The Feral Sentence- Complete Box Set

by Shade Owens

  The only thing I knew in that moment was the feeling of the bow’s wood against the skin of my calloused palm. The target ahead seemed to blur out all surrounding objects. It felt instinctual.

  I’d been about to grab another arrow when Biggie came by, almost waddling due to her size. A beam of sunlight landed across her face, and she glared at us through the bright light. I wondered why Fisher was Trim’s right hand, when Biggie was the size of a full-grown man—six feet tall, at a minimum, and definitely weighing more than two hundred pounds. I could only imagine the kind of damage she was capable of causing.

  “We’re going on a hunt,” she said. “Trim’s orders.”

  CHAPTER 3

  To my surprise, Pin and Hamu had been told to stay behind and continue practicing along with several other Battlewomen.

  “The fewer women, the better,” Biggie said, looking down at me.

  She led me to Trim and the usual crew, and I immediately felt nauseous at the realization that I was the only Archer. Were they really going to entrust me with the responsibility of capturing food to feed the entire Village? I’d managed to hit my target today—big whoop. How was I supposed to hit a moving target?

  The sound of women sparring grew distant as did the waterfall’s powerful roar. Trim led us into the jungle, and I felt a lump swell at the base of my throat. The anxiety was not the result of my having to prove my worth as a Hunter, but rather, the result of one horrifying memory: Sunny. I couldn’t get the image out of my mind nor the idea of Ogres lurking nearby, women who’d turned away from civilization and succumbed to living like animals.

  I couldn’t imagine what these women would do—if they hadn’t done it already—to Sunny. Rocket had let it slip that cannibalism was one of the many myths associated with the concept of Ogres, along with sacrificial rituals and baiting.

  I’d feared the Northers ever since being dropped onto Kormace Island, but if there was one thing far worse than Northers, it was Ogres.

  I followed Trim and the others into the jungle, my heart racing every time I heard a noise in the distance. The farther away we were led from the waterfall, the more anxious I felt. I gripped and regripped my bow, afraid that it might slip out of my sweaty palm.

  “This way,” Trim whispered.

  She led us through a narrow path fabricated of moist verdure and along the current of a crystal-clear stream that originated from the Working Grounds. I ducked just in time to avoid an oversized spider web—an intricate pattern fabricated at the tips of two tree branches.

  The further we ventured, the more uncomfortable I became.

  “Brone,” I heard.

  My name had come from the front of the line led by Trim.

  “At the front,” Trim ordered.

  I wasn’t accustomed to being at the front of the line. The front of the line had always been reserved for Trim and Fisher, and oftentimes Eagle during a hunt. I remembered Eagle’s short, messy blonde hair and the way she’d stared down at me the first time we’d met. I didn’t know her, but I knew she was still a human being, and for the sake of the Hunters and all other women on the island, I truly hoped she’d be okay.

  I walked by Trim’s side, shifting my eyes toward every sound I heard to the point of paranoia.

  “Relax,” Trim said, glancing sideways at me.

  I parted my lips to speak, even though I had nothing to say, but Trim raised a hand and everyone stopped moving. How was I supposed to relax when even Trim knew danger lurked nearby?

  “Tracks,” she said.

  Fisher moved in closer. She crouched beside us and analyzed the print that had been left in a patch of mud. The print was sloppy, and a good part of it was missing, but it didn’t take a genius to see that this print didn’t belong to a human being.

  Fisher gently touched the inside of the print with her index and middle finger then glanced up at Trim and said, “Leopard.”

  A leopard? This was the kind of jungle I’d been dropped on? The kind that had wildcats? I felt lightheaded. How was anyone supposed to survive this island without facing a painful, gruesome death? If it wasn’t a Norther, it was an Ogre—and if it wasn’t either one of those, it was some predatory animal in search of its next meal.

  Trim turned around. “Keep your eyes open for spots or silky black.”

  “Silky black?” I asked.

