by Shade Owens
Eagle: a tall, silver-haired fox who shot an arrow like no other. She was injured when I first arrived on the island, and as a result, I was given her position even though I still didn’t measure up to her remarkable eye. She resented me for having taken her place, but if enough time were to pass, maybe she’d eventually teach me a trick or two.
Elektra: an annoying, high-energy, nine-year-old kid we found during one of our hunts. She reminded me of the character in Brave—red haired and freckle-faced with a courageous spirit. According to Eagle, the kid suffered from Asperger’s, which came to explain her neurotic tantrums and unstable mood. Although she rubbed me the wrong way, she was still just a kid, and I hoped she was okay.
Trim: the leader of the Hunters. She was tall and thin, but very muscular. I remembered being introduced to her for the first time and wondering whether her name had been inspired by her dark frizzy hair and bushy unibrow. She wasn’t much to look at, with her long pointed nose and blemished skin, but I respected her entirely and obeyed her every order. I wondered how far we’d get without her.
And lastly, Murk, our Chief. Had she made it out alive? I was afraid to imagine a future without her in it. I remembered first meeting her inside of the Grounds’ waterfall, which was apparently her quarters. She had silver hair, almost white in comparison to her suntanned face, and piercing blue eyes. There had been something so genuine about her, so real. I remember feeling as though her eyes could see right through me, could read my every thought. I had yet to understand her ways, but she’d always been fair to her people and never led us astray. For that, she had my loyalty.
“Fisher!” I hissed.
“What?” She turned around quickly, her brows high on her forehead and her eyes resembling those of a rabid dog.
“Please…” I followed her, clenching my teeth at every step. “Just tell me what you know. Did you see them? Biggie, Trim—”
She cut me off, “No, Brone, I didn’t see any of them, okay? For all we know, they’re dead.”
CHAPTER 2
I couldn’t believe they were dead—I wouldn’t.
I poked a rotten tree branch into the little fire Fisher had managed to build by hunching over a pile of dried leaves and quickly rolling a thin, cylindrical piece of wood back and forth in between both palms.
Despite my hatred for fire, I knew we needed it if we were going to survive. Even so, guilt hit me with every jab. Fire had taken away our home, yet here we were, building another one simply for the sake of warmth as nightfall approached.
“Do you think we’ll find them?” I was afraid of the answer she might give me.
Fisher’s eyebrows came together as she aggressively carved the tip of her hunting spear. “We’ll find them.”
Would we? Were they even alive?
I couldn’t imagine living on Kormace Island without the women I’d grown to think of as family. Then I thought of Elektra. She was just a kid who’d somehow managed to be dropped onto Kormace Island despite the government’s regulations against minors being sentenced to banishment. She didn’t deserve any of this.
I sat quietly, staring into the dirt under my feet, beads of sweat sliding along my hairline. How long would we make it like this, Fisher and I? We needed to remain as a pack like we always had if we were going to survive.
“Which way do you think they went?” I asked.
Fisher threw her spear into the ground and flared her nostrils. Her mood complemented her appearance—ash-stained skin, bagged eyes, and chaotic hair, which was something I’d never seen being that Fisher always wore her hair in a tight ponytail.
“I don’t fuckin’ know!” Her shoulders bounced up and down as she quickly inhaled and exhaled, almost hyperventilating. “Por el amor de Dios…” she muttered
“You speak Spanish?” I asked. Her English was impeccable. I’d have never guessed.
She shot me a glance but ignored my question. I’d once been afraid of her, but as the months had gone by, I’d come to realize she was exactly the kind of friend I wanted to have on this island, even if she did frustrate me at times. She was honest, up front, and loyal to the point of suicide if it meant protecting someone she cared about.
Although she’d never admit it, I knew I fell into her “friend” category. I remembered when she’d noticed the cut on my neck—the one inflicted by masked women under Murk’s reign, who I had yet to locate—and how she’d told me to get it cleaned up. I remembered the way she’d snapped on other convicts when I received shouts of insults for having replaced Eagle, the original Archer who’d been injured during battle.
In her own way, Fisher cared. And I cared, too. I was fortunate to have her by my side. We were in this together—alone, but together.
“I’m sure they’re not far,” I said.
She didn’t say anything. Instead, she reached to the ground beside her, scooped up a dead rodent, and pulled a knife out from her waist holster. I looked away as she dug her knife into its fur and began tearing its skin off. As hungry as I was, I didn’t want to watch the meal preparation process, just as any paying customer of a sidewalk food truck wouldn’t want to see a cow slaughtered before being blended into the shape of a hotdog.
“We’ll find them,” I added.
There was no knowing whether these words were true. I’d only intended to reassure Fisher because I could tell her anger was fueled by fear and grief. For all we knew, some of the Hunters—if not all of them—had been killed during the attack. I couldn’t bear the thought of it, but I had to be realistic.
And then, as if being struck by some invisible force, I remembered so vividly what happened moments after I walked into the Village—after I saw women lying still around the breakfast fire.
