Escape from Harrizel (2 page)

“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.