Chapter II

Glowing spotlights encircle us. My friend Lizzie (as good a name as any) hisses as they get closer. One points to me and shouts, then to Lizzie.

Three take out batons that spark with electricity and surround Lizzie. Two approach me, one with a baton and the other with what looks like handcuffs. Without thinking, I change my stance: Left foot forward, fists up, elbows down. I haven’t taken this stance since I was 17. Even in my exhaustion, it’s coming back to me. The two figures approach cautiously. I lunge forward for a front kick, but it’s slow and clumsy, the one with the baton steps back, then lunges forward to prod me. My jaw clenches in pain and my body convulses and falls to the ground.

The one with the cuffs bends over me and grabs both my arms. I notice there’s no protection around the neck. As it lifts my arms up, I shove my left palm into its mask to push its head up, I jerk my right hand away and punch its throat.

It gags and rolls over to the ground at my side. The baton wielder prods me again, for much longer this time.

My body is numb. There’s no fight left in me. Couldn’t move if I wanted to. I can hear Lizzie crying in pain.

The baton wielder whispers harsh sounding words and yanks the cuffs from the guy I punched, who’s still gagging and coughing on the ground. The clearly more competent one binds my hands.

My captor raises its head and shouts to the others–BANG–The glass eye of its mask explodes. Its limp body falls directly on top of me. The guy I punched gets up, shouts repeatedly in a panicked voice then a projectile pierces its torso, falling to the ground and groaning in pain.

One of the figures starts waving its hand in deliberate motions and barks sharp orders. They all scatter, taking cover behind small grassy mounds. They fire their rifles into the orange fog, several crackling lights flash in the deep mist.

I think I’m going to die. Momo won’t even know. She might not care. Blurry projectiles streak across the fog. I close my eyes.

Suddenly a weight shifts off me, then something starts shaking me. I open my eyes to see Lizzie with a huge gash over his face. He picks me up and throws me over his shoulder and starts sprinting away from the masked people who are too distracted by the hail of gunfire to care about us. Slowly, they fade into the mist. I can only see their muzzle flashes now.

Lizzie finds a trench to jump in. We follow it, ducking under the cascade of gunfire. Since I’m over Lizzie’s shoulder, I can’t see where we’re going. Through the sound of warfare I can hear a frantic voice getting closer. It sounds like the people with the masks, but without the metallic distortion. We climb out and seem to be hiding behind a large boulder. I can make out others crouched low shooting at–what I can guess–are those masked people. Then Lizzie speaks, Didn’t know he could. His voice was smooth and sharp. And someone responds to Lizzie in a surprised tone.

Someone walks into view, wearing raggedy clothes and had… weird looking ears: long and pointy. He looks old. He looks at me with a mix of confusion and shock. He then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small gun. He points it to the sky and fires a blue light into the air. As he does this, the shooting stops as five hooded figures emerge from the fog. I point at them, since speaking is too hard. The old man follows my finger, notices the figures, and slowly backs away. I can feel Lizzie’s body tense up. He must have noticed them too.

The old man yells in a commanding tone and we start running away from the hooded figures. Just as they fade, massive balls of light are hurled into the sky. The glowing orbs reach an apex. They seem to be getting bigger–No, they’re getting closer.

A huge ball of flame breaches through the fog. It lands right next to us and bursts into flames. The heat and force makes Lizzie stumble. He almost drops me, but holds fast and keeps running.

Two others are running behind us. A fireball crashes down on top of them, and they disappear. Only singed grass and blackened dirt remain.

Another fireball comes straight for us. The old man slows his pace and reaches into his pocket: He pulls out something cylindrical, it clicks and he throws it into the fireball. It bursts into smoke and dissipates as warm rain falls on us.

A powerful gust of wind presses on us and a loud whirring engine sounds off. We seem to ascend and… are those handrails? Some others follow behind us, blurring into unrecognizable shapes.

I black out.