The Feral Sentence- Complete Box Set

by Shade Owens

  “Would you stop doing that?” Johnson said.

  Tegan didn’t look up. Instead, she picked up one of the fallen leaves with both hands and brushed its ridges along her bottom lip, before delicately placing it back into her pouch.

  Johnson arched an eyebrow and leaned into the rest of us. “What’s she doing?”

  “Being Tegan,” Hammer said.

  I turned my attention to Hammer, wondering if she’d known Tegan during our time in the Village. After all, she’d owned a shop near hers. They could have once been friends.

  I hadn’t known Tegan long enough to determine whether her unusual behavior was the result of the abuse she’d endured or her eccentricity. All I cared about was that she was still in there—that she was still capable of mixing plants and herbs to cure diseases or fight infection.

  “What do those do?” Arenas asked. It came out as if she were speaking to a child—soft and curious—which was surprising coming out of her mouth. “Can they fight cancer?”

  Maybe Arenas had left a child, or several, in the real world.

  Tegan lit up and nodded excitedly. “Lapacho. P-p-powerful enough to k-kill fetuses in pregnant r-r-rats.”

  “Jesus,” Arenas said, her motherly tone instantly gone. “Why the fuck would you wanna do that?”

  Tegan shrugged. “I don’t. Studies.”

  “Girl, how do you know all of this?” Coin asked. “You some kind of pharmacist?”

  Tegan shook her head, her matted hair resembling an oversized hat. “W-worked at the B-Blue Crystal. A gift shop.” She then smirked, almost mischievously, and added, “It was a P-pagan shop, but with the n-n-new laws…”

  “No religion anywhere,” Hammer cut in. “Yeah, I remember.”

  “What’d you care?” Coin said.

  Hammer glowered at her but didn’t say anything. No doubt she had her own reasons for being affected by the abolishment of religion that took effect January 17, 2059. I remember the date because it was all over TV.

  * * *

  “Lydia, would you turn that off?” came my mom’s voice.

  “Don’t you want to know what’s going on?” I asked, phone glued to my nose. Contradictory headlines appeared all over its built-in search engine:

  Goodbye God, Hello Hell

  Praying Won’t Save You Now

  Finally, We’ve Adapted

  Toss your Bible or Pay the Price

  I couldn’t believe it had happened—they’d successfully illegalized public practice of religion. Why? Because of all the wars and hatred it was causing. The government, which had managed to piss off millions of people, thought it fair to shove its nose into people’s beliefs.

  While I agreed that religion was responsible for a lot of problems in this world, I didn’t understand how anyone had the right to tell you what to, or what not to, believe.

  “There are protests everywhere, Mom. You think this will last?”

  My mom sighed and flopped herself down on the couch. She rubbed at her aching legs and leaned her head back. “I don’t know, Lydia. I’m sure they’ll realize it isn’t doing any good, and they’ll reverse everything.”

  I ran my finger along the latest headline: “Dozens of Churches Burned to the Ground.”

  “Holy shit,” I said.

  “Language,” my mom said.

  “I’m thirteen, Mom, not eight.”

  My mom didn’t look at me. Instead, she winced and stretched her neck. “You’re under my roof. Now get ready for school. Your bus’ll be here in half an hour.”

  * * *

  “You think they reversed the law by now?” Coin asked.

  I shook my head. “Doubt it. It was still around when I was sentenced, which was in 2064.

  “What law?” came Jack’s voice.

  I didn’t understand how she always managed to butt her nose into everything. She reminded me of this guy we had in high school—Peter Puttmore. No one liked him all that much, yet he thought he was loved by everyone. Each time he joined a group of people, he shoved his hands in his pockets and sported a grin. And, although they went quiet every time, he’d stand there, simply smiling.

  That’s who Jack was to me—Peter Puttmore.

  “The abolishment of religion,” Hammer told her.

  Jack let out a laugh so loud I instinctively smacked her on the shoulder. I hadn’t meant to, but she didn’t seem offended by it.

