by G. C. Julien
The Feral Sentence – Part One
By G. C. Julien
www.gcjulien.com
© Copyright 2015 G. C. Julien
Smashwords Edition
Edited by Nikki Busch
www.nikkibuschediting.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
PROLOGUE
Were the handcuffs really necessary? I rubbed the inflamed skin on my wrist, trying to understand how a small woman such as myself could possibly pose a threat to two soldiers in a combat helicopter, four thousand feet above sea level.
They wore black masks to match their thick uniforms and swat-like goggles over their eyes. I could tell they were both men by their height and build, but I hadn’t seen their faces. I eyed their machine guns, but not for long, because I felt them watching me from behind their dark shades.
I peered through the helicopter’s fogged window, and the shape of an island surrounded by nothing but open blue came into view. I had so many questions—so many fears—but the overpowering sound of the rotating helicopter blades, coupled with the menacing looks I was receiving, encouraged me to keep my mouth shut.
The larger of the two soldiers suddenly stood up and reached for a lever. A burst of sunlight came into the helicopter, along with the loudening of the helicopter blades, and I inhaled fresh ocean air. I could see the entire island through the open helicopter door. From this distance, it appeared to be nothing more than a house floating on the ocean’s horizon. I hadn’t noticed how far we’d descended until I saw water splashing in all directions beneath us due to the helicopter’s force.
So this is my prison sentence, I thought, gazing across the open water at what I’d only read about in news articles—Kormace Island: the Island of Killers. How had I managed to get myself into so much trouble? I wanted to wake up. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
The smaller of the two soldiers suddenly uncuffed me and led me to the edge of the helicopter. I didn’t bother struggling. I was too frail, and his thick hand around my wrist was so tight, I was losing blood circulation. Was he going to throw me out? They couldn’t do that! And why weren’t they flying any closer to the island? The water underneath us was dark blue…black, almost. It was too deep. I’d never make it to the island alive.
I could have sworn I saw shark fins circling below as if hungrily anticipating my fall. But I knew these were imagined—I was panicking. I didn’t have the time to visualize my death any further, because I was suddenly pushed out of the helicopter, with only two words echoing behind me, “Swim fast.”
It didn’t feel like water at all. It felt like I’d broken through a thick sheet of glass. My body temperature dropped instantly, and my fingers quickly numbed.
“Swim fast,” I remembered. I moved forward, motivated by the thought of a shark ripping off my leg with its razor-sharp teeth.
Almost there, I lied to myself. Who was I kidding? I could see the island, but only barely. It looked like it was made of Legos from this distance—like it wasn’t even real. Was the plan to have me die before successfully reaching Kormace Island? It was a good plan.
The helicopter regained its altitude before flying off in the opposite direction. Couldn’t they have dropped me off any closer? Bastards.
The taste of salt coated my tongue, and I coughed up several mouthfuls of ocean water. It was satisfying in a sense. It was the closest thing I’d tasted to food in the last few days. How would I feed myself, anyways? Did the government drop supplies every week? I hadn’t been informed of anything.
I was out of breath by the time the island doubled in size. I was getting closer, but it wasn’t fast enough. I kicked harder and threw my arms forward, wanting nothing more than to feel the warmth of the sun on my body as I lay in a soft bed of golden sand.
But as the island continued to expand in my line of site, it became clear to me that this fantasy of a remote, paradise-like island was precisely that—a fantasy. The sand, from what I could see, was dark brown with large rocks positioned sporadically across the shore alongside skeletal remains. I finally felt the ocean bed beneath the palms of my feet. Gooey seaweed slid in between my toes as I walked across a hard, uneven path. I couldn’t believe I’d actually made it. I felt something slimy wrap itself around my thigh, and I almost screamed before I realized it was just another ocean plant.
I crawled through the filthy sand, feeling both deathly and relieved. Water dripped from my hair and onto my hands, causing goose bumps to spread out evenly across my skin. I just wanted warmth. I hadn’t realized I was trembling until I heard my own teeth chatter. I hurried out of the ocean, kicking ocean junk away from my calves, and collapsed onto my stomach.
Although the sand was rough and dirty, it felt warm and dry. I caressed my face into it and closed my eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept. I remembered the prison cells; I remembered the cold cement walls; I remembered feeling starved; and I remembered the shouts and wails emitted from the surrounding cells. The noise kept me up for days.
Surely, being a prisoner on an island would be much more comfortable than in a prison cell, I thought. I breathed in the scent of saltwater fish, feeling suddenly hungry. I mustered the bit of strength I had and crawled up onto my hands and knees. I tried to wipe sticky sand off my face, even though this only spread it more.
Branches broke in the distance, and my eyes followed the noise. My heart began to race. There must have been four or five of them just standing there, blending effortlessly with the trees. Their eyes were outlined in black and dark markings spread across their faces.
One of them stepped forward, and the others followed. I considered running, or at least trying to, but I was beyond exhausted—I wouldn’t make it.
