by Shade Owens
I returned my arrow to its quiver and raised both hands beside my face.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” I said.
Her eyes were dark and wild. It was like staring into the soul of an animal. I wondered if she even spoke a word of English.
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
She released a hiss-like growl, a combination of saliva and blood spritzing on her bottom lip and chin.
“Yo, let’s go,” Coin said in a whisper. She was leaning in toward me, her hand pressed up against the boulder for support, but her body was completely out of sight.
This wasn’t what I’d have expected from Coin. What was the point of having such big muscles if she didn’t even use them? Only a few days prior, she’d jumped Fisher thinking she was a Norther. What had changed? I supposed most people were terrified of Ogres and with good reason.
I hated Ogres. A group of them had taken away a friend of mine and slaughtered her for sacrificial purposes. I had every right to despise them. There was certainly a part of me that wanted to kill any one that I saw, but as I watched this young creature whose bony legs were folded underneath her belly, ready to pounce at any moment, I asked myself—how did she become like this?
As much as Ogres gave me the chills, I knew they were still living beings. I remembered the old woman I’d run into when fire was spreading across the island. Her naked body pressed up against a tree, she’d sat staring at me with so much fear in her eyes. I remembered thinking, She’s just as scared as I am.
“I want to help,” I said.
Again, she hissed.
“Did anyone else walk this way? Who did this to you?” I pressed.
Her eyes flicked toward Coin, even though she couldn’t see her. She must have heard her breathing or stepping down in the leaves.
“It’s okay,” I said. “She’s a friend. She won’t hurt you.” I nodded at Coin. “Get over here.”
She reluctantly stepped away from the boulder and walked a half circle toward me, her posture as awkward as an extremely introverted kid trying to blend into a crowd. The Ogre’s eyes shot from side to side, and she retreated even farther.
“Who did this?” I asked, pointing at my neck.
She slowly reached up to her wound, her fingers dipping in the blood.
I then pointed to myself and at my clothes. “Was it one of us?”
She shook her head, and her matted hair shook from side to side. It was as dark as the fur she wore over her shoulders, only much longer and more damaged.
We were finally getting somewhere.
I grabbed Coin’s arms and pointed a finger at her skin, watching the woman’s reaction. “Dark skin?”
She shook her head. I then pointed at my skin, and she quickly nodded.
I eyed Coin. “White, and not one of ours. That much we know.”
Coin stepped forward, to my surprise, and knelt on one knee. “Was there only one?” She stuck out one finger.
The Ogre stared at her.
“Two?” She uncurled her middle finger, revealing two fingers.
No response.
“Three?”
The Ogre nodded, and Coin stood up with a sigh. “Leave it to three white bitches to do somethin’ like this.”
I cocked an eyebrow but didn’t entertain her comment.
“She is an Ogre,” I said. “Maybe she tried to attack them. We don’t know what happened.”
“Did you”—Coin pointed a finger at the Ogre—“try to attack anyone?” She role-played by clawing at me, her mouth open and her eyes wide.
I rolled my eyes. “Stop it. What happened doesn’t matter.”
“Hell, yeah it matters! I wanna know what we’re up against!” Coin said.
The Ogre remained seated, her eyes darting between Coin and me.
“Which way did they go?” I asked.
No response.
“Goddamnit,” I said. “They could be out there killing our own right now!”
Coin briskly made her way toward the Ogre, her shoulders drawn back and her spear held tight. “Where did they go?” she asked. It had come across as more of a command.
But the Ogre swung her hand—a veiny, brown fingernailed thing—at Coin’s leg. Coin hopped backward and let out a screech—the kind of sound you’d expect to hear from a five-year-old girl on Christmas morning.
I burst out laughing.
Coin straightened her posture and punched a pink-knuckled fist in the air, obviously embarrassed by her lack of bravery.
With a huge smile on my face, I let out a deep belly laugh—something I hadn’t done in a long time.
“Shut up,” she said.
“I don’t think giving orders is the way to go about this.” My lip twitched as I held back a smile.
She paced back and forth. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it off.”
I regained composure and lowered myself to the Ogre’s level, my arms resting atop my knees. “Do you speak English? Or at least understand it?”
Nothing.
“Please,” I said. “If you do, please tell us which way they went. These women are dangerous, and they’re trying to kill our friends.”
She looked at me intently, almost as if calculating my every word.
“Please,” I begged. “We need your help.”
Coin sighed behind me, clearly prepared to tell me to forget this whole thing, when the Ogre parted her lips and a croak-like sound escaped her mouth.
“D-d-ey went d-down-r-r-iver.”
CHAPTER 3
“Can you believe that?” Coin scoffed. “She could’a opened her rotten-tooth mouth instead’a wastin’ our time like that.”
I waved a hand as a breath-saving way of telling her to shut up. Coin had a big mouth when she had an opinion about something, and her voice was the last thing I wanted to hear right now. In fact, her loud voice would probably get us killed out here.
“Look,” I said, pointing ahead.
“Shit,” Coin muttered.
Straight ahead, maybe half a mile down the river, was white foam spitting onto the surface of the water.
“Rapids?” Coin said.
