by G. C. Julien
“Grab a needle, m’girl,” she said.
I glanced at the woman nearest me. She must have sensed my discomfort, because she threw her head sideways, signaling me to sit beside her. Trim walked away, and I wondered how long it would be until I saw her again. Although Trim and her group of women had basically kidnapped me, I felt as though I’d made new friends only to have them immediately taken away.
“You ever sew before?” Savia asked.
I shook my head.
“Jeena ‘ere will show you,” she said, pointing a loose finger at the woman next to me.
“Hi, Jeena,” I said.
She tried to smile, the corner of her lip twitching, but she didn’t respond or look at me.
“You can talk to her all y’like, but she won’t talk back,” Savia said.
I glanced at Jeena, whose eyes were fixed on the ground. She seemed like a sweet girl—like someone who wouldn’t hurt a fly. She was very petite, light skinned, and frail looking, and all I wanted to do was protect her.
“Got a bad infection in her mouth ’while back,” Savia said. “Had to take out most of ’er teeth and part of ’er tongue.”
Jeena cringed at the sound of her own story.
“I—I’m sorry,” I said.
“That’s what happens when y’only got two medics for several hundred women and when the Northers kill one of ’em off.”
“You only have one doctor?” I asked.
Savia laughed.
“Medic,” she corrected. “Ain’t no prisoner here a doctor. But we’re lucky enough to have one woman who knows anything and everything about the plants on this island. Knows how to heal the injured and the sick. ’Er sister was our other medic, but she was killed not long ago.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It had never occurred to me that medical care among felons would be completely stripped. We were on our own with nothing more than bare necessities. What would happen if food were to run out? If the last medic were to be killed?
I watched the other women as they punctured holes through thick sheets of leather, cut numerous shapes out of the skin, and stitched pieces together by sewing through the holes they’d made. I’d get the hang of it.
There were several sheets of skin stretched out across what appeared to be giant slingshots. Pieces of wood held the skins at an angle, which I assumed was to allow the sun to dry them out.
“What do you guys make with all this leather?” I asked.
Savia smiled, and I noticed a few of the other women smirk as if I’d just asked the most idiotic of questions.
“Anythin’ and everythin’,” she said. “Women on the island need to survive. We’ve gone back to the native times. We need clothing, water satchels, weapons, footwear, tents…”
Jeena handed me several long pieces of leather. She pointed at it and made a fist-like gesture, but I couldn’t make out what she was trying to tell me.
“Arrows,” Savia intervened.
I stared at her. Was I supposed to make arrows out of flimsy leather?
I felt a tap on my thigh, and I glanced back. The woman sitting beside me pointed at a pile of finely carved arrowheads, and then a pile of smooth pieces of wood with beautiful multicolored feathers attached at the tips. I watched Jeena as she tied the pieces together, her fingernails whitening as she repeatedly wrapped the leather band around both the arrowhead and the stem of wood. When she was finished, there was no telling these two pieces had ever been apart—what she held in her fist was a genuine hunting arrow.
I knew it would take practice. I felt humiliated by my twelfth attempt, still unable to solidly conjoin the two pieces.
“Why’d they give ’er Needlewoman?” I heard one of the women whisper to another.
I glanced up, but what I met was a pair of fearless black eyes beneath uncombed eyebrows. I could tell that confrontation was no alien matter among these savages.
“Got a problem?” she asked.
I shook my head and looked away. I wasn’t the type to talk back to anyone. I’d been raised to respect those around me, to avoid conflict at all costs, and to mind my own business. The woman scoffed, as did the other, and then she said, “Probably here for some stupid shit like drinkin’ and drivin’ and killin’ a family.”
“That’s enough,” Savia intervened.
I didn’t bother to look up. I felt my throat swell at the memory of it. He hadn’t deserved death. Prison—maybe, but not death. I cringed at the image of his lifeless body lying on my mother’s kitchen floor surrounded by a pool of thick blood, his empty eyes staring past me into nothingness. I’d only meant to knock him out. He’d had my mother pinned against the wall, his thick hands around her collapsing throat, and I’d swung the iron pan at the back of his head.
I hadn’t meant to kill him.
“Lydia?”
I was shaken from my past by a beautiful young woman standing by Savia’s side. She had thick, wavy brown hair tied to the side of her head and dark chocolate eyes shaped like almonds. Her build was strong, but her features were soft. She had a small butterfly tattoo on her right shoulder, and a necklace made of seaweed and seashells. I felt at ease.
“I’m Ellie,” she said, extending a hand. “I’ll be your new peer support worker.”
I rose to my feet and shook her hand.
She smiled.
“We try to maintain a prison’s standard societal structure, even though we’re in the wild.”
A peer worker? I had no objections. I was very welcoming to the idea of having someone show me the ropes.
“Come with me,” she said.
I felt several eyes on me as I walked away from my new post, but I didn’t mind—I was happy to get away from the hostility.
She led me through a narrow path in the trees, away from all of the commotion around the waterfall.