* * *
I stared at the bodies for what felt like hours, not quite comprehending what was going on. My legs shook and my heart raced so fast, I was certain it would stop. I began seeing halos, and everything around me seemed like a dream—a nightmare.
And then I saw Fisher, and I immediately ran to her.
“Fisher?” I asked.
I only spotted her because she’d sat upright, her ponytail shifted to the side and a look of bewilderment on her face. Everyone else around her lay so still.
“Fisher!” I called out again, running to her side.
Her dark eyes met mine, but her focus immediately shifted to the women lying around her. She tried to stand, but she lost her balance and fell atop another woman.
“What… what happ…” she tried.
I grabbed her arm and helped her up. Her first instinct was to reach for her blade, but I blocked her hand with mine and shook my head. She was swaying from side to side—a knife would do her more harm than good.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” I said. “I think it’s poison. I missed breakfast, and I’m fine. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Her eyes narrowed on me and she pulled away.
“You did this…”
“Fisher! I’m trying to help!” I said.
She took a step back, but tripped over a body and fell to her side.
“Watch it!” someone said.
Someone else had woken up. What was going on? Why had everyone lost consciousness? Had the attacker miscalculated their dose of poison? Had their intention in fact been to kill everyone?
“You!” Fisher said again.
“I was out trying to catch someone who’s been threatening me for months!” I hissed. “I didn’t fucking do this! I spent all night sleeping in the mud at the edge of the Cliff!” I pointed a stiff finger to the dried-up sludge in my hair and stared at her with my eyes wide open.
She seemed to believe me because she rolled onto her hands and knees and stood up. “Where’s Trim? Where’s everyone else?”
“I don’t know,” I said, gazing out into the Village. “Where were they when you had breakfast?”
“I don’t… I don’t remember,” she said. “The last thing I remember—”
&
nbsp; “What’s… What’s goin’ on?”
“What happened?”
Several other women sat up, scratching their heads and rubbing their eyes. I couldn’t see any of the Hunters—Trim, Flander, Biggie, Rocket. I couldn’t see anyone I knew, for that matter.
I’d been about to start venturing in between the tents in search of my friends when the first arrow landed by Fisher’s foot, and then another into the roof of Murk’s cabin, immediately lighting it on fire. The few women who’d woken up began screaming and trying to stand up straight, causing other women to wake during the chaos.
Dozens of other fire arrows came raining down into the Village, lighting tents on fire and spreading wildfire across the dried-up grass. There were shouts and pleas while some women tried to wake their friends, but all I could think about were the Hunters.
* * *
“How many arrows you got left?” Fisher asked, gnawing on a small leg bone and biting off the little bit of meat that was left.
I peered over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of my quiver. “Eight, I think.”
“You’re welcome, by the way,” she said.
“For what?”
“For snatching you Hamu’s bow. Not like she’ll be needing it anymore.”
Hamu, I remembered. Pin and Hamu—the Asian sisters Murk had assigned as Archers. I swallowed hard, the thought of Hamu’s lifeless body clouding my mind. Although I barely knew her, or Pin, I’d trained by their sides for months. I wondered if they’d both been killed during the attack.
The bow in my hand was instantly hot against my skin. I stared down at it, analyzing every groove, every stain, every scratch. It wasn’t my bow, but it would do. And then I wondered—would I be dead if I hadn’t dropped my bow before the attack? Would I have tried to resist the attack, only to be killed? I was sick to my stomach knowing that those who had tried to fight had been slaughtered, while I, Lydia Brone, had escaped because I’d lost my weapon when it was my duty to defend our people.
Fisher took another bite of the rodent. “Use those arrows wisely. And when you do, try to get them back.”
It wouldn’t have been the first time I pulled an arrow out of a carcass to salvage our resources. I thought of Salvia, the gentle-faced woman who’d overseen the Needlewomen—something I’d been assigned upon first landing on Kormace Island before being stripped of this title and reassigned as a Battlewoman, or a Hunter (as Rocket had told me, these titles were pretty much interchangeable)—and wondered if she was okay. I hadn’t spent much time getting to know her, but she’d seemed like the calm grandmother figure who always knew precisely what was going on even though she hardly spoke a word.
Without the Needlewomen here with us to dry out leather, carve arrows, or sew clothing, we were limited on supplies. What were we supposed to do? Butcher an animal, skin it, and spread its skin out for the sun to dry? I’d seen the Needlewomen at work—the process of preparing leather was far more intricate than letting fresh skin dry up under the heat of the sun. There was a preservation technique involved, followed by soaking, and whatever else it was they did.
Soaking…
Water.
I swallowed hard, feeling like my throat was filled with sand.
We didn’t have any water—at least, not any fresh water. The island was surrounded by salt water, with limited bodies of fresh water inside the jungle itself. I thought of the Working Grounds, where the waterfall was located. The massive flow of water filled a bay large enough to sustain several hundred women. Women assigned the task of Farmers were responsible for not only food preparation and cultivation, but also, the distillation of salt water into fresh water.
I remembered the first time I’d laid eyes on the Grounds. I’d been captured by the Hunters after having been tossed out of a military helicopter and forced to swim the length of a dozen Olympian-size swimming pools to make it to shore.
