by Shade Owens
Now, Aisha stared at us without saying a word. If there was one thing I’d lost patience for, it was being stared at.
“What?” I snapped.
“We can’t go,” she said so calmly it was as if her emotions had been sucked right out of her.
Fisher jumped up, at least as best as she could with her injured leg, and limped toward Aisha until they were nearly touching noses. “Why the fuck not?”
I planted a firm hand on Fisher’s chest. “Relax.”
“This isn’t what Quinn wants,” Aisha said. She sounded like a lawyer—straight to the point and dealing only with facts. “Quinn said we were to come get them only once we had safe land to live on.” She swiveled the upper half of her body in the direction of Hawkins and her women. “This place isn’t safe, so no… I’m sorry, Brone, but I can’t take you to Quinn yet.”
CHAPTER 3
“If Murk’s out there,” Fisher said, more so to Aisha than to me, “then we need to go get her. Now.” Perhaps she was trying to make her feel guilty for not wanting to take us to Quinn.
But why was Fisher trying to convince Aisha of anything? Aisha didn’t know Murk; she and Quinn came from a different clan on the island and had no attachment to Murk or to us. She didn’t owe us anything. In fact, she was doing the same thing we were—remaining loyal to her leader.
I stared at the sand bunched up by my feet and in between the cracks of my toes. As much as I hated to admit it, Aisha was right—Quinn hadn’t led all those surviving women to her old territory only for us to show up and demand they take part in a fight. None of those women wanted to fight—that was the whole reason they’d followed Quinn to begin with.
I was the one with the fighters. I couldn’t possibly expect all those other survivors to arm up and face Hawkins and, ultimately, Rainer.
I needed someone else.
Someone who wanted to fight.
Pensively, I glanced toward shore, where Hawkins’s women dragged the dead shark’s carcass through the sand and toward the east side of the shore. The fin swayed from side to side as it moved, sending chills down my back. While I was glad the shark was dead, it was still frightening to see. The eyes, two black balls on either side of its face, remained open as the women pulled. Its mouth, too, remained open, revealing countless dagger-sharp teeth covered in blood. There was so much blood the shark’s white belly looked pink.
At the far end of the beach, Hawkins sat comfortably in what appeared to be a chair built of wood and cotton cushions, waiting for her meal to arrive.
That was it.
Hawkins was the answer.
“Are you insane?” Fisher said.
I wasn’t sure how to answer that. What else was I supposed to do? Could be the answer wasn’t fighting Hawkins—it was befriending her. I’d spent the last months or even a year thinking of ways to solve our problems by killing the enemy.
Why did Hawkins have to be the enemy?
I turned to Fisher and gave her an uncertain shrug. “What else are we supposed to do? My original plan to get Quinn and the others is out the window. Face it, Fisher. Aisha’s right… Even if we somehow find Quinn, those women won’t fight. That’s like asking a bunch of civilians to arm up and fight a military war. Hawkins, though…”
Fisher scoffed—the kind of reaction that made me feel insignificant or juvenile for even suggesting such an idea.
“Hawkins isn’t some church lady with an attitude,” Fisher said. “She’s a cold-blooded killer. I see it in her eyes. You can’t expect to walk up to her and have a civilized conversation.”
“Has anyone even tried—” I started, but Fisher shook her head.
“You don’t get it,” she continued. She leaned in closer and glanced from side to side as if on the verge of telling me the world’s biggest secret. “Rumor has it she killed three kids in a parking lot because they were standing too close to her car.”
My eyes went big. I could understand murder driven by intense emotion—though there was never any excuse for murder—but kids? That was crossing a whole new line.
I didn’t reflect on this too much. Deep down, I was only trying to make myself feel better by making Hawkins out to be some horrible monster who was worse than me.
“Yeah,” Fisher went on, her horrified face matching mine. “The bitch is crazy. And it doesn’t stop there. Apparently, she killed another three women in prison. It’s like they kept her in gen pop to help control the population when she should have gone to the hole.”
