by G. C. Julien
“Got three years too,” Rocket said, throwing her chin up toward Biggie. “Seems to be the popular sentence.” She shook her head, as if this would break apart any emotion she felt toward her past. “His name was Ben…” She clasped her hands together. “We’d been dating for a while, and I was heavy into heroin at the time. I wanted him to try it—just try it, you know?” She glanced up at me, and I could tell the memory still haunted her. “I had some, so I convinced him to try it. He was a good kid… Never skipped class, never talked back to his mom. But he didn’t tell me he had a heart condition. I wouldn’t have given it to him. I wouldn’t have… After my high, he was just lying there, pale as a ghost, and…
Well, you know…”
Flander got up and crossed through the shallow water. She sat beside Rocket and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay, kid. We know.”
Rocket pressed her head against Flander’s shoulder. Despite their criminal backgrounds, I could tell these women had grown to be a family. They cared about each other even when their twisted faces or snarky comments suggested otherwise.
“I got three years, too,” Flander said. She swirled her hand through the water by her feet and glanced up at me. “I’d been out all night at the bar, drinking my sorrows away, and when I left, I climbed into my car—just like that. I don’t remember anything… I just remember waking up in the hospital and being told I’d killed two little girls and their mother.”
I swallowed hard. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the guilt she felt. I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of killing Gary when he’d attacked my mother, and he’d deserved it. But an innocent family? I was nauseated.
“I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“Don’t be,” Flander said. “We all make mistakes, and we pay for them. I’ve spent enough years here to forgive myself. What happened was horrible, but it can’t be undone, and hatin’ myself for it ain’t gonna make it better.”
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
“Almost done my three years now,” Flander said, forcing a crooked smile.
“Like Fisher here,” Trim said, “I got seven years.” She leaned forward and placed her elbows on her knees as though she were a summer camp leader about to tell ghost stories around a campfire. “I was a dealer… One night, I got a call from one of my boys asking me to deliver. I trusted the guy, so I showed up at his place. There were other guys there, though, fucked out of their minds. Long story short, they tried to pin me down and have their way with me. I always carried a pocket knife in my boot, and that night, it saved me.” She zoned out, most likely reliving that awful night. “They forced my face against the dining room table and ripped my pants down to my knees, and I remember thinking… I’d rather die than get raped. So I pulled out my knife and swung back as hard I could. Next thing I knew, I was covered in red, and there was a guy lying on the floor, gargling his own blood.”
I just stared at her.
“System’s fucking corrupted,” she added. “It was self-defense.”
“My lawyer was going for manslaughter,” I finally said. Everyone fell silent, waiting to hear my story. “My mom’s boyfriend… He was a drunk. He attacked her one night, with both hands around her throat. He would’ve killed her… So I found a frying pan in the kitchen, and I swung it at the back of his head to knock him out.”
“A cast iron pan?” Biggie asked.
I nodded.
She laughed. “Damn, girl. Everyone knows those things are deadly.”
“It all happened so fast,” I said quickly. “I wasn’t trying to… Anyways, I got three years.”
“Don’t sweat it, kid,” Flander said. “We’re not judging you.”
I forced a smile.
Trim suddenly slapped her knees, breaking the silence. “Enough rest, let’s keep moving.”
CHAPTER 4
“You got this,” Trim whispered.
I wasn’t sure what I struggled with most—feeling pressured to feed a village of hungry women or taking the life of an innocent animal. I’d never hunted before, yet there I was, gazing down the length of my arrow, aiming its pointed head at a wild boar. Its tusks were barely visible, and I knew it wasn’t very old.
Aside from fish, wild boar was the preferred meat among the women, Trim had explained. It tasted like pork—the best pork I’d ever tasted—and it fed many. The Hunters would walk for miles in search of boar. Male turkey was also hunted on occasion, with females captured for egg production.
“Chin up, now pull back,” Trim said.
