by Shade Owens
“This seat taken?”
I glanced up. It was Biggie. She was holding a half skull in one hand and a half melon in the other. “Here,” she said, handing me the melon. She sat beside me atop a thick wooden log that had stabilized itself into the ground over the course of several years, I presumed.
“What is this?” I asked. I leaned over the melon bowl and inhaled. The stench made my nostrils flare even wider, and I immediately turned away.
“Oh come on, it ain’t that bad,” she said. She tilted her skull bowl toward her lips with both hands and sipped on the liquid. “Tegan makes it. It’s home brewed.”
“Alcohol?” I asked.
She smiled sideways before drinking some more.
“It smells rotten,” I admitted.
“Kinda is,” she said. “Won’t hurt you, though. Ain’t you ever done a tequila shot or a vodka shot? That shit don’t taste like chocolate, but it sure feels good.”
My mouth watered at the thought of chocolate.
I reluctantly tilted the melon toward my lips, allowing the warm fluid to enter past my bottom teeth and over the top of my tongue. The taste was overpowering—it tasted like rubbing alcohol with the subtlety of tropical fruit. I immediately spat it back into the melon bowl, only to then realize that everyone’s eyes had turned my way.
“What’s the matter, Archer? Can’t handle Tegan’s brew?” Eagle said.
Everyone burst out laughing. I stared at her for a moment even though all I wanted to do was glare or tell her to go fuck herself. I wasn’t the one who’d severed her nerves or the reason she’d landed herself on Kormace Island to begin with. She was acting like a child.
As the fire crackled, I noticed a crooked smile take shape on her shadowed face. I wasn’t sure whether I had remained quiet simply because confrontation wasn’t in my nature or because Eagle was sitting directly beside Murk.
“Give her a break, Eag. Everyone has a hard time drinking the stuff at first.” Rocket sat down by Eagle’s side and nudged her on the arm.
Eagle scoffed, still eyeing me. “Not like that.”
“Don’t worry, I did the same thing,” I heard.
There was a middle-aged woman standing behind me with both arms crossed over her chest and an overall careless way about her.
“Shit’s not for everyone,” she added.
I tried to smile at her, being that she’d come to my defense, but she walked away to join a group of women gathered on the other side of the fire. Eagle went on to mutter something to Rocket, but I wasn’t able to hear. There were too many voices being thrown in all directions.
I looked around in search of Flander and Fisher, but it was too dark beyond the fire to see anyone’s face. There were dozens of women gathered in honor of Eagle’s bravery the day of the attack.
“You gonna drink that?” Biggie asked, leaning over me.
I looked down at my melon bowl, which was almost entirely full, and I shook my head. I couldn’t see myself ever acquiring a taste for such a vile concoction.
“No use wasting.” She reached over and pulled the drink out of my hands.
I leaned forward with both elbows on my knees, staring into the fire. I imagined myself suddenly waking up from an induced coma, only to be told by hospital staff that I’d suffered a severe head injury the night Gary attacked my mother. Maybe this was all just a dream—Kormace Island, the Hunters, the Northers, the Ogres—maybe none of them were real. Maybe, just maybe… they were all fictional characters from a television series that I’d somehow managed to incorporate into my vivid dreams.
* * *
“Can you believe that?” Melody asked. She was pointing at the daily newspaper, just below a title that read, “New Economical Prison.”
She’d brought in the paper as she did every morning at St. Mariana’s Thrift Store, and we were both leaning over the counter killing time on a rainy Sunday afternoon.
“I thought that was just a rumor,” I said.
“Me too. Listen.” She picked up the paper and pulled it closer to her black-rimmed glasses. “A new plan is currently in place to begin replacing maximum security prisons with government-owned islands for economic purposes and for civilian safety. According to our source, this plan is targeting only the most dangerous of criminals—those convicted of first-degree murder.
