The Feral Sentence- Complete Box Set

by Shade Owens

  Bodies quickly began disappearing into the forest, one after the other.

  “Hey!” an old woman shouted from beside one of the market shacks. She pointed her old, wrinkly finger in our direction and shifted her weight from one foot to another so quickly it looked like she was either dancing or had to pee. “The—they’re runnin’! Stop them! Someone! They’re—they’re getting’ away!”

  If I’d had my bow, I’d have probably shot an arrow through her leg to shut her up. What was she doing? Why was she turning on her own people? Was she that old and miserable she didn’t want anything happening to her pathetic excuse of a life?

  But she wasn’t alone. Some women even went as far as to physically grab some of the runners, stopping them in their escape.

  I lunged over a fallen tree trunk and landed in a bed of gooey, rotten leaves. My women followed close behind, shivs gripped tightly in their hands.

  I quickly glanced at Quinn, thinking, We’re doing it—we’re actually doing it, but didn’t say anything. She gave me a brief nod and we sprinted straight ahead, our bare feet splattering through the jungle’s moist earth.

  I missed my crocodile boots more than anything, especially right then as the idea of stepping on a venomous snake or oversized insect crept through my mind. But I didn’t have time to focus on what I was wearing. There was only one thing that mattered, and that was getting out alive.

  Then, the voices around us began growing louder. It was as if the women had only then realized they’d crossed the city’s perimeter—as if they’d realized they were no longer prisoners of the Northers, of the Beasts. Their voices brought chills up my arms and down my back, and although I wanted to join in on the shouting, I knew it was too early to celebrate.

  “Keep moving!” I shouted, and bodies stormed through the jungle’s vegetation, slapping leaves and crunching down on the jungle floor.

  The sun was beginning to set, lighting the trees around us with a bright orange glow, and women ran and ran and ran. Although no one was chasing us—at least not yet—it felt like we were prey. It was only a matter of time now before arrows came whistling through the trees.

  I tightened my grip around the small wooden stake Hammer had carved for us and scanned our surroundings as we moved. Any minute now, one of the Northers would come into view. They would be patrolling this area, guarding the city against exterior and internal threats alike.

  But no one was there.

  Why wasn’t there a Norther—a Beast—waiting for us? I tried to find Sumi in the crowd, but there were too many women.

  And then the screaming started.

  At first, it was one woman who let out a high-pitched screech. Not long after that, a few other women began shouting in agony until the sound of feet stomping on the jungle floor disappeared entirely, only to be replaced by laments, shouts, and cries.

  My heart thumped hard against my chest and I wiped paste from my mouth. What the hell was going on? And why were—

  My head shook violently and I took a step back, dazed. A crowd of women had stopped running and gathered around tree trunks. I rubbed my forehead and blinked several times. One of them was lying flat on the ground and no one bothered to help her up. I must have run into her. Then, women started walking backward, sweat dripping down their necks and shoulders slouched forward in submission.

  They pleaded, begged, even, for mercy.

  “Please,” someone said.

  “It was a mistake.”

  Who were they pleading to? I’d told them not to stop running. I grabbed a woman’s shoulder and ripped her out of the way to get a look at what was going on.

  I wished I hadn’t.

  I couldn’t count how many there were exactly—twenty, maybe thirty. They all stood stiffly with blood splattered on their leather armor and furry shoulders. Some of them wore wooden masks that looked like poorly carved skulls, and others, actual skulls over their faces. It made it difficult to see their eyes, but I could sense their hatred, or at least, their brainwashed hatred.

  These weren’t Beasts—they were Peasants who’d been trained to fight. None of them had the Russian tattoos on their arms, and for the most part, they looked young, which meant they weren’t Originals, either. It was like they’d been programmed to breathe, eat, sleep, and kill.

  At their feet, bodies lay motionless—some with blood covering their faces and others with missing limbs.