I kept my eye on the boar’s chest to aim for the heart as I’d been taught.
“Release,” Trim hissed.
I let go of the bowstring, and with a snap-like sound, fired my arrow directly at the boar. It squealed, before quickly darting in the opposite direction. Trim quickly tore the bow out of my hand, and without warning, jolted forward to catch the wounded boar.
By the time we caught up, Trim had stopped running. She handed me my bow, and said, “Almost.” The boar was lying in the dirt several feet away with an arrow protruding from its hairy neck.
“Biggie,” Trim said, and at the sound of her name, Biggie moved in. Just as Eagle had done, Biggie reached down and pulled on the boar’s tusk, exposing its neck. She pulled a sharp blade from her belt and began sawing through the animal’s thick muscle, tendons, and bones.
I turned away at the sound of its head being torn from its body.
“Why do you do that?” I asked.
“It’s respectful,” Flander said.
“Cutting off its head is supposed to be respectful?” I asked.
“There’s always a chance that the animal might still be alive. We take off the head to make sure it bleeds out—to make sure it’s dead and not sufferin’.”
I noticed my arrow sticking out of the creature’s leg. I’d missed my target.
“Let’s head back before sundown,” Trim ordered. She led the way, with Biggie dragging the boar by its hind legs across the jungle’s uneven soil.
We were almost at the Working Grounds—I knew, because I’d recognized the stream we’d followed at the beginning of our hunt—when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Everyone had stopped moving, and Trim was pointing across the flow of water.
It was just sitting there, at the base of a broken tree log, chewing on plants as if nothing else in the world mattered. It was bigger than any gorilla I’d ever seen at the zoo, with its thick, short-haired chest resembling that of an armored knight. Its black eyes were glued to us, and for a moment, it stopped chewing and just stared.
I swallowed hard. Why were we just standing there? I’d heard of gorillas attacking humans, and who knew where this one had come from? Maybe it was a mother. I noticed that the Hunters were all smiling—something I didn’t see very often.
“Beautiful, ain’t it?” Flander whispered.
It really was, but the fear I felt toward the animal eliminated any excitement within me.
“Let’s keep moving,” Trim said quietly, and she turned the other way.
I couldn’t believe I’d just seen a wild gorilla dozens of feet away from me.
Flander was still smiling ear to ear by the time we reached the Working Grounds. She must have caught me staring at her because she laughed and said, “In all my years.”
I cocked an eyebrow. Had she never seen one before?
“I seen a black panther—just once, mind you—chimpanzees, cougars, wild turkey, and birds of all sorts, but never once have I seen a gorilla,” she said.
“Me neither,” Rocket said. “What a beauty!”
“Are there many around here?” I asked.
“Probably,” Flander said. “Kormace is huge. There’s still tons we haven’t seen. We like to stay close to the Village.”
I was beginning to understand why criminal sentences on Kormace Island were so short in comparison to the duration of actual prison sentences—survival was a daily struggle. In prison,
all basic necessities were provided and overall safety was guaranteed—somewhat.
The moment we entered the Working Grounds, everyone fell silent. But this silence was not brought forth by our presence, but rather, by someone else’s. She’d just entered the Working Grounds from the Village path with Ellie underneath one arm and a long wooden staff underneath the other.
She struggled to move forward, her face contorting with every step taken.
“Eagle!” Rocket shouted.
Eagle glanced up, her blue eyes resembling glass marbles underneath the sunlight’s intrusive rays. Her lips curved upward at the sight of Rocket running her way.
Trim and the others were quick to follow, leaving the dead boar on the ground. Even though I felt out of place, I followed too.
Rocket threw her arms around Eagle, and although Eagle’s arms were busy maintaining balance, she reached around Rocket’s shoulders with her staff and held her tight.
“You okay?” Trim asked.
Several other women had circled around us, curious to hear about Eagle’s recovery since the attack.
“I’m okay,” Eagle said, shrugging, but the way she struggled to stand upright proved otherwise.
