by Shade Owens
Hawkins turned her head sideways, having apparently heard Biggie, and smirked—a smile that most likely translated to, You can either mind your own business or things are going to get really ugly, really fast.
Despite Biggie’s warning, and Jack’s—who rushed up to me, the hairs of her head wiggling in every direction as she tried to convince me not to follow Hawkins—I couldn’t deny my incessant need to hear what Hawkins had to say.
There was no arguing she was dangerous. I’d heard all the stories about how she’d killed women in prison and how she’d even killed women here. But so had I. That didn’t make us equal, especially not on a moral level, but given she was asking to talk to me, it made her seem a bit less threatening. Had Rainer been in her place, she’d have asked her cultist followers to tie me up somewhere.
Hawkins, however, seemed more rational than that even if she was incredibly dangerous.
I followed her as she led me away from the women at the center of the Cove and to the other side of the beach, glancing back only once to spot Ellie standing beside Proxy, a hand over her mouth.
Poor Ellie.
Hopefully, she didn’t think I was purposely trying to put myself in harm’s way. It wasn’t fair to put her through this stress—not knowing when she might see me for the last time—but if I hoped to reunite the women of the Cove, I had to hear Hawkins out and try to reason with her.
Hawkins’s women, most of them identifiable by their wooden accessories, didn’t seem all that impressed when they saw me approach. Most of them glared at me, and not because of the morning sun, but undoubtedly because they didn’t understand why Hawkins was bringing someone from the outside into her group.
“What’s this?” asked one of her women, throwing her chin out at me.
Hawkins stuck a thumb out at me. “This is my ticket to this Rainer bitch everyone keeps talking about.”
Hawkins made me feel like I was in an actual penitentiary—at least, the kind that everyone kept describing to me. I’d never spent much time in a real prison other than the few nights before my conviction, and even then, I was entirely isolated.
She was intimidating but not so much in a fear-for-my-life kind of way—not the way Rainer had made me feel. Maybe that would change as I got to know her, but from where I was standing, all I saw was a dangerous criminal—not a barbaric woman who’d spent the last twenty years of her life on Kormace Island.
When I first arrived on the island, Hawkins would have likely terrified me. But after everything I’d seen—the ruthless killings, the torturous sacrificial altars, Rainer’s army—Hawkins seemed a bit amateur to me.
I’d never voice this aloud, however; surely, she wouldn’t hesitate to kill me where I stood. But if Hawkins thought she could take on Rainer, the wannabe leader had no idea what she was getting herself into.
“Is that her?” someone whispered, leaning into a woman with a shaved head and an AOP-looking tattoo on her shoulder—a black circle with a large X on the inside.
I cringed.
AOP stood for Age of Progression, and every time I saw the symbol on television, Mom would make some comment about history repeating itself and something to do with Nazis.
* * *
“Nah-what now?” Melody asked, leaning forward on the couch to grab another handful of ketchup chips from the coffee table.
My mom slapped her forehead. “What on Earth are they teaching you kids in school?”
She looked around as if afraid that questioning the education system, which was in a sense questioning the president himself, would somehow lead to severe consequences. It might—if she was caught. Ever since Bill-1203 was passed, it became illegal to talk against or even question President Seth.
I’d thought this to be ridiculous, but I couldn’t say anything. I’d seen a few kids taken out of school for telling the teacher they thought President Seth was a dictating piece of shit.
It wasn’t long before people stopped insulting him.
“They don’t teach us much,” Melody said, and she lit up when she looked at me.
I hated that next year, I wouldn’t have Melody in any of my classes. She made everything about school a little less dull. I hoped that after high school was over, we’d stay friends.
“Nothing on the Second World War?” my mom asked. She then shook her head and laughed. “Of course not. Age of Progression… More like Age of Regression. God forbid anyone stands up and says it like it is”—her eyes shifted toward the holographic television and she lowered her voice—“that anyone compares President Seth to Hitler.”
“Who’s Hitler?” Melody asked, and my mom’s jaw hung so low that her entire neck disappeared. She then got up with a swing of her upper body and limped her way into her bedroom.
“Where’s your mom going?” Melody asked.
I shrugged, though I had an idea. She was retrieving her copy of Evil on Earth, a historical novel written by Professor Maverick Nicolson about the Second World War, or more precisely, a deep look into Hitler’s past and how he managed to lead countless soldiers to murder millions of Jewish people.
When I’d first read the book, I’d cried for three nights straight. I couldn’t believe anything like that had happened. Yet when President Seth came on the television, I understood why Mom was so adamant about teaching me everything she knew about World War II. The new history books, the ones about the previous wars, didn’t mention Hitler at all, which infuriated my mom.
President Seth had ordered the destruction of any historic written word. And then, of course, with the government having their noses all over what was tolerated on the internet, you couldn’t find it there either.
Mom often referred to President Seth as a reincarnation of Hitler, and I believed her.
How could one human being ruin the lives of so many?
* * *
As I stared at Hawkins, I thought of everything my mom taught me, even though Hawkins didn’t come close to comparing to Hitler or President Seth.
