by Shade Owens
“Brone!” she said again, this time, her face inches from mine.
She smiled from ear to ear, and I couldn’t help but observe every feature on her face—her cute button nose, her bright eyes that almost looked like green highlighter in contrast to the forest green and black paint on her face, and finally, the unsightly scar she’d had since the first day I’d met her. It was crooked, squiggly almost, and ran down from her left eyebrow and to her cheek. Her hair, too, still looked the same—caramel-brown dreadlocks pulled away from her face. She’d always worn them in a tight knot at the base of her skull, but now, they were pulled back into a thick ponytail. It looked great on her.
Then, that beautiful smile of hers disappeared, and she gave me a solemn look—one that made me want to vomit. Out of nowhere, our reunion went from magical to unpleasant. What news did she have? Had someone else died? Was it Ellie? Oh God.
I sat upright.
“What?” I blurted.
“How’d you get out of there, Brone? How’d you survive?”
Was that all it was? Was it sinking in for her that I’d spent months captured by the Northers? Why wouldn’t we have ignored my disturbing reality? I didn’t want to be reminded of it. I looked away. Thinking about my time, however long it was, being abused by the Northers and treated like a slave in the Middle Ages brought out such despair that if I focused on it for too long, it would evolve into an unconquerable depression.
I couldn’t dwell on the past.
Suddenly, a sharp pain radiated from my healing hand, up my arm, and into my spine and I was immediately pulled into a nightmare of a daze. In front of me, Beasts stood side by side, their figures hunched, and the bottom halves of their faces covered with dirty skull masks. Their soulless eyes hovered over their masks’ lines, staring into me with such ferocity that the one thing I could think about was the afterlife.
Then, Zsasz’s face emerged from the row of monsters, and she grinned demonically from ear to ear like a sociopath relishing in its victim’s screams.
She looked at me, then pointed a pink-scarred hand in my direction. It was a hand gesture that said, I’m coming for you.
No, this wasn’t happening.
We weren’t on their territory anymore.
We made it out.
We made it out.
“Brone?”
I looked up at Rocket, and although I should have felt peace, all I felt was panic.
“Where’s Biggie?” I blurted, my gaze shifting toward the women around her. They’d slid off their camouflage helmets same as Rocket had, but I didn’t recognize any of them. “And Flander? And Fisher? Rocket, where are they? Where’s Ellie? Is she okay?”
She looked at my women, then back at me, the way a concerned parent does to another when what they want to say is, “Do you honestly want to blow up like this in front of the kids?” I had to maintain my levelheadedness and couldn’t afford to lose my cool.
Clearing my throat, I grabbed Rocket by the arm, hoping to pull her aside for a moment. But the second I touched her, hunting spearheads came so close to my face, they created a small gust of wind through my hair.
Behind me, my women withdrew their weapons and started shouting.
We outnumbered Rocket’s women tenfold, but that didn’t matter. If Rocket was leading them, they weren’t our enemy—we were all on the same side.
“Whoa, whoa,” Rocket said. “Stand down. Brone here’s a good friend.”
Her women lowered their spears, and when I raised a hand behind me, mine did the same. The two crowds stared hatefully at each other as we walked away and slipped underneath a low-hanging tree. Its sharp-edged leaves formed a thick canopy overhead, masking everyone from sight.
“What’s going on?” I hissed.
“Brone, relax,” Rocket said.
I’d forgotten how short she was. She craned her neck back to look up at me, and I wasn’t a giant by any means.
“Everyone’s fine,” she continued, and I took in a choppy breath. “But things have changed, Brone.”
“What do you mean, changed?”
“We’re surviving at the Cove, but barely. Ever since Murk’s been gone, shit’s hit the fan.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Are people fighting?”
She glanced at the leaves over our heads, almost as if trying to see through them to monitor our women.
“They’re fine,” I said, waving a hand.
She frowned at me. “It’s not my girls I’m worried about. Who are these women, Brone? I don’t recognize any of them. And to be honest, they look a little rough around the—”
“They’re survivors,” I said. “Look, you have no idea what happened to us, okay? The Northers… It isn’t what you think. They’re enslaving people.”
The muscles in her face relaxed, and she stared into me—not at me, but into me as if the insides of my eyes were television screens capable of replaying every moment of what had happened to me.
I turned away. “Look, we can talk about this later. How’s Ellie doing?”
“She’s fine,” Rocket said. “But like I said, shit’s changed.”
What was she trying to say? I paced from side to side and let out a sharp breath. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, Rocket. What’s changed? It can’t be any fuckin’ worse than what I… What we… went through with those monsters.” I pointed toward the North.
When she pulled her face back and looked me up and down, I realized how angry I sounded. “Looks like you’ve changed, too.”
“Where were you?” I snapped. “Someone gave us a message. They told us you guys were coming to get us out. But you didn’t. You never showed, and we had to do it alone.”
“We tried,” Rocket said, but she cast shameful eyes toward the ground. “I managed to gather over a dozen women willing to stand up to the Northers. The moment we left the Cove, though, a band of Northers attacked us.” She pointed at a scab on her shoulder. It looked like it had once been deep—a puncture wound. “Lucky I even got out. The others weren’t so fortunate. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened after that, Brone. No one wanted to risk their lives by leaving the Cove again.”