  “Black panthers. They tend to hide in trees,” she said.

  “Yeah and drag their carcasses up there,” Rocket added.

  Fisher suddenly lunged forward and stood face-to-face with Rocket; both her fists were clenched on either side of her body. I could see Fisher’s shoulders rising up and down to the rhythm of her rapid breathing.

  “Fisher, I… I wasn’t trying to bring up Emilia,” Rocket said. “I just meant in general.”

  “I know what you fucking meant, and no one needed to be reminded,” Fisher said.

  “That’s enough,” Trim said.

  But Fisher didn’t move. It was apparent that the thought of tearing Rocket’s face off was running through her mind.

  “Bring her up one more time,” Fisher said.

  “I said enough!” Trim grabbed Fisher by the arm and pulled her back.

  I could tell the confrontation had shaken Rocket up a bit by the way she nervously tugged on her fingers and bit down on her lip, and I didn’t blame her. Fisher was a fighter, a born killer while Rocket was fast but small and frail in comparison. Rocket wouldn’t have stood a chance.

  “Let’s keep moving,” Trim ordered. “We go west, away from the prints.”

  Fisher and Trim moved forward quickly, leaving me behind with the other Hunters.

  “Who’s Emilia?” I asked.

  Flander glanced toward Fisher and Trim, ensuring safe distance, and said, “Fisher’s girlfriend. She was killed by a panther.”

  “And dragged into a tree,” Rocket added.

  Flander shook her head. “It was awful. She was screamin’, but we couldn’t stop the attack. When it finally killed her, it dragged her up above us, and we just stood there, listen’ to the crunchin’ and tearin’ sounds of the cat eatin’ through her bones and muscles.”

  “Shut up,” Biggie interjected, “all of you. You know better than to talk about Emilia. Ever.”

  She brushed passed us, nearly knocking Flander over in the process, and followed Trim through an array of multicolored flowers.

  “You’d better get up there too, kid,” Flander said. “Archers always stay at the front.”

  I did as instructed and caught up with Trim and Fisher. I only prayed they weren’t relying on me to save them from a wild panther with my mediocre archery skills.

  The sound of water caught my attention, and I licked my dry, chapped lips. Trim led us to an opening filled with moss-covered trees and smooth stones scattered across a shallow bed of water. There was a small waterfall at the far back, although one could barely call it a waterfall. It was a flow of water that poured down from one rock to another.

  “Rest,” Trim said.

  Rocket was the first to remove a dark brown leather water bladder from her belt. She rushed to the clear water spilling over the sharp-edged rocks and filled it to the brim. The others followed, and I realized I had more purchases to make from the merchant tents.

  “It’s fresh?” I asked.

  Although my mouth was pasty and my lips felt as though they’d shriveled up like raisins, the last thing I wanted to do was drink salt water.

  “Sure is,” Biggie said. She’d sat down at the edge of the pool, and she began splashing water on her face, her neck, and throughout her short woolly hair.

  I wanted to jump into the water, but instead, I placed my bow against the nearest tree and crept up to the waterfall, then formed a cup underneath with the palms of my hands. The water was cool and hard—a texture dissimilar to the large green bed of salt water found on the Working Grounds, which was warm and silky. I pressed my lips against the edge of my palm and slowly tilted back, allowing
the fluid to pour past my lips and into my parched mouth.

  The taste was beyond satisfaction. I was given filtered water on the Working Grounds in a stone-carved cup during training, but it was always warm. This water was fresh and crisp, and it slid so effortlessly into the bottom of my stomach, cooling my insides in the process.

  I drank some more until I felt my stomach might explode. I could feel the water splashing around inside, and it felt as though I’d just eaten an entire meal.

  The other women had already filled their water bladders by the time I was finished loading up on a day’s worth of water, and they’d all sat down to rest around the small pond, their bare feet dipped into the water. I knew I’d have to stop our hunt on several occasions to pee. I could live with that—I only hoped Trim and the others would be so patient.