“‘The plan is to replace certain concrete institutions with Mother Nature herself,’ Mr. Milas, Attorney General of the Department of Justice, stated during a conference held at the Goliath Centre last week. ‘This is the most economical way to proceed.’
“The length of sentencing remains unclear, and Mr. Milas has yet to provide any clear details as to when this plan is to be implemented.”
Melody glanced up at me. “I’ve been hearing about this for years. I’m surprised they’re actually going through with it.”
I scoffed. “Or someone caught them sending prisoners away and now it’s being leaked publicly.”
She smirked. “Look at you… Conspiracy nut.” She placed the newspaper back on the counter. “Either way, I think it’s brilliant.”
I laughed. “Why’s that?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want to let our tax money feed murderers in prison? I completely agree with the guy. Drop ’em off on an island and let them fend for themselves.”
* * *
“Fruit?”
I glanced up to find an older, orange-haired and freckle-faced woman standing directly in front of me, carrying kabobs of multicolored fruit in both hands.
I hesitated. I’d never been offered fruit on a stick before.
“There’s mango, guava, banana, papaya, and acai berries,” she said, eyeing the kabob as if trying to point at each individual fruit with her eyes.
“It’s free?” I asked.
I remembered being brought to a hockey game by my mother when I was young, where men and women strolled through the aisles with bags of popcorn and cans of beer. I must have been six, maybe seven years old, and I remembered reaching for a bag of popcorn thinking it was free.
“Nothing’s ever free,” my mother had told me, “even if it’s offered to you.”
“Course it’s free,” the woman said. She plucked one of the kabobs like a rose from a bouquet and handed it to me.
I hadn’t had the time to thank her, before Biggie’s thick arm brushed past my face in reach of a skewer. She took it right out of the woman’s hand, thanked her, and pulled off the first piece of fruit with her teeth.
“Thanks, Fran,” Biggie said.
The woman, Fran, rolled her eyes and made her way around the fire, bending over gently and offering her handmade creations.
“That’s Fran,” Biggie said through a mouthful of chewed-up mango. “She’s one of the Farmers. Likes to be creative when it comes to food.”
“It’s pretty,” I said, poking at a piece of sliced guava. It had a beautiful green exterior, and its insides were a vibrant pinkish red—like the inside of a juicy watermelon. It wasn’t what you’d find at the local grocery store or at the market. It was evident that this fruit hadn’t been subjected to any chemicals or long-distance transportation.
I pulled it off of its finely carved branch and bit into it, careful not to crunch down on its seeds.
“Oh my God,” was all I managed to say.
“Ain’t nothing like Kormace fruit,” Biggie said, finishing her last piece of banana. “You gonna eat that?” She pointed at my mango.
I instinctively pulled away like a rabid dog protecting a piece of broken bone, and Biggie burst out laughing.
“You’re a true Islander now,” she said, throwing an arm around my shoulders so hard I nearly dropped my fruit.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, feeling as though my bladder might explode.
The funny thing about many apocalyptic movies and TV shows is that they don’t really incorporate the dirty details of basic comfort—which is something I had to learn the hard way on Kormace Island. Believe
it or not, Murk had established rules when it came to releasing. Urination was to be done outside the Village walls and away from the Working Grounds.
* * *
“Just keep the Village in sight and do your thing,” Rocket told me one of my first few days on Kormace Island. She then plucked an oversized leaf from the base of a tree. “These are probably your best bet for wiping. I wouldn’t be too adventurous with the type of plant you grab, either… Might break out in a rash.”
She then led me around the Village walls to where greenery turned into rock and flat surfaces became rough and slanted. At the edge of these rocks was a sudden drop.
“We call this the Cliff,” she said.
I peered down into the abyss. I could see the tops of trees and I could hear the soothing sound of flowing water, but nothing more.
“Think of it as a natural garbage disposal pit,” she said. “Bones, feces, fruit peel, bodies, you know… And you don’t hover over it to take a shit, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
I hesitated. “Bodies?”
