The Feral Sentence- Complete Box Set

by Shade Owens

  “Getting raped by a group of guys.”

  “Watchin’ your mom be beat up by your piece o’ shit dad every night.”

  “Finding your dead boyfriend in the kitchen with a needle in his arm.”

  This time, Proxy didn’t say anything. Instead, she clasped her hands together and nodded at the crowd.

  “These things may haunt you forever,” she said. “Even if you think you are doing well, one day, a single trigger may send you spiraling down a dangerous path you cannot seem to divert from.” She paused again, this time, her eyes aimed at the ground. Was she talking about herself?

  Proxy wasn’t the type to talk about herself—ever. I’d never know what she’d been through, but it was obvious that whatever it was, it still tormented her.

  “Trigger?” one woman shouted. “Like a gun?” She stuck her hands together to form a pistol and made shooting sounds with her mouth.

  Another woman played along, slapping a hand over her chest and stumbling backward.

  “Would you two idiots grow up?” shouted a tall, dark-skinned woman with a thick accent. “You are being children! Have you not heard a single thing? This is not a joke.”

  The woman with the fake pistol lowered her hands inch by inch and cleared her throat.

  “A trigger,” Proxy said, “is a psychological stimulus that brings your memory of the traumatic event back to life.” Then, she pointed an open palm at the woman who’d spoken of her child and the bridge. “Seeing a man hold a child high up into the air may be a trigger for you.”

  The woman parted her lips but didn’t say anything. Instead, she turned her head from side to side, and the ladies standing next to her patted her on the back. Finally, she turned back toward Proxy, her lower lip trembling. “It… it makes sense now. Y-you’re right… I can’t stand watching Eliot play with the kids.”

  As I stood there watching one of the most powerful educational sessions I’d ever seen, I felt a strange sense of belonging. At the end of the day, we were all the same—severely damaged yet wanting nothing more than to live a normal life.

  * * *

  “Brone?”

  I blinked several times until the evening purple sky came into view.

  “Jesus,” Fisher said. “Are you okay?”

  “Y-yeah,” I mumbled. How long had I been standing here? My feet felt like they were bruised on the inside, and my legs trembled.

  “You’ve been here for hours, staring at the ground,” Fisher said. When I didn’t respond, she parted her legs at shoulder’s width and planted two firm hands on her waist. “Listen, we’ve been searching all day. He isn’t in here, so those footprints we saw earlier, they’re real.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “Player 1’s dead, but he’s still winning. This Black Panther guy isn’t done doing whatever it is he’s doing.”

  “Maybe he’ll be back tonight,” Fisher said. “We can prepare for it. We’ll catch him this time.”

  I scoffed—not because Fisher wasn’t making sense, but because for the first time, everything made sense.

  “He might come back,” I said, “but he might not.”

  “What’re you saying?” Fisher asked.

  “This is his fucking plan,” I said. “He’s playing with us. He’s causing sleep deprivation to weaken us.”

  CHAPTER 9

  As the evening sconces were lit, I approached Zelda. She was crouched over the electrical box, muttering to herself in German.

  “Any luck?” I asked.

  Turning her head a bit to the side, she said, “Nein.”

  Fighting the urge to sigh, I turned around to find Rocket, Biggie, and Hammer standing behind me with arms crossed over their chests.

  “Go sleep,” Rocket said.

  I parted my lips to tell her to watch her tone, when Biggie cut in, “That’s an order.”

  Was this some sort of joke? Even Hammer stared at me with hardened brows and a pout no doubt meant to signify that this was anything but a joke.

  “You don’t give orders—”

  “As your friends, we do,” Rocket said. “Brone, you’re beyond exhausted. You probably aren’t even thinking straight.”

  Rocket wasn’t wrong. I kept hallucinating moving objects in my peripheral and my body felt like it had been flattened under a steamroller. But how was I supposed to go to sleep while all of this was happening? These women needed me.

