

You’re very welcome, he smiles. I always find a good drink does the trick.

Should we check the cabinets then?

Maybe in a bit, he laughs, although, probably not the best idea in your condition.

I don’t know. I’m sure all it can do is help at this point.

And how are you feeling? he tries, A bit better?

Not great.

It’ll subside here in a moment.

A long, silent minute passes before the wait becomes unbearable. I’m sorry, I lean forward as my stomach roars. It might be rude to be so direct but with a migraine forming, I’m in no mood for evasiveness. Can you tell me what’s going on?

Yes... he starts, clearing his throat, but first, introductions are in order, don’t you think? My name is Clarence. He waits and as if anticipating my struggle to respond, offers to help. And you’re Fallon.

Fallon. There it is again. My name. Or what should be my name. Something rings in my core so I try it on, testing it out. Fallon. Fallon. No, I shake my head defiantly, you have me mistaken for someone else.

For whom? he glances around the stark room.

But that’s not my name.

Then what is? Clarence asks, resting his chin in the fleshy groove between his pointer and thumb. A pompous grin sneaks across his lips in a challenging manner. I’m not one to falter under a haughty threat but when I go to respond, nothing comes to mind. I don’t know what my name is. Panic sets in, swelling me with newfound fear. He must see it in my face because his voice softens as he says, There’s no need to be alarmed. You’re perfectly safe. And this is normal.

Not knowing your name is normal?

Well, he starts, his smile wavering, "not knowing your name isn’t normal but with the situation we find ourselves in, it is."

And what situation is that?

His smile vanishes completely. Let’s put that on hold for right now and focus on a few things, he threads his fingers together on his lap. You’re alive.

Yes, I agree quickly.

And you feel fine now?

I lift my hand to the bump. My head hurts... and I feel like I just birthed a rhinoceros, I look up to him, attempting to hide obvious panic behind calmer eyes. Did I have some sort of accident? Did it cause me to have amnesia?

Oh no, he shakes his head, nothing like that. You did have an accident—yes—but I saved you. If you know anything, know I’m here to help you, Fallon. I came for you as soon as I could.

He wants me to believe him. He needs me to. This will only go well if I put my trust in him. A strong feeling—is it intuition?—suggests I should, but uncertainty pollutes it with doubt. Taking my time, I choose my words carefully, focusing on his unblinking blue eyes. Are you a doctor?

No.

A policeman? Therapist?

No and no, he refuses my guesses with a humorous shake of his head, Rumplelstiltskin reveling in his cryptic secret. Clarence’s mouth turns up after a moment, I’m curious to know why my occupation should define me?

...Trade says a lot about a person.

True, Clarence nods along, but I’m a man of many trades.

Why won’t he just tell me? It’s a game to him—all a game. I play along though, hoping to win some truth. And your current trade?

Depends on how you look at it... he sighs, shifting in his chair as he crosses his other leg. Some use the word magician... though I’m far from pulling rabbits from my hat. Others say missionary, thief... sometimes liar.

"And what would you choose?"

Escort, he grins widely in a cocky sort of way, at the present moment. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?

Depends on how you look at it, I shoot back. And then, after a moment, Where would you be taking me?

"Home. To your new home."

He’s going too fast and not telling me anything.  New home? What does this mean? A silent alarm rings in my head but I hide the fear in casual but curious words, playing along. What happened to my old home?

His eyes flicker from mine, to the kitchen on his right. "Give it a minute and you’ll remember. All of it. All of this," he glances around the room as if seeing it for the first time.

Remember what?

Clarence returns my stare with sullen, eyes. How to tell me? After a moment, he utters two words so soft they could crumble into whispers at their weight. The war.

The word is ice, sitting heavy in the air like a glacier, ready to break and crumble all in its path. I take a minute to repeat it, finding no friendlier welcome with my own rendition "War?"

There was a war, a very terrible war, you see... and it was destroyed.

My home had a war? I ask, unable to hide the skepticism in my voice.

"No. Earth."

It hits me like a violent punch to the gut. Whatever he’s doing, whatever game he’s playing—it’s real.  I suppress the heat of panic rising to my cheeks and focus on the carpet, quickly calculating the situation. He’s older than me but not ancient, and could probably catch me if I tried to run for it. But if he’s planning on taking me somewhere, there will be no other time to escape. It’s now or never.