“I ’eard it was four women,” Flander chimed in.
“Me too,” came Biggie’s deep voice.
“What hole?” I asked, and I felt stupid when Fisher’s eyelids went flat.
“The SHU,” she said.
What the hell was she talking about?
She smirked, and this time, it wasn’t demeaning; she seemed amused.
“Sorry, Brone,” she said. “I keep forgetting you never went to real prison.”
I hated hearing that. Sure, I hadn’t been surrounded by thick concrete walls, but I was trapped on an island surrounded by nothing but water. In my opinion, though my opinion didn’t count, this was worse.
“It’s seg, short for segregation unit,” Fisher explained. “Some people call it solitary confinement. There’s a ton of other names for it, but in short, you’re stuck in a box without any human contact for God knows how long. And I’m not exaggerating, either. Twenty-three hours of your day are spent alone with your thoughts. You get fed through a hatch in a door. They’re supposed to give you an hour of exercise time and fresh air every day, but we all know how corrupt prisons are.” She let out a forced laugh as if I was supposed to know what she was talking about. How could I? I was convicted at eighteen years old. I didn’t know anything about prisons other than what I’d seen on television or read on the news. “You lose track of time,” she continued. “It honestly makes you feel like you’re going insane, but then you can’t even be sure since no one’s around. You don’t even know what’s normal and what isn’t anymore.”
She sucked in a long breath and looked away. It was evident that she’d experienced the hole before. She’d probably never talk about it, though. Fisher rarely ever opened up to anyone. Surprisingly, she’d once told me how she’d ended up here, on Kormace Island, which had been the result of her shooting a cop’s kid for selling drugs on her gang’s corner. In her defense, she hadn’t known it was a cop’s kid, but that didn’t make the murder any less of a murder.
When she’d told me the story, I remembered not knowing whether to feel sorry for her or frightened by her. She hadn’t seemed remorseful at all, which made me wonder what else she’d done in her past that she’d never talked about.
My eyes shifted toward shore at the shark. The women who were dragging it across the sand struggled, but surprisingly, with twelve of them holding on to whatever they could, they weren’t having that hard of a time.
“What kind of shark is that?” I asked as if Fisher were suddenly an ichthyologist.
She cocked an eyebrow at me, which translated to, How the hell should I know?
“Bull shark,” came Proxy’s voice. She stuck a bony finger in the air like she always did when she had some nerdy, though admittedly interesting comment to make. “Everyone’s afraid of Great Whites, but in reality, bull sharks tend to be more dangerous. They have been nicknamed ‘pit bull of the sea’ due to their aggressive nature, which doesn’t make all that much sense to me. Pit bulls aren’t inherently aggressive… In the early twentieth century, pit bulls were revered as military heroes and family dogs. It isn’t often they’re used as guard dogs. They love people far too much for that.” She rubbed her chin and stared at the sky. “I digress. Bull sharks. Their blood salt concentration sits at fifty percent, which means they’re entirely capable of switching between salt water and fresh water. They’ve been seen in lakes and rivers many times before.”
Johnson rolled her eyes as if to say, Here we go again, but no one inte
rrupted Proxy—either because she was rambling too fast for anyone to get a word in or because what she was saying was actually interesting.
“Adults, which are fully mature at ten years of age, can measure up to eleven feet and can weigh as much as six hundred and sixty pounds. There’s a lot of debate around the average lifespan, but one thing’s certain: females typically outlive the males by several years.”
Biggie slapped Flander’s shoulder, and a loud crack resonated around us. She glowered at Biggie, her gray hair wiggling above her matching eyebrows, but all Biggie did was let out her usual deep belly laugh and say, “Makes sense to me! Women are smarter, so it’d make sense that they live longer!”
Johnson forced a laugh and shook her head. “That’s completely sexist.”
Biggie made a pffft sound with her thick lips and eyed Johnson from top to bottom. “Girl, whose side you on?”
