The Feral Sentence- Complete Box Set

by Shade Owens

  Fisher glared up at me as if this reason wasn’t good enough for all our sightings.

  But there was no other explanation.

  Coin leaned on Fisher’s spear. “You know as well as I do that every time we leave the base, there’re dangers.”

  Fisher shook her head. “I don’t care. This is”—she inhaled a sharp breath through her teeth—“this is bullshit.”

  I agreed with her. But being upset with Kormace Island’s wildlife was a moot point. It was what it was. We had no control over it. This place was crawling with vermin, critters, insects, and predators. We weren’t camped out at an all-inclusive five-star resort. Things would never be comfortable.

  “Guys,” I said, breaking the unnecessary bickering. “We need to go back. Maybe someone has some kind of medical—”

  “Brone,” Fisher said.

  I stared at her.

  “Can you touch my toes?”

  I tilted my head. Was she trying to be funny?

  “Touch my damn toes!”

  Her leaf boots must’ve fallen off during the attack. I stretched my arm and pinched her right foot’s big toe.

  She nodded. “The other one.”

  Pinch.

  She nodded again. “No severed nerves.”

  I let out a relieved sigh, but my throat swelled. “You think we can treat this?”

  I couldn’t lose Fisher. She’d been my sidekick day in day out. The fact that I’d run toward a crocodile to save her life—even the memory was still a bit hazy—proved that I cared for her more than I’d realized.

  Fisher squinted as she tried to sit up straight. “We need to clean it and wrap it up. But after that, I need Navi.”

  If only things were so simple. The odds that our Medic had survived the attack were slim to none. She was a healer, after all. Why run away when so many women were being injured? To flee the attack would have contradicted everything she believed in.

  “I’ll find her,” I said. I was being delusional, but the words had come out nonetheless. Whether I’d said that to comfort her, or me, I wasn’t sure. But I had to try. I had to.

  “Help me up.”

  Coin and I scooped her up and she let out a soft yelp. I felt terrible. I should have been by her side, not standing out of the bay for safety. Maybe this could have been prevented.

  “Wait,” Fisher said, her curled toes dangling inches away from the ground. “Promise me something.”

  “Anything,” I said.

  “Promise me you’ll come back here.”

  Coin cocked her eyebrow and shot me a dazed look. Fisher turned her head slightly, her eyes fixated on the bay. “That motherfucker tried to eat me. I want crocodile for supper.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “What the fu—” Coin growled.

  She raised her leg, her knee nearly touching her belly. Underneath the pad of her foot was a long, flat piece of brown feces.

  “Are you kidding me?” she went off.

  “Coin,” I said, matter-of-factly. We didn’t have time for this. Fisher’s face had lost a shade of color, and her eyelids were becoming heavy.

  “Why would someone shit so close to camp?” she continued.

  “What makes you think it’s human?” I asked.

  “’Cause it is. I can tell. You wanna take a look?” she asked, her huge eyes glued to me.

  “Because we didn’t give the women a designated spot,” Fisher said, her voice hoarse.

  “That ain’t good enough.” Coin wiped her foot over and over against a broken piece of bamboo, shaking Fisher from side to side in the process.

  “Coin!” I hissed.

  She bickered for a few more minutes before we reached our new camp—Redwood. The sun had set, and women lay around a small, flickering fire. Some appeared to be sleeping; others chewed on pieces of fruit or vines for hydration.

  “What happened?” someone asked.

  Footsteps ran in our direction. There were a few moans as women woke from sleep, and in an instant, everyone was surrounding Fisher.

  We placed her by the fire, careful not to touch her wounded legs.

  “Bozhe mіĭ!” Everest cried, quick-stepping her way close to Fisher.

  I had no idea what she’d said, but I assumed, based on her disconcerted tone, that it meant something along the lines of “Oh my God” or “My goodness.”