I can see you’re trying to decide if I’m insane, he interrupts my thoughts with his smooth, velvety voice.

I suppress a gulp. Aren’t you?

It would seem that way, wouldn’t it? But I assure you, Fallon, I’m in my right mind.

My eyes flicker to the door behind him. It could lead anywhere. Another bedroom, a closet.  A back porch. I need to use the bathroom.

By all means, he waves me on, if you feel you must feign a full bladder for a moment of solitude...

It’s not for solitude.

I know, he responds automatically, but with no windows, there’s no escape. So solitude is the best you have.

So he knows. If he knows and isn’t trying to restrain me yet, maybe he won’t. Maybe the best thing is to be direct and above that, more confident than I feel. When I speak, I use conviction as if my words are not up for debate.

Earth didn’t have a war.

Give it a moment.

But you’re lying.

Why are you fighting this? he furrows his brows at me, as if I’d offended some crucial opinion of his. I’m trying to help you.

I don’t believe you, I stand up, my legs still wobbly from the fresh weight. Whose house are we in?

It’s not a matter of believing if its fact, Clarence shakes his head, and unfortunately, the people who lived here didn’t survive. Some places remained more or less in-tact than others. I found you here.

My eyes drop from his to the floor. Clusters of fringe point in opposing directions, muddied by overuse, and the bottom cushion in the maroon chair sits lower and slightly discolored from the arm rests and back panel. A light coat of dust blankets the gray television but on the wooden stand supporting it, away from both Clarence and I, a circle of condensation remains.

A chill runs through me as I look back to him. But why would I...

Clearly you were searching for food and water.

And my clothes?

You must’ve rummaged through some old closets and found them. There’s no other way.

I glance over his green button-up and khakis. And yours?

He hesitates for only a second. Try to remember, Fallon. Think about it.  Think about the famine. The rioting. When your government collapsed...

You said Earth.

He smirks at the correction, Indeed I did. Some held hope America would bring about the change the world needed... his voice trails off as he looks to the billowing red sheers, lost in his own thoughts.

When I realize he’s not going to elaborate, I do a quick sweep of the room. There’s the door behind him, which could lead anywhere. The glass panels to my right are closer to him and the hallway disappearing beyond the couch would only lead further into the house, not out of it.

But then there’s the door to my left, at the end of a narrow entry way, just beyond the kitchen. I hadn’t noticed it before, Clarence having led me into this room for our chat. He’s seated still, gazing off and I’m already on my feet. I could do it. If I sprinted, flew through the door—granted it’s unlocked—I could run as fast as possible, finding someone, anyone who’d help. I could make the best attempt.  I could escape.

Fallon, Clarence says, his sights still set on the sliding glass panels, it’d be best not to.

I freeze, dread returning. Is it too late? If I make for a run for the door now, will I reach it in time? Instead of fleeing immediately, I shift a step, careful to keep the sound of my shoes from betraying me. You said you were here to help me.

Clarence breaks his gaze and looks at me. With surprising sincerity he admits, "I am."

Another step and his eyes drop to my feet.

Then understand I’m fine on my own. Another two steps. Always have been.

Fallon... he’s requesting now, in a desperate way I almost feel sorry for. "Please don’t make this difficult."

Another step.

The door is right behind me.  I’m closer to it then Clarence, who hasn’t budged an inch. He sits deflated, as if he has no intention of running after me. Will he when he must? Or is that someone else’s job? A new thought fills me with terror as I work out the possibility that maybe Clarence isn’t alone in all this. The idea that someone could be waiting on the other side of the door fills me with newfound terror. But it doesn’t matter at this point.

Thank you for the water.

And what do you think is out there? he flies to a stand, his hand outstretched, mocking the door like some clichéd routine. Salvation? Escape? He walks closer as I back up, gripping the handle in a closed fist. "Think really hard, Fallon. Think about it. What happened before you awoke?"

I... my mouth drops and just as I’m about to tell him it doesn’t matter, I see it. Hear it.

Fire.

Crackling as it cooks the night, the trees, the houses and the bodies. Children screaming, running from black clouds, desperately clutching bits of food, clothes, pieces of once- somethings.

You see it, don’t you? he steps closer. You remember now? Another step.

