by Shade Owens
This was it. I had to make a decision.
Was it better to run, or to stay? I’d lost hope too many times in the past to even consider the possibility of this being a rescue mission. It was likely Black Panther’s ride home, which meant whoever was in there wouldn’t hesitate to kill us all.
And judging by the look of the aircraft—a phantom black, military-grade machine—there was no doubt that whoever was in there was as dangerous as Black Panther, if not more.
I wanted them dead—all of them. Whoever had orchestrated this disgusting, inhumane game deserved to die. But the reality of the situation wasn’t so simple. Around me, dozens of dead bodies lay across the Village and the surviving women looked terrified beyond belief. They stared up with bulging eyes, their bodies trembling so badly their heads shook from side to side.
I wanted to order everyone to arm up, but this wasn’t about winning the war—this was about survival.
“We have to run,” I shouted, my voice barely carrying over the sound of the propellers.
Everyone looked at me.
“I don’t want to start over,” I said, “but we have to. We have no idea who’s in there, and the longer we stand here waiting for them to touch down, the more lives are at risk.”
My friends went silent, no doubt thinking the same thing—after all the work we’d put into rebuilding the Village, the thought of having to flee our home again was devastating.
“Brone’s right,” Rocket said.
The others nodded solemnly, and when I turned to face my people, I realized their petrified gazes were fixed on me, waiting for my command.
Clearing my throat, I drew my shoulders back and grasped Ellie’s hand in mine. But as I opened my mouth, a loud, unfamiliar male voice filled the air around us.
“Liam T. Saunders,” the voice exploded through some megaphone-like device. “You’re under arrest for twenty-one counts of first-degree murder. Surrender yourself now.”
CHAPTER 15
No one moved.
Who was this man? This voice? And who was Liam T. Saunders? Was that Black Panther’s real name? Was this aircraft on our side? My head spun, and I searched the Village, hoping to see Black Panther without his camouflaging abilities.
If this was him, would he surrender? Doubtful.
When nothing happened, a metallic device came hurtling through the air. It landed in the grass, right beneath the aircraft. Atop the device was a red flickering light that flashed intermittently, making my stomach sink.
Without thinking anything through, I pointed toward the Village gates. “Run!”
As we stampeded away from the flashing box, a figure appeared in front of the Village gates, stopping us in our tracks.
The figure, which was awkwardly hunched forward, held its face as if suffering from some intense migraine. “Make… make it stop!”
Slowly, the glitching stopped and Black Panther came into full view: his suit, a deep blue skintight fabric covered him from head to toe, and at his feet were two Samurai swords. While clawing at his head, he reached for his goggles and tore them off. “S-s-stop it!”
This time, his voice cracked.
He was squeezing his masked face so hard it was a wonder he didn’t crush his head.
Was this the device’s doing? Was it hurting him?
I spun around to look at the gadget again when a dozen armed men and women who looked like they were members of a SWAT team came falling from the aircraft on what appeared to be rappel ropes. A loud hissing sound was emitted as they slid down, and the moment their feet touched the grass, they pressed something on their belts, sending the loose ropes swaying in the air.
At once, the entire group of armed soldiers, or whatever they were, raised advanced-looking rifles to their faces. At the same time, all of my people raised their weapons. Some shouted, jabbing their spears in the air as if prepared to die to defend our Village.
But their guns weren’t pointed at us. Instead, they were aimed at Black Panther. Collectively, they ran toward him, their black leather boots stomping through the grass and over dead bodies.
“On your knees!” one man shouted, jabbing his gun in the air at Black Panther.
Black Panther fell to the ground, his hands shaking over his head.
Whatever piece of equipment they’d set off was causing him tremendous pain. Was it his suit? Was the electric device interfering with it? It must have been.
The first soldier to reach Black Panther removed the player’s mask and forced him onto his stomach. Dropping to one knee, he extracted a set of handcuffs that appeared to be made out of energy—blue rings that looked hot to the touch.
“You—you can’t do this!” Black Panther shouted.
The man who’d arrested him didn’t say anything. Instead, he pulled him up so aggressively that Black Panther let out a pained cry.
With my bow held in my hands, I rubbed my thumb against the elastic. That son of a bitch wasn’t getting off that easy. I stared at him as he walked forward, the large soldier guiding him from behind and holding him by his cuffed wrists.
I was an excellent shot—I wouldn’t miss.
When Black Panther’s eyes shot my way, a sly smirk spread across the lower half of his face. I clenched my bow so hard the wood made a cracking noise. I knew why he was smiling—dead or alive, he’d won the game.
Across his chest was a green digital font that read: 21.
He’d killed twenty-one of my women.
Without wasting any time, I drew my arrow back.
“Brone!” Ellie hissed.
Suddenly, a female soldier eyed my loaded bow and raised her rifle at me. At the same time, another handful of soldiers did the same.
He deserves to die. Even if it kills me.
“Lower your weapon!” shouted the blond woman with the rifle.
I didn’t.