I’d been led through an opening in the jungle, where a beautiful green pool of water sat. Around this water, countless women glistened under the heat of the sun, seemingly on the verge of heat exhaustion as they performed a variety of tasks such as food cultivation and water distillation, woodwork, the creation of leather, meat preservation, and target practice. But what I remembered most about that day was the feeling of cool water droplets floating away from the waterfall and landing on my cracked, dehydrated lips. I remembered thinking that I’d have amputated one of my own limbs just to get a sip of water.
What were we supposed to do now? Find a source of fresh water? It was too risky. Everyone wanted fresh water.
And then it dawned on me. That was precisely what we had to do. Not only to hydrate, but to find anyone who’d survived the attack. If there were survivors, they would need access to fresh water, too.
CHAPTER 3
“You sure you’ve done this before?” I asked.
Fisher grunted.
She held the coconut in between the pads of her feet and hammered her knife into its eyes using a sturdy piece of wood. It seemed to penetrate.
I stared at the green shells around her. I wasn’t sure how she’d managed to hack away the outer shell using nothing but a bone-constructed knife, but I was grateful. I licked my lips at the thought of cool coconut water. It was as though I hadn’t had anything to drink in weeks.
She leaned her head back and placed the holes over her open mouth, allowing a straight line of coconut water to come pouring out.
I swallowed—or at least, I think I did.
“Damn, that’s good,” she said.
Was she doing it on purpose? Was she trying to torture me?
For a moment, I contemplated jumping her to get a few drops of water. But I didn’t need to because she handed me the fruit.
I threw my head back and drank the fluid. It poured out very slowly, making me want to press my lips against the fuzzy brown shell and suck the water right out, but it was better than nothing. When the liquid finally dried up, I shook the coconut, hoping for one last drop of water. But nothing came out.
“Okay, okay,” Fisher said impatiently. “Hand it over.”
She then went on to hit the shell repeatedly with her block of wood, while rolling it in between her hands.
“Gotcha, you son of a…” she mumbled.
The fruit instantly split at its center, revealing two bowl-shaped halves filled with a thick layer of white meat.
“Here,” she said.
I dug my teeth into the meat as best as I could and pulled back, collecting little bits of fresh coconut in the spaces between my top teeth.
“You really need to get one of these,” Fisher said, slicing her knife through her piece.
How long had it taken her to carve bone into a shiv, anyways? I didn’t ask. All I cared about in that moment was the coconut sliding down my throat. I’d have eaten the shell if it wasn’t for the fact that I’d probably lose my teeth.
“There any more?” I asked, licking the bottom of my bowl.
Fisher shook her head. “Bet you miss Sumi right about now.”
Not so much. I didn’t miss our Cook. She’d always been so rude to me, and I’d never understood why. Sure, her food was delicious, and it made our sentence feel a little less like hell on earth, but the service was horrid. When I first set foot in the Village, she attempted to deny me a serving, even though main meals are supposed to be free of charge.
Fisher must have noticed the look of disgust on my face, because she smirked and said, “I take it you two weren’t friends?”
“Friends?” I scoffed. “Sumi’s had it out for me ever since I got here.”
“That’s just Sumi. She’s not so bad. And the reason she’s so crabby all the time is because she hates cooking and wanted to be assigned as a Hunter.”
I glared at her. “I wasn’t even a Hunter when I first got here, and she was still acting like a five-year-old.”
Fisher shrugged. “She also doesn’t like newbies. She’s been on this island for years, and she’s always been
responsible for feeding hundreds of women every day. You, being a newbie, added to her list of women to feed. She’s just bitter.”
That made sense. I stared at the coconut shell in her hands, but she tossed it to the side and said, “We need to move.”
I stood up but nearly fell over when the sole of my shoe slipped to the side, completely unattached from the sneaker.
“I think it’s time to say good-bye.” Fisher looked down at my shoes and smirked at me as if I were some child holding onto a stuffing-less, one-eyed teddy bear.
I sighed. My sneakers were the last things I had left from the real world. I’d done a good job at maintaining their health. Every evening, after a long day of hunting across the jungle’s moist floor, I would pull them off and allow them to dry inside my tent. Rocket had warned me that having wet feet was a sure way of developing trench foot—or immersion foot—which was both disgusting and extremely painful. Knowing this, I was always careful, hoping that I’d never have to part with my beloved shoes, but I couldn’t deny the fact that they were now causing more harm than good.
“Keep the laces, toss the rest,” Fisher said.
Laces. Why had I never thought of this? Rope was a valued object on Kormace Island. I could have traded it for pearls or used it to build some kind of fishing contraption.
“And what am I supposed to walk in?” I asked.
Fisher laughed and stuck out one of her feet. It was completely bare with chunky yellow toenails and calluses so thick it looked like she’d glued artificial skin to the bottom of her foot for protection.
I grimaced.
I didn’t want my feet looking like that. I slid off my shoes, realizing that I’d already developed calluses everywhere. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken the time to actually look at my feet. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d even thought about my appearance. I supposed this was because survival was more important than looking good.
