The Feral Sentence- Complete Box Set

by Shade Owens

  They ran as ordered, though it was more of a wobble, and I bolted straight for the other cabins, blasting open their doors and urging women to get out. By the time the final cabin was cleared, the first one was up in flames—a bright orange and yellow ball warming my cheeks from a distance. It cracked and snapped as the cabin fell apart, and I ran for Rainer’s lair.

  But as I neared Rainer’s lair, a sharp, debilitating pain stabbed me in the back so deeply, I fell flat to the ground. The smell of earthworms entered my nostrils, and moist dirt stuck to my chin and lips.

  What happened?

  “Brone!” Sammy called out, sprinting out into the open.

  I was too stunned and in too much pain to care that she’d used my real name. Slowly, I reached for my back, where the pain was quickly spreading, and the tips of my fingers touched a wooden arrow shaft.

  CHAPTER 5

  “Don’t touch her.”

  “Back off.”

  “Mind if I look?”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Groaning, I glanced up at the approaching pregnant woman. With a torch in one fist, she bent down, her belly sitting on her knees and half her face a bright orange color.

  “I’m a doctor,” she said, a thick accent rolling off her tongue.

  I almost scoffed, but the pain in my back shot up along my spine, so I clenched my teeth instead.

  What was a doctor doing on Kormace Island? Why wasn’t she being used by the Northers as a Medic?

  “I’d appreciate it if you all kept dat to yourselves,” she then added, glaring at the women around her.

  What was that accent? Polish? In high school, a new Polish kid had joined our class halfway through our semester. Kids started making fun of him for his accent, calling him Vladimir and Dracula, and nearly every day, he’d shake his reddish blond hair that matched his bright cheeks and shout out, “Polish, idiota!”

  She leaned in closer, her oily auburn hair dangling over one shoulder and her topaz wide-set eyes inches away from mine. She had a dimple in her chin, something that suited her nicely.

  “Is not so bad,” she said, poking at the fresh wound.

  I winced and clenched my fist.

  “It only penetrated the muscle tissue,” she said. Raising her dimpled chin, she scanned Rainer’s lair. “I need something to disinfect.”

  At once, the women around me stepped away as if I were contagious. What were they so afraid of?

  A deep voice carried throughout the room, and I swallowed hard. “A-alcohol?” Eliot asked.

  Had he been standing in there the whole time? Why was he still helping us? Why hadn’t he run off to Rainer to help her fight? At that moment, I was in so much pain that it was easier to hate him than to be grateful for what he’d done.

  The doctor nodded and reached for the leather flask held by long fingers twice the size of mine.

  “Brone,” she said, though it sounded more like a question.

  Was she asking me my name? Did it even matter anymore? Everyone was dying. I’d probably die, too.

  So I nodded, and she popped off the flask’s circular cover.

  “My name is Zofia,” she said, taking a swig of the alcohol. She brought it to my lips and I pulled away.

  The last thing I needed was alter my mind in the middle of a war.

  “Suit yourself,” she said calmly. Rolling me over onto my stomach, she poured some of the liquid over the wound. I let out a deep grunt, my fist clenching so tightly around Sammy’s foot that something cracked.

  Sammy sucked air in through clenched teeth and tried to pull away, but I didn’t let go.

  “This is going to hurt,” she said. “Sure you don’t vant any?”

  When I didn’t answer, she brought a piece of cloth up to my lips. “Bite.”

  I did as she told me and bit down on the small rag. It smelled of old water and dirt, but I didn’t care. I’d seen women get arrows taken out of them, and the last thing I wanted was to chip a tooth while clenching my jaw.

  Then, without warning, a blinding pain exploded in my back—it was like being stabbed all over again without the adrenaline to numb the pain.

  “Here it is,” she said, her finger digging inside of me.

  The next thing I knew, she was getting up with the arrow in her fist.

  I tried to talk, but the cloth was still in my mouth.

