by Shade Owens
She made her eyes go big as if to say, “Hello?”
I grumbled and sat upright.
“Coin’s coming with us,” she said.
“Where?” I asked, an involuntary tone of apathy in my voice.
“We need to hunt,” she said.
“We were just out there,” I said.
“Yeah, and we didn’t come back with anything, did we? Coin here’ll make sure we don’t get distracted this time.”
Coin stared at me, her lips flat and her dark eyes glued to mine. It was apparent she was all about business.
I lazily stood up, feeling like the bottoms of my feet were on the verge of peeling off, and grabbed my bow. My leaf boots were completely falling apart. I could see my big toe sticking out at the tip of my left boot.
“Besides,” Fisher added, eyeing my feet, “we need leather.”
I joined Coin and Fisher as they made their way out of Redwood. I glanced back one last time at Ellie, but she was chatting with Everest by the stream. Instead, my eyes met Franklin’s.
“Don’t worry, ladies,” she said, raising a stiff tattooed arm in the air. “I’ll hold down the fort.”
CHAPTER 5
“That girl’s nothin’ but trouble,” Coin said, hacking away at the never-ending webs of vegetation.
“Franklin?” I asked.
Coin nodded. “Used to train with her—you know, on the Grounds.”
Fisher scoffed. “Wasn’t she the one always bragging about how strong she is?”
“Yep,” Coin said. “Arrogant little sh—”
“Guys,” I whispered. I set my bow and pointed up. Leaves rustled and a branch cracked overhead.
But Coin’s hand reached for my wrist. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t think monkey meat’ll get us real far.”
“How do you know…” I tried.
“Little guy’s been following us since we left,” Coin said. “White-faced capuchin.”
“Why weren’t you assigned the task of Hunter?” I asked, appreciating her unique skill set.
“These things,” she said, pointing at her ears, “work better than these.” She pointed at her eyes.
I remembered Murk’s stance on Hunters. The only reason I’d been assigned the task of Archer was thanks to my perfect vision. But in my opinion, a heightened sense of hearing was as important as good eyesight.
“You think there’re any Ogres around here?” I asked, scanning every inch of greenery around me. It was much harder to see up ahead on this part of the island. The trees, shrubs, bushes, and vines were twice as plentiful as those that had surrounded the Village and the Working Grounds.
Coin hacked away at two oversized leaves and turned to face me. “Girl, them crazy cannibalistic twits could be anywhere. That’s the problem with ’em—you don’t see ’em until they’ve got you hanging by your intestines… And at that point, well, heck, you can’t see ’em at all.”
Fisher nudged Coin in the ribs. “You don’t have to be so vulgar.”
“You know,” Coin went on, ignoring Fisher’s comment, “being that you probably wouldn’t have any eyes left eith—”
“Kay, Coin, we get it,” Fisher said.
“It’s the truth!” Coin’s dark eyes widened.
That’s when I thought of Sunny—my first friend on the island. She’d been unusual yet charming despite her mouth full of rotten teeth. I wanted to remember those sunny-yellow eyes and the way they lit up as she talked about the most ridiculous of things, but all I saw was a swollen face and eyes so cold they looked like stones. She’d been left to hang upside down above an altar of sorts, her throat slit by an Ogre.
And although I tried to focus on her bubbliness and greater-than-life persona, all I saw—whether in my mind or in my dreams—was that swollen face. How could anyone be so barbaric? And then I remembered Mr. Schumer—my History teacher. He’d always been so confident with his smooth jet-black hair combed to the side and his soft cotton knitted sweaters. Several of the girls in my class had a crush on him, but I’d never paid much attention to his looks. I preferred to listen to him. He was eccentric: unfiltered and direct. Somehow, that made him my favorite teacher.
* * *
“At least eleven million people,” Mr. Schumer said, slapping a wooden ruler against the chalkboard.
In cursive writing, he’d written, “Adolf Hitler.”
