by Shade Owens
“Sorry,” Johnson said, side-glancing Alice Number Two as she ran away from her post.
Alice Number Two sighed, no doubt well aware that she couldn’t hold us all back. I caught Coin’s glance, and together, we got up with Arenas close behind. I didn’t bother dragging Tegan along—in fact, I didn’t bother talking to Tegan at all anymore. I didn’t know what the Northers had done to destroy her from the inside, but whatever it was, it had worked.
I had more important things to worry about than trying to rehabilitate someone’s mental state.
We pushed our way through the crowd until we reached the edge of the group. Hundreds of women formed a massive circle by the wooden gates, and at the very center were two women hunched forward, staring at each other with bared teeth and fingers forming claws in front of their faces.
A Norther with padded shoulder plates and a wooden club in her hand stepped inside the circle, swinging her weapon in circular motions. She paced around the two women with a frown as if prepared to kill them both if they didn’t start fighting soon.
The woman on the right—a young blonde with a deformed nose and torn clothing—let out a wild scream and ran straight for her opponent. The other woman, a black-haired Asian woman with a thick unibrow and blood on her chest, screamed right back at her and stiffened her stance.
The impact sounded like someone taking a hammer to a piece of drywall—something cracked, and what followed next was animalistic grunting and screaming. The Norther with the wooden club kept circling the fighters, her lips curving up at one end.
What a sick piece of shit.
I wondered if she was one of the Russian Orphans raised on this island or one of the Originals who’d followed Rainer out of the Village. She looked young, and with her smooth-skinned face and charcoal-outlined eyes, I could only assume she was one of the Orphans.
Another loud crack was followed by the sound of the entire city cheering. I wasn’t sure what was more disturbing—the two women fighting to the death, or their audience forming a circle around them with hungry eyes as if prepared to harvest organs the moment one of them died.
The blond woman was now on top of the Asian woman, her hands wrapped so tightly around her opponent’s throat that the other woman’s face swelled until it looked like her unibrow might fall off. She then swung a fist straight at her face over and over again, the sound of impact making me want to turn away.
Blood splattered upward and under the blond woman’s chin, but she didn’t stop.
“No!” someone cried out, breaking formation and stepping inside the circle.
But the Norther didn’t hesitate—with one quick swing of her club, she broke the pleading Peasant’s nose, propelling her into the air and back into the crowd.
Rules were rules.
Like no eye contact, I remembered.
If we stuck by these rules, we’d survive.
We’d survived.
My heart began beating faster and faster until I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, all I could see was Trim floating in front of me, the cut in her neck split open and oozing thick blood out onto the forest floor. Then, I saw Sunny hanging upside down, her face swollen and her dandelion eyes looking like nothing more than two glass marbles.
My hands became clammy and my old Village shirt—my suede unevenly cut top—stuck to my back. Maybe I was dying. Finally dying.
“It’s normal,” I heard Proxy’s voice. “Post-traumatic stress disorder.”
Another image flashed through my mind—Northers slicing their blades in downward motions, cutting off limbs and slicing through torsos amid our Village engulfed in flames.
Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.
“Whoa, whoa, honey, you okay?”
I looked beyond these vivid flashes to find who was speaking: a middle-aged woman with messy hair, a big round nose, and a belly that stuck out from underneath a shirt that was too small for her. If I’d seen her in the real world—the old world—she’d probably have been wearing a lot of makeup, fancy clothes, a big sun hat, and an unnecessary amount of gold necklaces around her neck. Her hair was dyed bleach blond, right down to the roots, which meant she was new.
I wiped a layer of cold sweat from my forehead. “Think so.”
“You don’t look so good, sweetheart,” she said, a strong southern accent slipping off her tongue.
Honey? Sweetheart?
She was definitely new.
“Just memories,” I said.
“I take it you been here awhile?” she asked, little rolls forming on her forehead as she glared at me from underneath the sun’s hot rays.