But still, she was a symbol of leadership, which meant she held the power to affect the lives of those around her. And she was doing exactly that—the women around her admired her, and it was clear they were willing to do anything she asked, even if there was no reason for it.
Then, the woman with the AOP tattoo, obviously a crazy white supremacist, locked eyes with me. Was she trying to intimidate me? I was sick and tired of women trying to act tough around here. There was no need for it.
Another woman, one with poorly maintained dreadlocks pulled back into a high ponytail, wrapped stringy material around carved seashells, fastening them to long, smooth-looking bamboo stems to create arrows. It was apparent that all these women wanted to do was fight. I recognized a few faces from the Working Grounds, but I didn’t know their names.
After everything Murk had taught them, how could they turn around and follow some new drop like Hawkins?
Another woman who appeared to be sharpening shells against large rocks gave me a dirty look and kept carving away. How well could they even shoot those things? Had they received proper training? I glanced back toward the Asian group, searching for Pin and Hamu—Murk’s two other Archers who had trained by my side in the Working Grounds. Although I didn’t expect to find them here, it still saddened me to think that they’d most likely perished in the Village flames.
“How’s she going to help?” asked the woman with the AOP tattoo.
I hated her for even having it, but I’d have been stupid to vocalize it. For all I knew, Hawkins had a similar tattoo underneath her wooden armor.
“Have a seat,” Hawkins suddenly said. Her voice was rough, yet oddly soothing at the same time. It was like she was trying to sound gentle for my sake, but it didn’t come naturally to her. She pointed an open palm at a tree stump beside the AOP-tattooed woman.
Figuring it would be rude to decline the invitation, I sat down, feeling the AOP-tattooed woman’s hatred seeping through her skin. She stared at me, but I didn’t stare b
ack—I wasn’t in the mood for another altercation after what had happened.
“So, you’re Brone,” Hawkins said, nodding slowly with slits for eyes.
I cleared my throat. “Um, yeah, that’s me.”
She let out a forced laugh and patted me on the knee as if capable of reading my mind. It felt strained and awkward, especially since the women around her were still glaring at me. They reminded me of cranky old dogs around a new puppy. Hawkins was showing interest in me, and they hated it.
“We all know who you are, kid,” she said.
Kid? Was that how she viewed me? Instantly, I felt inferior.
She leaned forward, her face alight with intrigue. “So, you survived Rainer. Also heard you sacrificed yourself to save your women. That takes balls, kid.”
I winced on the inside.
What was she getting at? What did she want? I rubbed my palms together, not knowing what else to do with myself and shifted on my tree stump of a chair.
Then, she leaned back in her wooden chair, arms resting on what appeared to be armrests made of softwood and moist, intertwined branches. Someone had constructed a throne-like chair for her, and she was proud of it. It made her sit taller than all of us and was likely the sturdiest piece of furniture on the Cove.
“What?” she said, catching me eyeing her throne. “You like it? You want it?”
Was this some game? I knew what Hawkins was capable of. Despite her friendly attitude toward me at that moment, if I didn’t give her what she wanted, she wouldn’t hesitate to cut me down—literally.
I cleared my throat again. “No, thank you. I’m okay here.”
She patted me hard on the knee and this time I flinched. “Come on, now. We’re all friends. Ain’t that right, ladies?”
She turned from side to side, the blond bun at the back of her head following along, and her women nodded.
“I like to share,” she said, leaning back. She rubbed her chin and pointed her fingers toward the sky. “I believe in… What do you call it? Fairness? Equality? You scratch my back, I scratch yours?”
Although it was tempting to say, “Spit it out already,” I needed to be patient. What did she want from me?
She crossed one leg over her knee and let her head rest against the back of her chair. “What’s the matter, Brone? Cat got your tongue?”
“No,” I said plainly. “I just I don’t understand what I’m doing here.”
Her laugh was so loud that my shoulders jerked forward. “Oh, she’s funny.” She pointed right at me. Her women smirked, but they appeared as confused as me. Then, Hawkins’s smile disappeared, and she leaned closer, her feet slapping down on the sand in front of her. “You’re a fuckin’ murderer, Brone. That’s why you’re here. ’Cause you fuckin’ killed someone.”
Her dark gray eyes looked black underneath the shadows of her brows, and she stared at me as if she’d been possessed by something—as if some other soul had entered her body.
Was this the Hawkins Fisher had warned me about? The unpredictable, dangerous woman who reminded me of Jack in a sense, only, without any good intentions whatsoever?
“Collins,” she said, still staring at me. She clicked her fingers without saying a word, and the woman with the AOP tattoo—Collins, I assumed—got up and disappeared behind a flimsy-looking curtain. It hung from a branch that stuck straight out from the cliff’s wall as if it had grown that way for the sole purpose of providing shelter for someone.
Collins came back out with a fist held tight by Hawkins’s face. Hawkins opened a hand, gesturing her to drop it, and Collins let go of whatever she was holding. Hawkins scratched at her palm, then in a rapid motion that would have been undetectable had I not been paying attention, she placed a finger under her nostril and sucked hard.
She let out a forced breath, pupils dilated, and her flat lips stretched into a devilish grin.
She stuck her open palm out at me. “Want some?”