“How does one man lead an entire civilization—over eight million card-carrying Nazis—to turn against their own kind? Against humankind?” He walked across the front of the class, his bristly chin raised high and his stiff back almost curving backward. “Eight million…”
Artie, the classroom know-it-all, raised a hand.
Mr. Schumer stared at him for a moment, almost assessing whether Artie was worthy of answering such a question. He wiggled a loose finger at Artie, granting him the right to speak.
“He hated Jews,” Artie said, matter-of-factly.
Mr. Schumer nodded slowly, continuing his back-and-forth pace. “That’s true,” he said. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”
Everyone stared in silence.
He smacked his ruler against the chalkboard again, and my shoulders jerked forward.
“Because we’re all human,” he said, “and human beings are weak.”
I glanced sideways at Melody, my best friend. She was staring at me with a convoluted look on her face that said, “Are we in tenth-grade History class, or in Psych 101?”
“Human beings are nothing but civilized animals,” Mr. Schumer went on. He reached for his mug of coffee, took a sip, and added, “capable of monstrous things…”
* * *
“Pay attention, Brone,” Fisher hissed.
We’d reached a riverbed surrounded by tall slanted grass. I pointed the head of my arrow at what appeared to be a fat otter. It was perched up on a rock in the middle of the brown murky water.
“Shoot him,” Fisher said. “What’re you waiting for?”
I pulled back on my arrow, but slowly lowered my bow. “It’s gonna jump in the water to get away after I shoot it. We’ll never catch it.”
Coin let out a long breath. “Man, that sure is a lot of meat, but Brone’s right.”
Fisher looked like she was contemplating punching me square in the nose. She bit down, the veins in her neck popping out on either side, her wide eyes scanning the river.
“We can’t keep eating fruits and nuts,” she said. “We need something to sustain us if we expect to trek across the island to search for Trim and the other Hunters.”
“Let’s keep moving,” I said.
I could tell that hunger was getting the best of her. And I didn’t blame her—I was starving, too. Normally, the idea of shooting an arrow through a cute, whisker-faced creature would have broken my heart. But I didn’t care. I’d have ripped off its silky, furless legs myself if it meant eating an actual meal.
I stared into the water at the silver-backed fish swimming with the current.
“Hey.” I pointed into the water. “Think you can spearfish here?”
Fisher scoffed. “With current like that? I don’t know.”
Why was she being so difficult? Was she not starving? Was it not better to at least try? I stared at her, imagining how upset she’d be if I pushed her in the water. I didn’t do it, but I was furious.
“Look,” Coin said, pointing upstream at what appeared to be a small bay along the edge of the river. “That should work.”
We trudged along the edge of the water, our feet sliding in and out of the soft soil and slimy mud. Fuzzy brown reeds tickled my arms and shoulders as I moved forward. A soft splash caught my attention, and I quickly turned around; the river otter was gone. As we approached the bay—a wide pool of murky brown water surrounded by drooping lush grass and sharp-edged stones—Fisher walked passed Coin and made her way to the front of the line.
She glanced back at us, grinning from ear to ear like a child being told Santa Claus was going to
be at the shopping mall. “Jackpot.”
I hopped over a meadow of wildflowers, scaring away several oversized dragonflies, and joined Fisher in the bay. She was up to her knees in water, swinging her arm back at us to tell us to be quiet. I waded through the water, careful not to ripple the bay and frighten the fish. There were dozens of them swimming in figure eight motions, slipping right past our shins. Most of them had silver backs, but there were a few exotic-looking ones with wide gills and multicolored scales.
That’s when I remembered one of the rivers we’d visited several months ago—the one with a massive school of piranhas swimming with the current. Disgust and anxiety overwhelmed me. I couldn’t see anything farther than my own two feet. The water was too dirty: dark green and full of floating seaweed or algae.
Fisher walked even deeper into the water, her spear up in the air in a two-handed grip, and her eyes wild like those of a feral cat. She quickly stabbed her spear into the water, its sharp tip sliding through so easily it barely made a sound.
She growled and repositioned herself.
Another jab.