  Half of the Peasants held bows in the air, arrows resting on their index fingers, aimed right at us.

  Then, from behind them, a Beast came out. She wore thick fur over her padded shoulders and a chest plate that looked to be made of metal. Around her wrists were metallic cuffs, and the sound of heavy weapons chafing filled the air as she walked forward.

  I took a step back, but there wasn’t time.

  The Beast raised her chin, her black eyes scanning us from over stripes of red war paint on her face. Then, with a frighteningly deep and authoritative voice, she shouted, “Fire!” and more bodies began collapsing on the jungle floor.

  EPISODE 10

  PROLOGUE

  Droplets of warm blood sprinkled across my face, neck, and shoulders.

  For a moment, I was back in our burning Village, running among hundreds of women, surrounded by thickening smoke. Northers came stomping in with their weapons held high and their rotten mouths wide open. Screams spread around me and I watched in horror as women collapsed through the smoke, falling on their knees, their backs, and even their faces.

  It was a massacre, and there was nothing I could do.

  I blinked once, then again, until I came to and realized I wasn’t standing amid hot flames—I hadn’t gone back in time to relive my nightmare, but I hadn’t left this one either.

  Now, I was in another nightmare, all because I’d tried to run. I’d attempted to escape Norther imprisonment.

  Northers formed a barricading wall in front of us, swinging their clubs, blades, and even swords at women who attempted to run past them. A shrill cry spread through the forest trees like a gust of wind, and a body collapsed over giant roots.

  “Get back!” one of the Northers shouted in a deep, resonating snarl.

  Quickly, women ran in the opposite direction and back toward the city.

  What were they doing? This wasn’t the plan. I’d instructed everyone to press on, no matter what happened. If we ran back to the city, there was no telling what would happen to us. Maybe they’d slaughter us all the moment they had us cornered.

  “No, no!” I shouted, punching a fist in the air. But even as my own words came out, I knew they were unrealistic. I couldn’t expect these women to sacrifice their lives so that I could brush past these Beasts and save my friends—to warn them about Zsasz and her army of women who’d left the city in search of the Cove.

  Another scream came blasting out of a woman’s lungs beside me, and when I turned, I saw a bloody sword pierce through her abdomen, pulling pieces of intestines along with it. She looked mortified, almost confused, and blood pooled over her tongue and through the cracks of her teeth. The Norther behind her tore the blade out and it made a ripping sound; she immediately fell to her knees, thick blood gurgling in the back of her throat.

  The sound of rapid footsteps crunching down on jungle vegetation filled the air, and I was pushed from back and forth as women stampeded their way back to the city, their cries masking the stomping sound that shook the ground under my feet.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  This wasn’t what we had planned.

  We were supposed to escape.

  Everything spun around me, so much so that I had to remind myself I wasn’t dreaming. I wouldn’t wake up beside Coin or Quinn, prepared for another day of slavery. This would change everything. We were either going to die here, or we were going to pay afterward for trying to escape.

  How the hell had the Northers known about our escape? Barely any planning had gone into this whole thing because I’d reacted on my emotions—I’
d wanted nothing more than to reach the Cove to warn my friends before Zsasz and her army, along with Franklin, reached it themselves.

  How could anyone have had the time to warn the Northers?

  Was this Snow Face’s doing? The woman who’d threatened to take me down if I attempted anything else? I thought back to that day when she stood behind me with something sharp jabbed into my throat, and a blinding rage filled me.

  I’d kill her.

  The sound of heavy metal breaking skull matter resonated beside me, and I was immediately pulled back into my gruesome reality.

  It didn’t matter how any of this had happened. In the end, this was all my fault. As women brushed past me, I quickened my pace and joined them on their way back to the city.

  I didn’t want to run, but I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t fight the Northers by myself.

  But then, I heard a loud grunt, and though I didn’t want to stop running, I couldn’t help myself—I recognized the voice. I stopped in my tracks and turned around, causing several women to trip over me, but I didn’t care; I couldn’t move.