At the center of it sat a green pouch, something that resembled a flower’s head or a leaf glued to itself to create a bowl-like shape, and inside of it was a brown and white powder. It reminded me of salt and pepper, only, much lighter.
Although I didn’t know what it was, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was a drug.
“I’m okay, thank you.”
Without answering, she dipped another finger into it and brought it straight for her nostril again. After the loud sucking of air, she shook her head. “Your loss, kid.”
She gave Collins the pouch back, and Collins returned it to its safe spot.
“What do you want?” she suddenly asked.
Taken by surprise, I hesitated. Wasn’t she the one who’d asked me to come here? Were the drugs affecting her memory?
“Most of all,” she continued. “What do you want on this hellhole of an island?”
The answer should have been obvious, but she was still staring at me, so I shrugged and said, “To get off.”
This time, she laughed so hard that thick red tonsils appeared at the back of her throat. Midlaugh, she stuck her thumb out at Collins. “Collins here can arrange that.”
Collins smirked and revealed a set of yellowing teeth, then made her tongue flap up and down rapidly.
I felt violated.
“Off the island,” I corrected.
As the words came out of my mouth, it was as if I’d conjured magic—the clouds overhead suddenly seemed to stop moving as the wind disappeared. I wasn’t an idiot; time hadn’t stopped, but the silence that surrounded me became so disturbing I was forced to look away.
Hawkins spread her legs apart and rested both elbows on her knees, back hunched and shoulders curved forward. “Isn’t that what we all want?”
How was I supposed to respond to that?
“What if I told you that isn’t what I want?” she asked.
Now she had my interest. I had no idea where she was going with this, but her tone indicated she was about to reveal something important, so I paid close attention.
“How about I tell you what I want?” she asked.
Figuring she’d keep talking anyway, I kept my mouth shut.
“I want Rainer,” she said. “I want her people. I want this whole fucking island.”
I stared at her—at her dry, pale lips; her broad shoulders that seemed to form balls on either side of her neck; her trident tattoo; her damaged hands that looked like they’d experienced several lifetimes; her blond, slightly orange, uncombed eyebrows; her odd gray eyes that were like nothing I’d seen before; and her tangled hair that looked as though it had been tied in a bun and left to dry since she’d landed on Kormace Island.
She let out a breath through flared, pointed nostrils and gazed into nothingness, most likely fantasizing about taking down Rainer and ruling over all of Kormace Island.
“Let’s make a deal,” she said, her focus returning to me. “You bring me to Rainer, and I get you off this island.”
I held back my laughter. Was she that high? We were most likely days away from any civilization. How the hell did she expect to get us off the island?
“What’re you talking about?” I said, a sly smirk on my face. I hadn’t meant to sound condescending—to make it seem like she was crazy—but I couldn’t hold it back. “You gonna build me a boat? How far do you think that’s going to take me? To take us? Because I’m not leaving without my friends.”
“Whoa.” She flicked her wrist in the air. “Relax, kid. I’m not a fuckin’ amateur. If all it took was building a boat, I’d have started that the second I landed on this godforsaken place.” She reached down beside her chair and slid a slab of wood out of the way. Underneath it was a hole—something they had evidently dug up—and inside of it, a wooden box. She reached even deeper into the hole, her ribs pressing against her armrest, and extracted something that could have been plucked out of a science fiction movie.
It looked like a communication device.
CHAPTER 9
My heart pou
nded. “What is that?”
She lowered her head and smirked. “This, my friend, is a C-42 Transponder.”
I inched toward the edge of my tree stump. Technology? How did she have technology on the island? It couldn’t be possible. The correctional officers in the helicopter would have never allowed it. And even if she’d somehow snuck it onto the island, how had it survived the water? How would it even survive the island? It would run out of power if it hadn’t already.
She must have been watching me ponder to myself, because her smirk stretched into a proud smile and she leaned back again, chin elevated and skin pulled back on her face. She placed the gadget to her lips, pressed a button, and said, “Ace, Hawk in the sky, over.”
A staticky sound came out of the machine’s small speaker, and a man’s voice echoed, “Ace in place, over.”
She pressed the button one last time, creating a clicking noise, but didn’t speak into it again. What had been said? Was it some sort of code language? Were they simply confirming their line of communication was still open? She tilted her head sideways, looking amused. Were my eyes bulging out that badly?
“You look surprised,” she said. “It’s military grade. Waterproof, blast proof, solar-powered. Basically, this motherfucker ain’t goin’ anywhere, and it can reach distances you’d never dream of.”
“Wh-who was that?” I asked, my throat making a sticking sound as I swallowed.
Head still tilted to one side like a cat observing a mouse, she said, “A friend.”
Was she really in communication with someone from the outside?
“You underestimate me, Brone,” she said plainly.
I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling like an idiot.
She must have sensed that I presumed her to be less dangerous than Rainer, but I was beginning to realize that although she didn’t possess survival skills needed for this island yet, she had other strengths—strengths that would probably prove themselves deadlier than survival skills.
“I have a lot of friends on the outside,” she added, “and I always get what I want.”
“And you want Rainer,” I said.