What did she have to be so chipper about? She looked completely out of place. Her goofy grin and shiny attitude were sure to get her beaten.
“Name’s Georgia.” She offered me a perfectly manicured hand. With a wink, she added, “Just like the state, honey.”
I stared at it for a second, then back up at her, and when she realized I wasn’t in a touchy mood, she pulled away, the smile on her face not fading one bit. Her eyes went big, almost playful. “Can you believe this place? I knew things would be… archaic, but oh Lord, I never imagined somethin’ like this.”
Was I supposed to say something?
She reached a gentle hand on my forearm. “Soon as I get outta here… outta this strange city… I think I’ll find myself somewhere quiet… Lay low until my three years are all up.” She shook her head and let out a laugh. “Three years. I got lucky, let me tell you! Think they mighta made some sorta mistake. I was lookin’ at twenty-five years in federal prison. But this…” She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and took in the sun as if the sounds of women crying and screaming couldn’t be heard behind me. “This is paradise.”
Poor woman. Did she truly think they were coming back for her in three years? Was it up to me to break the news to her? She looked so happy believing the fantasy.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Brone,” I said. I stared at her hazel eyes and the little wrinkles at the edges of her eyebrows. “You do know you can change your name, right? Or go by your last name?”
She stared at me as if I’d told her she’d landed in Wonderland, then tilted her head back, her face aimed at the cloudless sky. “Is that so?”
But then, out of nowhere, she smacked her perfectly smooth hand against my shoulder. “Thanks for lookin’ out for me, doll, but I’ve been Georgia since I came outta my momma’s womb. Ain’t nobody gonna call me anythin’ else.”
Her puffy lips flapped up and down as she spoke, but all I could think about was the searing pain over my right eye, in my head, in my ribs, and in my hand…
“What’re you here for, honey? Look at you. You’re so young.”
What was I here for? What was she here for? The idea of a cheerful, rosy-cheeked southern woman killing someone was inconceivable. I supposed that was what she thought about me.
“Killed my mom’s boyfriend,” I said, growing tired of having to repeat myself.
She pulled back, her chin blending into the folds of her neck. “A sweet thing like you?” She leaned forward and squinted. “I bet it was an accident. Am I right?”
What was that supposed to mean? Did I not look like the kind of person who had the potential to kill someone? Did I look that innocent? Or was she being condescending because she was older than me? And why was I so offended by the comment? It’s not like I’d grown up wanting to one day look like a murderer.
“What’re you trying to say?” I asked, my tone coming out a lot harsher than expected.
But she didn’t frown or retreat. Instead, she smirked and winked at me. “A feelin’ I get from you. You remind me of my sister when she was young. A sweet, harmless little—”
“Listen, lady,” I said, pointing my crooked, swollen finger at her face.
“What’s goin’ on here?” Coin broke in.
I turned my head toward her, my broken finger still pointed in the approximate direc
tion of the woman’s face.
“Oh,” Georgia said, her smile melting into a frown the moment she saw Coin. “And what do we have here? What’d you do, honey? Was it gang related?” She flicked her wrist. “I bet it was gang related.”
“’Scuse me?” Coin puffed her chest out and bared her teeth.
“Oh Lord,” the woman said, grimacing at Coin. “Look at that gold tooth. How on Earth did someone like you afford that?”
Coin’s eyes went huge and her nostrils flared wider than her lips. “You fuckin’ racist piece of—” she started, but I pressed my good hand over her chest and pulled her back.
“Not worth it.” I turned away from Georgia. “She’s an idiot… a close-minded bigot.”
“You two are actually friends?” Georgia said. “Oh, Brone, darlin’—”
“Georgia.” I slowly turned around. “Word of advice. Shut your mouth and go make yourself a comfortable bed.”
Her eyes popped out and her jaw went loose. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” I said. “Better get comfortable around here because the truth is, no one’s coming back for you. Not now, not in three years, not ever.”