I suddenly remembered Zsasz bragging about the little brunette she’d killed—the one I’d initially thought to be Rocket. I wondered if it had been one of Rocket’s women. It must have been.
In any other circumstance, I’d have nodded and told Rocket I completely understood—that it wasn’t up to women who didn’t even know us to sacrifice their lives to save ours.
But all I could think about was the torture I’d endured, and even though it wasn’t Rocket’s fault, at that moment, I hated her for having given me false hope.
“They starved us, Rocket,” I hissed. “Beat us. Every day, they’d beat on someone. Forced us to fight to the death. You have no fucking idea—” My eyes watered.
“Oh my God, Brone.” She reached a gentle hand toward my shoulder, but I slapped it away.
If I allowed anyone to comfort me, especially by Rocket, I might collapse for hours, days, or weeks. I had to remain strong… to be the leader my women needed even though it seemed like I was decaying inside.
“Can we get to the Cove?” I said.
She nodded without a word, but she didn’t have to speak for me to see myself through her eyes—it was as if she didn’t recognize me anymore.
CHAPTER 7
“This is Tay, and that’s Ginger.” Rocket pointed toward her women. “That right there’s Alice—”
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” came Johnson’s obnoxious voice. She let out an exaggerated scoff. “Alice Number Three.”
Rocket cocked an eyebrow, but I shook my head to say, Ignore her.
“That’s Mackenzie,” she continued, “and this right here’s Kira.”
Stop talking, I wished I could tell her, but I didn’t. Beyond my anger and resentment, I loved Rocket and was ecstatic to see her again. For some reason, though, it was diff
icult to express it. So much anger remained inside me that I was unsure what to do with myself, and on a rational level, I knew it wasn’t her fault.
I gave a brief nod to each woman as she introduced them but didn’t pay much attention to them. What were the chances I’d remember their names anyway?
“You know Elektra,” she added.
Elektra grinned up at me, her freckled face slightly more mature than it had been the last time I’d seen her. She’d grown at least a few inches, which brought her up to Rocket’s height. I wondered why the Hunters had brought her along. Was she no longer having her outbursts?
“Listen, Rocket,” I said, and it suddenly seemed like I was standing on a stage, preparing to perform a solo act. Everyone around me went quiet, fixated on my every movement. Rocket’s followers were no doubt waiting to see if I’d disrespect her in any way—if I’d say something warranting an attack or an offensive comment—while mine waited for us to make a decision. “Can we save the introductions for the Cove?”
She seemed taken aback, and I couldn’t tell if she was offended or concerned.
“What’s going on, Brone?”
I glanced sideways at my people—at Coin, Hammer, Johnson, Arenas, and it was apparent by the way they stood with their arms crossed over their chests that they were prepared to defend anything I said.
“The Cove’s in danger and we need to get back.”
Her eyes popped out at me, her back as stiff as a piece of plywood. Then, her followers became uneasy, repositioning their stances and shifting their weapons.
Rocket bowed her head toward me, eyebrows so low on her face that her eyes looked brown. “What’re you talking about?”
“It’s a long story,” I said, and a warm hand grasped me around the back of my neck—it was a gentle touch, something I wasn’t used to.
“They got Franklin,” Coin said, appearing beside me.
Rocket pulled back, looking even more confused than before. “Who’s Franklin?”
“Tall girl, tattoos,” Johnson cut in. She gestured a measuring hand over her head. “She was with us when Trim”—she cleared her throat—“when the Northers got us.”
“You mean when Brone saved us,” Rocket said, and a hiss-like whisper broke out among her women.
“That’s her?”
“That’s the one who saved them?”
For the first time since I’d met them, they weren’t glaring at me with animosity. Instead, they almost looked starstruck. It was as if in my absence, Rocket had fabricated fantasy-like tales about me, and everyone knew my name.
“Yeah!” Rocket raised her voice, silencing her women. “She’s the one. So if she says the Cove’s in danger, we need to move now.”
I turned toward the circle of women that had gathered behind us. “Can you guys drag the boar? That’s our supper.”
Someone within the crowd scoffed. “If we’re even alive long enough to eat supper.”
I took a step forward, fists clenched, but Rocket’s hand landed across my chest. “What are we walking into here, exactly?”
I let out a long breath through my nostrils. “Franklin knows about the Cove. She doesn’t know where it is, but she knows about it, which makes her dangerous. They turned her—”
“Turned her?” Rocket sneered. “How fucking easy was it? How do you take a side like that? They’re murderers!”
Jack, who’d been quiet up until now, let out a smug laugh. “Girl, we’re all murderers.”
Rocket’s hateful gaze turned to Jack, but she didn’t say anything.
“Rocket, you don’t understand,” Hammer said. “They were beating on her every day. I have no doubt they were using brainwashing techniques of some sort.”
“You should have seen her,” I said. “It wasn’t her.” I squinted to emphasize the word her, and Rocket seemed to understand.