  “What happened?” Ellie was the first to kneel by Fisher’s side. She pressed a firm, comforting hand on Fisher’s arm, but Fisher swung away and bared her teeth. She was in too much pain. Her forehead’s shiny skin reflected the campfire’s orange hue, and although difficult to confirm due to the lack of sunlight, she looked pale. How much blood had she lost? It wasn’t like we had the tools or the knowledge required to perform a blood transfusion.

  “We need to clean this up and stop the bleeding,” I said.

  Proxy walked away and quickly returned with what appeared to be a bamboo stick.

  “May I see Fisher’s knife?” she asked.

  Fisher’s hateful eyes rolled up at her. No way was she letting anyone touch her knife, even if it meant she’d die as a result. The knife had once belonged to her sister, who was also sentenced to serve time on Kormace Island. When Fisher first arrived on the island, she found her sister’s dead body, stabbed multiple times, lying in a bed of dirt near the southern shore.

  “Here,” Franklin said, handing Proxy a small shiv.

  Proxy pierced a hole at one end of the stick, her long frail arm muscles barely swelling in size as she forced the knife in.

  “Use this.” She handed Ellie the stick. “There should be clean rainwater in there. The inside of the bamboo stick acts as a filtration system.”

  Johnson—hating on Proxy as usual—scoffed, “And you couldn’t think to tell us about this earlier, dipshit? When we were all dried up and cracking from dehydration?”

  Proxy ignored her, which was probably the safest move. “I’ll go try to find matico leaves.”

  “Mati—what now?” Franklin asked.

  “I can’t be certain, but I believe I may have seen them right outside over there.” She pointed into absolute darkness. “Matico leaves act as an antiseptic. We can hopefully use it to eliminate or reduce her infection. It’s also an antinausea herb, and it alleviates most digestive issues. It would be good to keep some around. If I find any coca leaves, I’ll pluck them as well. We can use them as an anesthetic to numb her pain.”

  “How the hell do you know all of that?” Johnson asked.

  “Who cares?” Franklin cut in. “Coca leaves? We have coca leaves on the island?”

  “Observation,” Proxy said, ignoring Franklin’s excitement. “I was a big fan of Tegan’s.”

  Tegan, I thought. If there was one person we needed most, aside from Navi, our Medic, it was Tegan. She’d been the herbalist, if you will, who concocted all sorts of soaps, lotions, and medicinal herbs. Fisher had relied on Tegan for years to alleviate her endometriosis pain.

  But as I stared up at Proxy’s lanky silhouette outlined by a dim orange glow, I knew she’d play a key role in our new society. If we couldn’t have Tegan, we’d have the next best thing—a brainiac who, despite her awkward social skills, was incredibly intelligent and rather knowledgeable about the jungle’s plant kingdom.

  “I’ll go with her,” I said, plucking Fisher’s hunting spear out of Coin’s hand. I didn’t want to; I hated the jungle at night. It gave me chills. Although moonlight illuminated some areas, others were entirely black. The last thing I wanted to see was a pair of big night creature eyes staring right at me. But I’d have done anything to save Fisher.

  Ellie grabbed my arm. “Be careful.”

  I nodded and turned away, but she pulled me in and threw an arm around my neck. I wasn’t sure where it was coming from. I stood stiff, my eyes shifting from side to side, feeling like everyone was watching us.

  “You never know,” she said quietly before letting me go.

  I didn’t respond. Not because
I didn’t want to—I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to feel around Ellie just then. I cared about her, but something was off. Ever since that morning, I was numb. Was she right? Had the dead woman’s body affected me? Franklin suddenly appeared beside me, holding a stick with its tip a smoldering red.

  “Won’t last long,” she said, “but it’s something.”

  I thanked her and followed Proxy’s lead in between two giant trees, carrying Franklin’s stick that barely cast any light.

  What had I gotten myself into? I glanced back at Ellie’s still silhouette as guilt set in. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I feel anything?

  “This way,” Proxy said, slipping through a curtain of hanging vines.

  I grimaced as I slid through, envisioning my face brushing against the fuzzy leg of a giant spider.

