by G. C. Julien
She raised an arm above her head and revealed an evenly trimmed, short-haired armpit. “Personally, I don’t like the long pit hair.” She glanced at the woman who was now rinsing the top of her head, revealing thick black patches underneath the pits of her arms. “Some people don’t seem to care.”
I grabbed the rock and thanked her.
“When you’re done,” she said, “just sit in the sun for a while. It’ll dry you off.”
A little farther away, lying in a bed of grass alongside the Working Grounds’ pool of water were three naked women sunbathing.
“Like that,” Rocket said, following my gaze.
How was I supposed to be naked around complete strangers? I’d never been the type to shamelessly remove my top at the gym or change in front of my friends. I’d always been self-conscious of my petite body. I suddenly felt the urge to return to the Village, unclean but with my pride intact.
“I’ll catch you later.” Rocket winked at me and turned the other way.
I moved farther down the side of the waterfall, away from the naked women, and I slid off my top. I held both breasts in my hands, feeling entirely vulnerable and exposed. With one hand, I awkwardly began pulling at the rope of my pants, when a familiar voice startled me.
“You must be happy,” Ellie said.
I turned around so fast that I nearly slipped on the cold stone ground underneath me.
“Got something to hide?” She raised an eyebrow.
I realized I was hunched forward, holding onto myself as if afraid my breasts might fall off.
“I… um,” I tried.
“I’m not judging,” She slowly slid her leather top above her shoulders and over her head, revealing large round breasts and a softly defined stomach.
I hadn’t meant to stare, and I immediately felt my cheeks warm to what must have been an uncomfortable shade of red the moment she caught me looking. But this didn’t seem to affect her. She simply smirked then went on to removing her bottoms.
“These are washable too, you know,” she said, dangling the sun-dried skin between her fingers.
I nodded quickly, avoiding eye contact.
“I usually go for a soak at the base of the waterfall. It’s deep enough to walk all the way into,” she said.
“To wash your clothes?” I asked.
“To wash everything.”
I peered toward the waterfall—or at least what I could see of it from this angle—and I noticed that the number of women who had been sunbathing naked had doubled in number.
“Murk doesn’t want anyone using soaps in the Working Grounds’ pool,” she said, “but salt water still cleanses, so most women opt for a quick bath. The showers lead out into a stream, so it doesn’t affect the pool.” With her big toe, she pointed below, where flat rocks made a stair-like descent, with translucent water trickling out into the jungle.
I much preferred the idea of using soap. I hadn’t showered in over a week.
“Are you showering, or what?” She turned away from me to rinse her hair, her hourglass figure shifting from side to side as she moved to catch the falling water.
I realized I was still holding my chest. I stepped toward the water with my bottoms still in place. I wasn’t ready to expose my nudity like the rest of these women. I flinched at the water’s impact—not because it was heavy in any way, but because it was cold in comparison to the jungle’s hot sticky air.
“I’d use that up fast, if I were you,” Ellie said.
I turned toward her, crossing both arms over my chest.
“The soap,” she said. “This isn’t some cheap-brand pharmacy soap. It’s all natural, and in this heat, it doesn’t last.”
I opened my right palm, only to find a thick glob remaining; an oily substance leaked through the cracks between my fingers. I understood why most women preferred to use the Working Grounds’ bed of water for bathing—it was essentially free, while showering alongside the waterfall was costly in the sense that each shower required one piece of soap. I couldn’t believe that I’d be spending three years of my life bathing in salt water and only occasionally treating myself to an actual shower, which I’d come to realize was a privileged luxury among the Islanders.
I rubbed the gooey soap all over my body, feeling as though I were taking a shower for the first time in my life. It wasn’t like spreading commercial body wash on your body. The texture was balmy and sleek and smelled of coconut, but it didn’t lather. I could tell Tegan’s concoction was oil-based.
“See you tonight,” I heard Ellie say.
My eyes were sealed tight, with soap layering over my entire face, so I waved awkwardly in her direction. The cool water from above rinsed through my sand-infested hair and across my skin, making me feel whole again. I gently rubbed the water out of my eyes, feeling the smooth skin of my face underneath my fingertips, when suddenly, an overwhelming sadness came over me. The celebration had made me realize that caring for one’s physical appearance was no longer feasible.
And I didn’t mind—I mean, I didn’t really care that I wouldn’t be able to straighten my hair; I didn’t care that my hair on my legs would be prickly, if not long and hairy; I didn’t care that my eyebrows wouldn’t be plucked or that I wouldn’t be wearing any makeup; I didn’t care about my personal appearance at all.
What bothered me the most was that for the next three years, I wouldn’t even be able to see my own face.
CHAPTER 5
I wouldn’t have expected to see Murk sitting among her villagers, laughing with her head thrown back, and sipping liquid from a sliced coconut. She’d always been so secretive—so mysteriously hidden in the depth of the Working Grounds’ waterfall or hidden behind the closed door of her cabin at the far end of the Village.
Seeing her this way opened my eyes to the overlooked reality that she was just like the rest of us: a human being who’d been sentenced to spend years of her life on a remote island, fighting every day to survive among lawless women and predatory animals.
Being leader didn’t make her immune to emotion or pleasure. I watched as she laughed with Trim, telling stories while pointing out past the Village walls, and for the first time since I’d been dropped onto Kormace Island, I realized how fortunate I was to have been found by Trim and to have been brought into a village led by such an admirable and worthy leader, someone capable of maintaining order while also ensuring comfort and overall happiness.
“This seat taken?”
