by Shade Owens
Her eyes quickly shot behind me; no doubt she noticed the rapidly approaching fire. She stiffened and her eyes widened. Although I was filled with hate and vengeance following the Northers’ attack, this woman had nothing to do with the destruction of the Village. As I stared into her round eyes, seeing a speck of orange reflected from the fire, I realized they were filled with fear.
“Brone!” Fisher shouted in the distance, urging me to ignore the woman.
The woman’s eyes quickly shifted between the fire and me as if she were waiting for my permission to move, hoping I wouldn’t kill her the moment she tried to save herself.
But I couldn’t move. I stood there at a crossroads between humanity and instinctual self-preservation. Kill or be killed, I told myself.
The woman flinched at the sound of a tree cracking and collapsing onto the forest floor. There was something childlike about her frightened features. It was as if she’d been born and raised on Kormace—an animal in a human shell. Was this the result of isolation?
I couldn’t bring myself to take a life simply for the sake of eliminating a potential threat, even though I’d convinced myself there was no other way to survive the island. Her death would have been unnecessary. She wasn’t trying to hurt me.
“Run!” I shouted.
The woman scampered away from her habitat and disappeared into the thick of the forest. I caught up with Fisher, my back so hot it seemed as though I’d been burned by steam. I could tell by the look on her face that she wanted to beat me for having wasted time, but that alone would have required more time that we didn’t have.
She clenched her jaw and continued her sprint. Having spent several months running through the jungle in search of food, I was accustomed to long distances on jagged terrain. But as my lungs burned and my thigh muscles tightened, I understood I was either experiencing the symptoms of inadequate food and water intake or Kormace Island was as big as I’d been told it was—or both.
“How much farther?” I breathed, fighting to keep pace.
“No idea.” Fisher gasped to catch her breath, which was a sight entirely new to me. “Keep moving.”
I quickly glanced back at the fire, but what caught my attention was not the disintegrating herbage amid fiery flames. From behind clumpy gray clouds of smoke came the sight of bodies running away from the flames—both human and animal. From the treetops, dozens of chimpanzees swung rapidly in the opposite direction of the fire. Something small and fuzzy brushed against my ankle, and in the distance, handfuls of women ran together, barely visible within the murky air around them.
Maybe I knew them, maybe I didn’t. Were they even Murk’s people? I looked up at the sound of birds cawing as they circled above the jungle, almost in a pleading manner, almost as if wishing the chaos to end. We weren’t the only ones who’d been attacked. The entire animal kingdom was being demolished.
I continued toward Fisher, tree branches snapping and rattling overhead as monkeys swept by. When I thought I might finally collapse, I saw a break of light blast through the trees in the distance—a glimmer of hope.
“Almost there,” Fisher breathed.
I mustered the little bit of strength I had left and sprinted to the end of the forest, passing Fisher and beelining straight toward shore. But when I reached the end—when I was finally able to see the ocean’s flat, daunting horizon in its entirety—I was taken aback by the dozens of women gathered near the water.
I recognized a few faces, but most importantly, their handmade leather attire. These were Murk’s women. They must have fled during the attack before the fire spread.
What I then noticed was the sky. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Clumpy black clouds floated low, casting similar-shaped patches of shade to darken the sand at the women’s feet. The wind whistled eerily, blowing my hair back and out of my face.
I shifted my attention to the women and scanned their faces.
Please, God, please.
Surely, one of the Hunters was among them. Rocket, Biggie, Flander, Trim… My heart ached at the realization that my friends were nowhere to be seen. Aside from a few women I’d seen only briefly at the Working Grounds, I didn’t know any of them.
A deep, phlegmy cough came from behind me and I turned around. It was Hammer—the woman who’d owned the Tools tent. She’d also been the one to threaten me at knifepoint.
I clenched my jaw.