  But I was Brone—an Archer, a Hunter. I’d killed a Norther. I’d survived a massacre. I couldn’t possibly be scared of the jungle at night. I repeated these words in my head, creating a delusional sense of confidence.

  I clenched my teeth with every step taken, anticipating a venomous snakebite or a trap of some sort. Then I realized Proxy was already way ahead of me, breezing through like she’d done this her entire life. How long had she been on the island, anyways?

  “You done this before?” I whispered, my voice barely carrying over the loud static sound of insects and night critters.

  She turned around, her mouse-like features illuminated from my fire-lit stick. A faint smile curved one side of her mouth. “I used to sneak out of the Village all the time.”

  Was she nuts? She could have been attacked or ambushed as I had been.

  “For resources?” I asked.

  “That’s correct,” she said. “I’ve gathered a few supplies for Tegan—you know, for her potions and what have you.”

  She was so straightforward, which wasn’t something I was accustomed to on this island. Most women were fueled by their beliefs and emotions.

  “And what did you get in return?” I asked.

  I knew how the women of Kormace operated—everything came at a price. No one offered services simply out of the kindness of their heart. Tegan had once given me free soap in exchange for a promise that I’d someday help her somehow. I’d probably never get the chance to repay her.

  “I got to learn,” Proxy said. “She taught me things she swore she’d never share with anyone else. She said it made her valuable to the community. Indispensable.”

  Indispensable, I thought.

  Horrific images flashed through my mind, almost as you’d see on the screen of a DSLR camera shooting in burst mode. The images were short-lived but vivid nonetheless: women raising their arms above their heads, pleading for their lives; half-masked faces with white chalk and bloodstains around their eyes; women throwing their heads back with their mouths wide open, screaming in pain; blood splattering through thick clouds of smoke; Fisher digging her fingers inside Mia’s lower abdomen to extract an arrowhead.

  Mia, I thought. She’d been too weak to follow us. I hoped she’d died peacefully and not at the hands of a predator.

  “The polite thing to do when someone speaks to you is to respond,” Proxy said.

  I shook my head. “Sorry.”

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I’m fine,” I lied.

  “It’s a silent killer, you know.”

  I stared at her. What was she talking about?

  “PTSD,” she continued.

  I’d heard the term tossed around a few times, especially when people spoke of the military, but what did that have to do with me?

  “Post-traumatic stress disorder,” she clarified.

  I knew what it meant.

  “What’s your point?” I hadn’t meant to get irritable, but we were out in the middle of the jungle with barely any visibility and Fisher’s wounds needed immediate attention. I didn’t have time to receive a lecture about some disorder.

  “I can see it in your eyes,” she said.

  This took me aback. Was she seriously insinuating I had PTSD? Sure, I’d seen a few horrendous things over the course of a year—a brief image of Sunny’s swollen, naked body hanging upside down flashed in my head—but it was nothing in comparison to the horrors soldiers were subjected to.

  Was it?

  “It doesn’t only affect veterans,” Proxy said, almost as if reading my mind. “A single traumatic event can trigger PTSD. Most women on the island suffer from it. In America, seventy percent of people experience or witness a traumatic event at least once in their life, and out of that seventy percent—”

  “Can we keep moving?” It came out as more of an order than a request. I didn’t care about her statistics. I didn’t need a mental disorder to get in the way of my survival—our survival. These women depended on me.

  “No problem,” she said, clearly unaffected by my harsh tone. “I believe I saw the matico leaves over here.”

  I stared at her slender figure as it slithered through colorless verdure, barely making a sound. Did she know what she was doing? Were these mati-something leaves actually going to help Fisher?

  “Bring the light,” I heard her say.

  I moved closer and extended the fire-lit stick. There was barely any fire left to it, but its bright red tip cast enough light to see the grooves on the leaves. She slid her thumb against the leaf’s flat surface and along its edges, assessing either its quality or its family class—I couldn’t tell which.

