Escape from Harrizel (53 page)

“There’s nothing
to
undo,” Jeb sits
up, the crazed hint lingering in his eyes, “they’ve already died.
There’s no bringing them back to what they were before. This
growth, this attempted rebirth is the product, the
result
of
our most vigorous work, so far.”

“So undoing it…”

“Would be taking their life again, leaving
them dead, which, technically speaking… they are. We have to keep
going. Keep going until we perfect it—please, you must
understand.”

“Why?” Reid winces.

“To create the perfect solider,” Jeb turns
to him, “one that could be useful even after death, one that could
reanimate time after time.”

“But if your war is against the humans, why
would you want to make them indestructible?” Able asks.

“We fight two enemies—the Arizals
and
humans. Before we can take your planet, we must secure our own. The
inexhaustible supply of a reanimating human army would surely
secure our victory over the Arizals who will never surrender. Of
course, when the time comes,” he says calmly, considering, “we’ll
set this great weapon free on Earth so as to prevent the
prophecy.”

“You can’t prevent a prophecy,” I correct.
“That’s why it’s a prophecy—it’s bound to happen.”

“
Duh
,” someone adds in the
background.

“And we simply cannot allow that,” Jeb
ignores it, going on, “when the time comes, Earth will suffer, cut
down by her own hand.”

“And we’re just stepping stones in your
great journey to a zombie army…
Jesus
…” Jace swears under
his breath, running his hand up his neck and through his yellow
hair. “And why the girls?”

“By creating soldiers from birth, we can
better manipulate the genes from the origin. Results have proven
more successful when engineered at the
fetus
level rather
than a fully-aged human adult.”

“When’s Beshib returning?” I don’t know why
but I feel like asking him anything I want. He’s here, under
our
command for once. Clarence, Sampson and the others
immediately look to Jeb who keeps his focus on the table in front
of him.

“No one knows... not even me.”

“How many Vermix is he bringing with him?”
Sampson asks.

“He expects about two dozen or so, with some
additional scientists, but again,” Jeb explains, “he doesn’t share
this sort of detail with…”

“He anticipating any of this?” Clarence
motions to the rest of us. “He expecting it?”

Jeb hesitates in his response but after a
moment, lets his head tilt into a bit of a nod. “Tetlak gives him
constant reports. I’m not sure when it was that they last spoke…”
he offers a bit of a shrug.

We all glance around at each other,
considering the obvious flaw. Have we overlooked something that
could destroy this whole effort already?

Urged by the blood boiling under my skin, I
sit up. “When I got here, how many people had been taken?”

“Eighty-seven,” he’s quick to respond.
“Sixty-four females and twenty-three males.”

“Why the males?” Tucker asks.

“They would not reproduce. Never sexually
interacted with the females, some of them, and a few, only with
each other. They were no longer viable for their initial
service.”

“So…”

Jeb’s head snaps to me. “They were taken to
the laboratories. There’s no reason for pointless waste.”

“And you really do feel justified in what
you’re doing?”

“You must understand, Fallon. For many to be
saved, few must be sacrificed. To protect Dellapalania and her
children is the only thing that matters. We must collectively do
what it takes to ensure her utmost survival.”

“By killing innocent people who have nothing
to do with you? Right, well, is there anything else you can tell
us?”

“Stop this at once!” he says emphatically,
leaning forward with urgency, “you must abort your mission now
before it’s too late. Ask for forgiveness and Beshib will be
lenient.”

“Oh, and how’s that?” Jace laughs. “By not
killing us sooner?”

“Fallon,” Jeb turns to me, “please
understand, you honor us with your service…”

I’m disgusted. Revolted. Insulted and
enraged. How can he sit there and justify his evil?
Their
evil? I glance to Merritt for the slightest of seconds, then back
to Jeb. “I think you’re done.”

Merritt nudges Jeb in the shoulder with the
barrel as he rises to a stand. Walking him out, Merritt glances
back to Tucker. “Looper’s going on watch now, then Booker, then
me.”

“The Kings?”

“Simon’s on shift tonight.”

Tucker nods, dismissing them.

