The Feral Sentence- Complete Box Set

by Shade Owens

  “Is she sure it was them?” I asked.

  Fisher slapped me on the shoulder, her smile stretching so wide I noticed missing teeth in the back of her mouth. “Yes, she’s sure. Everyone knows who the Hunters are. And with that untrimmed head of hers, it isn’t like anyone would confuse Trim for someone else.”

  I pictured Trim’s bushy eyebrows and dark frizzy hair—a helmet almost—and smirked.

  “We got ourselves some Battlewomen here, Brone. A Farmer.” She then shot Thompson another look. “Even a Needlewoman. All we need is to find ourselves a new home. Some place the Northers would never think to look. I figure we gain our strength, gather as many resources as we can, then move out by dawn and find the others.”

  I looked at Ellie, who was smiling at me with profound tenderness, and back at Fisher, who was nodding so fast her curly baby hairs danced by her face.

  Hope, I thought.

  Maybe we did stand a chance, after all.

  BEASTS OF PREY (SEASON 2)

  EPISODE 5

  CHAPTER 1

  “There’d better not be any rain dripping on my face at night,” Franklin said, crossing her pale tattooed arms over her flat chest. She shook a loose strand of her short chestnut brown hair out of her face and gave Coin the stink eye.

  Who did she think she was, anyway? She stood there, arrogant, biting down on her thick bottom lip and tapping her fingers against her biceps.

  I wasn’t a fan of her know-it-all attitude and constant opinions, but from what a few others had told me, she was a good fighter, and that was something we needed. I’d simply have to get used to her.

  Coin stood up straight, stretched her back, and impatiently ran her hand against the grain of her hawk-style shaved head. She was much shorter than Franklin, but also much thicker. Over the last few days, I’d come to realize that Coin was patient by nature but explosive when provoked. She placed both hands on her waist, her dark veins bulging through the black skin of her hands, then sucked on her gold tooth and said, “Girl, this is what I do. If you wanna build your own shelter, here you go.” She held out a handful of rope and a giant banana leaf, but Franklin pointed her nose upward and rolled her eyes.

  “Coin knows what she’s doing,” Fisher said, looking up at Franklin from behind her narrow black eyes. She rubbed a hand along the tight, dark-haired ponytail on her head that always looked greasy. “She’s a Builder.”

  Hearing Fisher’s voice, Franklin sighed and walked away. Although no official status had been granted, everyone knew Fisher was in charge. Having hunted by her side for nearly a year, I knew she was more than capable of leading our new group of women.

  She was young, vibrant, and dominant by nature. There was a coldness to her that often came across as insensitivity, but I’d come to see Fisher’s true self—she was loyal like no other; she defended her friends even if it meant putting herself in harm’s way.

  Fortunately for me, I’d somehow managed to fall inside of her friendship circle. The others, not so much, which was probably a good thing if Fisher was to have any authority over them.

  She retightened her ponytail and wiped droplets of sweat off the tip of her pointed nose. She was beautiful, but the island had changed her. She had bubbly scarred skin across her left shoulder and thin cuts—seemingly the result of a bird attack of some sort—across her high cheekbones. She smirked sideways at me, revealing crooked teeth. “Not too bad, is it?”

  I looked around at our new home. It was incomparable to the Village—an enclosure with dozens of suede leather tents surrounding a fire pit—but it was special in its own way. After fleeing the Working Grounds, many of us headed northeast in search of habitable land, only to stumble upon a peculiar space amid dozens of humongous trees you’d only find in a fairy tale.

  A few women stayed behind, including Coin’s friends, who believed that their only chance for survival was to remain inside the waterfall located in our old Working Grounds.

  I’d seen big tree trunks in the jungle before but nothing like these. They must have measured the size of a small house in diameter. Their bark had a red tint to it, and the one farthest at the back had an oversized cavity deep enough to provide shelter—something Fisher claimed as her own the moment she set eyes on it.