Grey skies linger as ashes lie strewn about school graveyards. Nomads crossing deserts in the former cities, garbage overflowing like water from a mountainous fountain.

Fallon, Clarence approaches slowly, extending his hand as he nearly closes the gap between us, come with me... let me help you. Let me take you home.

He moves for the final step but I swing around, jetting out the door.

A gravel driveway leads to the same type of road ahead, the only interruption in an otherwise grassy field. There are no houses, nothing other than the road, which disappears into the distance both ways.  Everything’s out in the open, especially me, my heart racing as I quickly try to recalculate. I jet to the side of the house, passing an open garage and round the outside walls, keeping low, searching for a hiding place. But there’s nothing.

Fallon? he steps through the front door.

Pressed against the wall, I slide down, inching my way toward the back. My pulse speeds, my breath coming in and out in rapid beats.

I’d rather not do it this way... his voice travels.

Behind the house, off in the distance, lies a thicket of trees following the road in both directions.  It’s a good fifty yards away but offers a canopy of coverage. If I sprinted, I might be able to—

You won’t make it, he calls from above, standing atop the roof. But... might we hurry this up? I do have other appointments. 

My stomach drops.

I’m running before I’m able to ponder, darting to the front of the house and into the open garage. An old Cadillac greets me, the walls lined with boxes and Christmas decorations, tools and lawn chairs. There’s a door in the back and I race to it, pulling it slightly ajar. It leads into the house, across from the kitchen and dining room.  Backing up, I head for a blockade of boxes and shrink to the ground behind them, waiting.

Footsteps enter.

They stop just as quickly. Really, Fallon. Why are we playing this game? A heavy sigh escapes. I’m only here to help you. He moves on the other side of the car, toward the open door.

I creep in the opposite direction, behind the shield of boxes, back toward the outside light.

The sooner you trust me, Clarence closes the door, still in the garage, the sooner this will all be over.

He’s rounding the front of the Cadillac and I’m nearly to its back bumper. I just need to slide out and make for the tree line and then...

...I’ll figure something out.

Fallon... Clarence tries again but I’m already slipping past the wall and out of the garage.

Once outside, I book it. Running as fast as possible, I take off for the trees behind the house. My heart’s racing, threatening to explode, my long legs not moving fast enough.  I don’t look back. There’s only ahead. Only the camouflage that’ll keep me hidden. I’m halfway there when his voice sounds next to me.

"The sooner you understand I’m here to help you, the sooner I can take you home."

He must be running next to me, but I don’t stop.

Keep going. Just keep going...

Fallon... he tries once more, his hand outstretched as he glides along next to me easily.

Almost to the trees...

But suddenly, he’s there, in front of me by a yard, cutting off the tree line as an available exit. I dig my heels into the grass with a sudden halt. Which way? Which way? I’m ready to collapse but the fear of death keeps me moving. Spinning, I race in the opposite direction, back toward the house.

I don’t get far.

Three sprinting strides and the ground’s been slapped out from me. It slams into my back and head again, jolting my body with a sting before everything tightens to a paralyzing state.

Boy, you can move, he sails in front of me, landing on his feet with catlike ease. I expected it but... and he exhales to himself, surprised.

I try to run but my ankles are bound, magnetized by invisible restraints. I sit up too quickly and without help from my arms, my stomach roars with instant regret. My hands are stuck, glued to the small of my back, bound by tangible space, like handcuffs made of air. Clarence approaches, standing over me, his body cut out from the grim, gray sky behind him.

Now wasn’t that fun?

I search, my eyes darting fiercely, trying to find some way out of this. What are my other options? What else can I do? Is there someone nearby? I’m as good as dead anyway but I’ve got to try.

Fallon...

I let it out. The one good scream I’ve got in me. It’s a blood-curdling cry that rips all the air from my lungs, alarming someone—anyone—that I’m here. That I’m about to be gone if they don’t come and help. I know it’s a long shot but what else can I do? Screaming is the best reaction to this. And also, the only reaction to him. How is he on the house one second and running side by side with me the next? Who is he? And better yet... what is he?

There’s no point in screaming... he laughs, indicating the obvious openness, no one can hear you.

I’m tempted to do it again, to let out all fear pumping through me, but his light heartedness distracts me, boiling my insides with contempt. I’ll be another dead body in a few seconds and he seems utterly amused by it. I’m not giving him any more pleasure.