  Instead, she laughed nervously. “Sorry, Brone. Won’t happen again.” She gave Hammer a disbelieving look. “This some kind of joke?”

  “How long have you been here?” Hammer asked. “On this island, I mean.”

  Jack glanced up at the sky and breathed out numbers as she counted them on her fingers. It almost looked like she’d recently been taught to count.

  “Ya know… I don’t know,” she said at last. “Ten, fifteen, twenty years. I lost count a long time ago.”

  I clenched my teeth and closed a tight fist. I still couldn’t get over the fact that the government had been hiding this place for so long. I remembered reading holographic advertisements all over the underground subway stations—they were actually called LR stations, short for lightning rail stations, but Mom always referred to them as subway stations. I supposed it was from her time. The trains hovered on the tracks, something Mom never understood nor wanted to try, and traveled at speeds of 200 miles per hour—something Mom was especially freaked out about. The advertisements always flickered on with dramatic music and talked about how the government was in the process of selecting the islands. I supposed it was an attempt to reduce crime rates, though it didn’t seem to make much of a difference.

  How were they getting away with this? Was Ellie right? Was there a chance the general public would find out about the government’s corruption and come to our aid? Or was the public happy to have criminals off their land?

  “Well,” Johnson said, “they got rid of it.”

  Jack scoffed. “Ain’t nobody going to tell me who I can or can’t pray to.”

  “Amen, sister!” came someone’s voice.

  Then, someone laughed, and Jordan stepped out from the crowd and to the front of the line. She gawked at Jack, flared her nostrils, and cocked one eyebrow high up on her forehead. “You didn’t know?”

  “Weren’t you listening?” Jack asked. “Been here too damn long. How am I supposed to keep up with American politics? And frankly, why would I give a shit? They don’t apply to us.”

  She puffed her chest out and tightened her dry lips so much they almost disappeared from her face. I’d never seen Jack get angry before, fortunately, because that ugly look on her face made her look like a goblin.

  “You think I wanted to be sent here? Away from goddamn civilization? You think I fuckin’ asked for this?” she continued.

  Her face was beet red now, and she took a step toward Jordan, her eyes nearly triple the size they were two seconds ago. Squiggly blue veins appeared on her temples, and she breathed out so hard that a cracking noise—the sound of dried snot being pushed out—released from her nostrils.

  Her shoulders bounced, and it looked like any moment, she’d lunge straight at Jordan.

  “I’ll cut you like a fuckin’ pig, little girl,” she said. “Just like I did my husband!”

  “Whoa,” Coin said. “Easy.”

  Everyone stared in silence as Jack’s eyes remained glued to Jordan. It was as if she’d been possessed. What was going on? Who was this woman? I didn’t recognize her, not that I’d known her well to begin with. But on the outside, she looked like someone other than Jack. Jordan didn’t say anything. Instead, she stood tall, never once backing down, and stared back at Jack with a relaxed smirk on her face.

  I wasn’t sure who was more frightening—Jack, the Hulk-looking one, or Jordan, the young, arrogant girl with nothing to lose.

  “Enough!” I snapped, tightening my grip around my bow.

  Within a split second, the veins on Jack’s forehead disappeared and her face lightened in c
olor. She looked over at me with that same rotten smile. Then, without looking back at Jordan, she let out a loud laugh—a cackle, almost—and said, “I oughta stop bottlin’ up all that rage.”

  She walked past me with a hop in her step as if nothing had happened.

  I arched an eyebrow at Jordan, who gave me a lazy shrug as if to say, I have no idea what just happened, but it’s cool.

  How had she stayed so calm?

  Jack walked ahead of us, shoulders drawn back, a soft whistle escaping her mouth. The short hairs on her head barely moved as she stepped over a huge, moss-covered tree root, and she kept going.

  “The fuck is she doing?” Johnson said.

  I sighed.

  Now I understood what Fisher had meant about not wanting to be a leader—about not wanting to babysit anyone.

  “Jack,” I shouted, and she turned around so fast she looked like a cartoon on fast-forward.