Instead, I pulled back on my elastic, teeth grinding and my hateful stare fixated on Black Panther. That smug smile on his face disappeared in an instant. What had he expected? Did he honestly think he was safe behind a bunch of armed soldiers? After everything he’d done, he didn’t deserve to live. And he didn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing his family had inherited his blood money.
All around me, countless women prepared their weapons—spears, clubs, and even rocks.
This wasn’t going to end well.
“Excuse me,” came a soft voice…so soft it caught my attention.
Without lowering my bow, I glanced sideways to find a woman walking toward me. She wore a white button-up blouse, high-rise pants, and tall brown leather boots. Her hair, groomed and shiny-looking, sat in a bun at the back of her head with a few strands dangling along her dark cheekbones.
“My name is Ingrid Swanson,” she said.
Was this supposed to mean something to me? And why the fuck was she looking at me like that? With kindness? Like she knew me? Or, like she wanted to help me?
I must have been scowling ferociously at her; she held two hands in front of her as if to calm me. “I was sent here by Eliza Petrie, President of the United States.”
At this, I scoffed.
Did she think that because I’d spent several years on the island I’d lost my intelligence? What kind of sick game was this?
“I may be wrong,” she said, “but by the way these women look at you, I believe you are in charge.”
“What’s your point?” I growled.
“May I show you something?” she asked.
I was losing my patience. It was almost as if she were trying to distract me.
“It’ll only take a moment,” she said.
With one hand still floating in front of her face, she reached to the side of her belt, and dozens of spears turned toward her.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said, pulling up a small blue gadget. It was flat, circular, and no larger than the bottom of a mug. She pressed the top of it and a holograph appeared in front of her.
Several women gasped—
probably the ones who’d spent too many years on the island to have seen technology’s speedy progression.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
I didn’t answer.
“Anyone?” she said.
One woman cleared her throat. “Bree… Bree Chetzsky.”
Ingrid smiled warmly at her and slid her finger across the projection. At once, an image of Bree’s face appeared, along with small text beside it. Ingrid’s eyes scanned the screen. “Convicted of murder approximately seven years ago, sentenced to serve three years on Kormace Island.”
“Been more than three fuckin’ years!” one woman shouted.
Then, another woman chimed in. “Who the fuck are you?”
Ingrid raised her trembling hand even higher. It was obvious she was uncomfortable but doing her best to stay calm. “I’m President Petrie’s Executive Assistant—”
“Right,” came someone else’s voice. “’Cause we’re supposed to—”
“Enough!” I shouted, and everyone went quiet.
This woman wasn’t a fake. She had Bree’s information, which meant she likely had all our information, too. But what for? What did she want? Who was she, really? I needed to know more.
“What do you want?” I asked her.
Looking confused, she shook her head. “Want? I don’t want anything. I was sent here to bring you all back home.”
CHAPTER 16
The Village became so loud that I had to order everyone to shut up several times. At one point, I even turned my loaded bow onto several of my own to get them to back off.
“Is it true?” one woman shouted.
“Are we going home?”
“You can’t believe this bitch.”
“A female president, my ass.”
“Quiet!” I shouted again. “If this woman is telling the truth, you’d better listen up if you want to go home. Do I make myself clear?”
It seemed to work. Women nodded, while others looked away from my piercing gaze.
Lowering her voice, she stepped toward me. “Maybe this would be easier if we spoke in private.”
Staring coldly at her, I said, “Whatever you have to say to me, you can say to everyone here.”
She cleared her throat and nodded quickly. “There’s a lot of information to go over,” she shouted, her voice reaching across the Village. “A lot has changed within the United States federal government. For one, President Seth is no longer in power. It’s a long story, and one you’ll be hearing about for years to come, but that’s a discussion for another time. Right now, my priority is getting you back home. Now, due to the gruesome conditions you’ve been exposed to, many of you will be returning to America as free women. The only condition to your freedom is your cooperation in taking part in a rehabilitation program. For those of you who received lifelong sentences for your crime, a reputable lawyer will be assigned to your case free of charge. If you are to be relocated to a high-security penitentiary to serve out the remainder of your life sentence, I assure you that you will be relocated to one of the best facilities in the country.”
“Rehabilitation program?” someone asked.
Ingrid nodded. “It’s a twelve-month program located in one of America’s finest centers. We want to ensure that you’re properly reintegrated into society and that you don’t pose any danger to yourself or anyone else. Those who cannot integrate or fail to pass the psychiatric evaluation will be given a different treatment or transferred elsewhere. Of course, everyone will be dealt with on a case-by-case basis.”
“’Cause we’re criminals,” one woman said.
“Precisely,” Ingrid said. She didn’t sugarcoat anything, which I appreciated. “Technically, you were all sentenced to Kormace Island for murder, so I’m certain you can appreciate the fact that the government needs to approach this delicately.”
“And what about those of us who spent even longer than our sentences?” I asked. What I wanted to ask was, Are we going to be compensated for all this bullshit? But the truth was, being rescued and brought back home was already enough on its own.