“Jesus!” she shouted, pulling at her clothing as if trying to prevent it from melting to her skin. She tore off her shirt, revealing several large rolls and sagging breasts. She rubbed her hands through her short, sweat-drenched hair then wiped her face with the inside of her elbow.
“Think I just lost ten pounds,” she said, marching out into the open with pretentious confidence.
A yellow, half-faced serpentine mask flashed in my mind. I remembered being held down on the bed of the jungle and forced to agree to pay up my hard-earned money—my pearls—on a weekly basis. I’d been like a mouse stuck inside the jaw of a bored housecat—completely helpless and poisoned by my attacker’s rotten breath.
I bit the inside of my cheek and stared at Hammer as she walked out on shore, a smug look on her narrow-eyed face.
Where was her sidekick? Her partner in crime? When I’d been ambushed in the jungle, another woman with a brown mask had stood in the distance, keeping watch. I remembered her nearly slipping up and referring to the woman as, “H—Panther.”
But the final nail in their coffins was hammered—no pun intended—the night before the attack. I was sitting with the Hunters around the Village fire when I heard a shrill voice begging Hammer to leave her alone. Side by side, the two women made quite the duo as they had the night they pinned me to the ground. After that moment, all the puzzle pieces fell into place: Hammer’s hatred for me ever since her failed attempt at ripping me off in the Tools tent; the big belly pressed up against mine during the ambush; and the short, messily spiked hair sticking out over the serpentine mask.
And then something else hit me. The night before the attack, when I saw Hammer standing beside the short woman, I finally put two and two together. I’d gone off to the Cliff (where I’d been instructed to drop off my pearls) with an unquenchable thirst for revenge, hoping to catch and confront the women collecting their cut. Because of this, I’d fallen asleep in the dirt that night, only to wake up the next morning to the sight of countless women lying lifelessly around the breakfast fire.
Had I been present during breakfast, I could have helped, somehow. I could have spotted the culprit—the woman responsible for poisoning our people—or I could put a stop to the entire attack. Although this outcome was highly unlikely, I couldn’t help but put the blame on Hammer. I hated her, and all I wanted to do was kill her.
The next thing I knew, I’d dropped my bow and was sprinting toward her like a marathon runner on their last few meters before the finish line. That familiar, floating sensation took over as if I’d been cast out of my own body and replaced by something carnal.
At first, her eyes narrowed and an arrogant smile distorted her fat face. Although I was small in comparison to her, I didn’t hesitate. I ran through the sand, kicking clumped grains into the air behind me. She stood there, unmoving, her arms crossed over her sagging chest.
Keep smiling, you cocky bitch.
There was a glimmer of doubt in her eyes seconds before I lunged straight for her throat. The velocity of my attack propelled her into the air and flat on her back. I landed on top of her, the two of us sliding a few feet into the sand as if I were sitting on a snow sled.
I raised both fists into the air and began beating down against her face one punch at a time. She tried to block me, but that didn’t stop me. I punched anything I could. Blood splattered onto my knuckles, and a sick sense of satisfaction filled me. Her arms dropped to the sides of her face, and she lay there motionless. But I couldn’t stop. I hated her… hated everyone… hated this fucking place.
“Stop
it!” someone said in the distance, but it sounded like a voice underwater.
I kept bashing her face as if this would somehow make all of Kormace Island disappear and take me back home.
My hand stopped in midair and warm fingers squeezed my wrist. I quickly swung back, attempting to throw a punch at whoever was responsible for getting in my way but missed. Someone grabbed my other wrist and dragged me across the sand, turning me onto my stomach.
“That’s enough,” Fisher said.
“It’s her fault!” I shouted, struggling to get out from underneath the weight of her body.
“I know you’re pissed,” Fisher said, “but whatever she did, it isn’t worth it.”
“Yes, it is!” I shouted, sand sticking to my lips.
“Brone!” Fisher growled, her knee digging deeper into my back. “Hammer’s the one who builds our weapons. We need her.”