  Only a few feet away, Hammer stood still, eyes sealed shut and teeth clenched tight. Her head appeared over a few shoulders, but everyone was running so fast I could barely see her. A Norther behind her raised what looked like a stone ax fastened around a wooden stick and came swinging down hard. Blood spat out into the air and women panicked, the skin on their faces pulled back so tight in fear they resembled a herd of terrified gazelles surrounded by hungry lions.

  “Hammer!” I shouted, but my voice barely carried beyond the tip of my nose.

  A firm hand suddenly grabbed me around the arm and pulled me into the moving crowd.

  CHAPTER 1

  The silence that had filled the city with a heavy hopelessness was eventually replaced by the city’s usual chaos—women shouting over one another, elephants stomping through the city grounds, and Smith—the city’s blacksmith—still pounding away on metals to forge weapons and tools. I didn’t understand that woman. She’d often keep working even after the day was over, sometimes up until the sun set, and when it did, she’d be released from her cuffs and brought through the Northers’ gate.

  It was almost as if she was too brainwashed, too dangerous, to be allowed anywhere near the rest of us Peasants.

  The voices around me, though, weren’t the same as usual. They weren’t lively and loud or passionately argumentative. Instead, they were angry and resentful. Several eyes kept darting my way, but I couldn’t tell if the women were apologetic for running in the opposite direction or resentful of me and my plan. Did they want me to come up with a better plan, or to step forward and allow myself to be slaughtered by them?

  “What the fuck just happened?” Arenas asked, her face partially shadowed by the trees around us.

  I glared at the ground, my good fist balled so tightly my fingernails dug hard into my palms. My other hand, however, was slowly getting better. It was still completely discolored, and I wasn’t able to make a solid fist yet, but within a few months, I’d probably be back to normal.

  I looked up at Arenas and the others and shrugged, though what I wanted to do was kill someone. Who the hell had given us up? Those Northers had been waiting for us—prepared to slaughter anyone who tried to run.

  And they’d done exactly that.

  I glared into the distance in search of someone—anyone—who gave me the slightest indication they were responsible for this. Where was Snow Face? I stood up, shoulders drawn.

  All of a sudden, I stopped breathing, teeth clenched tight.

  Holland. It had to have been her. She was in on the whole thing.

  I’d kill her.

  I’d kill the Beasts.

  All of them.

  They’d slaughtered countless women, and for what? To prove to the others that we don’t stand a chance against them? To discourage us from ever taking a stand? Well, it was working. All of the women who’d stood by my side surely wouldn’t want to take part in some rebellion… Not after this.

  I ground my teeth until my jaw popped. “Someone gave us up.”

  I’d said someone casually, though the only person I could imagine who would have given us up was Snow Face.

  Quinn, who was sitting on the hammock across from me, punched the air, her septum ring bouncing up and down on her face. The sun had now entirely disappeared behind the mountain, and the only light around us was cast by small firepits dug throughout the sleeping area.

  Any minute now, a few Northers would come and tell us to put out the fires and get to sleep.

  Or, they’d come and slaughter us all for what we’d done.

  “Fuckin’ bitch is gonna pay for this,” Quinn said.

  She’d made it sound like she knew who the culprit was. I glanced up at her. “Who?”

  “Whoever did this!” she snapped.

  Several heads turned our way, including those of injured women who lay on beds of leaves, moaning in pain. By sunrise, several of them would be dead. But it didn’t stop their friends from comforting them and trying to help them the best they could.

  “I’ll kill them with my bare fuckin’ hands,” she added.

  I understood Quinn’s rage. Not only had we not escaped, but she’d lost two of her women—her friends—in the massacre. I didn’t know their names, but they were often with Quinn, and it was obvious they’d been close.

  I turned my attention to everyone around me—Arenas, Coin, Johnson, and Hammer. My eyes lingered on Hammer a little longer than I’d planned, but I couldn’t help myself. A few hours ago, I’d thought I’d lost her.