Do it!

Do what? his nonplussed expression takes me off guard. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, and now his voice strengthens. "I’m not here to hurt you."

I roll my head back to the upside down trees, searching, seeking. But there’s nothing, nothing that can help me. If he hasn’t killed me by now, there’s got to be a chance. Maybe I can talk him into letting me go. He enjoys conversing. Maybe I can trick him into freeing me.

What do you want? I look to him, trying to keep the anger from my tone.

Are we to have the same conversation?

"Tell me the truth."

I’ve already tried, he tilts his head condescendingly, just enough to make a point. You won’t listen.

Explain it again.

Which part?

What you are! I shout, casting a stare out to the trees. It still seems like a dream.  How did he get there so fast? And then back again?

I don’t think we went over that... he brushes a finger to his chin, considering. Although you rushed out so quickly...

Clarence, I speak through gritted teeth, unsure whether its anger or fear fueling the tone, "tell me again."

What do you want to know?

Everything!

He’s kneeling on the ground in an instant, his azure eyes shifting between mine. His mouth curves into a smirk. You’ll figure it out... when you understand what you’re looking for.

Is this a riddle? Or is he trying to push me over the edge now he knows I can’t escape? It must be punishment for fleeing, for attempting to save my life. But what would he have me do?

But I don’t know what I’m looking for! I scream at him again. "You’re not telling me anything!"

You didn’t want to hear any of it before... Clarence scratches his chin again, weighing his options as if either could work toward his benefit, but if you really want to know the secret to it all, here it is, he leans closer, holding my focus with his. He wants to make sure I hear him. Make sure I’m listening to what he says. "Your memories are powerful... but your dreams will give you truth."

Another riddle. What am I supposed to do with that? He smirks as if he’d revealed the location to Atlantis but I, a mere land dweller, can’t sail a ship. Back on his feet, he casts a view north.

It’s time.

For?

Our departure, he looks to me as he begins to pace, hands casually in his pockets. I told you I prefer the term ‘escort.’  The others just don’t quite fit. I’m not introducing you to a new religion—not yet at least. Once you get to Harrizel, you can decide for yourself. And I’m not snatching you under a cloak in the middle of the night.

Just the afternoon? I tug at my wrist restraints behind my back. Something hard like brick presses deep into my skin so I stop.

And liar, he goes on, "well, that’s not really an occupation—just a way to get what you want. So again, it comes back to escort."

Can I still call you Clarence?

He stops, offering a slight bow. You may.

Then why does it matter what you call yourself? I ask through gritted teeth, struggling to sit up. You’re taking me regardless.

This is true... he nods, peering down, "but I’d rather you feel accompanied rather than taken. You’re going home, Fallon, he waves his hand slowly, as if wiping something clean from the air, the restraints disappearing from my hands and feet. To start your new life."

I massage my free wrists, rubbing release into the joints. The thought of fleeing rises but the field is too wide to run off in any direction. He’d catch me. He’d catch me in less than a second. And I’d only be bound again.

You are correct, it’s as if he’s reading my mind, his focus off on the distant trees. Better to just come along with me. It’d be less painful for you.

And these are my options?

Sadly.

I scowl, angered and terrified all at once. Where are you taking me?

To your new home, Harrizel.

Which is?

Jeb will explain things further. I haven’t done a very good job and for that, I apologize. You’ll learn soon enough and if Jeb doesn’t teach you, the others will.

Others?

Yes—the other survivors. You think you’re the only one who escaped the war? Harrizel hosts a little over four hundred humans.

Other survivors? Humans? Then this is real? I shut my hanging jaw and replay his words. Harrizel hosts a little over four hundred humans. Is that all that’s left of us? Or all that he’s taken?

And growing? I try to gauge an idea.

Hopefully, he nods, "that’s my job. To find you... and escort you to Harrizel," he offers his hand.

Escape is futile. But if I go with him, there’s a chance I’d never be able to leave. I could try and make my way back... but to what? I don’t even remember this place. Not yet at least. But what other choice do I have?

Will I ever come back here? I ask, slipping my hand in his. It’s oversized, like a catcher’s mitt and he uses it to pull me from the ground.

"To what? This is no longer your home. This is no longer anyone’s home, he threads our fingers as the same invisible air restraints lock our wrists together. Ready?"