“I don’t fucking care!”
“Well I do,” she said, her grip still tight.
I breathed quickly, wanting nothing more than to tear off Fisher’s face for having intervened.
“When you calm down, I’ll let you go,” she said.
I lay there, fuming, for what seemed like an eternity. The sound of soft footsteps began to circle us, and shadows appeared around me.
When I finally came to, a sickening nausea filled my stomach. I wanted to vomit, and not because Fisher’s knee was digging into me, but because I may have beaten a woman to death.
What had I become?
I stared at my hand. My knuckles were inflamed and covered in blood.
Fisher’s hold loosened when my stomach, beneath her knee, began to contract. I stood up just in time. Stomach acid came pouring out.
I wiped my mouth and glanced back at Hammer, who lay on her back, motionless. Her face, neck, and chest were smeared with blood and completely swollen—so much so that her face was almost unrecognizable. I watched, my heart racing as a few women squatted beside her, feeling for a pulse.
Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.
“She’s alive,” someone said.
I sighed, relieved that I didn’t have another life on my hands. I couldn’t even remember what I’d done. I remembered feeling hatred and wanting to kill her, but beyond that, I couldn’t recall what had happened.
Fisher released a pained grumble.
“Goddamnit.” She squeezed her belly and grimaced, dark red blood staining the insides of her pants and dripping down to her ankles.
CHAPTER 6
Had I hurt her?
I watched in horror as she ripped off her pants and rubbed sand onto her bare legs trying to erase the mess.
She must have sensed my worry because she looked up at me. “You didn’t do anything, Brone. It’s my fucking period.”
I released a long breath. The last thing I ever wanted to do was harm someone I cared about. Fisher stood, and the women who’d circled us backed away a few steps. I didn’t blame them for being afraid of Fisher. The last time a crowd was gathered like this, Fisher was standing over the woman whose throat she’d slit wide open.
Everyone feared her, but as I slowly stood, they cowered even further. I felt like a mannequin—on display for everyone to look at. I stood there, my body hunched and my veiny bloodstained arms dangling at my sides. I could feel the messiness of my hair atop my head. I must have looked like a complete savage.
Had I just ruined any chance I had at integrating with these women?
A sudden crack echoed around us, shaking the earth beneath our feet. Fisher’s eyes rolled up at the sky where black clouds appeared to be doubling in size with every minute. I glanced back at the jungle, where lumpy gray smoke burst through the trees and out into the open. It crackled and snapped as it ate its way through the forest.
The stormy clouds had lowered so much, I thought they might collide with the forest’s treetops.
And then there was a ghostly silence—a moment of absolute awe as though we were standing underneath an epic battle between Poseidon and Hades. My gaze followed the forest’s edge, where creatures and women came bolting out, some coughing and others collapsing onto the sand. There were hundreds of them now, emerging from the jungle and running toward the open water.
Flames suddenly blasted out from the trees, licking the air and dancing fiercely. I took a step back. A cool gust of wind aggravated the flames, expanding them farther up toward the sky. There was another crack from above and then another and another.
The clouds above us finally gave out, releasing rain so heavy it was as though I’d set foot underneath the Working Grounds’ waterfall. The winter-like breeze that had gently brushed my skin quickly transformed into a powerful force, pushing me back several feet.
“Holy mother of…” one woman said, her eyes fixed on the ocean. Its water resembled a massive reservoir of oil—black and glossy.
I wasn’t sure which to fear more—the storm or the wildfire.
The wind picked up again, so hard this time that water from the ocean came swooping toward us. I squinted my eyes and turned away to catch my breath. A loud, static-like sound spit through the air, bending palm trees to the ground, their leaves flapping against one another.
Waves began forming and rising as they approached the land. They came crashing down hard enough to propel wet sand into the air.
“R…!” Fisher shouted, but it was impossible to hear anything over the deafening sound of the tropical storm.