  My voice was still hoarse from screaming, and if it hadn’t been for Quinn pulling me out of the crowd, I would probably have stood there shouting for Hammer until the Northers reached me.

  God, it was good to see her face.

  “Don’t make no sense,” Coin said, staring at the ground with big eyes and nostrils wider than her lips. The only thing I could see in the darkening forest was the whites of her eyes—they looked like balls colored with highlighter marker in comparison to her dark skin. “When would anyone have had time to rat us out? Everythin’ was so last minute. The whole point was to reach the Cove—”

  “It was Holland,” I said, my voice low and rough.

  “Holland?” Arenas said.

  Coin scoffed and brushed her hands through her woolly hair. It was weird to see her without her mohawk, but everyone had changed since we’d been captured, and Coin was no exception. She’d slowly begun to regain her muscle, though, by eating fruits and nuts whenever possible, doing push-ups during our work hours, and doing chin-ups from tree branches before bed.

  She wasn’t alone in this either. Countless women were often seen exercising, though not everyone was able to due to our caloric deficit. “The bitch responsible for killin’ our women,” she said, and though she was talking to Arenas, her eyes were on me. It was like she was still pissed off that I hadn’t killed Holland when I’d had the chance inside the fighting ring. “Apparently, she’s good now,” she added, but it came out as a sneer.

  Johnson, being the mediator, cleared her throat and said, “The Northers didn’t leave her much choice. Wouldn’t you have done about anything if your sibling’s life was at risk?”

  Coin slapped the air in front of her. “Man, I don’t got no siblings, and if I did, I’m sorry, but naw… I wouldn’t kill hundreds of women to save one life.”

  Having someone threaten you to massacre hundreds of women in exchange for your sister’s life seemed like an easy outcome—it only seemed rational to choose to save hundreds of lives over one, but in the real world, the decision wasn’t all that simple.

  The truth was, anyone would pick their loved one over strangers, and Holland had been no exception, even though they’d slaughtered her sister afterward anyways.

  How could she have done this? How could she have possibly helped the Northers after what they’d done to her sister and her?

  Qu
inn, who now resembled nothing more than a dark, poorly postured silhouette, said, “Yes, you would.”

  I didn’t bother asking why she’d said that, but I could only assume it was because she’d lost someone close to her—maybe even a sibling. I instantly thought of Fisher and how she’d told me she’d found her dead sister on the island with numerous stab wounds. Though I was an only child, it hurt me to imagine the pain Fisher must have felt.

  Coin didn’t seem too keen on interrogating Quinn either. She sat quietly, which wasn’t something she did very often.

  Out of the shadows came Hammer’s voice. “It wasn’t Holland.”

  I leaned forward in my hammock, the vines holding it in place making a squeaking noise. “How do you know?”

  “She gave her life for mine,” Hammer said.

  CHAPTER 2

  Falling asleep that night was harder than any other night although every night was a challenge. I was often tossing and turning or outright kicking my legs in the air as vivid memories flashed in my mind; they were always violent memories, too, and sometimes even more violent than what had actually happened.

  I’d grown accustomed to seeing dead bodies behind closed eyes. What I hated the most was when I was on the verge of falling asleep and I’d see blood splatter in my face. It made me jump every single time, and more often than not, I’d manage to wake someone up.

  “You okay?” one of my women would ask me, and I’d mumble something along the lines of yes.

  But tonight, everything was silent—too silent, almost.

  Why hadn’t the Northers done anything? Why hadn’t Rainer come out? Their lack of action was more frightening than punishment. Were they content knowing they’d massacred dozens of us? Was that our punishment?

  I stared overhead, trying to count stars through the dense vegetation. Then, I turned my head and gazed at the moonlit city, noting how calm it was. Aside from a few stray leaves that rolled through the sand, nothing moved.