  The plant itself, a shrubby tree, measured at least several meters in height. I couldn’t see the top of it because it blended into the jungle’s darkness. The leaves themselves were lance-shaped and bigger than my hands.

  Proxy plucked several of the oversized leaves from their stems and placed them against her ribs, underneath her armpit.

  “This should do,” she said.

  As we made our way back, I began to see Redwood’s campfire flickering from side to side. No way could our mission have been that simple. I clenched my teeth as we moved closer, expecting to hear a snarl nearby, but the only sound came from frogs and insects projecting a soothing orchestral hum. There were no monkeys screaming, no leaves rustling, no branches breaking—everything was peaceful.

  It was too calm.

  My eyes shot this way and that, and I anticipated the worst. Sick to my stomach, the thought of crunching down on one of those matico leaves now seemed like a good idea.

  “Looks like everyone’s still up,” Proxy said, and I flinched at the sound of her voice.

  Out of nowhere, I imagined a Norther’s skull face appearing behind Proxy and a spearhead cracking through her rib cage and tearing out through her chest.

  My heart raced and my hands became clammy, but nothing happened.

  “You guys found it okay?” I heard, but there was a loud ringing in my ears, and I wasn’t sure who’d spoken.

  Proxy rushed toward Fisher with the leaves in hand, and a few women surrounded me.

  “Find any coca leaves?”

  There was laughter.

  “Hello?”

  I stared at Fisher, who was lying on her back beside the fire and at Proxy, who knelt beside her and prepared the leaves.

  Although I felt like I was dying, I knew I should have been relieved—for the first time in a long time, something had gone right.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Is this about the kiss?” Ellie asked.

  I stared into her soft eyes, even though I could barely see them due to nightfall, and focused my gaze on her lips.

  This was definitely not about the kiss.

  “Let’s forget it ever happened,” she went on.

  Everyone was sleeping, except for Johnson who’d been told to keep watch overnight.

  She lowered her voice even further. “Lydia, I’m sorry about that.”

  The sound of my own name took me aback. No one called me Lydia on the island—I was Brone. I automatically felt vulnerable.

  “Say so
mething,” she whispered.

  I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t ashamed of what had happened. I’d kissed a girl. What was the big deal? In fact, I’d enjoyed it much more than I’d have thought.

  “This isn’t about the kiss,” I said.

  She perked up, resting her head on one hand and placing the other on my belly.

  “I… I don’t know how to feel,” I tried.

  “About me?”

  I looked up at her.

  “We don’t have to make this a thing,” she started up again. “I mean, I want—”

  “I don’t want to care about you,” I said.

  Silence.

  I waited, expecting her to either scold me or to climb out of the hammock and sleep somewhere else.

  “Do you care about Fisher?” she suddenly asked.

  Where was she going with this? Fisher was only a friend. Was she jealous?

  “Just answer me.”

  “Of course I do. She’s my friend.”

  “And the Hunters?” she asked. “Trim, Rocket, Biggie, Flander?”

  “Of course.”

  “This island is full of death, Lydia. There’s no escaping that. As much as you hope to see your friends again, you might not find them.”

  Was she trying to spill salt into my wounds? A few days ago, she’d spoken to me about hope and now, she was being completely negative.

  “Do you wish you’d never met them?” she asked.

  “What?” I said.

  “The Hunters—if you don’t ever see them again.”

  I stared at her.

  “If you could go back in time and build yourself a little shelter by the beach… If you could live in seclusion on this island, would you do it? Would you be happier if you’d never met any of us?”

  “Of course not,” I said.

  She brushed her thumb up and down my arm. “I’ve been where you are, you know.”

  I was getting tired of lectures, but as usual, I wanted to hear what she had to say, so I waited.

  “Pulling away… distancing myself from others,” she continued. “I’ve lost a lot of people on this island. Everyone has. But that doesn’t mean we have to stop being human. If we don’t have love for each other, we’re nothing but a bunch of savage animals.”