“On the side that misses dick,” Johnson said, smacking the insides of her thighs.
Hammer slapped herself on the forehead, obviously tired of penis jokes. “Well, you’re better off becoming a lesbian since you won’t be getting any of that anytime soon. Not unless you make your own with something around here…” She twirled her finger by her face.
“There are long rocks in the water,” Rocket said, pointing a finger toward shore. She pulled on her wrist, holding it flat against her chest, and looked away as if she’d revealed a dirty secret.
This time, Flander was the one to swing her arm. The blow landed on Rocket’s shoulder, and Rocket let out a loud oomph sound.
“No need to be a perv about it,” Flander said.
Rocket stared at her as though she were a high school kid staring at an overly strict teacher roaming the halls during break time; it was a look that said, Why are you such a downer?
“Will you guys shut up?” Fisher said. She plucked at a long, curling eyebrow over her right eye, examined it, then rubbed her fingers together until it disappeared in the wind.
“Oh God,” Flander said, feeling along her neck under her chin. “What I wouldn’t do for a pair o’ tweezers…” She pinched at her skin over and over again but frowned every time she brought her fingers at eye level. “Can never get the stray bastards…”
“Tweezers?” Biggie blurted, spreading her legs apart. She pulled at some of the material over her groin area and peaked inside. “How ’bout a damn razor?”
Coin, who was sitting directly beside her, chuckled and revealed her golden tooth. “Girl, forget razors. I need a damn lawnmower.”
Biggie burst out laughing so hard that my shoulders jerked forward. I hated when she did that, but at the same time, I loved it because every time she did, it made me want to laugh, too. Well, after my anxiety had passed. Her laugh was contagious, and I’d missed it even more than I’d remembered.
Coin, seemingly proud of her joke and happy at having made a new friend, elevated her chin and grinned from ear to ear.
“Speak for yourself, chicas,” Arenas cut in. “I need me a fuckin’ ridin’ lawnmower.” She clapped once and laughed out loud, but no one else joined in.
“That would kill you,” Biggie said, matter-of-factly.
Arenas kept laughing, though it was obvious she was forcing it now.
I almost chuckled at how idiotic her joke had been when someone cleared their throat. It was as if the invisible bubble around us—around our familiar circle—suddenly popped, reminding us that we weren’t alone. Masses of women sat nearby, some listening to our conversation, others relaxing in the sand.
Jack stood behind Arenas with two hands planted on her waist and a prideful look on her face—the one that said, What’s next and how can I help?
I looked at her but didn’t say anything until she must have realized I was waiting for her to talk.
“Er—sorry for interrupting.” Her gaze shifted back and forth. “Was wonderin’ if we were goin’ to find that Quinn lady.”
I was tempted to say, “Were you not paying attention earlier?” but I kept my mouth shut. There was a good chance she hadn’t overheard us when Aisha said she wasn’t taking us anywhere—not until there was peace at the Cove.
“Sorry, Jack,” I said. “We aren’t going anywhere yet. Could be a few days.”
She curled her upper lip over her rotten teeth. “What? A few days?”
“That’s what she said.” Fisher stuck her square chin out at Jack.
Jack’s jaw muscles popped out and she glared down at Fisher, apparently ready to hold an aggressive staring contest. But it didn’t seem to intimidate Fisher at all; she simply stared back, never blinking.
“Thanks for offering to help,” I told Jack, and the grin on her face came back instantly. She gave me a brief bow of the head and walked away backward.
“You need to put a leash on that thing,” Fisher said the moment Jack disappeared into the sea cave.
How was I supposed to respond to that? Jack was a loose cannon, but I had no idea what to do with her, and I was too worn down to figure it out.
“Hey,” came Ellie’s voice.
She walked through a circle of women tearing a fish apart—obviously a cherished prize they’d spent hours trying to catch in the ocean—and stood beside me.
“Hey,” I breathed, admiring her beauty.