I nodded but didn’t respond. The less noise we made, the better. I pointed my chin out at the rapids as if to say, ‘Let’s go,’ and we started jogging. Three Northers, I thought. I knew we were stupid for chasing after them, but at the same time, they were looking for survivors, which meant they were trying to kill our people.
I couldn’t sit back and do nothing.
As I moved swiftly through the palm trees and tall grass, my crocodile-skin boots chafing against the skin of my calves, the most unexpected song popped into my head—a memory of my old life—Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots were Made for Walkin.’”
My mom used to sing it at Joe’s Restaurant on karaoke night. It was always her favorite. She’d strut back and forth with her cheap no-name pleather boots, pretending they were worth hundreds of dollars.
I smirked down at my boots and envisioned one pressed into a Norther’s bloody face. I’d walk all over them, all right.
Thank you, Hammer, I thought. I’d beaten her to a pulp after the attack on our Village (in my defense, she deserved it), and she’d made me a pair of boots along with a dozen arrows for our trek.
Apparently, punching people in the face earned you some respect. I licked my scabby lip—okay, maybe not. Attacking Franklin hadn’t been the best of ideas. But she was such a hotheaded woman with a stupid mouth you’d swear was run on Energizer bunny batteries (keeps going and going and going), that anyone would have done the same as I. If only I’d actually won the fight.
I needed to learn how to fight.
“Yo, check this out.”
Coin had stopped running and stood at the edge of the river with one hand wrapped around a palm tree’s trunk for support.
I peered over her shoulder and at the arrow that was protruding from the ground.
“Is that one of our arrows?” I asked.
Coin plucked it
out of the grass and pointed its head upward.
“Nope.” She twirled it several times. “See these?” She wiggled her fingers through the arrow’s fletching—a pair of long green and red feathers. “Not our feathers… And look at this.” Flipping the arrow around, she pressed her thumb into the head’s point. At first glance, it looked like carved stone, but it wasn’t long before I realized what she was trying to show me.
“What the—” I snatched the arrow out of her hand and brushed my finger along the point’s smooth texture. It was cool to the touch and softer than any arrowhead I’d ever touched.
“Is this—” I started.
Coin nodded. “Some kind of metal.”
“How the hell are they making arrows with metal?” I blurted. “There’s no metal on an island.”
Coin shrugged. “I don’t know, man. Maybe they melted old jewelry or somethin’.”
I stared at the arrow, then at the ground, attempting to recreate the scene in my mind.
“Where was it?” I asked. “Here?” I pointed at the hole in the grass.
“Yep.”
“And it was pointing this way? Downstream?”
She nodded again.
“So, someone was being chased this way,” I said.
Her big brown eyes rolled up toward the rapids ahead. “Let’s keep movin’ and we’ll find out.”
I hurried along the edge of the water, careful not to miss my step. The last thing I wanted was to fall in and relive my seventh birthday.
* * *
“Lydia, honey, stay close to Perry if you want to use the tunnels,” my mom said, flipping through a tabloid magazine in her plastic lounge chair.
Perry, a twelve-year-old friend of a friend, was the oldest in our group, so the adults always put him in charge. The last thing I wanted to do in the Bermuda Triangle, a giant indoor water park, was to follow anyone. I wanted to roam the area, pick and choose any slide I wanted, and venture through the park on my terms.
But I wasn’t the type to disobey rules, and I wanted to go into the tunnel—the Bat Cave. For the most part, it was a slow-moving ride that brought you through dark tunnels with indigo-blue walls. All you had to do was bring a tube and sit still.
It was creepy, which is why I liked it. It got my adrenaline pumping.
So, I followed Perry and a few of my other friends—Adam, Lesley, and Briana—toward the Bat Cave. We waited in line for a good half hour or so, which was to be expected at the Bermuda Triangle. It was always so busy, especially during the summer holidays.
The biggest downside to waiting in line for so long in a water park is that by the time you get into the water, you’ve completely dried off, which meant you had to force yourself into the water all over again.
I followed the lifeguard’s instructions and plopped myself down into the water, my butt cheeks clenching as they touched the cold water.
“Just hold on to the handles,” he said, tapping the black rubber handles on my circular-shaped tube.
I gripped my fingers around the plastic bars and stiffened up as he pushed me toward the dark tunnel, my tube gently rocking from side to side. Perry was right behind me, wiggling his toes in the water and chatting away with the lifeguard.
“Anyone younger than ten shouldn’t be allowed in here! It’s way too scary!” he said.
I knew he was trying to freak us all out. But it wouldn’t work. I’d been in the tunnel more than once. I lay my head back against the inflated plastic and closed my eyes. The sound of water trickling down walls surrounded me, and a cool breeze kissed my skin.
“Scared?” Perry said, floating beside me. His eyes were dark, as was most of his skin, and the only reason I could see him was because of small pod lights under the water and along the tunnel floor.
“I’m not scared,” I said.
“It gets faster,” Perry said.
“I know that.”
He smirked at me and kicked his feet into the water to speed up ahead. There was a narrow opening coming up—an entry big enough to fit one or two tubes at a time—that led to a quick drop around a bend.