  The ground was covered in leaves—a mixture of ugly browns and faded greens. The tree leaves overhead were vivid reds and oranges, with patches of yellow at their tips. It was evident that they too had been starved of water during the drought. There were bushes upon bushes of bright yellow flowers, vibrant purples dangling from the trees, and translucent mushrooms growing around tree roots.

  The ground was damp due to the recent storm, and there was a cool moisture in the air that carried a salty, earthlike smell. Most rivers and streams we’d passed during our trek had flooded, bringing water to all plants across the island. Maybe this meant the drought was finally over.

  I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of moist earth—something I hadn’t smelled in a long time. If there was one thing I would miss most about our previous home, it was the Working Grounds’ waterfall. Although undrinkable because it was salt water—something I’d always found unusual—it was the perfect cleansing water. And, with the distillation contraptions built by the Farmers in our society, it became perfectly drinkable.

  In our new home, there was a small stream of fresh water that ran through the enclosure of giant trees. Amid the colors of the jungle, the water looked brown, but it was cool to the touch and so smooth it made my fingers feel soft after splashing it on my face.

  Everest, an older Ukrainian woman I’d met only recently, slowly dropped down onto her hands and knees, cupped a handful of water into her wrinkled hand, and raised it to her dry lips.

  “Whoa!” Fisher said.

  Everest rolled her tired gray eyes up at Fisher like she’d been asked to run a marathon.

  “You can’t drink water without knowing where it comes from.”

  I was shocked to hear this. We’d filled our water bladders with fresh water during our hunts many times over.

  Everest separated her cupped hands and the water fell back into the stream. Her eyebrows, two straight lines that were barely visible, came so close to each other they almost touched. “Vy not?”

  “You could get sick,” Fisher said. “We don’t know this place. That water could be crawling with parasites.”

  I leaned into Fisher. “Thought we used to drink fresh water during our hunts.”

  She smirked. “That little fall? It’s clean. We know where that water comes from. We’ve been drinking there for years.”

  “So vat?” Everest went off. “Ve have all zis fresh vater, and ve can’t even drink?”

  Fisher only stared at her and walked away. I watched the back of her head as she disappeared behind an orange flower bush. Everest and I exchanged a confused look, but within seconds, Fisher was back with what appeared to be two pieces of massive vines dangling in both hands.

  She threw one of them by Everest’s knees, and the other, on the ground to be taken by someone else.

  “Vat’s this?”

  “Grab that end of it and suck,” Fisher said. “There should be rainwater in there. You can thank the storm.”

  Everyone lunged toward the second vine, but Fisher released a quick, “Hey!” and their eyes met hers. “Put your lazy asses to work and go get some more.”

  As everyone began scattering, Fisher rolled her eyes. “Bring a knife, too.”

  I glanced down at Everest, who was sucking on the tip of the vine. She was having a hard time of it, so she dangled it above her head in hopes that gravity would simplify the task. How long had she been on this island, anyway? Had she spent most of her life here, or had she committed a crime late in life? She was monotone and blunt when she spoke, but I knew there was goodness in there, somewhere.

  She took one final lick of water and straightened her rounded back. Ellie quickly came to her aid, scooping her up by the arm and helping her to
her feet.

  I smiled. If there was one thing I was grateful for, it was having found Ellie after the attack. Ever since I’d first stepped foot into the Village, Ellie had been the only one to show me any affection, and not only because it was her job as the Village’s peer worker to show me the ropes, but because there was something so pure and innocent about her. We’d spent countless hours every morning talking about everything from the island to completely irrelevant topics such as time, space, and the afterlife.

  She pulled her long wavy brown hair over one shoulder and looked back at me through squinted chocolate-colored eyes. She knew I was watching her. I smirked, remembering her soft lips against mine and the way she’d pressed her body against me. Ever since she’d kissed me, I’d been unable to think of anything else. I didn’t care where I slept, what I ate, or how badly my muscles ached after a day of hunting—all I wanted was for her to kiss me again.

  “You guys going hunting soon? I’m hungry,” Hammer said.