  “You’ve done everything you can do,” Hammer said.

  I rubbed my hand over my face. “No, I—”

  Biggie pinched the air in front of her, a gesture that I knew meant, Zip it.

  It was a strange feeling to be bossed around after I’d spent the last two years giving orders, but their commands were coming from a place of love. The truth was, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t yet collapsed, and if I continued trying to lead my women like this, I’d end up making an unforgivable mistake.

  “Okay,” I breathed. “Then let’s do rotational—”

  “Already got that covered,” Hammer said.

  At times, it was almost as if my friends were able to read my mind. I was so thankful to have them by my side.

  Although too tired to smile, I managed to say, “Thank you.”

  Biggie wrapped an arm around me. “Come on, girl. Let’s get you to your cabin.”

  As we walked toward the back of the Village, Ellie stepped toward me with little Robin in her arms, but she was stopped by Fisher. They exchanged a few words, their eyes darting my way every few seconds, and although they were too far for me to hear anything, I knew exactly what Fisher was telling her—let me rest.

  Biggie led me inside my cabin and I dropped myself into bed. It was both painful and satisfying at the same time.

  “Don’t you be stressin’ about a thing, okay?” she said. “We got eyes everywhere, and that sneaky fucker ain’t gettin’ inside o’ here unless he has a death wish.”

  I managed a smirk.

  “So you sleep, and if we need you for anythin’, I promise I’ll be the first one at your door.”

  She may have said something else, but I couldn’t be sure. Within seconds, I was out.

  * * *

  Rainer stood tall, her metal-plated shoulders drawn back and a hefty sword held in her right hand. At her feet, women cried out, begging for mercy. At first, the screaming was pleading—long, desperate whimpers. But then, Rainer raised her sword above her head. Behind me, the entire city roared.

  One elephant even stood on its hind legs before dropping down, deep vibrations causing bits of earth to jump like popcorn.

  “Don’t beg,” Rainer said. “It’s unbecoming.” And with that, she sliced her sword through the air and several heads rolled across the dirt.

  “Brone!”

  I jolted upright and wiped a line of drool from my face. My back, cold and damp, sent shivers down my arms. Where was I? What was happening? Excruciating pain radiated throughout my entire body, almost as if I’d been tensing so hard that my blood had stopped flowing through me.

  “Time to get up,” Biggie said, trying to catch her breath. She dropped my sword at my feet and jerked her head sideways as if to say, We don’t have any time to waste.

  Grabbing the cold handle of my sword, I jumped to my aching feet. “What’s going on? What happened? Are we under attack?”

  “There was an explosion,” she said, fighting to catch her breath. “Someone’s tryin’ to blast the gates open.” Her big belly expanded as she breathed, and she wiped a streak of sweat from her forehead. “This ain’t good, Brone. I ain’t tellin’ you what to do, ’cause you’re the boss, but I really think you need to order an evacuation.”

  An evacuation? We’d already run once. No way was I fucking running away from my home.

  Clenching my teeth, I threw my bow and quiver over my shoulder, pushed my way past her, and kicked my cabin door open.

  The second I stepped out into the Village, another explosion shook the earth beneath my feet. At the Village
gates, a bright orange and yellow flash forced me to turn and cover my face. The few women who stood closest to the gates—those trying to fire arrows from the towers—were sent hurling through the air, their bodies crashing against the ground.

  Out of nowhere, our large protective gates blasted open as bits and pieces of wood flew in every direction.

  Who had set off the bombs? Was it Black Panther? Had he decided to change his approach to throw us off our game? The smoke was heavy and dark, expanding inside the Village as it doubled in size. Women screamed, running toward the back of the Village, while others stood strong with weapons in their hands, prepared to fight whatever was making its way inside our home.

  But as our attacker entered, my stomach sank.

  CHAPTER 10

  At first, it was difficult to make out what this thing was, but as the smoke slowly dissipated, the body’s shape came into view, barely looking human at all. He stepped into the Village, his massive metal-plated body moving almost robotically.