But instead of floating through the entry, Perry swam ahead of me and a few other kids, his hands and feet dangling until he stuck his legs out to block himself from going through.
“Hey!” someone said, and their voice carried throughout the entire tunnel.
There was a bump, then a splash, and Perry managed to create a jam. What was he doing? A few other tubes crashed into him, and he laughed, amused by the roadblock he’d created.
“Come on!”
“Move!”
I bumped into the growing crowd of tubes and glared toward Perry, even though I was unable to see him behind all the heads and flailing arms.
“Careful!” I heard.
I glanced back right in time to spot a young mother sharing her tube with her son. She was coming fast—much faster than I’d expected in the Bat Cave. I didn’t have time to move. She bumped right into me and my tube squished, before flipping upside down.
The first thing I felt was cold, and then a sharp pain on the skin of my back as I crashed against the tunnel’s cement floor. I kicked off the floor, but my head hit something hard: a tube with someone sitting in it.
I tried again, but no luck. Then the panic set in. I was trapped. There were tubes of people floating above me, forming a ceiling. I stretched my arms in a desperate attempt to reach out of the water as my lungs burned.
This was it. I wasn’t getting out. I wanted to scream, but I didn’t want to swallow a bunch of water.
Help me, I pleaded.
I thought for sure I’d die of a heart attack caused by panic when someone grabbed me by the back of my swimsuit. They plucked me up by my armpits and pulled me out of the water.
It was a tall man who was standing by his daughter’s tube.
“You okay, kiddo?”
I gasped to catch my breath. I wasn’t okay—I was terrified.
* * *
I never did return to the Bat Cave, I thought to myself. I’d been crippled by fear—fear of harm, fear of entrapment, fear of reliving that traumatizing day.
But as I gazed into the white foaming rapids that spat mist into the air, I realized that allowing fear to cripple me was precisely what would get me killed on this island.
The most crippling thought of all was my death. I was too young to die. The idea of it was surreal—an unpleasant lucid dream in which you try to wake up, but you can’t. I kept telling myself that one day, I’d make it off Kormace Island. One day, I’d have a normal life again.
Who was I trying to convince? Deep down, I knew my chances of ever returning home were slim to none.
This life—my friends, the Hunters—were all I had left.
I’d do whatever was necessary to find them.
Out of nowhere, something grabbed my arm and pulled me into the jungle. Coin’s hot, rancid breath blew against the side of my face.
“Look, right there.” She pointed at a figure standing at the end of the flowing water. I didn’t know how far the waterfall dropped, but I knew it was there—it sounded like the Working Grounds: bubbly, hissy, and most of all, incredibly loud.
She was a Norther; that much I knew. I observed from a distance, my body pressed against one of the river’s palm trees. She wore brown fur around her shoulders, and although her face was hidden, I could only imagine how filthy it was based on her matted hair and dirt-stained hands.
She held a bow in her left hand and a feathered arrow in the other. I recognized it immediately—it was the same arrow we’d seen along the river.
What was she staring at?
Her hunched figure swayed from side to side as if she was contemplating some important decision. I took a step forward, and Coin grabbed me by the arm, her big eyes warning me not to get any closer.
But I didn’t care to listen.
The only thing on my mind was Coin’s friend—Maria—and the Ogre we’d spotted in the jungle who’d
been attacked. The woman standing at the edge of the waterfall was no different from the rest of the Northers—a soulless monster. She wasn’t human. She was an animal.
I moved quickly through the tall grass, one hand wrapped around my bow and the other reaching over my back and into my quiver. Coin stayed behind, partially hidden from view in the darkness of the jungle.
I knew the Norther couldn’t hear me. She must have been concentrating on something—even an idiot would have known that standing out in the open like that was equivalent to wearing a target sign. The rapids and the waterfall were far too loud. At any given moment, she could turn around.
But I didn’t care. I welcomed it. She was probably the one who’d gutted Maria. An indescribable rage filled me almost instantly, and the only thing I could think about was killing her. I tiptoed even closer over the river stones, my nostrils flared and my muscles tense.
I’d wanted to tear her to shreds, make her suffer for all she’d done.
My heart was beating out of my chest, but for the first time, my hands weren’t trembling. Everything was so vividly bright, and the only thing I saw was the monster in front of me.
There was no doubt in my mind—I’d kill her.
As I took one final step, her head turned to the side, her dark eyes spotting me from their peripheral. Her body stiffened, almost in slow motion, and she reached for what appeared to be a blade, or a stake, clipped to the side of her belt.
Yet I didn’t give her the time to fight or even turn around. In one swift movement, I snatched as many arrows as I could from her quiver and front kicked her as hard as I could in the back, right in between her shoulder blades.
A loud breath came blasting out of her lungs, and she screamed for her life as she was thrown over the cliff. I inched toward the edge and watched as she fell several hundred feet before landing on her back against the ground, her body contorting upon impact.
“Jesus!”
I glanced back at Coin. She rubbed both hands against the grain of her shaved head, and then through her hawk—approximately two inches of woolly brown hair that was already growing out. Her eyes looked like they were on the verge of popping out, and she rushed over, craning her neck far enough to see the dead body on the ground.