“Got you!” she said, though not loud enough to frighten the other fish.
She turned her spear upside down, plucked the fish off its point and swung it across the bay by Coin’s feet. It flapped from side to side, but Coin picked it up by its tail and smacked it hard against the nearest tree.
Clunk.
Coin tossed the fish onto the pebbled ground at her feet and grinned. She wiggled all her fingers with palms faceup as one would do to provoke a street fight. “That’s it. Keep ’em comin’, girl.”
I turned back toward Fisher, now excited at the prospect of eating fresh fish, but what I saw next made my stomach drop.
Several feet away from Fisher, who was now smiling and full of confidence in her spearfishing skills, was a dark green—almost brown—lumpy mass slowly swimming toward her. It had a V-like shape to it, with two big bumps evenly positioned on either side. Its eyes, I knew. Behind its head were sharp ridges poking out of the water, its body swaying from side to side.
I’m not sure how long I stood there staring at it in shock before my throat finally loosened.
“Fisher!” My voice cracked.
She swung her head around at me, completely pissed off that I’d frightened away a good portion of our meal. I couldn’t say anything else. It was as if my vocal chords had stitched themselves together. I simply pointed, my eyes wide.
She slowly turned around—the kind of stupid movement you’d expect to see in a horror movie—but the moment she saw it, she bolted in the opposite direction. Her arms flailed from side to side as she tore through the water, creating big splashes and ripples of white foam.
I ran out of the water and stood by Coin’s side, an arrow drawn and my eyes fixated on the crocodile. I pulled back on the elastic, but I couldn’t get a clean shot—Fisher’s frantic movements kept getting in the way.
“That ain’t gonna do anything,” Coin said, quickly eyeing me. She stood as stiff as a pole but seemed to be in a panic—her nostrils flared and her fists clenched so tightly, I thought her fingers might puncture through her own hands.
I glanced at the tip of my arrowhead and back up toward the oncoming reptile. Coin was right. What was I thinking? An arrow wouldn’t penetrate its thick skin. But what if I hit its eye? What if it opened its mouth, and I shot straight into its throat?
Fisher finally reached shallow water, her pace quickening, but something threw her off balance. A slimy rock? Shells? Both legs came out from underneath her and she fell on her side—crack. She grimaced and tried to stand, but the next thing I knew, she was violently thrashing around, attempting to free herself from the crocodile’s monstrous jaw.
CHAPTER 6
A layer of cool water grazed the tips of my leafy toes as I stood motionless. There was so much blood that a dark pool of black swirled around my ankles. I couldn’t remember what had happened. I was breathing heavily, my hands shaking like autumn leaves on the brink of letting go, and my legs trembling so badly I was certain my femur bones had somehow magically evaporated.
“Fish!” Coin shouted, but she sounded miles away.
I heard water splash behind me, and Coin was by my side, bending down to grab Fisher by the arms. Was she dead? Why couldn’t I move?
“Yo, snap the fuck out of it!” Coin shouted. “Help me pull her out.”
I looked down to see Fisher lying on her back, her upper lip curled over her teeth. She threw her frizzy wet-haired head back and growled in agony.
She wasn’t dead.
That’s when I saw the crocodile’s jaw. It had scooped her up in one bite and clenched both her thighs in its mouth. At the center of its head, right in between both eyes, was Fisher’s spear. Its shaft was sticking straight up into the air, wiggling from side to side as Fisher tried to pull herself out.
I immediately came to.
“Open its mouth,” I told Coin. “I’ll pull her out.”
Coin did as instructed. She wrapped both hands around the tip of the crocodile’s terrifying jaw, careful to slide her fingers in between the gaps of its teeth, and pulled upward.
I wrapped my arms around Fisher’s chest and pulled her out. She yelled as the crocodile’s teeth slid out of her hamstring muscles, and she breathed quickly through her clenched teeth. Her suede pants were stained a dark shade of reddish brown.
I slid my head underneath her arm and stood her up, her weight nearly forcing me down on my knees.
“Come on,” I said, encouraging her every step.