“You got a second?” she asked.
I jumped to my feet and moved away from the dozens of voices shouting over one another.
“What’s going on?” I asked, reaching for her shoulder. “Is everything okay?”
She lit up, making me want to press my lips against hers.
“I wanna show you something,” she said.
CHAPTER 4
Her laughter carried across the sea cave’s walls, disappearing into the darkness up ahead.
How deep was this thing? A few women, some injured and others undoubtedly exhausted, lay on beds of leaves across the smooth rock platform. Farther ahead and past the cave’s sleeping area, the platform narrowed along the water to expand across most of the cave.
When first being introduced to the sleeping area, I’d been a bit uneasy about the water beside me. It was a ten-foot drop alongside the sleeping area, and the water had appeared dark blue in the evening, which freaked me out—I didn’t much appreciate water inside of caves.
Ever since I was a little girl, I believed that caves were where crocodiles lived. The fear was completely irrational, and I wasn’t even certain how it had manifested, but I’d never gotten over it. Now that morning had come, the water was a clear turquoise, which came as a relief.
There were no crocodiles.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked, my voice carrying down the cave.
Ellie turned around, smirked, and planted a silencing finger over her thick red lips. At the same time, someone rolled over in their bed of leaves and moaned, “Shut up.”
The light from the cave’s entrance seemed to diminish as we moved forward, but I could see as well as I had when I’d first entered the cave. This was in part due to the beige limestone walls surrounding us—the holey texture extended out from the water and all the way up to the ceiling, where it dripped downward, frozen in place. It looked as though a fire had caused the limestone to melt and then dry before dripping into the water.
It was the strangest thing I’d ever seen, but there was something so captivating about it.
“Come on,” Ellie whispered, and we snuck around a bend, where the platform, now no wider than three feet, continued down the cave.
I kept my back to the wall and stared at the water below, which was slowly darkening as we moved deeper into the cave. The air, too, became cool and damp. I sucked in a deep breath, prepared to smell must or rot, given the look of the walls, but surprisingly, the air sliding through my nostrils was clean and crisp.
So clean, in fact, that I opened my mouth to take in another breath.
“How far are we going?” I asked.
She reached back and gently squeezed my wrist, no doubt se
nsing my anxiety.
“It’ll be worth it,” she said. “You’ll see.”
How was anything hidden within the depths of a dark cave worth seeing if you couldn’t even see it? It was also hard to be optimistic about her surprise given that no one else was down here. Surely, there was a reason for that, but I didn’t voice my concern. She looked so excited to be taking me to this secret place of hers that I didn’t want to ruin it.
She suddenly stopped walking and I bumped into her.
“Whoa,” I said, gripping two hands around her shoulders.
The last thing I wanted to do was knock her into the water. I glanced down again, swallowing hard. The clear turquoise water had turned a deep blue, and panic engulfed me.
She crouched down and reached for something in the water.
“What’re you doing?” I hissed.
She swung her head around, pulled her hair from one shoulder to the other, and stared at me.
“You were held captive by the Northers and you survived. Why’re you acting like such a little wimp?”
I bit my bottom lip. She was right, but phobias weren’t rational fears. How was I supposed to explain to her that all I kept envisioning was a crocodile lunging out from the murky water, its jaw wide open? And now that I’d seen it happen in real life, I was even more afraid. Crocodiles lived on the island.
“Look, can you tell me where you’re taking me? I don’t like…” I sighed and looked down at my toes. “I don’t like dark cave water, okay?”
Without saying a word, she returned her attention to whatever she was reaching for.
“Get over here,” she said playfully. I took a step forward but then realized she wasn’t talking to me. “Gotcha!”
What was she doing?
Then, in one swift movement, she slid her legs out in front of her and jumped off the ledge.
“Ellie!” My voice echoed down the cave.
Her head popped back up. “Relax. The drop’s only a few feet here.” She beamed proudly. “Besides, I have a raft.”