With that, I grabbed Coin’s arm and walked away.
CHAPTER 3
“Man, you shoulda seen the look on her face!” Coin said, clicking her fingers in the air.
“Well, I didn’t,” Arenas said. “I was too busy watchin’ someone die.”
The smile on Coin’s face disappeared and she looked away.
“What’s going on here?”
I turned around to find Alice Number Two staring at us, her arms crossed over her stomach. She stood with the weight of her body on one leg, her hips bulging out on one side. She made her eyes go big as if to say, What are you, deaf?
“Get back to work,” she said. “You can watch a fight, but when it’s done, you don’t stand around like a bunch of headless chickens.”
“We weren’t—” Johnson tried, but Alice Number Two raised her chin and stuck a flat hand out in front of her face.
I wasn’t in the mood to put up a fight, so I started walking toward the Food Station, and everyone followed.
“She’s such a bitch,” Johnson muttered.
I turned my head around to see Alice Number Two still standing there, watching us make our way to our post.
I forced a laugh. “She’s something, all right.”
“Where’s Ham?” Coin asked, craning her neck to see over the dozens of heads around us.
“You shouldn’t call her that,” I said. “It’s degrading.”
Coin stopped walking, rested her hands on her hips, and gave me a playful up-and-down. “Girl, look at you. Carin’ about people’s feelings and shit.”
“Yo,” Arenas said, “Brone’s right. It’s insulting. How would you like it if we called you chocolate? Or cocoa?”
Coin pointed a stiff finger in Arenas’s face. “First off, that don’t even compare. I was shortening her name, not callin’ her piggy. And second”—the corner of her lip curved upward—“I love chocolate. Ain’t got no issues with that. But I’d kill any of you bitches for a piece o’ chocolate right now, so you prolly shouldn’t be usin’ that word around me.”
I raised both eyebrows at her, and she let out a laugh. “I wouldn’t actually kill you… Jesus, Brone. Lighten up.”
How was she cracking jokes when we were barely surviving on Northern territory?
Coin wiped her nose with the back of her hand—something she did to look tough when she was feeling undermined—and threw her chin out at the crowd. “Seriously, though. Where’s Hammer?”
“Aren’t any of you affected by what just happened?” Arenas burst out. “Están locas!”
“Who you callin’ crazy?” Coin said, the brown skin around her nose wrinkling.
“All of you!” Arenas continued. “You’re all acting like this is normal. Like it’s no big deal that some woman bashed another woman’s face in. She’s dead. She died right there! Right in front of me. And you’re all talking like it’s something that happens all the time. What’s wrong with you?”
I filled a wooden, seaweed-coated bucket with warm water from the Food Station and glanced over at Arenas. I knew where she was coming from. She had every right to feel this way. Personally, I hadn’t been sick enough to stay and watch the whole fight, so I didn’t have to live with another image of someone dying.
“Here,” came a woman’s low voice.
She dumped a wooden box full of fruits, vegetables, and nuts on the ground by our feet. “Cut and clean them.”
She must have been one of the cultivators. A few women came and went from the Food Station throughout the day. They disappeared into the jungle and returned with all kinds of unrecognizable foods. Others stayed behind, planting seeds in a massive garden. It was surrounded by a fence-like barrier covered in crisscrossing vines and leafy branches.
There must have been at least a dozen of us working at the Food Station. I’d have much rather gathered food from the jungle than sit here on cleaning and prepping duty.
I grabbed a round, hard-shelled thing and rubbed my good thumb along its ridges. Arenas reached for a pile of multicolored berries with an exaggerated scowl on her face.
“How long have you been here?” I asked, watching her.
She plucked a berry from its twig and looked up at me, hesitant. She must have sensed that I was trying to help because she shrugged. “Few months.”
“It takes awhile,” I said. I paused and inhaled a deep breath. Even talking hurt.