The wind sweeps through the distant trees, shaking them in unison as if waving a final goodbye. I nod, squeezing Clarence’s hand tight.

And then we’re up.

ARRIVAL

Gusts of purple air sweep past, billowing soft swirls and thickening as bursts of light shine through. Each light grows brighter, crackling the purple dust, parting like mini fireworks exploding around us. Clarence watches it too. He sits across from me, or maybe stands, his blue eyes smiling into mine, curious. They’re the only constant. That and his face. Even his neck and hair fade into the smoke screen of lavender gliding behind him.

Am I dreaming?

It’s my voice, loud and just as I would say it. But the words never left my mouth. It’s my thought. Am I dreaming? It would explain all this. Where we are and what’s happening. Him.  Everything before. Why I can hear myself but not remember speaking...

No.

It’s Clarence’s voice but not from his mouth either. His lips remain upturned in that curious, playful smile like he’s waiting for some reaction, some punch line to a joke. But I hear him just the same, just as he heard me, a monologue of our thoughts overhead.

It feels like a dream.

You’ve never traveled through space before, his eyes flicker between mine, it’s impossible to move at our rate and see an accurate portrayal of things. This is what your mind allows you to see.

Then this is real?

Yes.

And we’re moving?

Yes. It feels like we’re right across from one another and in a way, we are. But physicality and spirituality are two different things. They must travel in their own way as we are, right now.

So where am I?

Between.

A soft gust of purple breathes roughly behind Clarence, tickling his neck hair and ears with the swirling wind. The same chill runs down my phantom back, a body I no longer possess. It’s attached but somehow not. I can feel its reaction though, tingling in my core, a shiver from an unexpected breeze. Maybe the sense comes from within, from what I expect it should feel like or would feel like if I was not here... wherever here may be.

How is this possible?

It is possible because it has always been this way. Your culture portrays travel by ship or craft. This is all they’ve known, but, it is not truth.

My heart, wherever it is, pounds away in the tin drum of my chest. How can I feel my body when it’s not attached? None of this is real. It can’t be.

I don’t believe any of this.

Clarence’s mouth turns up, into that amused smirk whenever I disagree. His blue eyes focus on mine, shifting between them.

It doesn’t matter if you believe it if it’s fact.

Am I going to die?

No.

Then how does this end?

The way it always does.  With a landing.

Then I’ll awake, to what it was like before?

No, his smile finally turns down, it will never be like before...

Familiar dread fills me, especially as he fades to black, stealing all light with him. The fireworks stop exploding, sucked into the darkness and even the purple smoke dancing around my head drifts away. I’m still here though, alone, in the black. The quiet.

Then, suddenly, it all flies at me.

The fires first, lighting up the trees, then the nearby houses and barns, deathly smoke rising into the night like demonic ghosts set loose on the world.  And their faces, especially the children. Walking for days with pain from unimaginable, torturous thirst. Hiding in the caves, scrapping with others over a bag of found dog food. And the winters when there weren’t enough clothes.  Bodies pressed together in long rows, hoping their heat might suffice this night, unlike so many others before...

The images fly past forever, then just for a second in time. And they’re gone. And I’m tumbling in the darkness, tumbling and falling. Falling, falling. But I have no voice to scream, no body to break. Perhaps this is it. Perhaps this is end of me, whoever that is.

Perhaps this is death.

Suddenly, I plummet through an unearthly substance, the separation between my rapid descent and the new tranquility I sense around me. I’m no longer moving but still, standing, my body belonging to me again. It’s tensed, as if feeling balance for the first time or remembering what it’s like to use muscles after a long absence. Inhaling, I calm the thumping in my chest, reminding—or I suppose, convincing—myself I’ve survived, when I smell it.

Rain.

Alright, Clarence’s voice muses, we’re here. You can open your eyes.

And then there are colors.

Brightly glowing purples, blues and greens dot the mammoth-sized plant-life hanging over us, reaching with long, spiky-edged, yellow-tipped leaves that unfold like flower petals to the dew-stricken ground below. Golden-coated lavender bulbs bloom from unruly tree roots with mammoth trunks extending like skyscrapers into the grayish-white clouds. Crimson blossoms grow wild among their hugging branches, interweaving a rope of ivy that drapes from tree to tree, like a limitless swing set in the sky. And it all sits in a soft, settling mist, gathering at our knees.