“Okay, so, somewhat useful,” Able shrugs,
just as the two leave the room. “Beshib’s return may be sooner than
we think.”

“Don’t know how soon…” Tucker grumbles the
uncertainty we all feel.

“And therein lies the problem,” Sampson
exhales, “with Tetlak’s lack of communication, it could be any day.
There’s really no way of knowing. If he expects it,” and now he
looks to Clarence, “you think he’ll bring a fleet?”

“No,” Clarence laughs at the idea of it,
“he’s too proud to let others think he needs extra help. He’ll come
back with the same amount he had planned. He’ll just
prepare
them.”

“Then there’s nothing more we can do?” Reid
speaks up. “Any way
we
can prepare?”

“We’ve done it—we’re doing it,” Clarence
says, “we’re training you how to defend yourselves. With the
situation at hand…it’s the best we’ve got.”

“Sampson,” I look him straight in the eye,
“do you think we can do this? Can we
really
win this
fight?”

Sampson’s robin’s egg blue eyes never leave
mine as a hint of a smile creeps along his lips. “I think anything
is possible… with faith.”

This is enough for me. Sampson has faith.
And if he believes, then I do too. It’s possible. To win this so
everyone can go back home and the rest of us can move on. To new
adventures. To a new life. We’re not sure when Beshib is coming
back so we’ll have to prepare each day as if it’s the one. But
that’s to think about tomorrow, after the drain of today has been
slept away. Even if there is more information to exchange, I don’t
think I could absorb it. Right now, the only thing that makes sense
is curling up on my bed and losing myself to its soft, inviting
warmth.

“If that’s everything we need to discuss…” I
stand.

“What?” Clark snaps. “You’ll just be on your
merry way?”

“Kind of thinking about it—yeah. Little
tired.”

“I don’t know why you think you’re so
special to be able to dictate…” his voice disappears behind a
chorus of cracking knuckles. I want to laugh aloud at their
support, until I realize Reid’s not one of them. His right hand
grips the back of his neck as his left strums the table.

“Do you mind?” I ask Sampson, my eyes
narrowing on his face. It takes a lot but I manage to block Reid’s
sight from creeping in.

“No, actually,” Sampson grins, “I was just
thinking it was a good time to wrap up anyway.” He stands as the
rest jump to their feet too. “You all have had a heavy day and I’m
sure, like me, are anxious to retire. We’ll resume training in the
morning.”

We leave Beshib’s office and head for the
evibolas, splitting into two groups. Somehow, Reid and I end up in
the same one, along with Able, Tucker, Pratt and Clarence. Reid’s
to my right, arms crossed and feet just apart, focused ahead on the
door. We’re only in here for a few seconds but it feels like
forever.

From the corner of my eye, his body stands
rigid, like he wants to remain as still as possible. If he doesn’t
move, I can’t see him and there’s no chance of that awkward talk. A
sharp pain rips through me and just as I’m recovering, Clarence
motions us out. I don’t hesitate. The sooner I can get to my room,
the better.

But someone else has gotten off the evibola
too. Footsteps sound behind me but stop. Start again and then stop.
By the time I get to my bunker, I put in the combination and push
the door open. With a deep inhale, I glance to him.

Reid’s nearly at the beginning of the
corridor, standing rigid and watching me. His face has lightened,
his jaw hanging low though no words escape. What’s he want to say?
What
? I wait for only a second more, glancing between the
deep seas of his burning brown eyes before turning and heading into
my bunker.

Beshib hasn’t returned for two days but
Sampson doesn’t seem fazed by it. He has us training from morning
to evening and mostly everyone in the Castle is finally
participating. There are a few, of course, simply unwilling to get
out of bed but Sampson says they probably wouldn’t be of much help
anyway. We’re doing everything we need to be doing so when the time
comes, we’ll be prepared.

It’s mid-afternoon and I’ve been practicing
with a Chaisle for a while, lost in thought. Swallowing the Reid
pill is hard enough, but knowing I don’t have Granny Ruth is
killing me. I want to talk to her about everything, everything that
has happened and everything we’re planning on doing. What would she
say? Would she be proud? The image of her body flashes through my
mind and I feel like crying. No, she wouldn’t want me to weep.
She’d want me to be strong. She’d want me to win this—for her.

