by Shade Owens
“How is that even safe?” I imagined stepping on a fat-tailed scorpion or a poison dart frog.
“It ain’t,” she admitted. “But until we find the resources to protect our feet, this is what we’re stuck with.” She wiggled her gnarly toes inches above the ground, flicking a few crisp leaves up into the air. “And if anyone asks, I never said that. Trim would have my head if she knew I was huntin’ without shoes.”
I hated the thought of exposing my feet to the jungle’s poisonous critters, but I didn’t have a choice. These rotten sneakers would only slow us down. I pulled the laces out of the loops and tied them around my wrists to form bracelets.
“Well, you’d better rest those feet,” Fisher said. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.”
I craned my neck back and looked up at the darkening sky through the gaps of intertwining tree branches.
“Find yourself somethin’ to sleep on.” She leaned her back against the trunk of a tree. “You’re in no shape with that ankle of yours. We’ll start looking for survivors at dawn.”
Her eyelids became heavy, and her head rocked back and forth in a fight to stay awake.
“I’ll keep watch,” I mumbled, more so to myself than to her.
I sat on a patch of dry dirt, drawing lines into it with my index finger. I pulled myself back against the root of a tree, feeling something squish underneath my right palm. I raised my hand to find a yellow translucent mushroom flattened into a pile of orange mush. It looked disgusting, but I knew it was edible. I’d seen Sumi chop a few of these into one of her dishes several weeks ago.
I tore the squiggly fungus out of the ground and inspected it for insects before chewing into it. Although not a gourmet meal, it was food, and that was all I could ask for.
I listened to the static sound of insects all around me—a constant white noise I’d learned to ignore. Birds whistled in the distance, and branches rustled above me, drawing my attention to the treetops. The sky had darkened to an indigo blue, eliminating the jungle’s vivid colors.
It seemed like only minutes had passed before the sky turned black, and the only thing I saw was a red glow at the tip of the fire log. I hated the smell of it—the smell of carnage and desolation.
It may have been my imagination, but every sound somehow seemed amplified as if I were standing in an empty auditorium. Every coo; every chirp; every distant snarl. I widened my eyes and tightened the grip on my bow, scanning every inch of black around me. I couldn’t tell the ground from the trees, and then I thought of the Village, where the moonlit sky illuminated our rooftops.
God, I missed that place.
I swallowed hard at the realization that it was gone—all of it. I thought of my bed, the one I’d constructed out of giant banana leaves, and the privacy of my tent; of the waterfall’s saltwater pool, and how women would float naked on their backs, allowing the salt to cleanse them of the jungle’s impurities; and of medicine and about Navi. If we were attacked overnight, there’d be no one to help us. And what about sleep? Would I have to sleep on the jungle floor every night, amid wild animals and possibly Ogres? My stomach growled, and I thought of Sumi’s tasty dishes she cooked with fish, nuts, wild boar, turkey eggs, or fresh fruit. What were we supposed to do now? Eat coconuts, fungus, and rodents for the rest of our lives?
I aimed my eyes in Fisher’s direction, even though I could hardly see her, and I realized how lucky I was to have someone completely willing and capable of killing an animal, skinning it, and tearing it apart for us to eat.
If I were on my own, I’d probably attempt to survive on fruit alone and develop diabetes.
I inhaled slowly, listening to the sound of my own breath in the dark and seeing flashes of women being slaughtered before me as if my mind was a projector and the jungle’s darkness, a wide-projection screen. I couldn’t stop thinking about the attack.
I flinched at the sound of a woman screaming for her life as she begged one of the Northers not to swing a mighty blow, but no one was there. The only sound to be heard was the millions of insects humming in unison.
* * *
Someone tugged on my arm, shaking my limp body from side to side. I opened my eyes to find Fisher’s shaded figure crouched beside me. I parted my lips to speak, but she whipped a hand over my mouth and placed a finger over hers.