Rocket shrugged almost nonchalantly, although I could tell she’d lost people she loved by the way she avoided my eyes. “People die, Brone. It’s not like we have shovels to dig graves for every single one of them.”
“What about funerals? A ceremony?” I asked, feeling like nothing more than a disposable object constructed of flesh and bone.
She shrugged again. “If they die in battle or on our territory, then of course we celebrate them. If they go missing, well, that’s kind of hush-hush around here. Murk doesn’t like rumors floating around, ya know? So if someone disappears, no one talks about them.”
“And no one goes looking for them?”
She shook her head. “Not everyone who disappears gets killed. Some of them are used to lure us in by the Northers, which isn’t worth the risk. Some women decide to live on their own—or, at least, try to—and others, well… They seem to think that Rainer has more to offer.”
“That’s the Northers’ leader, right?” I asked.
Rocket smirked. “One and only. I hope she burns in hell.”
* * *
I hated leaving the Village walls past sunset. I caught the Night Watcher’s eyes as I made my way through the Village’s entrance, and I knew that despite her standing there to keep watch over the Village, her presence did not guarantee my safety. She stood tall and stiff, carrying a beige tusk in her right hand, which I knew was the only weapon she had—a means of alerting everyone of oncoming danger.
A horn wouldn’t save me from an attack or a kidnapping. I clenched my teeth as I rushed through a narrow path, guided only by old tracks dimly illuminated by the moon. I reached out, gently gliding my fingertips along the coarse, massive tree trunks as I moved forward.
“When you go, just move away from the Village. No one likes the smell of piss when they eat breakfast,” Rocket had told me the day she brought me to the Cliff.
I glanced back. I could see an orange glow hovering above the Village walls, and I could hear women talking among themselves. I shot several glances in every direction, only to be reunited with darkness and wildlife noises—cracking of tree branches, rustling of leaves, insect cries, and the faraway sound of running water.
I lowered my pants and squatted by the base of a tree, emptying my bladder as quickly as possible. I managed to find a leaf and to refasten my pants around my waist, but the moment I moved toward the Village, I heard something…
My eyes widened into the blackness, as if opening them to their fullest would somehow allow me to see beyond human capability. I couldn’t see anything, but there was movement nearby, and I feared that the sound of my own heart pounding would give away my location.
I fell into a crouched position and waited. I considered running back to the Village, but for all I knew, I’d be running away from a wild cat. It was better to stay still.
Silence returned. Maybe I was overreacting… Maybe it was nothing more than a rabbit or a wild turkey lurking nearby. I’d been so paranoid ever since Sunny’s abduction that I imagined the slightest of sounds to be some horrid predatory beast.
But the sound that followed next proved to me that I wasn’t overreacting… I was being followed. The noise had been faint but distinguishable nonetheless—heavy breathing.
CHAPTER 6
“You so much as breathe too loud, and I’ll slit your fucking throat,” she said, a filthy hand held tightly over my lips and the sharp point of a blade pressing into the base of my throat.
I lay on my back, my elbows digging into the jungle’s moist earth; she sat on me with both legs on either side of my body. I couldn’t see her face—not because of the darkness but because of the yellow serpentine mask covering her nose, her eyes, and the majority of her forehead. It almost looked as though she’d collected snake molt and glued it to a plain wooden mask.
Behind her stood another woman who wore a similar mask, only it appeared brown and much too large for her face. She fidgeted, constantly shifting her gaze toward the Village as if at any moment, the Night Watcher would blow the horn, warning everyone of the nearby threat.
The woman in the yellow mask leaned in closer, her raunchy breath warming the lower half my face.
“Every time you get paid, we’ll expect a cut.”
The woman behind her shuffled around. “Hurry up, H—Panther, I think someone’s comin’.”
Panther—I assumed it was her code name—turned around and waved a careless hand before returning her focus onto me. “Three pearls, weekly.”
Three pearls? I only earned five pearls per week. And this woman expected me to hand over more than half of my earnings?