I roll the Chaisle over in my hands,
focusing on the details of the weapon. As I practice aiming again,
a strange new cloud descends, settling like a soupy mist over the
open pen.

I freeze.

The cloud keeps falling,
thickening
,
and rolling in heavy waves of gray around us. Everyone’s gone
quiet. Everything, still. Squinting, I search for Pratt who stood
feet from me just seconds ago. Nothing but thick gray fog surrounds
me, swimming so close that I can’t see beyond my own nose.

Someone screams.

A pattering of feet sweeps the ground.
Raising my Chaisle, I turn, searching, listening. The waves lighten
to billowy sheets and only a yard away a distorted image drops
perfectly on the ground. It rises to its eight-foot height before
snatching another figure—a smaller, frailer silhouette—the two
racing back up and disappearing through the whipping wind above.
The next minute, a body falls to the ground, smacking it with a
hard, gut-wrenching thud.

Another scream.

My heart stops. With the cloud thinning, one
by one, limp bodies start falling to the ground, smashing with an
unsettling smack—their bones cracking on impact. The entire lot
breaks out in a ubiquitous chorus of panicked screams, people
running into each other, abandoning their weapons to flee the
monstrous silhouettes dropping around us like well-placed
bombs.

It takes a moment for the panic to set
in.

This is it.

It’s happening.

Bodies rush past,
push
past, nearly
knocking me over. Everyone’s scattering, unsure where to go and
running over the Chaisles and Fiminers that lay abandoned, strewn
about the rocky ground. Bodies continue falling and with each one,
another Vermix lands to stay, scouring the lot. The closest one
lands about two yards away, finding its first victim and
encroaching quickly.

Irie only has seconds before he’s snapped in
two.

The pain spreads through me, but I erase it.
Instinctively I raise my Chaisle, aiming for the Vermix. Without
hesitating, I squeeze the trigger four times as tiny capsules
release, turning to blades that carve through him like knives. I
hit him twice in his torso, once in the shoulder and once in the
neck. He drops, crashing to the ground.

People fly past, screaming. Quickly scanning
for familiar faces, my heart tightens when I don’t find any. What
happened to Reid? Able? Pratt?

Something whizzes past my nose before the
thought envelops me. The girl to my immediate left cries out, her
stomach blotched in red. She falls to her knees as another
something whizzes by, striking her in the head. She falls over
completely, dropping to the ground and dying in a pool of her own
blood. This is happening too fast.

I need to think.

We’re out in the open—too exposed, too
vulnerable. We have to leave this place. But what’s safest? Inside
the Castle or out in the jungle? Inside would mean barricading
ourselves, giving them a centralized target and one quite easy to
destroy. But if we split up, disappearing into the jungle, there
will be more places to dodge and hide. More ways to escape. And
we’d be leading the Dofinikes away, giving the others a chance to
find shelter, safety and to regroup. Just as I’m about to yell out
the plan, Reid beats me to it.

“The jungle!” he waves his Chaisle toward
the lush green ahead.

There’s a wave of release at his voice but
it lasts only a second. The sight of more Vermix dropping like
boulder-sized blockades sends my pulse skyrocketing. Can we even
make it? With my heart drumming violently, set to beat its way out
of my chest, I grit my teeth and hold on.

Half of us book it, racing as fast as our
legs can go and dodging the somethings whizzing by. Bodies fall to
the left and right, some plucked from the ground right in front of
me, vacuumed up, shrieking and leaving me momentarily frozen in
terror. Dread washes over, threatening to still my legs but I push
forward.

Faster. Got to keep going faster.

Gripping my Chaisle, I keep it raised to my
chest and ready. This is no time to panic—to forget myself. Get to
the oncoming greenery, ahead. Just make it that far. People have
kept pace with me but I don’t risk finding out who. Not yet. Not
until I’m safely tucked beneath the jungle’s camouflage. An
overpowering urge to look for the others emerges but I quickly
dismiss it, promising myself a small regroup when hidden away. The
best way to help is by staying smart and keeping alive. I can only
protect them if I’m alive.