Where are we?

This... Clarence beams, breathing in the scent of wet plant-life, is Harrizel, your new home.

A jungle?

Well... he faces the other direction, his voice lowering, "that’s where you’ll be staying."

There’s no happiness in his words. What could change his demeanor so quickly? We’re already standing outside in the damp air—surely shelter can only be a positive?

When I turn, Clarence points through a screen of netted ivy, built up by plump shrubbery and falling yellow-tipped leaves that fan over one another to obstruct the view. Can you see it?

I pin back a leaf and then another, the jungle proving overly lush and damp. Water trickles down my hand and into the sleeve of my elbow as I swipe away more fauna and finally, through the broken fragments of jungle still ahead, it comes into view.

The shadow lurching in the distance.

It’s a giant’s domain of obsidian stone and rounded into towers on each corner of its boxed shape. Four peaks reach to the sky from each tower, like deadly daggers threatening to slice open and spill forth the watery contents from above. An enormous wrought iron gate encloses the darkened fortress, wrapping around it and separating us from the gray, flat land of dirt.

I’ve heard some refer to it as the ‘Castle,’ Clarence explains, but it has no name really.

So what do you call it?

He sighs, trying to find the correct answer, Right now...  Harrizel.

You sound disappointed.

He wipes the frown from his mouth. There they are, he points again, do you see them? The last survivors of your human race.

I follow his finger and find blue dots strewn behind the gate. They’re carrying—or maybe dragging—something, some keeping to a large pole that extends in the center of the open lot, the only beacon in the distance.

What are they doing?

I’m sure Jeb will explain all that.

And out here? I turn to the trees.

Well it’s beautiful, isn’t it?

Is this part of our home too?

Not exactly... Clarence lowers his head, stepping past a patch of golden lavender bulbs, "this is the outskirts. The wild. You’re not allowed to leave the gate."

Then why take me here?

To show you the beauty that is Harrizel. Sometimes things can seem so... he stops, searching for the right word, "cold. It’s not all like that. And I want you to remember this."

What does he mean by cold? And remember this?

There’s an opening in the gate, he gestures ahead, Yerza and Norpe should be at their post to let you in. I’m sorry to abandon you like this but I must go.

"You’re leaving me here?"

"My job is done. I’m your escort, Fallon. I have to go back and find other survivors."

But... my mind races with everything that’s happened, everything he’s told me and everything he still hasn’t. "What now? I live in there, I point to the black daggers, for the rest of my life? Doing what? You can’t just—"

Jeb will explain everything, he cuts me off. He is, after all, the Guide, Clarence leans down, his hands on his knees. He lowers his voice, speaking in a gentle tone, the way a father would soothe his daughter. "You’ll be fine. This is a new life, Fallon. A new beginning. Open yourself to the possibilities." He eyes the Castle as if it were something peaceful in the distance. I follow his gaze, peering through the ivy to the fortress ahead. It sits like a brick in my stomach, trepidation suddenly rising.

When will I see... I turn to Clarence but he’s gone.

I’m alone.

Fear grips me like a hand to the throat. Suffocation takes over. I’m about to fall but the assault at my neck keeps me standing, each limb too frozen to move, too weak to fight back. I need to find movement in my body but I can’t. I’m trapped inside myself. And out here, in the wild.

I close my eyes and count to ten, listening to the jungle breathe around me. It comes in droplets first, a soft trickling stream of dew from petal to petal and leaf to leaf. Some are quick, rushed descents while others take their time, slowly dripping drop by drop, their songs overlapping to create a chorus of watery chimes. And then the windswept leaves start rustling into themselves. Humming erupts and I open my eyes again, the golden lavender bulbs releasing a soft glow, some cricket or animal responding in its own mewling screech.

My heart slows to its normal rate, the grip of fear at my neck dissipating, freeing my limbs to move again. I trek forward, swiping wet leaves from my way and ducking under sodden branches. A few more overgrown bushes of the yellow-tipped tongues and I’m there.

The edge of the jungle.

All lush plant life stops at my feet and a new ecosystem exists. The desert to this ocean. The dry, cracked skeleton of a dead earth left to its eroding bones—a wasteland of dust and ash. Cinder rises over the rocky ground leading up to and beyond the iron-gate, which stands as tall as the trees behind me.