She glanced sideways at me but didn’t answer my question. Instead, she smirked and turned her attention back onto the crowd. “The reason things took a turn so fast is actually because of Kormace Island.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“This Death Game,” she said. “The information became public after a team of hackers broke into the organizer’s secret page. Let’s just say the public couldn’t swallow the idea of the government handing over a bunch of money to take part in human hunting. People were already upset with President Seth’s dictatorship and feared speaking out. This game, however, was the final straw. It led hundreds of private investigators to dig up a lot of dirt on President Seth. President Petrie is still cleaning up the corruption left by her predecessor, and it’s a slow process. The situation was far worse than we thought. Our search-and-rescue teams have already extracted several thousand bodies from around the islands.”
“Islands?” I said. “Why are there so many bodies in the ocean? I heard there were four islands. You can’t tell me that many people weren’t able to swim—”
She cocked an eyebrow at me, confusion clouding her face. “Four islands? We’ve located twenty-seven different islands with survivors, and the bodies found in the ocean were nowhere near the islands, which means they were intentionally dropped into the water to be killed.”
No one said anything, without a doubt too shocked to speak.
Ingrid sighed and rubbed at her temples. “What happened to all of you was unacceptable, and while we cannot go back and fix the past, I can assure you that President Petrie is going to do everything in her power to ensure America becomes once again the country everyone deserves it to be—the land of the free.”
“And what ’bout us who’ve been livin’ ’ere for years? Or people who ain’t even from America?” came one woman’s voice. She stepped forward, and it was obvious by her missing teeth and sun-damaged skin that she’d spent countless years on the island. “Ain’t like we got anybody waitin’ for us back home. I’ll tell ya what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna end up livin’ on the streets. No thank you. I’m stayin’ here.”
Without any reaction at all, Ingrid asked, “What’s your name?”
The woman, looking taken aback, searched her friends and cleared her throat. “You can call me Lime.”
“Lime,” Ingrid said as if repeating some beautiful exotic name. “I can assure you that you will not be forced to live on the streets and that anyone who isn’t an American citizen will be given the option to return home.”
Lime cocked a brow. “How can you… assure me?”
“Through monetary compensation,” Ingrid said.
Jaws dropped all around me.
“Eighty-nine million dollars was the final bid on the Death Game,” she said. “The money collected will be divided between all affected individuals should you accept the sum as legal damages.”
“Everyone on the island?” I asked.
She cleared her throat. “Islands.”
At the same time, a man with white hair, a blue button-up shirt, and shiny black leather shoes hopped out of the massive aircraft and walked toward us, a smug smile on his face.
“I highly suggest you don’t accept this offer,” he shouted, his voice carrying across the Village.
“And who are you?” I asked.
He extended a hand toward me. When I didn’t grab it, he cleared his throat and plucked at his wrist cuffs. “Giles McCaver,” he said. “I’m your attorney.”
“Attorney?” I asked.
Ingrid and Giles exchanged a playful smile.
“Why don’t we get everyone into the aircraft?” Ingrid said. “I believe you and Giles have a lot to discuss.”
CHAPTER 17
“Three thousand dollars?” I asked, staring up at the white ceilings overhead.
This aircraft was huge. They kept referring to it as a helicopter, tho
ugh it looked nothing like one.
Giles nodded, his perfectly combed hair barely moving. “Almost.” He clasped his hands together, and the wind it created sent the smell of his crisp cologne up into my nostrils. “There are approximately thirty-two thousand prisoners across the different penal islands, and that’s going based on the assumption that the population has dramatically dropped due to poor health and killings.”
I glanced sideways at Ellie, who sat next to me in the aircraft’s gray fabric chair, and at little Robin, who lay quietly in her arms. I didn’t understand how she was sleeping amid all the noise around us—women came stomping down the aisle, some laughing loudly and others clapping their hands together. They reminded me of children about to go on a school trip.
Some women had decided to stay behind. Through the small circular window on Ellie’s side, I watched while the women moved away from the helicopter as the propellers kicked in. A deep rumbling filled the entire aircraft, but it wasn’t loud—not like when I’d been inside the plane.
“Personally,” Giles said, “I think this offer is insulting.”
“Three thousand dollars is nice,” Ellie said. “I’d be happy with that.”
Giles smirked and shook his head. “How was your time on this island, miss? Did you enjoy it? Was it peaceful?”
Ellie looked away.
“The conditions you’ve been exposed to are beyond inhumane. Did you know that Mr. Milas even went as far as to request carnivorous animals be planted on this island? And the same thing was done nearly a century ago when this island was being used but not publicized? These people wanted you to die on this island. As I’ve said, three thousand dollars is insulting, and I urge you not to accept this offer.”
“What’re you proposing?” I asked.
As the words came out of my mouth, I heard how broken up my speech was. I’d never noticed it before; everyone around me spoke the same. But when Ingrid and Giles spoke, it was apparent that I’d lost some of my basic communication skills.
“Right now, the lawyers involved are proposing splitting up the remaining portion of the funds between everyone sentenced on the islands, dead or alive. This also means that families of loved ones will be receiving some of the money, which will dramatically lower everyone’s share.” He leaned back into his chair and as he did, Fisher, Biggie, Coin, Rocket, Elektra, Hammer, and even Murk took up the seats around us. They leaned forward, eyes shifting left and right.