“Goddammit,” she growled.
There was a quick rip-like sound, and Coin appeared beside us with Fisher’s spear in hand, its tip a bright red.
When we finally reached the edge of the bay, she collapsed onto a patch of dry dirt and lay down on her back. She slammed tight fists on either side of her, clearly fighting through an immense amount of pain.
“We need to see it,” I said.
I wasn’t sure where this was coming from. I wasn’t a nurse. I wasn’t a doctor. But I knew—whether because of instinct or common sense—that we could not overlook the graveness of her injury. Not on Kormace Island.
She quickly nodded and squeezed her eyes shut.
I knelt by her side and untied the suede strings at the front of her pants. I’d been about to start pulling them down when her clammy fingers clasped my wrist.
“Thanks,” she breathed.
“For what?”
“Saving my life.”
Now I remembered: her spear floating away from her, its tip sinking slightly into the water. I’d grabbed it, just like that, and ran up to the horrific scene. With its shaft held tightly in both hands above my head, I’d stabbed the spear’s pointed tip as hard as I could in between the crocodile’s eyes.
I’d been about to say, “Anything for a friend,” but she let out another bellow.
I gently tugged on her pants. They were too wet to pull off, so I rolled them bit by bit until both of her bloody thighs were completely bare.
“Holy sh—” Coin said, clasping a hand over her own mouth and turning away briefly.
“Is it bad?” Fisher asked.
Coin shrugged and stretched a crooked smile as if Fisher could see her. “Ain’t that bad…” she said.
“It’s bad.” I wasn’t about to sugarcoat it. What was the point? They were her legs—it was only a matter of time before she saw them.
The water had rinsed off most of the blood, thankfully, but that wasn’t what worried me. I stared at all the puncture wounds forming two squiggly lines across both her thighs—one near her knees and the other, below her hip. They were dark, but not perfectly round as one would expect from a crocodile’s teeth. There were patches of skin missing; some wounds were circular, and others, almost square-looking. Only a few appeared to be deep, with purple edges and dark gooey blood.
“We need to get you back to Redwood,” I said.
Fisher nodded. It
was obvious she wanted someone else to take charge. She was weak, vulnerable, and in excruciating pain; the last thing she wanted was to be forced to start making decisions.
She slowly sat up, her eyes fixated on the prehistoric monster that had tried to eat her. “What the fuck is this? The 2069 remake of James Patterson’s Zoo?”
Coin let out a laugh, but her face straightened when she realized neither one of us was laughing.
“Where are all of these goddamn”—she grimaced and caught her breath—“animals coming from?”
“There was only one,” Coin said, peering back at the crocodile as if she’d missed something, “and to be honest, I think that’s a young female.”
“What makes you say that?” I asked.
“Don’t look no more than four feet long to me. And look at Fisher’s legs. Ain’t pretty, but a full-grown male crocodile would’ve torn her apart or left more holes than that.” She placed both hands around her waist. “Now what other animals are you talkin’ about?”
Fisher shook her head. “We saw a bunch of animals before we found that Australian girl. They were all drinking water. Wild dogs, zebras, elephants—”
“Elephants?” Coin blurted. “Zeb—” She scratched her head before widening her eyes at us. “Why the hell didn’t y’all catch us somethin’ to eat? And since when are there elephants on Kormace Island?”
“Exactly,” Fisher grumbled.
Coin stared at her, waiting to hear more.
“I’ve been on the island for years,” Fisher went on. “I’ve seen a gorilla”—she looked up at me—“with you, that one time… The usual wild boars. And a leopard…”
Everyone fell silent.
I knew what she was referring to. Several years ago, she’d witnessed her girlfriend get mauled to death by a leopard. Rocket had been the one to tell me. The leopard had dragged her far up into a tree and the Hunters, including Fisher, heard the entire thing: the crunching through bone, the tearing through tendons, and the chewing of muscle.
“It’s the fire,” I said, breaking the silence. “Must’ve forced hundreds of animals to migrate.”