Something flashes ahead.

It’s a movement, darting over the gate—a giant bug zipping from rod to rod. Another appears, springing down the railings, zigzagging until it reaches the ground. Paused in its curled state, it’s hunched over and small... until it starts to rise, standing erect on two mountainous, greenish-brown legs.

A lizard.

But he stands like a man.

A man with amphibian skin and covered in dark green armor that shines iridescent like cockroach wings. The rear of his head is rounded but the front is longer and hangs lower with a snout, two slits for nostrils and yellow eyes like the sun. He picks up a long brown rod with his scaled hand, his black talons clenching it close to his shelled torso. With his other hand, he strokes a cluster of cascading whiskers that fall at the base of his snout and back toward the soft skin of his throat.

The second lizard-man descends to the ground with a hard thud next to the first. A grey cloud floats in the air, shielding them from sight as a loud hiss erupts. Then it’s silent until the dust settles, the two facing each other, their glowing eyes darting about. The first continues to play with his whiskers while the other zips around, practicing assault with the rod, aiming at imaginary opponents.  A few loud clicking bursts are exchanged before the second returns to its legs, shaking the rod high in the air. The first leaps on the second and the two roll in the dirt, causing a second dust cloud to whirl about them.

I step back and my heel hits a pile of leaves which crunch.

The creatures still, their yellow eyes peering in my direction, darting about the greenery before the first one drops to all fours, racing toward me.

I freeze, keeping my arms pulled to the side, opening the leaves like separating a curtain. I don’t move. I don’t breathe.  My heart is a bomb about to explode, just as the first one slowly approaches. He lifts two growling slits in the air, sniffing mere yards to the right. His partner jumps to the gate, shaking his rod over his head again, signaling the other’s return.  The first one gives up, glowering at the shrubbery before returning with a hissing snarl to the gate again.

Once he reaches it, I spin to the jungle and take off. Fast as I can, fast as my legs will take me.

Keep moving, keep moving...

The jungle’s laden with obstacles—giant roots sit like boulders in the dirt, bubbling over uneven ground and swinging branches reach across one another, slicing the air like ready nooses. Vines try to trap me in seemingly endless walled webs and I’m barely able to navigate the tiny gaps. But as soon as I tear free from a nasty tangle and out into a clearing, my foot gets caught on a hidden root and I fall, face first, into the ground.

I hit it with a violent smack but something tiny and sharp slices my left cheek. I bring my fingers to the bone. Red.

A hissing blue flower with orange-coated petals sneaks back into its bush of siblings. The group of thirty all turn, pointing a sharp yellow stinger at me, vibrating before retracting. I spring to my feet, wiping the wet cheekbone just in time to dodge the yellow stingers shooting darts into the ground that sizzle and evaporate into nothing.

Racing, I push past a curtain of hanging yellow leaves and come to a shield of vertical vines, hanging from the canopy and dotted with crimson blossoms that dip to the ground. Clusters of trees intermingled in a sea of the spitting blue and orange flowers block the path on either side. A breeze floats through the vines and they all sway to the left.

I sweep a few to the right but the instant I touch them, the crimson blossoms spit out red goo that burns my fingers like acid. Only a few drops land on my fingers but the pain is so intense, I snap them to my chest, nursing one throbbing knuckle in my mouth. There’s a clearing just beyond the curtain of vines but it’s about fifteen feet away. I pass another aching knuckle to my mouth and clench my fists, locating the largest gaps in the sea of hanging fire.

I’ll have to run.

But what if I can’t make it? What if they snap awake and try to trap me and I burn alive? There’s no other way. The blue and orange dusted flowers have their yellow stingers aimed in my direction, arrows ready to fire.

I wish I could remember someone. Anyone.  A person I loved, one who could tell me it’d be alright, no matter what happens. Someone to offer comfort. But there’s no one. No one to remember. Just the fire and sooty faces, the cold walks and fights. Just survival.

Like this.

I take a breath and focus on the clearing ahead. I can make it. I just have to be fast. I count myself down.

Three...

I’ll just have to move really quickly.

Two...

I’ll grit my teeth. It’ll only be a few seconds.

One...

I take off and immediately, the pain is unbearable. I’m zapped