  I slid off my sneakers—which were now entirely brown and ripping at the soles—and sat down between Flander and Biggie. Flander was playing with her water bladder—rubbing the thick stitching with her index finger and brushing her hand over the smooth exterior.

  “Three pearls,” she said, glancing sideways at me.

  “Oh,” I said, “I don’t want to take—”

  She chortled as if I were dumber than a dead battery. “I ain’t selling you mine.”

  I stared at her.

  “When you go see Hammer,” she said, “don’t let her charge you more than three pearls.”

  Trim laughed. I’d never heard her laugh before. She was much nicer to look at with a smile on her face. It seemed to take away from the ugliness she’d been cursed with at birth.

  “You got gypped,” she told Flander.

  “Whad’ya mean?” Flander furrowed her eyebrows and grimaced.

  “You’re a Hunter,” Trim said nonchalantly. “All necessities are free.”

  “And water’s a necessity when hunting,” Fisher chimed in, raising her water bladder.

  Flander grunted. “Well ain’t nobody told me.” “We just did,” Trim said.

  Flander rolled her eyes toward me. “What’re you here for? How long’s your sentence?”

  I shot several glances at the rest of the Hunters, feeling both violated and tricked. I’d been told that our past lives were irrelevant on Kormace Island.

  “What’s said here, stays here,” Biggie said, towering over me. “I killed a boy in high school during a fight. Dey waited for me after school, to prove that I wasn’t too big to take down. Two of ’em ran, but when I caught the leader, I couldn’t stop myself. Just kept beatin’ down on his face over and over ’gain.” She sighed. “Got sentenced to three years here.”

  “How long do you have left?” I asked.

  She quickly looked up at Trim. “Don’t matter.”

  I didn’t have the time to question her any further.

  “I shot someone, got seven years,” Fisher said, glaring at the water around her feet.

  “That’s it?” Biggie said. “I just gave my life story and dat’s all you gon’ say?”

  Fisher grimaced then rolled her eyes. “I was involved in some illegal shit—you know, gangs.” She widened her eyes at me as if I was too stupid to understand the concept of street gangs. “Anyways… I had to shoot some guy who’d been selling on our corner. Turns out he was a cop’s kid.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to feel sorry for her or frightened by her. Was this sharing of information supposed to make me feel closer to these women?

  “Got three years too,” Rocket said, throwing her chin up toward Biggie. “Seems to be the popular sentence.” She shook her head, as if this would break apart any emotion she felt toward her past. “His name was Ben…” She clasped her hands together. “We’d been dating for a while, and I was heavy into heroin at the time. I wanted him to try it—just try it, you know?” She glanced up at me, and I could tell the memory still haunted her. “I had some, so I convinced him to try it. He was a good kid… Never skipped class, never talked back to his mom. But he didn’t tell me he had a heart condition. I wouldn’t have given it to him. I wouldn’t have… After my high, he was just lying there, pale as a ghost, and… Well, you know…”

  Flander got up and crossed through the shallow water. She sat beside Rocket and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay, kid. We know.”

  Rocket pressed her head against Flander’s shoulder. Despite their criminal backgrounds, I could tell these women had grown to be a family. They cared about each other even when their twisted faces or snarky comments suggested otherwise.

  “I got three years, too,” Flander said. She swirled her hand through the water by her feet and glanced up at me. “I’d been out all night at the bar, drinking my sorrows away, and when I left, I climbed into my car—just like that. I don’t remember anything… I just remember waking up in the hospital and being told I’d killed two little girls and their mother.”

  I swallowed hard. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the guilt she felt. I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of killing Gary when he’d attacked my mother, and he’d deserved it. But an innocent family? I was nauseated.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

  “Don’t be,” Flander said. “We all make mistakes, and we pay for them. I’ve spent enough years here to forgive myself. What happened was horrible, but it can’t be undone, and hatin’ myself for it ain’t gonna make it better.”