I couldn’t see anything anymore—not one single shape. A hand grabbed me. The next thing I knew, Fisher’s face was almost touching mine, and we were crouching down beside a body.
“Help me pull Hammer!” she shouted.
Several other panicked voices shouted around me, but I couldn’t make any of it out. I grabbed Hammer by the armpit and tugged back as hard as I could, feeling her body slide through the sand, which quickly became greasy mud.
The moment we reached the forest’s edge, Fisher dropped Hammer to the ground and slapped her across the face. Hammer’s eyes shot open, and in a frenzy, she jumped to her feet, her droopy breasts flapping from side to side.
“Come on!” Fisher said.
Several other women had followed us, apparently submitting to Fisher’s natural leadership.
From above, rain poured through the treetops and trickled its way down onto our heads. Water spilled from my hair and onto my face, and I spat out a mouthful.
I did my best to follow Fisher’s lead, shifting through the forest’s soggy bed. A loud splatter behind me indicated someone had fallen. Quickly glancing back, I spotted a young woman clasping both hands around her ankle and baring her teeth in agony.
“Someone help her!” I shouted.
Two women rushed to either side of her and scooped her up. The injured woman hopped forward with one leg only, her face contorted with pain. They brought her to a patch of dry soil underneath a tree that almost looked like the head of a mushroom. Its leaves—or at least, what was left of them—formed a wide, dome-like shelter from the rain.
Everyone stopped moving. I wouldn’t be one to complain; I needed the rest, even if only for a few minutes.
“Better heal fast. We’re not standing around here for long.” Fisher crossed her arms and inhaled a long breath.
No one dared argue.
Hammer tilted her round head back, her eyes fixated on the deathly sight around us.
My eyes met hers and she flinched. I couldn’t help but stare at the still-growing bulge over her right eye and the uneven split that separated her bottom lip in two. Blood covered her chin and neck, and for a second, I was nauseated until she opened her mouth to talk.
“What’re you lookin’ at?” She took a small step back as if I wouldn’t notice, and I remembered why I’d gone after her in the first place—she’d been my bully all along.
I widened my eyes and threateningly jerked forward, not quite understanding where this sudden confidence came from.
“Yo, man,�
� she went off in a panic, “it wasn’t personal. You were the newbie, and me, well, I have a problem taking advantage of the new ones. I’m sorry, Brone. Won’t happen again.”
“I know, sweetheart…” someone said, pulling my attention from Hammer.
The young girl who’d injured her ankle was sitting in a fetal position against the tree, shivering. One of the women who’d helped her was crouching by her side, rubbing her shoulder. I’d seen their faces before, but I wouldn’t have guessed their names in a million years.
“Careful.” Fisher quickly pressed a firm hand on my back, but it was too late.
There was a crunch underneath the heel of my foot before I noticed the body lying there. On the ground was a burned corpse trapped underneath a massive fallen tree that had presumably been the cause of this person’s horrific death. The body was obviously female—I knew this not because everyone on the island was female, but by her petite frame twisted in such a frightened manner, and by the few remaining strands of long blonde hair mixed with clumps of black dirt and white ash. Half of her face was a disarray of slimy red flesh, and one of her crippled hands was so badly burned I could see bone.
How long had she been dead? Hours? Minutes? Seconds? I stared at her face—an unrecognizable jumble of partial features glistening underneath a layer of rainwater.
She was gone—at peace from this grisly nightmare.
Did I know her?
There was a whimper behind me, and I turned around to see a woman clasping both hands over her mouth as if forming a blockade to prevent vomit from spilling out.
“There’ll be more,” Fisher said coldly. “Keep your eyes open.”
“Fisher,” I said, gazing at the heavy rain in the distance. The storm was moving quickly, and soon, it would be directly over our heads.
Her glassy, marble-like eyes followed mine and she quickly nodded. “We have to keep moving.”
“And where are we going?” someone asked.