The fiercest-looking one walked forward, as would the alpha of a wolf pack, and I knew this was their leader. Her dark skin glistened in the sunlight and her muscles bulged as she gripped and regripped what appeared to be a spear carved from wood and stone. She had rope, or vines, wrapped around the muscles of her arms, and I could only assume these were holsters of some type. There was a bow strapped to her back with feathered arrows protruding from a leather quiver. She made a hand gesture and cocked her chin up in my direction.
The other women moved in closer toward me.
“Grab her,” the leader ordered.
There was a heavy blow to the side of my head, and everything faded away.
CHAPTER 1
“She ain’t no huntin’ material.”
“She isn’t island material.”
“And you are?”
“Shut up.”
“No one is until they’re forced to be.”
I cracked my eyes open. The skin on my face was warm, and a fire danced from side to side in the near distance. From what I could see, there were five of them sitting around the flames. They bickered back and forth, and I knew they were arguing about me. I closed my eyes when the one nearest to me swung back to look at me. She scoffed and said, “Murk can decide.”
Who, or what, was Murk?
I peered through the narrow crack of my eyelid when they began to argue again. They all looked the same at quick glance—dark skin, painted markings, and clothing made of skins and vegetation.
There were spears, ropes, and other sharp objects around their feet. And then I smelled it—the warm, mouth-watering smell of roasted meat. Atop the fire was a small animal dangling upside down. It looked like a bunny, but I couldn’t be sure. Its skin had darkened and crisped, and there was
no fur left.
Had I been offered roasted rabbit a week prior, my stomach would have churned at the thought of munching down on a family pet. But I hadn’t eaten in days, and at this point, I was willing to eat just about anything.
Suddenly, cold, moist fingers gripped the skin of my upper arm, and I was forced to sit upright.
“She’s been awake for a while,” came a woman’s voice.
She was standing directly beside me, but I was afraid to look up. Where had she come from? The rest remained seated, just staring at me from behind partially shadowed faces.
“Who are you?” asked the woman sitting directly behind the fire. I remembered that face. She was their leader.
I couldn’t speak. I took several deep breaths, ordering my mind to wake from its heinous nightmare. But nothing happened. The more I hoped, the more I realized just how frightening my reality had become.
“Trim asked you a question.” I felt something cold and razor-sharp dig into the skin of my neck.
I swallowed hard. They were so barbaric—so wild looking, with their unevenly cut hair and dirty faces.
“Lydia,” I said.
“Last name?” the leader asked.
“Brone.”
The leader—Trim—tilted her head back and smiled. She was ugly in every sense imaginable with disproportionate features: a long pointed nose, small black eyes, blemished skin, and thick, untrimmed eyebrows that matched her frizzy black hair. Her name suddenly made sense to me.
“Brone,” Trim repeated.
I stared at her. Had this been a question? I wasn’t sure what to answer.
“Do you like your name?” she asked.
What kind of a question was that? It was my name. I didn’t like it or dislike it.
“I’m Rocket,” said one of the women seated by the fire. She pressed her hand against her chest as a way of introducing herself. She was very petite and sweet looking despite her savage exterior, which was rough and filthy. She had a cute button nose and bright forest green eyes, but her beauty was masked by a thick crooked scar that ran across her left eyebrow and cheek. Her caramel-brown dreadlocks were pulled back into a knot at the base of her skull.
“’Cause I’m fast,” she added. “You pick your own identity here on the island. In prison, you’ll always be called by your last name. You can change that here. You know—if you want to be someone else.”
Did I want to be someone else? Yes. I wanted to be someone who hadn’t been convicted of first-degree murder and dropped on an island to rot. But my name wouldn’t change that.
“Brone’s fine,” I said.
“This here’s Flander,” Rocket said, pointing to the woman beside her. Flander cocked and eyebrow but didn’t smile. She looked much older than the rest of them, with her wrinkled skin and dull, colorless eyes. She had short grey hair and hundreds of freckles across her nose, cheeks, and shoulders. “That’s Biggie, that’s Eagle, and that right there,” she said, pointing at the woman standing at my side, “is Fisher.”
Biggie, as her name insinuated, was the biggest of them all. She had squared off shoulders, a rounded belly, and legs the size of my torso. Her hair was short and woolly, and she had small silver loop earrings running down both ears. She had glossy brown eyes, and wide nostrils the width of her lips. She tried to smile, but it had looked more like a twitch.
I quickly glanced at Eagle, who was eying me carefully from behind eyes that were neither green nor blue, but rather, dark turquoise. She nodded as way of acknowledging my presence, but she didn’t smile or speak. She had short greasy blonde hair that stood up in all directions. Her lips were thin and flat, and she had an unusual moon shaped birthmark on her forehead.
I finally looked up at Fisher. She grimaced, baring a set of crooked teeth, and said, “I don’t like fishing.”
I wasn’t sure whether or not this had been a joke. Her dark eyebrows were nearly touching at the center of her forehead, and her colorless lips were curved downward. I could tell she’d once been very pretty with her high cheek bones, her light brown eyes, and her defined jawline, but the island had damaged her. I smiled awkwardly and returned my attention to Trim.
“You hungry?” Trim asked.