  “How long have you been here?” I asked.

  “Almost done my three years now,” Flander said, forcing a crooked smile.

  “Like Fisher here,” Trim said, “I got seven years.” She leaned forward and placed her elbows on her knees as though she were a summer camp leader about to tell ghost stories around a campfire. “I was a dealer… One night, I got a call from one of my boys asking me to deliver. I trusted the guy, so I showed up at his place. There were other guys there, though, fucked out of their minds. Long story short, they tried to pin me down and have their way with me. I always carried a pocket knife in my boot, and that night, it saved me.” She zoned out, most likely reliving that awful night. “They forced my face against the dining room table and ripped my pants down to my knees, and I remember thinking… I’d rather die than get raped. So I pulled out my knife and swung back as hard I could. Next thing I knew, I was covered in red, and there was a guy lying on the floor, gargling his own blood.”

  I just stared at her.

  “System’s fucking corrupted,” she added. “It was self-defense.”

  “My lawyer was going for manslaughter,” I finally said. Everyone fell silent, waiting to hear my story. “My mom’s boyfriend… He was a drunk. He attacked her one night, with both hands around her throat. He would’ve killed her… So I found a frying pan in the kitchen, and I swung it at the back of his head to knock him out.”

  “A cast iron pan?” Biggie asked.

  I nodded.

  She laughed. “Damn, girl. Everyone knows those things are deadly.”

  “It all happened so fast,” I said quickly. “I wasn’t trying to… Anyways, I got three years.”

  “Don’t sweat it, kid,” Flander said. “We’re not judging you.”

  I forced a smile.

  Trim suddenly slapped her knees, breaking the silence. “Enough rest, let’s keep moving.”

  CHAPTER 4

  “You got this,” Trim whispered.

  I wasn’t sure what I struggled with most—feeling pressured to feed a village of hungry women or taking the life of an innocent animal. I’d never hunted before, yet there I was, gazing down the length of my arrow, aiming its pointed head at a wild boar. Its tusks were barely visible, and I knew it wasn’t very old.

  Aside from fish, wild boar was the preferred meat among the women, Trim had explained. It tasted like pork—the best pork I’d ever tasted—and it fed many. The Hunters would walk for miles in search of boar. Male turkey was also hunted on occasion, with females captured for egg production.

  “Chin up, now pull back,” Trim said.

>   I kept my eye on the boar’s chest to aim for the heart as I’d been taught.

  “Release,” Trim hissed.

  I let go of the bowstring, and with a snap-like sound, fired my arrow directly at the boar. It squealed, before quickly darting in the opposite direction. Trim quickly tore the bow out of my hand, and without warning, jolted forward to catch the wounded boar.

  By the time we caught up, Trim had stopped running. She handed me my bow, and said, “Almost.”

  The boar was lying in the dirt several feet away with an arrow protruding from its hairy neck.

  “Biggie,” Trim said, and at the sound of her name, Biggie moved in. Just as Eagle had done, Biggie reached down and pulled on the boar’s tusk, exposing its neck. She pulled a sharp blade from her belt and began sawing through the animal’s thick muscles, tendons, and bones.

  I turned away at the sound of its head being torn from its body.

  “Why do you do that?” I asked.

  “It’s respectful,” Flander said.

  “Cutting off its head is supposed to be respectful?” I asked.

  “There’s always a chance that the animal might still be alive. We take off the head to make sure it bleeds out—to make sure it’s dead and not sufferin’.”

  I noticed my arrow sticking out of the creature’s leg. I’d missed my target.

  “Let’s head back before sundown,” Trim ordered. She led the way, with Biggie dragging the boar by its hind legs across the jungle’s uneven soil.

  We were almost at the Working Grounds—I knew, because I’d recognized the stream we’d followed at the beginning of our hunt—when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Everyone had stopped moving, and Trim was pointing across the flow of water.