William pulled himself through the slick mud toward what he hoped was freedom. The wind wound its way through the abandoned vents through which he crawled. The space squeezed against him and pull away like a living thing. It was hard to tell if he was still deep underneath the educational towers. He couldn’t remember which tower had brought him to the secret area, but it didn’t matter. Once he figured out a way back to the outside world, he’d find Liam and Reginald. Together, they’d explore the secrets of the Academy.

He stuck his hand in another pile of meat and bones. Its small body crushed beneath his weight, exposing the fat wriggling insects festering inside. He crushed most them on impact, with the exception of the few stragglers whom had thrown themselves out of harm’s way, only to be crushed seconds later as William tried not to gag. He’d crawled through enough of his own puke for one night.

He fantasized about a hot shower. Keeping his mind busy was his way of stopping his imagination from running wild. He didn’t want to think about the vermin who had called these vents home. He didn’t want to think about the oddly shaped brittle bones he had broken on his way through the maze. He pushed past the thought that he hadn’t seen any vents leading to new rooms. He crushed the odd nag in the back of his mind suggesting that there hadn’t been any other shafts linking the ductwork, no turns, no bends, no sudden drops, just one long crawl. He pulled himself forward.

He wasn’t quite sure when the cold steel of the ducts had turned to mud. The slickness of the ground made moving forwards hard. He slipped again. His clothes were soaked through with mud and god knows what else the animals had dragged in. Again he thought about a hot shower and a pair of clean clothes. Maybe some cotton trousers and some nice thick woolly socks. He couldn’t feel his toes; he gave them a wiggle. Still there, good.

His fingers ached. He couldn’t decide if it was because they were cold or if it was strain of having to work to get hold of something solid to pull himself forward. He sucked in another suffocating breath of wet air. He held it. Probably not the best of ideas, but he enjoyed the coolness of the air as it lingered in his lungs. He took another breath and pull himself forward.

He stared at the patch of ice ahead of him. The light fractured in the snow, reminding him of the small snow cabin he had built with his father when he was much younger. He grabbed a handful of snow and stared at it as it melted in his hand. His hands hurt from the cold, but he couldn’t help but stare. He was nearly outside. The only thing stopping him was snow.

He laughed, delirious with thoughts of freedom, with thoughts of the open world where he could stretch his arms out wide and not touch a thing. He could take long deep breaths without thinking about preserving oxygen or worrying about how much energy an action would consume. The world would be his for the taking.

By the handful, he shoveled his way out and pulled himself free. He squinted, blinded by the light. He shielded his eyes, waiting for the sun the eat him alive. The sun struggled to break through the overcast. He blinked at the world.

Snow covered everything except for a few stubborn bushes. The school had been hit with one hell of snow storm last night. It wouldn’t be the first time he celebrated the Harvest Tidings in deep snow. His stomach grumbled, agreeing that he should try to sample at least one of everything this year.

The cold breeze tore through him, ignoring the padded layering between his skin and his white and orange uniform, now dulled, muddied, and torn. The padding on his arms and legs were worn down as though he’d been dragging himself for days instead of hours. Water resistant material did not mean waterproof. He pulled at his clothes in a vain attempt to separate his skin from his damp uniform.

His hands were coated with layers of grime, mud and god knows what else. Despite his better judgement, he gave his fingers a light sniff and regretted it. His eyes water as his mind rewrote the memory. As though doubting the strength of the stench, he gave his fingers a second sniff and fought the urge to gag. If his hands smelled that bad, he could only imagine the sort of impression the rest of him would make.

His legs were pins and needles, making every step stiff and awkward as he worked his way down a mild slope toward the sound of water. It wasn’t a hot shower, but it would do for now. The creak hadn’t frozen over yet, but was working at it. He surprised himself when he broke the young snow covered ice, finding himself ankle deep in ice water. He yelped as he fell forward. When he recovered enough to acknowledge what had happen, he cursed.

He cringed as he watched the trail of black and browns wash downstream. He must have been a mess. He couldn’t be seen in public in such a state. He’d scare them off before he was able to get help. Not that he needed help. He knew his way around the grounds. All he needed was a hot shower, a pair of clean clothes and some food. He looked around the snow covered wilderness. He was in a clear patch, surrounded by thick conifer trees. He searched for the buildings that should have been seen from anywhere on campus.

He had learned the trick from his guide in his first year. “If you’re ever lost, look for the towers. You just walk on over to the towers until you find something you recognize to set you back on track. Just remember…”

He searched for the three educational towers. He saw nothing but trees. Where was he? His legs gave out under him and he couldn’t breathe.

He was struck from behind with such force that he fell forward in the cold water. Pain blurred his vision. He gasped for air as he splashed to get a grip on something other than slippery rocks. He flipped himself over just in time to see a student in a white and orange uniform standing over him, well on his way to slamming the butt of his gun down onto William’s head. William threw the first thing he got hold of, smashing the kid square in the face. The kid stumbled backward onto his rear, gripping the side of his head.

By the time William had clawed his way to his feet, the kid maybe a year older than himself, charged him, tackling him to the ground and back into the water. He was caught in a hold, the kid’s boney arm wrapped its way around his neck as his other hand reefed on his hair. He fumbled in the water, gasping as the kid plunged him into the rushing current. His vision swam. He found another rock and slammed it against the kid’s skull. Once. Twice. The kid’s grip melted as he struggled to remain conscious. He shook his head clearing the confusion.

William threw himself at his attacker, holding him down under the water until the kid stop kicking. Gasping, he stood over the body. Why did he try to kill him out of nowhere like that? The watery image of white and orange called to William, who looked down to see his own ruined uniform. He had just killed a squad mate. No, it was self-defense. His squad mate tried to kill him. He only made sure that the kid couldn’t finish the job once he got his bearings.

His stomach twisted. He craned his head to the sky. A series of blank faces stared down at him, each one with a hard accusing stare as though they had each personally witnessed his crime. Someone must have. He was a murderer now. His murder was going to be replayed for public entertainment over and over again. He could hear the judge call out as he had so many times before: “Guilty! Sentenced to serve one tour in the war.”

He counted their faces. Twelve plus one for his team; the whole squad was out in the field. Under his image, the red pulsing word ‘new entry’ loomed over him. How was that possible? They weren’t scheduled for their first game of the season until late November. Only a few faces weren’t greyed out on both teams. It wouldn’t be long before both sides would be gunning for him.