She must have caught me eying the piece of dangling meat, because she stood up, pulled a dagger from her side, and moved in. She cut the animal loose and propped it up onto a flat rock beside Flander. She tore into it without a second thought and ripped off one of its legs. Although disgusted by the sound of bones cracking and muscle tendons tearing, I’d never been more excited to eat meat.
“Welcome to Kormace,” Trim said, tossing me a crispy leg.
CHAPTER 2
I heard a throat-like growl and flinched at the thought of a wild beast lingering nearby. But the sound hadn’t come from an animal—at least not a four-legged one. Trim hovered above me with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
I rubbed my crusted eyes and sat upright. The sun was still up, although for a moment I’d thought it to be night time because of Trim’s overly frizzy hair casting a shadow around me. I must have fallen asleep after eating. I was exhausted. I hadn’t slept in days due to the reality of my new life.
“On your feet, Brone,” she ordered.
I crawled onto my knees and then onto my feet. I didn’t have the time to appreciate the melodic chirping that came from the trees or the warmth of the sun penetrating the thousands of leaves overhead.
“Change,” Trim said.
Warm leather hit me in the face before landing on my lap. It appeared to be a shirt and a pair of poorly sewn pants.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I asked.
This had obviously been a stupid question. Trim leaned in and cocked an eyebrow.
“You look new. You smell new. You’ll be treated like new.”
“Since when is new is bad?” I asked.
Rocket was suddenly standing beside Trim. “Since now,” she said. “Being new makes you more vulnerable to attacks.”
“Attacks?”
Rocket smiled, seemingly amused. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”
I stared at her, but she offered no consolation.
“Welcome to the wild, Brone.” She pointed at my new attire, raised both eyebrows, then walked away.
Trim simply waited, arms still crossed over her chest. So I slowly slid off my chalk-blue T-shirt, something I’d bought at a thrift shop a few months ago, and replaced it with the leather. It hung loosely over one shoulder, leaving the other shoulder completely bare. I couldn’t quite tell whether this was the actual design or poor craftsmanship.
“Appreciate that while you have it,” I heard.
I followed the voice. It had come from Eagle. She was slouched against a slanted birch tree, sharpening a blade.
“Sorry?” I said.
She smirked, her turquoise eyes gazing into me to the point of discomfort. “Your bra.”
I suddenly realized that everyone was looking at me. Had they all been watching me change? I became fully aware of my red bra straps, which were clearly visible at both my shoulders. Had they expected me to remove it? I noticed most of them weren’t even wearing bras; those who were had made them using tight leather, which offered no support, but rather, a flattening functionality.
“Just sayin’,” Eagle said, now striking harder with her rock, “that’s a luxury most us islanders don’t have.”
I couldn’t tell whether she’d simply stated a fact or had blatantly threatened me. Her eyes remained glued to me for a moment, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking. She struck harder, and I noticed a few sparks spit in all directions.
“Ignore the bird,” Rocket said, flicking her wrist out at Eagle. “Come on, put the pants on.”
So I slid off my jeans and replaced them with the rugged, uneven pants Trim had so graciously given me. I wiped a line of sweat off my forehead. It was so humid. Hadn’t they thought of sewing shorts instead?
Rocket must�
�ve read my mind, because she laughed and said, “Yeah, it’s hot. Can’t be wearin’ skanky shorts with all them poisonous snakes around here.”
My eyes widened. Snakes? Poisonous?
The others laughed. I didn’t understand how any of this was funny. Had I seriously been dropped on an island, surrounded by dangerous creatures and poorly civilized women? When would the government come back for me? How would I know when my three-year sentence was up? I didn’t have a calendar. I didn’t have my iPhone to keep track. I just wanted to go home. I wanted to slip into my favorite satin pajamas and spend the night lazing on my leather sofa watching reality television.
“Let’s have a look,” Rocket said, standing me up straight. She eyed me from top to bottom. “Ain’t Prada, but it’ll do.”
“All right, enough already. This ain’t no fashion show. Murk isn’t gonna wait around. You know the rules,” Biggie said. Her muscular dark brown arms were crossed over her chest and her lips formed a flat line. She was the darkest skinned of all the women, and she was built like an ox—her shoulders wide and her chest robust.
“What rules?” I asked.
I knew I was pushing my luck asking so many questions, but I wanted answers. How was I supposed to be calm in such a situation? I’d just been dropped on an island to rot for three years. How would I even know when my sentence was up?
“You ever read Harry Potter?” Eagle asked.
I nodded, not quite understanding the relevancy.
“Think of Murk as the island’s sorting h—”
“Shut up!” Fisher hissed. “We were all forced to face the island blindly. Brone isn’t any different.”
Eagle looked away, not daring to challenge Fisher. I didn’t blame her. Fisher was the toughest-looking woman I’d ever seen, aside from Trim. She was definitely a mixed race, with dark hair pulled back and round black eyes. She was short, with broad shoulders that gave her the appearance of a professional wrestler. I could tell she was Trim’s right hand by the way she hovered nearby, constantly glancing her way like a pit bull on guard, as if ready to pounce on anyone who posed a threat.