What was going on?
I tried to sit up, but Fisher’s hand moved over my chest and held me down.
“I think she went this way,” I heard.
I followed the voice, but I couldn’t see anyone. It was too dark. How long had I been sleeping, anyways? I must have fallen asleep while keeping watch, which made me feel completely incompetent.
Tree branches and dehydrated flora cracked as the voices distanced themselves from us, and Fisher’s hand slowly let go.
“Who was that?” I mouthed.
Fisher glared at me, her eyes warning me to keep my mouth shut until she gave the command to speak. She’d always had the potential for leadership, which made me wonder—if anything had happened to Trim, would Fisher step up? Because I sure as hell wouldn’t. I wasn’t cut out to be a leader—or anything else that required people to depend on me.
“I’ll kill them all,” she finally whispered.
Those words and the hatred in her eyes told me we’d come in close contact with Northers. I wanted them dead as badly as she did. They’d taken everything from us: our home, our people, our civilization. And now, they were out hunting for survivors of the attack.
I stared into the cracks of darkness ahead of me and imagined myself lunging out and slitting one of their throats. I’d never been one for violence, but this island was changing me. It was turning me into precisely what I promised myself I’d never become—a savage.
But I didn’t want to be this person. I didn’t want to fight, yet I had no choice. Why was there even war when all that truly mattered was survival? How did killing another group or clan benefit anyone? Was Rainer to blame for her people’s actions?
Thinking about it was useless. Whether Rainer was responsible or not, her people were just that—people. They had minds of their own. If they were too incompetent to think for themselves and realize that slaughtering someone was wrong, then they were nothing more than biological shells. I, for one, wouldn’t waste time trying to play hero by reprogramming these women’s brains.
It was simple, really. Kormace Island could only be survived by following one very basic rule: kill or be killed.
CHAPTER 4
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked.
Fisher was crouched over, digging her fingernails into the dirt at her feet and clutching herself below her belly.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Doesn’t look like nothing. Are you okay?”
She clenched her teeth and nodded as hundreds of little goose bumps crept up her arms and neck. Dawn was setting in, and broken streaks of orange light stretched into the forest. We had agreed that at the break of dawn, we would be setting out in search of other survivors near bodies of fresh water.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
I stared at her. She wasn’t fine. It looked like she’d eaten poison or something.
“I just need a minute,” she said.
She slowly crawled onto her stomach, resting her face in the dirt, and closed her eyes. A drop of sweat slid down the side of her temple and along the curve of her thick bottom lip.
I waited, nervously scanning our surroundings every few seconds. If the Northers had truly decided to launch a widespread hunt for survivors, it was only a matter of time before we encountered one of them. We had to find the others before the Northers found us.
Minutes felt like hours as Fisher lay there, and I began to wonder if she’d fallen asleep.
“Fisher,” I said.
Her eyes shot open and she reached for her knife in a panic.
I sighed. She’d fallen asleep.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked.
She sl
owly sat up, wincing. “It’s just endo,” she said.
“Endo—what?”
“Endometriosis,” she said. “You don’t stop getting your period just ’cause you’re in the middle of fucking nowhere.”
I was well aware that as women, we were all cursed with a monthly visit. This curse had proven challenging given the fact that Kormace Island didn’t supply tampons or pads. Fortunately, Tegan had constructed a pad-like cloth with the use of cotton that could be purchased in her merchant tent.
But I couldn’t understand what this endo-something had to do with Fisher’s period. My face must have given away my confusion, because Fisher flicked her wrist and said, “Think of it as a bunch of spider webs stuck to your uterus.”
I grimaced. That was disgusting.
“Exactly.” She smirked at what must have been the look of horror on my face.
“It hurts?” I asked.
“Like fuckin’ hell.” She inhaled a deep breath through widened nostrils. “I miss Tegan.”