“That,” she said, eying the loud voices and noise behind us, “is the Working Grounds. You’ll be spending most of your time there, working with the leather. Murk sometimes gives us the opportunity to change posts, but don’t count on that. It’s happened twice since I’ve been here, and she only allowed a handful of people to change jobs. Disrupts the expertise otherwise, you know?”
I nodded, even though she was ahead of me and couldn’t see me.
“Hey, Tal,” Ellie said.
I glanced up just in time to step to the side and allow the woman to pass. Her head was shaved on both sides, and she had skull tattoos covering both arms. She eyed me from top to bottom and released a growl-like sound.
“That’s Tal,” Ellie said, smiling back at me.
Was I really supposed to remember all these names? I didn’t bother to look back at the woman. I feared she might attack me if I so much as looked at her.
“She can be a bit scary at first, but she means well,” Ellie said. “Come on.”
The sound of the waterfall had faded behind us, and the jungle’s orchestra returned. Birds chirped in the distance, rustling leaves shook above us, and vegetation crackled underneath us.
“Through here,” Ellie said, sliding her way through a thick curtain of vines.
When I entered the opening, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. An entire village. What caught my attention first and foremost was the seclusion of the Village. Trees and branches had been bent, vines intertwined, and stones compiled around the area to form an enclosure—a barrier around the Village, which appeared to be the size of an average football field.
There were several dozens of tents constructed of wood and leather positioned in an uncalculated fashion across the land. The color of the tents varied due to sun damage—some were beige, others light brown, and the tents closest to the trees were dark mocha. Many women roamed the area freely, some socializing, others keeping to themselves. There was a fire pit at the center, around which a group of women gnawed on cooked meat and pieces of bone.
“Welcome to the Village,” Ellie said, wrapping a warm arm around my shoulder.
&nb
sp; I tried to smile to acknowledge her presence, but I was too intrigued by what I was seeing.
At the far back were three huts positioned side by side. These were constructed mostly of wood, with what appeared to be seaweed atop tree branches to form a roof. The one at the center was the largest and most beautiful of the three.
“That’s Murk’s,” Ellie said, watching me eye the hut at the back.
“Who is Murk, anyways?” I finally asked.
Ellie smiled at me, and I could tell she’d been in my shoes before.
“Murk’s what you call the top dog,” she said. “Like wolves in the wild, there’s always an alpha. Murk’s the alpha—the pack leader. And we’re the pack.”
“So she’s the boss,” I said.
Ellie smirked. “I’ll show you your tent.”
She led me to the farthest corner of the Village, past the largest of tents, and we headed for the smallest and shabbiest of them all. Mine was slanted toward the right, and several dozen cobwebs were gathered around the base and underneath the leather flaps.
“Think of this as initiation,” Ellie said. She punched me in the shoulder, but only hard enough to capture my attention. “I know it looks like shit,” she admitted, “but you’re the new kid on the block. Can’t expect luxury.”
I scoffed. “I’m assuming Murk’s hut is considered luxury?”
Ellie smiled, but her eyebrows quickly came together. “I get it, trust me, but no talking about Murk. Got it? She’s a good leader, and if you walk around here disrespecting her, you’ll disappear in no time.”
“I wasn’t disrespecting her—” I tried.
“Check it out,” Ellie said, extending an arm toward the tent.
“Can I clean it off first?”
Ellie tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow.
“You’re living in the jungle now. You’d better get used to bugs and creepy critters.”
“Creepy cr—” I started.
“I’ll lead the way, princess.” She winked back at me.
The moment she pulled on the large hanging front door, something hairy and black fell from above. She didn’t flinch or make a sound. Instead, she reached up and pulled the oversized spider out of her hair. I cringed. It had long stick legs and a round body, and I couldn’t tell whether it was a spider or a tarantula. She held it gently in the palm of her hand.
“Aw, it’s just a baby,” she said.
Just a baby? The thing was the size of a golf ball! I swallowed hard. I wanted to tap the heels of my muddy sneakers together and say aloud, “There’s no place like home,” over and over again.
The thought of cleaning my cat’s litter box suddenly became less repulsive to me, as did the idea of crushing little white spiders in between thick sheets of napkin to remove them from my apartment.
Ellie knelt on one knee and freed the baby monster. I could only pray it wouldn’t find its way back to me.
“It’s a good idea to keep your tent closed when you aren’t around,” she said. She pulled the door to the side and wrapped a piece of rope around it. She did the same thing to the other side, allowing sunlight to enter my new home.
The interior was bare and somewhat cool in comparison to the island’s sticky heat. I stared at the dirt beneath my feet. Where was I supposed to sleep?
“You’ll have to find your own bed and blanket,” Ellie said, eyeing the ground.
“Where am I supposed to find that in a jungle?” I asked.
Ellie ignored me, and I knew I’d just posed a silly question. I would have to make my own comfort with the items I could find. I cringed at the thought of gathering leaves or seaweed—I’d be left vulnerable to oversized bugs.
But the thought didn’t linger. My shoulders jerked forward at the sound of a deep, hollow horn that resonated across the Village. I glanced at Ellie, hoping to be eased and reassured that the sound was no more than an invitation of sorts, but I knew it wasn’t the case because Ellie’s eyes seemed to double in size, and she crouched like frightened prey.
