by Shade Owens
I hadn’t realized how tightly I was holding my bow until Trim pulled it out of my hands. She took one step forward, slid an arrow into the bow, and then raised it to eye level. Her movements had been so quick—so swift.
There was a scream.
Suddenly, the black woman was lying in the sand, crawling backward like a crab on her heels and elbows in an attempt to get away from Trim who was now marching her way. I noticed a trail of red sand grains underneath her as she moved.
Trim stepped on her chest, causing the woman to collapse instantly. She reached down and tore the protruding arrow out of the woman’s shoulder. I turned away at the sound of her tormented bellowing.
“You know the rules,” Trim said, hunched over the woman who appeared to be begging for her life.
“Trim, please, I didn’t mean it,” the woman pleaded.
Trim pressed her foot down harder, and the woman gasped for air.
“You turn on your own, and you’re no longer one of us.”
“Trim, I won’t survive. I’m begging you!”
Trim turned around to meet the eyes of her audience. There were other women surrounding us; many of them had not been part of the combat training, but their curiosity had lured them to the scene.
Trim stepped toward the observing women with my bow in one hand, her features hardened.
“Let it be known, from this day forward, that this woman has committed treason and is no longer one of us.”
Conversation erupted all around us, and large eyes were glued to the injured woman in the sand. Trim turned her face toward the black woman, and without making direct eye contact, said, “Leave.”
“Trim, please!”
Fisher moved in with several other Battlewomen who were prepared to drag her out of the Working Grounds by any means necessary. I caught sight of Flander among these women, her silver hair bright in comparison to the skin tones around her. Although older than most islanders, I could tell she possessed the strength of a dozen women.
I heard the name “Marlin” several times and realized this name belonged to the woman who’d just been banished. I watched as Marlin ran past us toward the jungle’s verdure. She disappeared within moments, leaving nothing but a trail of messy footprints and a pool of dark blood in the sand.
“Let me remind all of you,” Trim said, “of the rules you must obey if you wish to remain one of us.”
Everyone went silent. I stared at the water behind Trim, wondering how such a paradise came to be so intoxicated by the women’s egotistical desires to prove themselves within the island’s hierarchy system.
“This isn’t a prison,” she said. “You aren’t prisoners. There are no walls around you—no cells. The women around you aren’t your cellmates.”
The women exchanged discerning glances.
“If you want to leave—leave. No one’s stopping you. Whether you’ll survive out there is beyond me, but at least the option is yours. Murk has worked for years building our colony to create a civilized space for us to live among each other. If you’re going to act like a prisoner—like an animal—who attempts to prove herself better than others by use of force, then you have no place among our people.”
She tossed the bow into the sand.
“We need each other to survive. If you turn on your own, you’re turning on all of us. Anyone who kills or attempts to kill another fellow convict will be banished to the outside.”
I felt a nudge, followed by, “What’d I miss?”
It was Rocket. She was standing beside me with her hands on her waist and her eyebrows drawn close together, trying to make sense of what she’d just heard.
“Marlin,” I said, glancing sideways at her. “Trim banished her.”
“Shit,” Rocket said, her piercing green eyes fixed on Trim. “She must’ve done something pretty bad to be sentenced to death.”
CHAPTER 6
The Village was quiet and gloomy. The sky had turned a translucent gray, and a cool breeze ruffled the tree leaves overhead. The name Marlin was brought up again and again throughout the Village, mostly in a sympathetic tone, but also in a fearful one. I watched as people visited the medic’s cabin, entering solemnly and exiting just the same.
I could sense everyone was on edge—terrified that the next attack might be the one to kill them. We were weak and vulnerable, but I’d overheard Trim say that Eagle had injured the attacking archers before being shot, so maybe time was on our side.
I wondered if Marlin stood a better chance than us in the Village. I couldn’t get her face out of my mind. Within days, she’d probably be dead.
And although I didn’t agree with banishing a woman to the outside world—away from civilization and closer to the Northers and wild animals—I understood why Trim had done it. She was a leader among wild women: felons. These women were dangerous, and they possessed the capability to kill one another if order was not established. They needed to fear Murk—to fear the head of their hierarchy system. I’d come to realize that Trim was Murk’s right hand and she enforced Murk’s beliefs and laws.
I was brought to my tent by Rocket after Trim’s speech and told to rest as much as possible. She explained to me that supper was served when the sun descended to the level of the trees or when I heard a brief drumming sound, which was the method used for announcing mealtime on cloudy days.
“We’re lucky,” she said. “Battlewomen and Hunters don’t have a portion limit.”
I could only assume this was to allow adequate caloric intake to promote strength and endurance for the purpose of battle and hunting.
“Hey, Rocket?” I asked as she was leaving through the tent’s front curtain.
“Yeah?”
“What’s the difference between a Battlewoman and a Hunter? Which one am I?”
She smiled.
“A Battlewoman is a soldier, and a Hunter is just that, a hunter—someone who gets food for the Village. Don’t worry about your title—just do what Trim tells you. I’ve always been a Hunter alongside Trim. But things are getting pretty bad now…” she sighed. “So I get to do both.”