  His head, which was at least six times the size of mine, was protected underneath a gladiator-like helmet with slits for eyes. It wasn’t even the metal covering him from head to toe that made my stomach feel like it was caught in a vise; across every inch of his metallic armor were razor-sharp spikes sticking out like a porcupine’s quills, making it impossible for anyone to get near him. In his gloved hands, he held a giant war hammer with a sharp point at one end.

  How was anyone supposed to fight him? We couldn’t use any throwable weapons—they would bounce off his armor. If anyone got too close, he’d swing his war hammer. And, if by some miracle someone managed to slip past his hammer, a simple swing of his spiked arm would be enough to tear someone’s face off.

  This guy was unbeatable.

  “Holy mother of—” Hammer said, staring blankly ahead.

  Rocket stood beside me, her jaw hanging as low as Hammer’s. From the crowd came Fisher with an unusual limp in her strut. Over the last few years, her leg had healed pretty well since the crocodile’s attack. But now and then, it seemed to flare up when she exerted herself. She’d been on her feet for more than twenty-four hours—it was only natural for her to be aching.

  “Guys?” she said, but it came out as more of a question.

  Was Biggie right? Was evacuation our sole option?

  Turning to look at the back emergency gate, I realized that several women were already using it. Part of me resented them for running away without being given the order to do so, but the human part of me knew that these women were scared beyond belief.

  How could anyone stand up against someone like this?

  Suddenly, he let out a cry so deep its effect mimicked the vibrations of his steps. Several women fired arrows at him, but all it did was aggravate him. He lunged forward, moving far faster than I’d have expected for someone his size, and swung his war hammer over his head and spun in a circle, reaching it as far as his arms would allow.

  Three women found themselves standing too close, unable to dodge in time. The hammer literally picked them up off the ground and threw them several meters back. As blood splattered into the air, the sound of bones shattering spread throughout the Village.

  “Brone?” Fisher hissed. “Give a fucking order!”

  Hundreds of eyes shot my way as women waited for my command.

  I considered telling Fisher to grab the guns—the one that had belonged to the woman in the trap, and Player 1’s rifle. But even I knew that shooting at a metal target was a terrible idea. There was no telling what kind of metal he was wearing, but I was willing to bet he’d made certain it was impenetrable, even by bullets. It also meant that a fired shot might ricochet and kill some of my women.

  The grenade.

  Would it work? Maybe. But too many of my women were around him. If I threw a grenade, the explosion would take several lives, not only his.

  What was I supposed to do? This was a goddamn suicide mission. As much as I didn’t want to back down, I couldn’t let women run to their deaths. For what? By the end of it, there wouldn’t be enough of us to even sustain a society.

  We needed to evacuate. If we could find a way to isolate him inside the Village, maybe then the grenade might prove itself useful.

  This thought process might have lasted all of five seconds, but my five-second delay was too long. At the same time, several women pumped their weapons in the air and screamed at the tops of their lungs, no doubt enraged by the murder of their friends.

  “Stand back!” I shouted, but I was too late.

  Women were charging at full speed, their mouths wide open as wordless shouts came out, filling the entire Village with so much hateful energy that more and more women followed them.

  I grimaced as SkullCrusher did what his name signified—as women came at him, he swung his weapon, splitting heads open and disfiguring women. One woman even tried to jump at him but impaled herself against his body armor instead.

  My heart pounded so hard I thought I might faint. Everything felt so surreal, like at any moment, I’d wake up inside the darkness of my cabin with Ellie by my side.

  Shit.

  Where was Ellie?

  Swinging around, I narrowed my eyes toward my cabin. The door was closed, so I hoped to God she’d gone back inside.

  “We can’t just fucking stand here!” Rocket shouted, little veins bulging out from her grimy red forehead.

  What was I doing? I was the leader of these people, yet I couldn’t move. I’d faced difficult situations before—very difficult—but this, by far, seemed like the most difficult of all.