  She stared at me stupidly as though not understanding why I was calling out her name. I jerked my head sideways to say, Get back in line.

  “Oh, right,” she said and came back running with her knees bouncing up high as if charging through an obstacle course.

  I didn’t bother asking if she was okay after her outburst—it was apparent she suffered from either rage or mental problems. Asking her to talk about her mental state wasn’t going to fix anything.

  Murk and Trim came to mind, and a lump swelled in my throat. I remembered learning that people with severe mental illnesses weren’t accepted inside the Village. Though I thought it cruel and absurd at the time, I now understood it from a safety standpoint.

  It wasn’t about discriminating against those with mental illness—it was about trying to protect everyone else. But what if there was a way to help? What if, rather than banishing, we were able to find coping mechanisms or herbal remedies to alleviate certain symptoms?

  What was I supposed to do? Banish Jack for snapping? For being unstable? She was still a human being, and I couldn’t let her rot in the jungle or be torn alive by predators simply because her state of mind was fragile. For all we knew, the island had made her this way.

  It would have been like reverting to ancient times when people with mental illnesses were diagnosed as insane, kept in an asylum, and tortured day in and day out. I’d learned about that in class and found it barbaric.

  I glanced sideways at her, observing her goofy smile. Had she meant what she’d said about cutting her husband to pieces? If this was true, then she also posed a risk to every other woman here, and banishment was our one option.

  I ground my teeth and kept walking.

  How was anyone supposed to make a decision like this? How was anyone supposed to play God?

  A firm hand suddenly grabbed me by the shoulder. I swung around with a tight fist held by my face, prepared to knock out my attacker’s teeth, assumedly Jack’s, but it was Coin’s big eyes that greeted me, and she slapped a finger over her lips.

  She then pointed up ahead and tapped her ear.

  I dropped into a crouched position, and everyone behind me did the same.

  CHAPTER 5

  I squinted and pressed my face against the coarse bark of the tree beside me. I couldn’t see what it was, but I could hear it. Soft footsteps crackled through the jungle’s wet vegetation.

  It didn’t sound like human footsteps, though.

  And now that the rain had stopped, I could hear every movement—every step. They weren’t heavy but rather short and soft and familiar to my ears.

  A wild boar?

  I inched a bit closer, trying to catch a glimpse of it when I finally saw it. It was light brown, though it looked much darker with its wet fur, and its eyes looked like small black buttons sewn on its face.

  I’d seen boars much bigger than this before. Either it was young or a female. It was slender, and its shoulders looked weak in comparison to some of the monster boars I’d seen before. The tusk, no longer than adolescent thumbs, sat at the bottom of its jaw and became only visible from certain angles.

  I drew an arrow from my quiver, my focus never leaving the animal. Though I didn’t want to drag a dead carcass along with us, there was no telling when we’d find another one.

  “You got this,” Jack whispered, rubbing her hands together so fast it looked like she was trying to start a fire.

  I gave her a look, one that said, Not another word, and it was enough for her to retreat. She gave me an apologetic nod and sealed her lips with an invisible zipper.

  I glanced back at the others, who stared at me expectantly, and placed a finger over my lips. Everyone nodded, and to my surprise, despite there being many of us, not a single sound escaped into the air.

  Everyone was so still they looked like wax manikins—the kind you’d find in a horror movie.

  Slowly, I made my way toward the animal, matching its movements to mask my sounds.

  I raised my bow, pressed my face against my shoulder, and stared at the creature over the tip of my arrowhead. Its jaw moved up and down, chewing on something, entirely oblivious that it was about to die.

  A soft snap resonated the moment I released my arrow, and the boar let out a loud squeal. It ran in circles, leaves kicking through the air, before taking off in the opposite direction.

  “Damn it,” I muttered.

  I pulled my knife from my belt—another one of Hammer’s constructions—and charged straight into the bushes, slapping away leaves, branches, and vines as I plowed through. Damp vegetation rustled behind me as my women followed, and for a moment, it sounded like a wave was crashing through the jungle—a loud staticky hum that moved with impressive force.