  “Rinse wound with alcohol,” she said, pointing at someone.

  What? How had she done it so fast? Why hadn’t I felt it at all?

  She turned around, crouched down so low it looked like she was about to sit on the stone ground, and stared me square in the face. “It vas very close,” she said, showing me the arrow’s bloody head. “It went through muscle but did not penetrate any organs. How are you feeling? You lost consciousness.”

  Too disoriented to respond, I reached for the wound on my back. At the same time, Zofia grabbed my wrist. “No, no… Don’t touch. I will bandage you.”

  “So… I’m okay?” I mumbled.

  She nodded.

  At the same time, cold liquid poured over my wound and down my back and I let out a loud yelp.

  “Fuck!”

  “Disinfect,” Zofia said.

  “I know what it’s for!” I snapped, clenching my fists.

  I sat upright, and although Zofia tried to stop me, I didn’t listen.

  “How long’s it gonna take to patch me up?” I asked.

  “Few seconds,” she said, arching one of her red brows.

  I made my eyes go big as if to say, Well, what’re you waiting for?

  What I should have done was thank her, but politeness was the last thing on my mind. Right now, our people and the Northers were at war, which meant there was no time to waste.

  She applied pressure and wrapped a fabric material around my torso. It stung, but it was the pain inside that hurt most of all. How deep had it gone? It hadn’t penetrated through my stomach, which I was thankful for.

  “All done,” she said. “I vould apply new bandage in—”

  “Where’s my bow?” I cut her off.

  “Brone—” Sammy tried, but then I saw it lying on the ground next to a group of pregnant women. They all stared at me with petrified looks and protective hands over their bellies as if the sight of me were enough to harm their unborn children.

  Obviously, they wanted nothing to do with battle.

  “Give me that,” I said, pointing at my bow.

  When the pregnant woman closest to it hesitated and placed her second hand over her belly, I swung myself up with a grunt and limped toward my bow. “I’ll do it myself,” I growled, bending down to pick it up.

  Everything around me went silent, and the women inside Rainer’s lair stared at me as if waiting to see if I’d collapse. “What’re you all staring at?” I snapped. “Grab your weapons and let’s get out there!”

  CHAPTER 6

  The sound of battle was like something out of a historic movie.

  Metal clanged against metal, wood collided with wood, pointed tips tore through flesh, bones snapped, arrows cut through the air, and women shouted at the tops of their lungs. The air smelled of death, if death itself had a smell.

  It was a stale, hopeless scent that lingered in the air. It was also the smell of fire burning through wood—a smell that reminded me of the Village and the day we lost everything. Behind me, the entire gate, along with all the cabins that had once been tucked safely inside, were no longer visible. Instead, bright orange flames danced from side to side, engulfing the structures in their entireties.

  Wood snapped as the fire crackled, and a blinding heat spread out over the battlefield. It warmed the back of my neck so much I had to run away from it and straight toward the battle to relieve the pain.

  At the center of the city, tents fell apart, fire spilling through them like liquid. Several women—some slaves and others Northers—lay lifelessly in the sand, their bodies mutilated by protruding arrows and spreading fire.

 
; One arrow stuck straight out of a Norther’s forehead, its stem so dark and curled it reminded me of an unashed cigarette.

  Then, out from the forest came a dozen women—my women—with sticks and large stones held above their heads.

  At the same time, one Norther held a sword high in the air and swung it down with all her might, decapitating one of the charging women. She jabbed her sword into the air again and let out a deep, rumbly cry.

  A victory cry? A shout meant to intimidate her attackers?

  Her shoulders, pads of long gray and beige fur, were covered in fresh blood. The armor on her chest, a metallic plate, made it impossible for the women charging at her to kill her. They would either have to throw something at her face—which was abnormally high—or attempt to cut off some limbs, which were also covered in plated armor.

  Not all Northers had metallic armor, but the few who did walked about as if invincible.