“So, what?” Rocket said. “She’s bringing the Northers to the Cove? Trying to find it so they can slaughter us? Those women aren’t prepared to fight, Brone. I told you things have changed. There’s no order.”
“No order?” Johnson asked.
Rocket ignored her and kept talking. “How many of them are there? What kinds of weapons do they have?”
“Kinds that’ll cut you to pieces,” Jack said, head bowed and a grin on her face. She looked demonic enough to make me uncomfortable. Had she been medicated in the real world?
“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” said one of Rocket’s women. She was the tallest of the bunch and easily the most muscular. It was like she’d been waiting for any excuse to punch someone in the nose.
“It means they have metal,” Johnson said apathetically, and then an explosion of voices broke out.
“What?”
“How the fuck’s that even possible?”
“Rocket, we need to do something.”
“Metal?” Rocket asked, and everyone went quiet.
I nodded. “Like I said, it’s a long story. We need to move.”
“You didn’t answer me.” The muscles in her face hardened. “Is she bringing an army of Northers with her?”
“Worse,” Coin said.
Rocket arched an eyebrow as if to say, What could possibly be worse than an army of barbaric, self-serving monsters?
Coin sucked on her gold tooth. “She’s bringing Zsasz.”
CHAPTER 8
“Who’s Zsasz?” Rocket asked.
A mixture of confusion and disgust clouded her face. It was almost as if the sound of Zsasz’s name alone was enough to make her queasy.
“A crazy bitch,” Coin said. “That’s who.”
The women behind me went even quieter than before. It was like Zsasz’s name had triggered something. And who could blame them? Her name always made me sick to my stomach. Every time I thought of her—every time I pictured her scaly zebra-striped lips and pink-scarred body—all I wanted to do was crawl out of my skin. I’d never felt that way about anyone, but Zsasz, although I’d never admit it, scared me.
She was also twice my size and easily mistakable for a man from a distance. Not only did she have incredible strength, but she was also a complete psychopath.
“She’s a killer.” I didn’t know how else to describe her. And before Jack could open her big mouth again and point out that we were all killers, I added, “She keeps track of how many people she’s killed, and it’s easily over a hundred.”
Rocket grimaced.
“She’s also huge,” Jack said, swinging her arms out over her head. “Could crush ya like a bug.”
Rocket didn’t seem all that impressed with Jack. She tended to lack patience when it came to immaturity, and that was how Jack presented herself—like a big kid in a woman’s body. It was as if she’d never grown up. Either that, or she was downright crazy.
“Back off, puta!”
“Let go!”
I swung around like a mother dragging her kids along on a shopping trip—tired and testy.
Two middle-aged women, either Mexican or Latina, held onto each other’s wrists, pulling back and forth as if playing a game of tug-o-war. It was like watching a wildlife documentary—the ones with commentary that often repeated the same thing: “In their natural habitat…”
Because that was precisely what they looked like—animals.
“Hey!” I shouted.
They stopped at the same time but didn’t let go of each other’s hair.
“We’re on the verge of standing up to the people who imprisoned you, and you’re fighting like a bunch of high school kids.” I slapped a hand against my thigh. “For fuck’s sake, you’re both old enough to be my moms, and you’re acting younger than me.”
I sensed Rocket staring at me. No doubt she was trying to determine where the old Brone had disappeared to, and she had every reason. Who had I become? Not the same Brone I was a few months ago and sure as hell not the same person I was when I first landed on Kormace Island.
I’d become hard—cold, even.
A
t times, I didn’t recognize myself, and when words came pouring out of my mouth, it was like I was a third-party observer rather than the one in control. The filter I’d once possessed—the brain functionality that held back certain words for fear of offending or upsetting someone—was gone.
The two women I’d scolded slowly let go of each other’s hair, their hateful, low-browed gazes remaining in place. They looked like preschoolers forced to share one cookie. It was embarrassing.
These were the women who were going to fight back against Zsasz? They couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
Rocket continued walking, feet kicking through the jungle’s fallen vegetation.
“Who are these women?” she asked, leaning in close to my ear.
I rolled my eyes, but the words that came out next made me realize I needed to be more understanding. “They were prisoners, too. Slaves, really.”
“Oh shit,” Rocket said.
“I think it’ll take awhile for them to realize that there doesn’t always have to be a fight,” I said. “It’s like they’re programmed to hate, and that’s probably from being abused day in, day out. They’re bitter.”
Rocket scoffed at me, and if looks could harm, I’d have melted the skin right off her face.
“Like you?” she said.
“I’m not bitter,” I growled.
She gave me a sarcastic smile, the kind that said, Okay, whatever you say.
“It obviously fucked you up.” She stepped over a rotten coconut.
“Yeah, well, I have no excuse,” I said. “Some of these women have been there for years.”
“So?” Rocket said.
I stared at her. Was she seriously trying to undermine their suffering?
“Their pain has nothing to do with yours, Brone. That’s like breaking an arm, then turning around and telling me your neighbor’s kid broke an arm and a leg, so now you have nothing to complain about. Your arm’s still gonna hurt.”