  I instinctively glared at her, but quickly released my anger. If I was going to live with her, I’d have to get over the fact that she’d been the one to threaten me at knifepoint. Sure, I’d lost many pearls because of it, but the slowly reducing swelling on her fat face was payback enough. I couldn’t remember how many times I’d hit her, but evidently, it was enough to earn back a measure of respect.

  She quickly stepped back and raised two chubby hands. “Respectfully, I mean,” she said. “And if there’s anything I can do to help, I’m here.”

  I much preferred this new Hammer. I remembered first meeting her in the Tools tent: a small tent filled with tools, weapons, and satchels. She still looked exactly as she had then—a boyish haircut and a rounded body with pale blotchy skin and fat rolls under her triceps and above her pants. She had red pimples, or acne scars, across both cheeks. But what I remembered most about the old Hammer was her arrogant attitude and how she’d tried to rip me off.

  I couldn’t hold onto this. Hammer had incredible weapon-crafting skills, and the truth was, we needed her.

  “There is something you can do to help,” Fisher said, staring intently at her.

  Hammer nodded like a child, her eyes round and her lips curved into a grin.

  “Get outta my face,” Fisher said.

  Hammer’s smile evaporated.

  “Have a little respect,” Fisher said. “I’m talking to Brone right now. We’ll go hunting when we go hunting.”

  Hammer nodded quickly and turned away.

  “Hey, Ham,” Fisher said. “There actually is something you can do for us.”

  “What is it?” Hammer asked.

  “We need more arrows.”

  Hammer nodded again and joined a few other women around a small fire that had taken nearly an hour to set up due to the forest’s dampness.

  “Can you believe that?” Fisher scoffed. “Who does she think she is?”

  I glanced sideways at Fisher, wondering if maybe the power was already going to her head. But, at the same time, had Trim—the leader of the Hunters, who we had yet to find—been sitting here, Hammer wouldn’t have asked her to go hunting. I supposed fear did earn respect, in a sense.

  I didn’t feed into it. Instead, I looked up at what appeared to be trees touching the sky and back at Fisher. “What should we call this place, anyways?”

  She smirked at me and tilted her head back to take in the gigantic trees’ magnificence. “I’ve seen trees like this before… When I was young, my abuela took me and my sister to some Redwood National Park out in California. She saved up for months to take us on that trip. She said it was something we had to see at least once in our lives.”

  There was a reminiscent smile on her face as she gazed toward the sky. I could tell the memory was still vivid in her mind. I didn’t want to interrupt her experience, so I sat there, watching her relive her childhood.

  “Redwood,” she finally breathed.

  CHAPTER 2

  “It ain’t permanent, so don’t get comfortable,” Coin said, her brown face glistening with sweat.

  She threw several leftover branches into a pile by the fire and stretched her hips from side to side. She’d been working on building shelters all day. I felt sorry for her. She was the only Builder among our women. Although we still outnumbered the shelters she’d constructed, it was better than not having any at all.

  “Dibs,” Franklin said, plopping herself down into a hammock that hung between two mighty branches. Above it was a banana leaf canopy that hung on an angle, sheltering the hammock entirely.

  Coin had used branches to create solid nets covered with huge leaves. Most of the canopies were positioned against tree trunks, roughly six feet in the air, and the others were above the three hammocks she’d built.

  Women began scurrying in all directions to claim their spots.

  “Get lost, Lisa Simpson, this is my spot.”

  Two women were standing in front of an empty hammock.

  “Your attitude is completely unnecessary.”

  “Piss off!”

  The calm, lanky one stepped back with both hands flat open at shoulder’s width. “We’re all in this together. I don’t understand why you’re being so—”

  The one who’d told her to back off—a woman of average height with sun-damaged skin—grabbed her by the neck and pinned her against the nearest tree. She raised a fist midair, but Fisher’s hand caught it.

  “Enough,” Fisher said. “Hammer, this spot’s yours.”

  Hammer looked at everyone and stepped forward awkwardly.