“Medics never tell us anything,” Fisher said. “Everything’s always a big secret.”
Eagle laughed, her blonde hair dancing atop her head. It had grown a bit over the last few weeks. I couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been sitting in a cabin, secluded from everyone.
“Just how Navi is,” she said. “She says the more people talk about something, the more power they give it. Guess she didn’t want anyone talking about my injuries.”
“Who’s Navi?” I asked, turning to Flander.
“Our Medic—and before y’ask,” Flander said, “she named ’erself after a video-game character—some fairy. ’Course the geek would turn out to be the Medic.”
I smiled, even though I didn’t really care where her name had come from.
“Did Navi tell you when it’s safe to start hunting again?” Trim asked.
Eagle regripped her staff and hopped sideways to straighten her stance. “I won’t be hunting anymore.”
“What?”
“What?”
“How’s…”
“What about…”
Eagle waved a hand to quiet everyone.
“I’m just grateful to be alive… Got hit here,” she said, pointing at her inner thigh, “and here.” She pulled the leather of her shirt over her right shoulder, revealing a pink circular-shaped scar surrounded by blue and yellow bruising. She made a fist with her hand then stretched all her fingers into an open palm.
“Can’t really feel them,” she said.
“There was nerve damage,” Ellie said, her eyes lowering to the ground. “Doesn’t look good.”
There was a moment of silence, which was uncomfortable but required for the absorption of Ellie’s news.
“Does Murk know about this?” Trim asked.
Eagle nodded, defeated.
“Murk’s reassigned her to be a Night Watcher,” Ellie said.
“A Night Watcher?” I asked.
Everyone turned to face me. It was as if they’d forgotten I was standing behind them.
“It’s basically a glorified Battle Woman,” Rocket said, seemingly disgusted. “They stay up during night hours and keep watch over the Village while the other women sleep. There’s no fighting involved. If there’re any intruders, they sound the alarm—well the horn.”
Eagle scoffed. “There’s fighting, all right. Fighting to stay awake.”
But no one laughed. It was evident that being a Night Watcher was a task assigned to those incapable of working any other job due to physical limitations—like having the fat kid in a group of friends “stand watch” while the other kids sneak into the teacher’s desk drawers to steal candy.
Rocket moved in again, leaning her head on Eagle’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Eag,” she said.
Eagle shrugged. “It is what it is.” She shook her head and laughed. “I just feel sorry for you guys. You’re gonna starve without me.”
“I’ll do my best to make sure everyone keeps eating,” I said, although I suddenly wished I’d kept my mouth shut.
Everyone’s eyes turned to me.
Eagle raised an eyebrow and eyed me from head to toe. “She’s my replacement?”
“No one could ever replace you, Eagle,” Biggie said, casting a shadow over all of us as she moved in closer. “But we did need an Archer, and she was one of the chosen ones, along with Sun—and Pin and Hamu.”
I knew she’d held back from mentioning Sunny, and I felt a knot form in the pit of my stomach.
“Trim can shoot.” Eagle crossed her arms over her chest.
It was apparent that my being an Archer was the last thing Eagle would have agreed to. I wasn’t sure whether it was because I was new to Kormace Island or because I somehow rubbed her the wrong way. But I’d never done anything to offend her—at least not intentionally.
She was still staring right at me, her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. I’d always been taught to steer away from confrontation—to make friends rather than enemies. Even though I boiled inside, wanting nothing more than to ask, “What’s your problem with me, anyways?” I was unable to. I just didn’t have it in me, which I knew would be my downfall on this island.
“Cheer up, Eag. We’re having a celebration in your name tonight.” Rocket nudged her.
“Tegan always makes the best brew during celebrations.” Flander licked her lips and rubbed her palms together. I remembered Tegan. I’d purchased soap from her in one of the merchant tents. She had a way of mixing ingredients to create new items and potions. I wasn’t quite sure, but I could only assume Flander was referring to alcohol when she said brew.