Something was wrong.
She muttered something, but I didn’t understand her. She glanced back at me briefly and placed a finger over her lips, then quickly reached outside of the tent and loosened the door’s straps.
The curtains fell forward with a heavy swing, and we were left in the dark.
CHAPTER 4
The sound of footsteps and voices drifted in from outside. The only thing I saw was Ellie’s silhouette as sunlight broke through several cracks in the tent. I could hear her breathing heavily, and all I wanted to do was ask her what was going on.
I’d been tempted to crawl to the front of the tent—just one glance, that was all I wanted. But that’s when I heard it—a scream like none other I’d heard before. It was the most horrific sound I could have imagined: the sound of excruciating torment…the sound of torture.
Ellie raised a hand over her mouth, almost as if to keep sound from involuntarily spilling out. There were more screams—some were pained, others vengeful. These sounds were the cries of battle.
I couldn’t think. I could only feel adrenaline flooding my body. Everything felt surreal, as if at any moment, I’d awaken from this gruesome nightmare to the sound of my cat purring beside my pillow. This couldn’t be happening.
There was a loud rip-like sound from above, and I immediately felt heat spread across my face and atop my shoulders. My sense of smell was quicker than my eyes, though. I’d smelled the smoke before I knew it was fire. Up above, through a hole in the leather, was an arrow lit on fire, sticking out from one of the tent’s wooden support beams.
“Shit,” Ellie muttered.
She reached for my hand and pulled me toward the front of the tent. She peered through the cracks, and then back at the dancing flames above us that had begun to spread. The heat became unbearable, and the smoke thickened to a dark gray. I couldn’t believe how quickly it was catching.
“We have to run,” she said.
My heart was pounding, and my ears were ringing. I wanted to object, but I couldn’t speak. Nothing came out. She pulled on my hand, tore through the front of the tent, and ran out toward the Village’s outer wall.
I heard an arrow whistle right by me and more voices shouted from afar. I glanced back—something I shouldn’t have done—only to witness a woman running in all directions, lit on fire with several arrows protruding from her body. Several others ran to her aid, attempting to fight the flames with torn pieces of clothing.
Many tents were engulfed with flames; others were punctured by arrows. I heard a few more arrows whistle through the air, followed by shouts of rage. Ellie pulled us against the Village’s barrier, through which I knew we couldn’t pass. It had been woven together so tightly, with little to no space in between the materials. I suddenly realized that the attack was coming from above…from the trees.
She brought us to a corner, where we knelt in an attempt to camouflage ourselves with the surrounding greens and browns. She was still holding onto my hand, squeezing so hard I wondered if my fingers were breaking, but I couldn’t feel anything.
What felt like hours may have lasted mere minutes. I watched as wounded women were dragged away from the center of the Village and into one of the larger wooden cabins at the south end. I could only presume that this was where the medic resided. The shouting had faded, only to be replaced by moans and cries of sorrow and agony. The fires had subsided, and now thick gray smoke hovered above us all. I felt sick to my stomach.
I turned away from Ellie just in time for acid to come pouring out of my mouth—burning my throat raw in the process—before I collapsed.
* * *
For a moment, I thought I was being attacked.
“Told you she wasn’t jungle material,” I heard.
I wiped the lukewarm water off my face and away from my eyes, then glanced up. Trim was standing directly in front of me, with a shell-shaped piece of bone I could only assume was meant to be used as a bowl. Behind her were Roc
ket and Fisher, whose arms were crossed over their chests.
“Well, she’s still alive, isn’t she?” Rocket said, eyeing Fisher.
“Luck,” Fisher said.
I could tell she wasn’t impressed by the way she gazed down at me as if I were nothing more than a rock in her way.
Trim raised a hand, silencing them both instantly, before kneeling down onto one knee in front of me. I suddenly realized that Ellie wasn’t anywhere near me. Trim must have sensed my panic, because she smiled, and said, “She’s at the cabin, helping the injured women.”
I sighed.
“You okay?” she asked.
I wasn’t sure whether to nod or cry. I wasn’t sure what to feel.
“The Northers attacked us,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“W—why?” I asked.
Trim looked away, then shook her head. “That’s just how things are here. We’re at war.”
“Yeah, but they’ve never attacked us in broad daylight!” Rocket shouted.
Trim grimaced and waved a hand behind her head.
“Is anyone hurt?” I asked.
I noticed both Fisher and Rocket’s eyes wander away from mine.
“Do you wear glasses?” Trim asked me, cutting right through the silence.
I shook my head, not quite understanding the relevancy of her question.
“Many women on this island do—did,” she said, “when they were living in the real world.”
“Like me,” Rocket said, attempting to smile. “Your face is a bit blurry from here.”
I didn’t understand why they were talking about glasses when we’d just been brutally attacked by wild women from the north. Why wasn’t anyone devising a battle plan? What if this attack had been a warning of sorts—a precursor of something much worse to come. I wanted to ask, “What’s your point?” but I’d always been taught that if I had nothing nice to say, it was best I keep my damn mouth shut. So, I did.
The stupefied look on my face may have given away my thoughts.