  This one, specifically, twirled through the air with her sword, slicing two women across the chest simultaneously. They froze with baffled looks on their faces, one carrying a spear and the other a large stone wrapped in a seaweed net.

  And then, the blood came pouring out through large gashes in their midsections. The woman carrying the spear fell to her knees first, a horrified look in her eyes that told me she wasn’t prepared to die. The other clutched at her spear and looked up at the Norther, almost pleadingly.

  She tried to stay upright by jabbing her spear into the dirt and leaning her body against its shaft, but it was obvious she was losing strength. At the same time, the woman next to her collapsed to the ground.

  The Norther carrying the sword raised her weapon again, prepared to stab her through the chest, and I fired an arrow straight for the back of her neck.

  At once, she dropped her sword, both hands floating beside her hips as if trying to maintain balance. But she didn’t last long—within a few seconds, she dropped to her knees and fell flat on her side, my arrowhead penetrating through the front of her throat.

  I rushed toward the woman with the spear and dropped to my knees in front her of her. Her eyelids became heavy, and she looked up at me, her body convulsing as she fought to stay upright.

  She parted her lips to say something, but a huge glob of blood spat out from her mouth, and all at once, her body went limp. I caught her midfall, resting her head into the dirt, and gently closed her eyelids.

  “No!” cried one of her friends.

  She came running so fast dirt flew into my face as she skidded beside her friend’s dead body.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she said. “Watson… Come on, girl. Watson!”

  Resting a flat palm on this woman’s thigh, I shook my head as if to say, She’s gone. Then, a small crowd of women wearing suede clothing circled us, legs trembling and teeth chattering.

  Adrenaline. They’d never battled before.

  “Where are you coming from?” I asked. “Who led you here?”

  The women eyed each other, then stared at me from behind dirt-stained faces.

  “Where are you from?” I snapped. Although I understood they were terrified, this was a matter of life and death, and we didn’t have any time to waste. “The Cove?”

  Several of them shook their heads, and at the same time, a familiar face made its way through the crowd. For the first time, it wasn’t covered nor hidden underneath a hood. The melted skin on her head looked even more pink and bubbly underneath the sun’s rays.

  “Sumi,” I said, not understanding how she’d found her way to us.

  She’d left with Quinn and the other women—the ones who had chosen not to battle. Why was she here? How had she found her way back?

  “Brone,” she said. “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you right away with the—” she wiggled a finger in front of her half-melted face.

  “Brone?” someone whispered.

  “Is that her?”

  “I didn’t recognize her.”

  “She’s alive!”

  “She’s fighting with us!”

  The women whispered back and forth as if having been injected with a liquid form of self-esteem. Their knuckles whitened around their weapons and they nodded rapidly as if to say, We can do this.

  Sumi raised her chin, exuding a confidence I hadn’t seen since she’d worked as a Cook in the Village, and gripped the handle of her stone blade. “We gonna stand here like a bunch of sitting ducks, or are we gonna get out there and kill those motherfuckers?”

  CHAPTER 7

  “Watch out!” Sumi shouted, jabbing her knife under my armpit and straight into a Norther’s stomach.

  Our attacker froze midair with a battle-ax held in her grip. Then, as if in slow-motion, she dropped her weapon and fell to her knees with a loud thump.

  “They’re everywhere!” Sumi said.

  I fired arrows at three Northers who charged straight into the forest, penetrating two in the back and the other in the leg. Many of them were moving inside the jungle now, on the hunt for my people who surrounded their city. A few others, however, remained at the center near the burned tents, slicing and swinging their weapons as poorly equipped women came running straight toward them.

  Everything was so chaotic. Women ran in all directions, creating clouds of dirt and dust in the air. And nearly every time I raised my bow, someone bumped into me, causing me to lose my aim. I tore from my belt a knife I’d picked up in Rainer’s lair—it wasn’t overly long, but longer than an average steak knife. Its handle was made of smooth, hard leather, cool to the touch. Its tip was pointed, though not overly sharp, and its edges were dull. It was the kind of knife used for penetration rather than cutting flesh, and had there been a better choice, I’d have gone with something else, but this knife was my secondary weapon and I’d simply have to make the best of it.