  “Johnson, Proxy,” Fisher said, eyeing them both one at a time, “you two can sleep on the ground.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” said Proxy—the lanky one with ratty, unkempt ash-brown hair. She looked at her bully, but only briefly. Aside from her generous height, Proxy did remind me of Lisa Simpson if Lisa wasn’t a yellow cartoon character in her 98th season: smart, nerdy, and emotionally stable. It was evident that she was well-educated by the way she spoke, and had she been wearing glasses—which she probably did before being dropped off on the island—she’d have likely pushed them up her nose with her index finger just then.

  “Whatever,” said Johnson. Everything about her was average—her looks, her weight, her age. She had more freckles across her shoulders than I’d seen on any woman. Her frizzy reddish-brown hair was split in the middle on her head and hung loosely over her ears, touching right above her shoulders.

  “We may not live in the Village anymore,” Fisher said, her voice loudening, “but we’re still more civilized than this.” She shot a calculated glare at the women around her. “If we’re going to survive, we need to stick together.”

  “Zat’s not a problem for me,” Everest said, her saggy face barely moving as she spoke.

  “Rules don’t change just because Murk isn’t here right now,” Fisher said. “If you turn on your own, you’re out.”

  I remembered seeing women banished from the Village for having attacked one of our own. I didn’t want to imagine what they’d gone through following the banishment. Had they survived? How did they eat if they’d never been taught to hunt?

  “What makes you think Murk’s still alive?” Franklin kicked her feet into the air, her hammock swinging back and forth.

  I was instantly nauseous. Had the Northers killed Murk, our Chief? Was she hiding? Was she with some of the Hunters? I couldn’t imagine a society ruled by anyone other than Murk. She was a gentle woman with strong values and a lifetime of experience surviving Kormace Island. Without consistent, solid leadership, women would begin to rebel. It was in their nature.

  “Even if she ain’t alive,” Coin said, her biceps bulging underneath her skin, “what Fisher says, goes.”

  Franklin scoffed. “Calm your pom-pom, Gold Tooth, I was only askin’ a question.”

  Coin glared at Franklin but bit her tongue.

  “What will happen when we find others?” Proxy asked. “We don’t have enough space in this l
ocation. Realistically, our capacity will reach its maximum if we locate—”

  Fisher sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. “We’re not staying here. Like Coin said, it’s not permanent.”

  “Where we going then? What’s the plan?” Franklin asked. “You gonna ditch us like you did Mia and Impa?”

  I stood up, my fists clenched. “Fisher had nothing to do with that,” I said, remembering Mia’s cold, sweaty body lying underneath the warmth of a wall torch inside the waterfall.

  She’d been shot at during the Northers’ attack, and Fisher had carefully dislodged the arrowhead from her belly. When we finally left the inside of the Working Grounds’ waterfall—Murk’s old quarters—her friend refused to follow us. She merely lay there, her arm wrapped around her best friend’s dying body.

  “She’s in charge, isn’t she?” Franklin said. “She could’ve told Impa to leave Mia behind.”

  “She’s also not a dictator,” I said, eyeing Fisher. “Impa wanted to stay with her friend. That was her choice and hers alone.”

  “Well, they’re both as good as dead now.” Franklin stroked the skull tattoo on her shoulder.

  “Would you shut up, Frank?” Fisher said.

  “What’re you gonna do, Fish? Slit my throat, too?” Franklin pressed.

  Fisher’s nostrils flared and she inhaled a deep breath.

  Coin stepped toward Franklin. “What’s your problem?”

  “No problem here,” Franklin said. “But if someone’s gonna be in charge, they’d better do it right.”

  Coin crossed her arms again, stiffened her back, and cocked a brow. “You sayin’ Fisher ain’t doin’ a good job?”

  “I’m sayin’”—Franklin’s voice took on a mocking tone—“we need more answers than what we’re getting.”

  My heart raced—not because I was afraid, but because that familiar rage was rising within me. I’d felt it before I jumped Hammer and beat my fists into her face. I was tired, sore, and starved, and the last thing I wanted was to hear someone complain about Fisher’s leadership capabilities when the only reason we’d even made it this far was because of her.