An Untitled Novel

Basil made a left at another intersection. Was it a left? Shit, how was he going to find his way back now? Well, perhaps that didn’t matter much; it wasn’t like he could get past the army between him and safety. He took another shot at his much faster pursuers, forcing them to take cover for a second as he rounded another corner at another intersection. Seeing a small alley alongside the road and his pursuers having not yet rounded the corner, he ran down it. Glimpsing a window with a large sheet of wood nailed to it and no other options to escape, he wedged his pistol in between the board and the wall. Using it as a pry bar he separated the sheet of wood just enough to squeeze through, climbing through the window as the nails slashed at his back. Feeling blood run down his back, leg, and arm he slumped against the wall, too weak to do anything further.

“Identify yourself!” shouted somebody from within the room. The center of the room was too dark to see, though a few rays of light showed through the now-damaged board cast around Basil and only further impeded his eyes from seeing what was deeper within. Basil realized this would be a risky question to answer, not knowing the loyalties of whoever was in the room. “I was just trying to escape the chaos” he began to say, before seeing a rusty knife glimmer in one of the rays of light near him. Knowing he didn’t even have the strength to devise a convincing lie - much less pick up the pistol on the floor faster than a knife could move - and hoping that this man was a local, Basil gambled on the truth. “I’m Basil, I was helping the Redcaps make a push back into the city when I got separated and hurt when one of the explosions collapsed a building.” Though Basil did not possess the strength to come up with a convincing lie, he at least held the mental capacity to leave out the parts about jets, the Elthrice, and installing a backdoor in a Wizard’s spacecraft.

“You’re hurt” the questioner said, adding “Badly” moments later. The questioner seemed to lower the knife, or at least pull it back outside the rays of light. As he did, however, he kicked Basil’s pistol to the side, not seeming to fully trust Basil either. The questioner pulled out a dirty piece of cloth and began to tie it around Basil’s leg where the bleeding was the worst, and Basil found himself too weak to even flinch from the pain. “Do you have any water?” Basil asked, realizing his throat was completely dry; his mind gaining the luxury of considering survival on a more extended timeframe than dodging oncoming bullets. He hadn’t had anything to drink since, well, actually when was that?

“Here,” said the questioner, handing Basil a large glass bottle with maybe an ounce of fluid sloshing around at the bottom. Basil drank it in one gulp, tasting a potent and unpleasant flavor. “What was that?” He asked in surprise, recovering from each cough which sent a sharp pain across his body. “Liquor” the questioner answered, before continuing “And the last bit of fluid in what used to be my tavern, unless you’re looking to drink piss.” Basil tried saying “Thank you” but found the words barely squeaked out. The questioner spoke again. “I am going to return to my family upstairs. Don’t follow me, but you may rest down here.” He stepped out of the light, and Basil could hear him start to walk away, but he added one more thing as he left. “If what you’re saying is true, we will hopefully not be locked in here much longer.” Basil - sapped of all energy - fell asleep.

Basil began to wake up, aware his head hurt and vaguely aware of footsteps nearby. He opened his eyes and saw the questioner moving a bookcase that barricaded the door. Though Basil could now see the entire room with properly adjusted eyes, the light passing through the damaged sheet of wood was much dimmer, indicating that a considerable amount of time had passed. “It’s been quiet for a while. I’m going to step out and take stock of things” the questioner said in a hushed tone. Basil crawled to his feet, more thirsty than he thought possible, even enough to forget his pain. He bent over and grabbed the handgun on the floor, removing the magazine to check the remaining bullets. Two in the magazine and one in the chamber, not worth much if they got into trouble, but better than a rusty knife. The questioner seemed to take on a slightly uneasy look seeing Basil hold the weapon, but said nothing.

As the questioner opened the door the two saw dust floating in, as well as dust floating throughout the streets illuminated by a deep red sunset. Though the skyline would have otherwise been obscured, with a few missing buildings the sun shown a crimson red, contrasting with the gray dust in the air. The street was empty, but as the two made their way out of the alley and around a corner that would give them a view of the castle’s courtyard walls they ran into two soldiers. Basil started to walk in their direction, questioner in tow, keeping an eye on both Basil in front of him and the alley behind him. “I need water” Basil said in a hoarse voice as soon as he was in earshot. “Stay back” one of the soldiers returned in an authoritative voice as they raised their weapons until a shocked looking soldier exclaimed “Basil?” only now recognizing him under the layers of blood and grime.

“This way” said the soldier who recognized Basil before walking towards the courtyard. Basil followed him, looking back and seeing the questioner talk to another soldier. Finally entering the courtyard he began to look around, but was surprised to see not a single soldier who could stand. A few dozen soldiers lay on the ground, wounded and being tended to, and many lay dead alongside their enemies’ bodies. Only now did Basil realize how few soldiers were involved in the defense of the capitol building, which appeared to have been successful. “Do you know where Cicero or Spiro are?” he asked the soldier, voice still weak. “They are helping the injured from our attempts to retake the rest of the city. I do not know when they will be back” the soldier responded before turning around and returning to his compatriots. Basil saw the jet beginning to descend and made a B line for the Elthrice ship which contained his backpack and water bottle.

“Basil?” Grey called out from behind as he struggled to make it up the ramp to the door on the Elthrice craft. “What happened to you?” Grey asked as she got closer, and Basil could hear what sounded like genuine worry in her voice. He continued to struggle up the steps, knowing that the pain was only a minor setback to quenching his thirst. “I was a little too close to one of those explosions, wound up getting buried in rubble.” Basil responded as he finally reached the door to the craft and walked in to see his backpack. Grey followed Basil in, asking “Are you okay?” as he picked up his water bottle. Basil quickly opened it up and chugged the last little bit of water, only afterwards responding to the question. “Just peachy” he said, trying to force a smile. The alien didn’t seem to like - or didn’t seem to get - sarcasm, so he added “I’ll survive, but I got pretty banged up out there.”

Basil heard ACE’s voice over the speakers on the craft, the only way for him to audibly reach Basil with his phone temporarily in the hands of General Edwards. Basil watched the jet perform impossibly tight maneuvers to land in the courtyard while Basil caught Grey and ACE up on everything he’d experienced. ACE was very unhappy with Basil’s surprise outing, but in the end, seemed to reluctantly concede it worked out for the best.