  Sumi pressed her back against mine, and we moved like this, though I hadn’t the slightest idea if she had any experience fighting. But, given the Norther she’d just killed, I was relatively safe knowing she had my back… literally.

  “Who came for you?” I shouted over the sound of weapons clashing and women shouting. “How’d you get here?”

  “Fisher!” she shouted as we stepped over a dead body.

  Fisher? She was here? My heart rate sped up, and I searched the battlefield. She wasn’t fit to fight, not with her injured leg. Oh God… If she was here, I had to find her.

  “Is she here?” I shouted, turning my head sideways.

  At the same time, a sharp pain shot up my back, but I ignored it. I couldn’t allow the pain of my injury to interfere.

  Sumi rotated her body to look at me, but instead of answering me, she let out a quick grunt. It wasn’t loud or long, but it was enough to tell me something was wrong. A cloudy glaze suddenly spread over her eyes, and rather than looking at me, she stared straight ahead into nothingness.

  “Sumi?”

  Nothing.

  “Sumi?” I shouted, this time turning my entire body around to face her.

  As I came face-to-face with her, she looked down at her chest, where a feathered arrow protruded straight out. She clasped it, and with slightly parted lips, looked at me one last time before collapsing.

  The arrow’s shaft bent sideways as she fell into my arms, blood squirting out from her wound.

  “Sumi!” I tried.

  But it was no use. Slowly, I bent down with her, allowing her body to rest in the dirt. With a lifeless gaze aimed at the sky, she looked at peace. I closed her lids, including her pink bubbly one, and let out a long breath through my nostrils.

  At the same time, a similar arrow came whistling through the air, slicing a fine cut right across my cheek. The moment my eyes shot up, the amused smirk on Rebel’s face was enough for me to drop my knife, load my bow, and fire an arrow so quickly she didn’t have the time to wipe that venomous smile off her hideous face.

  Her head shot back and her right eye exploded as my arrow penetrated her skull—a sound that was like pudding being stirred
aggressively. Had she known it was me, Brone, who killed her? Probably not. She hadn’t recognized me. I’d hated Rebel ever since she’d helped Zsasz capture us, and I wanted her to know that I’d been the one to kill her.

  She’d never know, but I knew, and that was all that mattered.

  Then, a dreadful feeling sank into the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but for a split second, I knew something awful was about to happen.

  Maybe it was the sound of women screaming around me, or, maybe it was the sight of Zsasz’s mutilated body standing far away in my peripheral.

  All of a sudden, a familiar voice carried louder than all the voices around me. It was a voice I’d come to think of as home; only in the middle of battle, it was the last voice I wanted to hear.

  “Brone, watch out!” Ellie shouted.

  Everything happened so fast that I didn’t even have the time to see her running my way. She landed hard against me, her coconut-infused hair sweeping across my face and tickling my nose. The next thing I knew, we were standing face-to-face, her chest pressed up against mine.

  “Ellie—” I blurted, unable to comprehend what the hell was going on.

  What was she doing here? Where had she come from? Why was she looking at me like that?

  It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of polyurethane over her face and allowed it to dry for days—it remained frozen, her lips parted no wider than the width of a wool thread until finally, she sucked in a long, broken breath.

  Slowly, she bowed her head and I followed her gaze.

  Sticking straight out from her belly was an arrowhead—a sharpened seashell I knew belonged to the enemy—dripping with blood.

  How…

  “No!” I shouted, my voice sounding muffled.

  Everything around me began to blend together in a swirling cloud. The only thing I could focus on was Ellie’s bloodstained hands held firmly over the tear in her shirt.

  “This can’t be… How… Ellie… Fuck. No. Ellie,” I rambled, hands trembling over hers.