“That gonna be a problem?” Panther asked.
I quickly shook my head, feeling as though my heart might explode. I didn’t have much of a choice.
The weight of her body began to take its toll, and all I wanted was to run away, but I couldn’t move.
“You know where the Cliff is?” she asked.
I nodded, feeling the sharp point of her blade dig deeper into my neck.
“There’s a boulder farther down with a palm tree beside it. Dig the pearls behind the boulder, got it?” I nodded.
“Panther, come on…” the other woman said.
“I know you get paid every seven days. In fact, pay day’s coming up, so I’ll expect to find me some treasure by the Cliff soon,” Panther said. She shoved me into the dirt and climbed off of me. But she didn’t walk away. Instead, she just stood there, hovering over me as would a predator over its tortured prey.
She pointed her blade at me, and I realized it was actually a shiv made of bone. “You mention this to anyone, and waste won’t be the only thing thrown over the Cliff.”
And with that, she disappeared into the jungle. I wished I’d caught a glimpse of her eye color, her hair color, tattoos—anything. But it had been too dark. All I could see in my mind was the cracked snakeskin floating above my face.
I hurried back to the Village, both terrified and vulnerable. What was I supposed to do? Run to Trim? Tell her what happened? I didn’t know who this woman was. For all I knew, she was Trim’s friend. I thought of finding Ellie, but the last thing I wanted to do was put her at risk. This woman—Panther—was unidentifiable. Was she a Norther? An Ogre? Was she one of us? My heart pounded, and my legs trembled so bad I had to walk slowly to avoid collapsing to the ground.
I could hear Murk’s voice in the distance, but it sounded so faint, so surreal as if being emitted through a large construction pipe, or a never-ending tunnel. She was praising Eagle, from what I could gather—recognizing her bravery, her selflessness, and so on. But the last thing I cared about was Eagle.
The only thing racing through my mind was the serpentine masks and the idea of being thrown to my death from atop the Cliff. How had this happened? The Village was supposed to be safe. Murk prided herself on keeping her women safe. Why was there no security outside the Village walls?
“W
hoa, Brone, where’re you going?” I heard.
I glanced up and realized that nothing had changed inside the Village’s walls. Everyone was still celebrating—women were beating down on drums and dancing to the rhythm, drinking from their cups, smiling and laughing, and eating freshly cut fruit from wooden sticks.
“Hello?”
It was Fisher. She was standing in front of me with both hands on her waist and her head tilted to one side.
“I’m just tired. I need sleep,” I said.
“You okay?” she asked.
I nodded and quickly moved past her, but her hand caught my arm.
“What happened?” she asked.
Fisher wasn’t the empathetic type. She looked at me through narrowed eyes—not those of worry, but rather, concern.
“I… I,” I stammered.
Was my demeanor so different that she had picked up on my fear? Fisher never seemed to worry about others’ emotions. So what did she care, anyway?
She scratched the front of her throat and raised both eyebrows. “You’re bleeding.”
I mirrored her movement and gently pressed my finger against the base of my neck, feeling warmth and irritation; then I pulled my hand away. Blotches of dark red covered my fingertips.
“Well?” she pressed.
“Oh, this,” I said. “I, um… I had to go… You know. And, well,” I said and tried to create a false reality in which I slipped trying to get back up and caught a sharp rock.
“I don’t need to know,” she quickly interrupted. “Just clean it out. The last thing you want is an infection. We don’t have antibiotics here. If Trim sees you with that, you’re in for a speech. Find some lemon, salt, whatever. Go see Tegan, and get that taken care of.”
I nodded and continued toward my tent. The last thing I wanted was to go talk to anyone else. The cut could wait. I’d clean it out in the morning.
I distanced myself from the Village’s celebration and hurried into the comfort of my tent. It wasn’t much, with its dirt flooring, torn ceiling, and a stack of giant leaves I’d found while venturing to the Cliff several days after my arrival on Kormace Island—but it was where I felt comfortable.