“So you’ll fight?” I asked.
“To the death.”
She stared into nothingness, and I could tell part of her was afraid.
“Let me put it this way,” she added, “all Hunters are Battlewomen, but not all Battlewomen are Hunters.”
“So, what am I?”
“A Hunter.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Because you’re being trained as an Archer. Most women are being trained as Battlewomen, which doesn’t make them useful during a hunt.”
I nodded. I didn’t want her to leave. I didn’t want to be alone.
“Hey, Brone,” she said, before sliding out of the tent, “if you decide to build yourself a bed, just remember to always have the Village or the Working Grounds in sight. Any further, and you’re no longer on our territory. I’ll see you at mealtime.”
And I was left alone in the dark, the skin of my feet illuminated by a ray of light coming from the hole in the roof of the tent that had been punctured and burned during the attack.
Although I wanted to construct a comfortable sleeping area for myself, I was unable to muster the strength. I slowly leaned to my side, until finally, I lay flat in the damp soil beneath me. I closed my eyes, wanting nothing more than a few minutes of rest after such an oppressively long day. My muscles ached, and my back felt as though I’d spent all day building an ancient pyramid among thousands of slaves.
I breathed in the scent of earth, the freshness of the island beneath me. I could hear women talking and moving about around my tent and throughout the Village, but their voices became faded and indistinct.
* * *
“Lydia Brone, I hereby sentence you to three years on Kormace Island,” the judge said. He smacked his gavel hard and made a gesture at the guards.
“Korma—what?” I tried, but the guards moved in quickly.
They looked m
ore like military staff than correctional officers with their padded black uniforms, their oversized bulletproof vests, and their shaved heads.
“But I didn’t…it was an acc—”
I heard my lawyer shout out the term manslaughter in an attempt to argue with the judge, but it accomplished nothing. Two guards moved in on me, and the most menacing-looking of them snatched me up underneath my arms. I didn’t stand a chance. How was this even happening? I’d heard of the government’s implementation of new criminal punishment, but I’d never actually given it much thought because I never imagined I’d be convicted as a felon. Me? Lydia Brone? Sentenced to three years on a remote island for murder?
* * *
For a moment, I thought I’d fallen asleep on my mother’s living room sofa. Everything was dark, and I wondered if perhaps my mother had forgotten to lower the air conditioner as she often did on the nights of hot summer days.
But the smell of earthworms and sea water brought forth the reality that I was nowhere near home—nowhere near my mother. I hadn’t spent much time thinking about her, having been too distracted by my need to survive among wild women and my unwavering belief that my circumstance was nothing more than a dream.
As I remembered the many nights spent by my mother’s side, watching reality TV and ordering takeout, I began to feel grief. I felt as though I’d lost her forever—the only person who meant anything in my life. Sure, I had some acquaintances, but none of them would have ever taken the time of day to visit me had I been incarcerated behind bars. My mother had attended every court date and meeting with my lawyer.
I remembered the sound of her sobbing at the sight of her only child being dragged away by heavily armed men after my sentence. She’d sat in the back, tugging at her white pearl necklace as she always did when she was anxious. Not only had I abandoned her, but I’d taken Gary from her, who I knew would be mourned regardless of his abusive tendencies.
What had I done?
I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. I could hear faint sounds in the distance—waves crashing against the shore and animals lurking nearby, but overall, the entire Village was silent. My stomach growled, and I feared I might wake someone up. Although I was tempted to peek out through the curtain of my tent, I was still too exhausted.
So I closed my eyes and allowed my mind to venture into the depths of my imagination—to a place where I’d never been convicted of murder and where I was free to do as I pleased. I woke up with drool on my face and a stiff body. I wasn’t sure whether my aches were the consequence of an uncomfortable sleeping area or of the stressful events I’d endured the day prior.
I jumped when my tent curtains flew open and Ellie popped inside, seemingly frantic.
“Where’ve you been?” she asked.
I wiped the gooeyness off my face. I must have looked like a complete dirtbag—literally.
“Here,” I said, matter-of-factly.
“What’d you mean, here? I didn’t see you anywhere last night. Didn’t you hear the supper drums? The breakfast drums?”
I shook my head.
“Well you’d better get up,” she urged. “Eat something, because after breakfast, everyone gets to work.”
“Work?”
She cocked an eyebrow at me.
“You didn’t think your sentence would be a getaway, did you?”
“No, not at—” I tried.
“Just get up. I’ll lend you some pearls.”
“Pearls?”
But she was gone. I looked around my new home, not quite certain what to make of it. It was basically a house made of suede leather walls and dirt flooring, without any furniture or decorations. At least I had some sunlight, I thought, gazing up at the tear in the tent. The arrow was lying on the ground, its sharp point dug into the dirt.
Welcome to paradise, I thought.
I sighed.
I threw my greasy hair up into a messy bun, suddenly realizing how valuable my hair elastic had become. I’d only had the one tied around my wrist. What would I do if it broke? If it was stolen? Perhaps I’d do as most women did and cut off all my hair.