I think everyone missed Tegan. Not only was she basically the Village’s bartender, she was responsible for creating and selling medicinal remedies and hygienic products such as soaps, ointments, and natural toothpaste.
How was anyone supposed to survive without her? I sure as hell didn’t know how to make soap. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. And toothpaste? I sucked on my teeth, feeling the thick buildup of plaque and the layer of grime that coated the top of my tongue. I didn’t even want to imagine what was hiding in between my teeth. I’d seen women floss using strands of their hair, but that didn’t work for me. I tried it once, only to end up with pieces of broken hair caught between my teeth.
“She had something for the pain?” I asked.
Fisher nodded. “Some herb. Anti-inflam.”
“Would you recognize it if you saw it?” I asked, eyeing a row of flowering shrubs.
She shook her head. “Tegan went through a whole drying process. It just looked like a cup of green tea by the time it was ready to be ingested…” She stared at her feet, her body leaning forward. “I used to take birth control. You know, in the real world.” She looked at me, but only briefly as she always did. “You got any medical problems?”
I shook my head, realizing how fortunate I was to be free of any ailments.
“Count yourself lucky,” she said. “I’ve seen it all—diabetes, thyroid problems, heart problems, arthritis, fibromyalgia… And that doesn’t even begin to cover it all. Then there’s mental illness, but Murk wasn’t too tolerant of that.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “We’ve abandoned a few drops along the way if we noticed something was off. Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t got any issues with mental illness. But the way Murk sees it—well, it’s a liability, you know? If there aren’t any meds to stabilize them, we can’t risk having them in our Village.”
That sounded terrible. These people—these grandmothers, mothers, sisters, daughters—were human beings. I couldn’t imagine walking away from someone simply because they were wired differently from me. But, at the same time, I understood Murk’s stance on this. Emotions aside, mental instability posed a threat, and as Chief, Murk’s primary role was to protect her people.
“Young girl died just before you were dropped off,” Fisher said.
“From what?”
“No idea.”
I stared at her, not understanding the purpose of her story.
“That’s the problem, though. Navi’s good at what she does. She’s good at healing—at being our people’s Medic. But she ain’t a real doctor. She doesn’t always have the answers. You have no idea how many lives are lost, and we can’t figure out why. Could be so many things, you know? Hormone levels, heart failure, infection…”
“Do you think Navi—”
“Is dead? Probably.”
I was stunned by the coldness in her voice, but it wasn’t unlike Fisher to be so matter-of-fact.
“Medics have a natural need to help others,” she said. “There’s no way she ran while women were being injured left and right.”
“What if they’re all dead?” I asked. “The ones with specialties? What’re we gonna do?”
Fisher smirked, but I could tell by the look of hopelessness in her eyes that it was forced. “I don’t know.”
She stood up straight, stiffening her back, and let out a long breath. “Do me a favor?”
“Yeah?”
“If you see any cannabis leaves, let me know.”
“As in pot?” I asked.
“Yeah, as in pot,” she mocked. “It helps with the pain. Murk never allowed it, but she’s not here right now, is she?”
“What’s it look like?” I asked.
Fisher stopped midway in a stretch and simply stared at me as if I’d just announced to her that a man named Donald Trump had been elected president of the United States back in 2016.
“You’re too square, Brone. And you murdered someone?”
I bit my tongue. I hadn’t murdered him. It was manslaughter. But, Fisher was all I had, and I wasn’t about to get into a petty fight over semantics. She waved both hands in front of her face. “You know what? Forget it. If I see any, I’ll pluck them. Don’t worry about it. Grab your bow and let’s go.”
I did as Fisher told me and followed her as she slowly moved forward, her shoulders round and her knees bent. The pain must have been excruciating; she was the last person you’d hear complain about pain.
“Do you know where you’re going?” I asked.
She stopped moving and glanced back at me. For a second, I worried she might tear me a new one or accuse me of being nothing more than a fickle-minded brat incapable of trusting anything beyond the tip of her own nose.