  A hind leg kicked into the air and disappeared behind a bright, orange-and-yellow-flowered bush. Where had I hit it? Why wasn’t it dead yet? Perhaps I’d only caused injury.

  I stepped around the bush, but before even spotting the animal, it let out another loud squeal, followed by a disturbing silence.

  What had happened?

  But I didn’t have the time to react because right in front of me stood a masked woman. Her mouth shot wide open as a horrendous scream blasted out of her lungs.

  CHAPTER 6

  Her hair resembled a setting sun—bright orange and rich in color. Her eyes, two light green circles above what appeared to be a tiger mask, shot from me to my women. In her right hand hung a bloody, bone-constructed knife, the weapon she’d obviously used to kill the wild boar.

  She looked petite, but it was hard to tell how small she was because she wore a mass of seaweed and dried plants over her shoulders. It had made her nearly impossible to see—a giant mess of greenery that fused effortlessly with the jungle around us.

  She stabbed her knife into the air and let out another broken scream.

  One arrow, I thought.

  That’s all it would take to shut her up. Otherwise, she was going to attract predators our way. What if Zsasz was nearby? She’d hear us a mile away.

  “Shhh,” I said softly. “We’re not here to hurt anyone.”

  She hesitated, her eyes searching me. What was she trying to find?

  Then, without warning, she let out another scream.

  I whipped an arrow from my quiver and pulled it against the elastic of my bow.

  The intention had been to shut her up, but it had done far more than that. She lowered her head, glowering at me. Quite possibly, she was preparing to charge. What kind of an idiot charged straight at an archer?

  When she lunged forward, I pulled back on the arrow, prepared to defend myself. But then, a loud, birdlike cry resonated around us, and the woman stopped in her tracks. She searched the sky, then looked behind her, and started walking backward toward wherever the cry had come from.

  And that’s when I saw them—eyes.

  Several of them, too. They sat in the darkness of the trees, watching us.

  Were they with this woman? If so, why hadn’t they come out to fight? Because we outnumbered them? I scanned their faces, though it
was nearly impossible to see any kind of detail.

  That was… until I saw a set of emerald green eyes.

  There was something familiar about them—something homey. I couldn’t see the woman’s face, only her eyes, but that was enough to pique my curiosity.

  I watched the seaweed-entangled woman run back toward the trees, her rat’s nest hair bouncing as she moved.

  That hair, I thought. It looked familiar, too.

  I took a step forward and squinted. Something was going on. I could feel it. The redhead punched a closed fist in the air, communicating something to the others, but it wasn’t her gesture I was preoccupied with; I couldn’t stop staring at her bony little arm.

  Was she even a woman?

  Then, without thinking, I shouted, “Elektra!” and the woman turned around. She slid her mask off and looked back with a hand over her eyebrows to block the late afternoon sun. At first, her face resembled that of a teenager being asked to do some chores—contorted to the point of being unrecognizable.

  But then, something must have clicked, and when it did, her features softened and I saw her.

  “Elektra!” I shouted.

  Instead of shouting my name, she turned sideways and searched the forest. Clearly, she wasn’t the one in charge. Then, out of the darkness came several bodies covered in sheets of green leaves. Their faces were painted like that of soldiers—black and green—and two of them held bows, while the others held on to hunting spears.

  The shortest of the bunch bolted out ahead of everyone.

  I knew those eyes. They were the ones I’d seen earlier; they were the ones I’d recognized. I knew who she was before she pulled off her headpiece—a hat made of intertwined twigs, seaweed, and big leaves.

  “Brone!” Rocket shouted.

  Without thinking, I dropped my bow and ran straight for her. I didn’t even have the time to open my arms in preparation of the embrace because she lunged straight at me. My head rocked forward, and together, we were propelled into the air.

  I landed flat on my back and let out a grunt when something sharp jabbed me in the shoulder. Rocket, on the one hand, didn’t seem all that concerned with the fall. She’d landed flat on top of me as if having intentionally used me as a landing pillow.