“A celebration?” Eagle scoffed. “It may as well be a memorial… or a funeral. I know how these things work. I defended the Village, and now I’m a cripple.”
“No one’s celebrating your injuries,” Trim said sharply. “We’re celebrating your bravery. You took out most, if not all of the attackers that day.”
Eagle shrugged. “Look, I’ll catch you guys later.”
Ellie shot a glance at me before ducking underneath Eagle’s arm and moving forward with her.
“Don’t pay any attention to her,” Flander said, leaning in toward me. “She’s just hurtin’.”
“With good reason.” Fisher was quick to come to Eagle’s defense. “It’s like being a gold medal Olympian and losing a leg. Eagle’s always been our number one Hunter, and now she’s nothing.”
“She’s not nothing!” Rocket said.
Fisher rolled her eyes. “In the eyes of the Village—yeah, she is. If you can’t contribute, you’re basically a waste of space.”
Rocket lunged forward and shoved Fisher back as hard as she could. Fisher tripped backward several steps, but she somehow managed to stay on her feet. She had a cryptic smile on her face as if amused by Rocket’s lack of strength.
“Enough!” Trim grabbed Rocket by the leather of her shirt and extended an open palm at Fisher.
“She started it,” Fisher said, smirking at Rocket.
Rocket pulled out of Trim’s grip and stormed off in the opposite direction toward the Village’s path.
“Why do you do that?” Trim asked, turning her attention to Fisher.
Fisher laughed. “Come on, Trim. I was being realistic. You know better than anyone that emotions don’t belong on Kormace, and emotions aside, Eagle’s useless now.”
Trim clenched her jaw, mulling over Fisher’s words. It was clear that she found truth in them.
“You’re right,” Trim said coldly. “But Eagle still deserves recognition for all she’s done, so I expect you all to be at the celebration.”
Everyone nodded and made their way toward the Village. I was about to follow when I felt someone tap my shoulder.
“You should be proud,” Rocket sai
d, her gaze fixed on the waterfall.
I didn’t know what she was referring to until I followed her eyes. Several women had dragged the bloody boar across the sand to the side of the waterfall where a bountiful garden filled with fruits and vegetables was located. Beside this garden was a cage constructed of branches filled with wild turkeys.
I remembered Murk mentioning Farmers as one of the divisions of the Village, and I realized that these women were responsible for our food and water consumption. There were two women kneeling in front of the garden, reaching into it and pulling out bits and pieces of either weed or actual fruit—I couldn’t quite tell which.
There was a water filtration system located beside the turkey cage—it was a massive hole dug into the ground with some meshing or skin stretched out above it. I had no idea how the contraption worked, but I’d seen Trim approach it to fill her water bladder.
I looked away when one of the women raised a carved blade and began tearing into the boar’s flesh. “You shouldn’t watch that,” Rocket said. “The last thing you want on this island is to be grossed out by meat. It’s all we eat.”
“I thought you left,” I said.
“I did.” She smirked then opened her hand and revealed the piece of seaweed soap I’d purchased from Tegan’s tent. “I knew you’d forget where it was, so I grabbed it for you. Come on, I’ll show you where to get cleaned up.”
I followed her toward the waterfall on the opposite side of the bloody scene. There was a gentle flow of water spilling out over several flat rocks high above. Underneath this natural shower was a young woman lathered in a silky substance, with her eyes closed, her wet hair pulled back, her bare skin and small pointed breasts glistening underneath the water.
“This is it,” Rocket said. She leaned in close then whispered, “Some women still try to shave—others don’t even bother. Not like there are any men to impress. Mind you, most women on the island learn to play for the other team, if ya catch my drift.”
“What?” I asked.
Rocket ignored me, and instead, offered me a flat. pointed rock, which had been sharpened along one of its edges. “Nothing like a razor, but it manages to get some of the hair. Just be careful.”