  I blinked hard and swallowed several times, hoping to regain my grip on reality. At long last, my surroundings came into focus and I felt grounded.

  This was life or death, and although I couldn’t save everyone, my job was to make sure I saved as many as possible.

  “Get everyone you can to evacuate, now!” I shouted.

  Without hesitating, my friends ran toward the crowd, grabbing shoulders and pointing at the back door. Some women pulled away with twisted features and charged straight toward SkullCrusher.

  As inappropriate as it might have been, I suddenly thought of his kill counter, which was likely sitting beneath his armor. Had it turned green? As much as I despised Player 1, right now, I hated SkullCrusher far more than the sick son of a bitch who had at least helped me. In a sense, he was the better of two evils.

  “How good’s your aim?” Fisher asked, leaning into me.

  I turned to her but didn’t respond. Without saying anything, she raised a flat seashell-tipped arrow in front of my face.

  Was she insane? I almost laughed at her, even though nothing about this situation was funny, but when I caught her frowning, I knew she was being serious.

  “If you can get the perfect shot, it’ll fit,” she said.

  The idea was so insane that I found myself considering it. What other option did I have?

  Grabbing the arrow from her fingers, I prepared my bow. “Do you have any more of these? In case I miss.”

  She stared at me without blinking. “Don’t miss.”

  CHAPTER 11

  The empty space around SkullCrusher widened. Women were no doubt realizing they didn’t stand a chance. To make up for this, he stomped forward, swinging his war hammer as far as his massive arms would allow.

  Unfortunately, he caught a few more women—one square in the jaw, and the other in the neck. I turned away before seeing any of the damage, but the crunching and oozing sounds made my stomach sink.

  With no time to waste, I raised my loaded bow and stared down the arrow’s shaft. The pointed, pearl-colored shell hovered in the air for a few seconds as I concentrated on SkullCrusher’s right eye. I chose his right eye seeing as it was the one closest to me, and every few seconds, he swung his body to the right, his metallic helmet following his movements.

  You can do this.

  From where I was standing, the slits over his eyes appeared to be about half an inch
in height, and two inches wide. All I had to do was ensure my arrow slid right through the crack. For this to happen, it was important that my arrow not spin. Most arrows I practiced with had either metal or stone heads. There was no telling how well this arrow would handle, and at that moment, I wished I’d practiced with shell arrows when Elektra had asked me to shoot one.

  I’d told her that we didn’t craft shell arrows anymore, so there was no use practicing with them.

  SkullCrusher took a step to his right as one woman ran past him with a spear pumping over her head.

  Pulling the bow’s elastic back, I let out a long breath to empty my lungs. For some reason, I always found this to help me concentrate and stabilize my hands.

  One shot.

  And then, with all of my focus directed at the slit over his eye, I released my arrow. It flew through the air so fast I didn’t see it—what I did see, however, was SkullCrusher’s head jerk backward. He raised his metal-gloved hand over his eye.

  Had I hit him?

  But when he lowered his hand, looking confused, I knew I’d missed my target. All I’d done was disorient him, perhaps from the sound of impact against his metal helmet.

  “Fuck,” I muttered.

  Fisher breathed out hard through her nostrils. “It’s okay, Brone. You did the best you could.”

  Without looking at her, I whipped another arrow out from my quiver. I’d been so taken aback by SkullCrusher’s size and the spikes coming out of his bodysuit that I’d forgotten we’d faced a similar threat several years ago.

  “We took out Isaac and Rainer,” I said. “There’s no reason we can’t kill this son of a bitch too.”

  And with that, I fired another arrow straight for his head. It dinged off his helmet, and his foot stopped midair as he searched the Village to locate the source of the attack.

  Loading another arrow, I glared at him—I wanted him to know it was me. If he charged at me, he’d stop swinging his war hammer at my people.

  “Over here, motherfucker!” I shouted.