But there was a solemn look in her dark eyes. “No, not really.” She sighed. “I remember there being a bay of fresh water west of the island, but to be honest, I have no idea where we are.”
“How far did we run from the Village?” I asked.
Fisher shrugged. “Couple hours, at least.”
“In which direction?”
“South.”
I’d never been good with geography. I remembered my cheeks warming upon hearing Mr. Grant’s speech in seventh-grade geography class about how “China wasn’t a continent.” He’d kept eyeballing me at the back of the class, making it completely obvious that I’d been the one to pencil in this answer on my midterm exam.
“In the morning we feast, and at night, we rest,” I mumbled.
Fisher cocked an eyebrow.
“Helps me remember.” My mom’s crooked smile when she taught me this little rhyme for the first time filled my mind.
“Jesus, Brone. I’m a Hunter, and I’ve been living on Kormace for years. I know the sun rises in the east, which is why we’re walking away from it. I don’t need some little rhyme to tell me that.”
“Then what’s the problem? If we’re headed west…”
Her eyes went huge, and she straightened her hunched posture. “Do you have any idea how big Kormace is? It’s not like we’re going to find the bay I’m looking for just by walking west.”
“Well we don’t have a—” I started, but a strong smell of burning immediately caught my attention.
Fisher must have smelled it, too because she quickly turned around and followed my eyes. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
CHAPTER 5
In the far distance, a bumpy wall of black and white smoke slithered quickly around the bases of trees and through hanging vines. Behind the smoke were orange flames so bright I thought for a moment the sun had shattered and fallen to earth.
And then I felt the heat. A hot, scorching wind brushed around the contours of my face, causing my eyes to dry and water.
“Brone!”
I looked back. Fisher was already running the other way, while I stood there in awe, gazing at the wildfire—such a breathtaking force spreading nothing but death.
“Brone!�
��
The skin on my face and neck had become uncomfortably hot. I shook myself from my trance and bolted toward Fisher, hopping over uneven soil and tangled webs of vegetation. An array of blurry greens and yellows dominated my sight as I ran through the forest, following closely behind her.
For the first time since I’d been dropped on Kormace Island, the thought of being killed by Northers, Ogres, or by a big cat didn’t scare me. If there was one thing worse than our enemies, it was the idea of Kormace Island burning to the ground. My enemies now had no relevance—we were all going to die anyways.
I didn’t bother asking Fisher where she was running. It was obvious she was moving away from the fire, but more specifically, toward shore. Our only means of survival was to set foot where the fire couldn’t reach us—in the ocean.
I couldn’t believe how fast the fire was traveling. Heat hit my back as I ran, adrenaline bursting through me. I prayed the fire wouldn’t catch up to us. I didn’t even want to imagine what it would feel like to be burned alive.
“Jesus Christ!” Fisher hissed ahead of me. She held her knife tightly at her side. It was only when she lunged sideways—when she broke our momentum and our direction—that I saw it.
At the base of an old rotten tree sat a woman beside a skull-headed pillar. Behind her was an oval-shaped shelter constructed of tree bark and leaves. The woman wore black fur over her bare shoulders and a gray rodent’s skin over her head, its boneless legs hanging by her ears. The skin folds and ugly crevasses of her naked body were visible through her open fur cardigan, and she sat there, staring at me from behind dark, soulless eyes. Dirt and rusty blood stained her chest, neck, and chin.
I hadn’t meant to stop running, but the sight had both frightened and intrigued me. Was she an Ogre? Was I standing mere feet away from a living, breathing Ogre? Was the blood on her chin that of a human’s? I contemplated drawing an arrow and killing her where she sat. If she was an Ogre, there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t try to kill me. Then I remembered Sunny and the way her body had been dragged away by one of these carnivorous monstrosities only to be strapped upside down and sacrificed to whatever god it was they believed in.