Fucking bitch… I’d kill Zsasz for this…
I breathed in again and looked at Arenas. “I’ve been here about a year, and I’m only now starting to accept it. This place isn’t like anything I would have imagined. It’s barbaric and completely disgusting. I know how you’re feeling—”
Her dark eyes rolled up at me.
“You feel like you’re caught in some horrible nightmare. Like any minute, you’ll wake up in the comfort of your bed.”
She nodded, and her lower lip trembled. “I’ve never seen nobody die like that before… I mean, I know I wasn’t a good person. I did some shit, too. But that… that was something else. I can’t even—”
“You don’t have to understand it,” I said. “I don’t think anyone can understand it. I, for one, don’t understand how any of this is happening. We’re all human beings. We’re all women. We should be working together, not against each other.”
“Amen,” Coin chimed in.
“You religious?”
Hammer appeared behind me carrying another bucket of water.
“It’s just a sayin’—” Coin tried.
“Yeah, yeah,” Hammer continued. “Keep believing in your Santa Claus.”
“’Scuse me?” Coin jumped to her feet.
“All I’m saying”—Hammer raised her pointer finger—“is that if there is a God, he or she doesn’t care about us. In fact, he or she is pretty damn twisted to let a place like this exist. Wish God would do us all a favor and send a hurricane our way.”
“You seriously shouldn’t be talking about religion,” Johnson said. “Some people are sensitive to that.”
Hammer scoffed and sat down. “Maybe people need to let go of their little baby feelings.”
“Yo, man,” Coin said. “Just because you—”
“Guys,” I said, and Coin stopped talking. “Stop, okay?” I couldn’t handle this. Not with this amount of pain. I couldn’t think straight. “And Hammer, Johnson’s right… Why are you trying to start a fight? I’d be willing to bet that some people on this island are only alive because of religion—because of faith.”
Hammer let out a chortle. “Pathetic.”
Maybe it was. I wasn’t in a position to argue with her, especially since I wasn’t religious. But so long as religion wasn’t causing fights, I didn’t see a problem with it. Surprisingly, I hadn’t seen anyone fight over religion on Kormace Island, unlike in the real w
orld, where people killed each other over it.
Now that was pathetic.
Arenas dropped a handful of berries into my bucket of water, her sad gaze meeting mine. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t do much,” I said. “But if you ever need to talk about it, you can talk to me.”
She smirked and nodded quickly. I felt sorry for her. She looked like such a badass—a big mouth—yet here she was, completely devastated after having witnessed someone get killed so violently.
I wanted the violence to end. But how could it? We were trapped in a massive prison surrounded by violence every day. The same principle still applied—kill or be killed. There was no leveling with these women—no talking things through in a civil manner. Especially the Orphans; they’d been raised to hate us. How could anyone rationalize that?
But, as I stared at Arenas’s slouched posture, I wondered if maybe there was another way to bring peace to this city. Maybe we didn’t have to resort to violence. I sat quietly, staring at the dirt by my feet and my fingers dipped in warm water. Maybe the answer started with me. Maybe I had to let go of my anger first.
“Get out of my way!”
A woman’s voice shook me from my daze. In a matter of seconds, the idea of a peaceful society shattered. All of my hatred suddenly resurfaced like a plastic ball tossed into a swimming pool.
My vision blurred and the berry I held exploded inside my fist.
It was Holland—the woman with bleached-blond hair and long dark roots Trim and the Hunters had found in the jungle. It all came back to me. She’d been shivering and looking starved when we’d found her, and Trim had brought her into the Village despite Fisher’s hesitation. This woman… Holland… was the same woman who’d walked away unharmed the morning of the massacre.
She was one of them.
How was this possible?
Had she been sent by the Originals? Sent to poison our entire Village? Because that was what she’d done. She’d infiltrated our society and somehow managed to poison our breakfast. Hundreds of lives had been lost because of her.