Another thought crept into my mind. How would I wash my hair? My body? I smelled of sour sweat and rotting water. I slid my tongue across the front of my teeth. My toothbrush, I thought dreamily. God, I missed my life.
I stepped out into the Village, completely devastated by my inability to maintain proper hygiene. Ellie was standing there, waiting for me, with both arms crossed over her chest. Her dark hair was braided to one side, and at the end of the braid was a thin rope tying it all together. That works too, I thought.
“Here,” she said, handing me six small pearls.
I could tell these were natural and not the type you’d find attached to an expensive necklace. They were all mismatched—one was small and metallic blue in color, two were purple and unevenly shaped, and the other three were a gold-like color, all perfectly round, but different sizes.
“What’re these for?” I asked.
She smirked as if she’d just handed me a Christmas gift.
“Consider these Kormace currency.”
“Sorry?”
Her eyebrows fell flat.
“Moola, Benjamins, cheddar.”
“I get it,” I said, “but what do I need this for?”
She sighed, then turned toward the Village and glared through the morning sun.
“We have a pretty good thing going on,” she said. “You work and you get paid, just like in the real world. You can use your pearls for just about anything—rope, clothing, hygiene products, food.”
“Hygiene products?”
Ellie laughed.
“That would be tent number four,” she said, pointing several tents down.
I noticed there were five of them, lined up evenly in front of the Village wall. There were planks of wood jabbed into the earth, with numbers carved into them.
“One is food, two is clothing, three is tools, four is health and hygiene, and five is miscellaneous.”
I knew I wouldn’t remember this, but I’d be able to walk by to peek inside later.
“Everyone here does something,” she said. “What’s the point if you can’t contribute to the community? You’ll meet Tegan in tent number four. She’s what you call our pharmacist. She can make anything and everything with natural ingredients.”
“Like soap?” I asked.
“Like soap,” she said, amused.
I stepped forward, prepared to purchase any type of soap available. I’d lather myself in squid guts if it guaranteed my cleanliness.
“You might want to eat first,” Ellie said.
I glanced back.
“Meals are free, but once it’s over, it’s over, so you have to be punctual. Breakfast is at sunrise, and supper’s at sunset.”
“What about lunch?”
She scoffed. “This isn’t the Marriott hotel.”
I shifted my attention to the center of the Village, where women were gathered by the dozens, some sitting, others standing while enjoying what appeared to be meat and eggs.
“By the way,” she added, “you’ll get over it.”
“Get over what?”
“That need to be clean all the time.”
I smiled. I’d always been a priss when it came to cleanliness—borderline OCD, even. If my fruit wasn’t washed with soap, I wouldn’t eat it. But I was starving, and at that point, I was prepared to eat an apple covered in a layer of filthy wax. I would have to be less picky when it came to food.
I approached the many women who were gathered around a small fire that danced in a shallow pit. There were large spotted eggshells piled beside it and cookware that appeared to have been constructed from bone.
“What is that?” I asked, eyeing the oversized bowl of cooked eggs and pieces of meat.
I received several glares, but no one responded. My stomach growled. Several women were hunched over their own bowls, scooping gooey pieces of egg into their mouth
s with their hands. I analyzed the area. There were no bowls or plates for me to use: no utensils…nothing. How was I supposed to eat?
“Brone!” I heard.
It was Sunny. Although I’d hoped I wouldn’t run into her again, I was happy to see her.
“Sunny,” I said.
“Guys, this is Brone. She’s cool shit.”
Several dark eyes glanced my way. There were a few nods, some hand gestures, but overall, there was still hostility and mistrust.
“You gotta bowl?” she asked.
“Sorry?”
“Girl, if you wanna eat, you gotta have your own bowl. You can buy one in the Tools tent. You can use mine for now, though.” She handed me what appeared to be a broken piece of skull.
It was of average size with a slight curve all around to form a bowl. It had egg and meat residue inside, and although disgusted by the thought of using someone else’s dirty dish, I was too hungry to refuse. I grabbed it with both hands.
I could feel the hatred around me as Sunny scooped an oversized spoonful of cold eggs and meat bits into my bowl.
“S’all you get,” I heard.
There was a young Asian girl sitting on the ground with her legs crossed in front of her. She raised an eyebrow when I glanced at her, so I quickly looked away. The other women around her laughed.
“Brone, meet Sumi. Sumi, meet Brone,” Sunny said nonchalantly.
“Pleasure,” Sumi said, although she sounded more disgusted than anything.
“Sumi’s the cook,” Sunny said. “And the portion size she tells us is the portion size we eat.”
“I thought Hunters and Battlewomen—” I tried.
“Trim’s rules,” Sumi said. “You gonna snitch on me?”
I looked at Sumi once more, and she smirked up at me. I could tell that integration into the Village wouldn’t come easily.
I ate my food, forgetting entirely that I was shoveling bacteria from Sunny’s mouth into mine.
“Thank you,” I said, handing the piece of skull back to Sunny. I turned my attention to Sumi, and although I disliked her already, I thanked her for the food. She simply scoffed, and the others followed suit.
I couldn’t believe I’d be spending the next three years of my life with ignorant women like this. I made my way to the tents Ellie had told me about, fuming.