I glanced up. It was Biggie. She was holding a half skull in one hand and a half melon in the other. “Here,” she said, handing me the melon. She sat beside me atop a thick wooden log that had stabilized itself into the ground over the course of several years, I presumed.
“What is this?” I asked. I leaned over the melon bowl and inhaled. The stench made my nostrils flare even wider, and I immediately turned away.
“Oh come on, it ain’t that bad,” she said. She tilted her skull bowl toward her lips with both hands and sipped on the liquid. “Tegan makes it. It’s home brewed.”
“Alcohol?” I asked.
She smiled sideways before drinking some more.
“It smells rotten,” I admitted.
“Kinda is,” she said. “Won’t hurt you, though. Ain’t you ever done a tequila shot or a vodka shot? That shit don’t taste like chocolate, but it sure feels good.” My mouth watered at the thought of chocolate.
I reluctantly tilted the melon toward my lips, allowing the warm fluid to enter past my bottom teeth and over the top of my tongue. The taste was overpowering—it tasted like rubbing alcohol with the subtlety of tropical fruit. I immediately spat it back into the melon bowl, only to then realize that everyone’s eyes had turned my way.
“What’s the matter, Archer? Can’t handle Tegan’s brew?” Eagle said.
Everyone burst out laughing. I stared at her for a moment even though all I wanted to do was glare or tell her to go fuck herself. I wasn’t the one who’d severed her nerves or the reas
on she’d landed herself on Kormace Island to begin with. She was acting like a child.
As the fire crackled, I noticed a crooked smile take shape on her shadowed face. I wasn’t sure whether I had remained quiet simply because confrontation wasn’t in my nature or because Eagle was sitting directly beside Murk.
“Give her a break, Eag. Everyone has a hard time drinking the stuff at first.” Rocket sat down by Eagle’s side and nudged her on the arm.
Eagle scoffed, still eyeing me. “Not like that.”
“Don’t worry, I did the same thing,” I heard.
There was a middle-aged woman standing behind me with both arms crossed over her chest and an overall careless way about her.
“Shit’s not for everyone,” she added.
I tried to smile at her, being that she’d come to my defense, but she walked away to join a group of women gathered on the other side of the fire. Eagle went on to mutter something to Rocket, but I wasn’t able to hear. There were too many voices being thrown in all directions.
I looked around in search of Flander and Fisher, but it was too dark beyond the fire to see anyone’s face. There were dozens of women gathered in honor of Eagle’s bravery the day of the attack.
“You gonna drink that?” Biggie asked, leaning over me.
I looked down at my melon bowl, which was almost entirely full, and I shook my head. I couldn’t see myself ever acquiring a taste for such a vile concoction.
“No use wasting.” She reached over and pulled the drink out of my hands.
I leaned forward with both elbows on my knees, staring into the fire. I imagined myself suddenly waking up from an induced coma, only to be told by hospital staff that I’d suffered a severe head injury the night Gary attacked my mother. Maybe this was all just a dream—Kormace Island, the Hunters, the Northers, the Ogres—maybe none of them were real. Maybe, just maybe… they were all fictional characters from a television series that I’d somehow managed to incorporate into my vivid dreams.
* * *
“Can you believe that?” Melody asked. She was pointing at the daily newspaper, just below a title that read, “New Economical Prison.”
She’d brought in the paper as she did every morning at St. Mariana’s Thrift Store, and we were both leaning over the counter killing time on a rainy Sunday afternoon.
“I thought that was just a rumor,” I said.
“Me too. Listen.” She picked up the paper and pulled it closer to her black-rimmed glasses. “A new plan is currently in place to begin replacing maximum security prisons with government-owned islands for economic purposes and for civilian safety. According to our source, this plan is targeting only the most dangerous of criminals—those convicted of first-degree murder.
“‘The plan is to replace certain concrete institutions with Mother Nature herself,’ Mr. Milas, Minister of the Justice Department, stated during a conference held at the Goliath Centre last week. ‘This is the most economical way to proceed.’
“The length of sentencing remains unclear, and Mr. Milas has yet to provide any clear details as to when this plan is to be implemented.”
Melody glanced up at me. “I’ve been hearing about this for years. I’m surprised they’re actually going through with it.”
I scoffed. “Or someone caught them sending prisoners away and now it’s being leaked publicly.”
She smirked. “Look at you… Conspiracy nut.” She placed the newspaper back on the counter. “Either way, I think it’s brilliant.”
I laughed. “Why’s that?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want to let our tax money feed murderers in prison? I completely agree with the guy. Drop ’em off on an island and let them fend for themselves.”
* * *
“Fruit?”
I glanced up to find an older, orange-haired and freckle-faced woman standing directly in front of me, carrying kabobs of multicolored fruit in both hands.
I hesitated. I’d never been offered fruit on a stick before.
“There’s mango, guava, banana, papaya, and acai berries,” she said, eying the kabob as if trying to point at each individual fruit with her eyes.
“It’s free?” I asked.
I remembered being brought to a hockey game by my mother when I was young, where men and women strolled through the aisles with bags of popcorn and cans of beer. I must have been six, maybe seven years old, and I remembered reaching for a bag of popcorn thinking it was free.
“Nothing’s ever free,” my mother had told me, “even if it’s offered to you.”
“Course it’s free,” the woman said. She plucked one of the kabobs like a rose from a bouquet and handed it to me.
I hadn’t had the time to thank her, before Biggie’s thick arm brushed past my face in reach of a skewer. She took it right out of the woman’s hand, thanked her, and pulled off the first piece of fruit with her teeth.
“Thanks, Fran,” Biggie said.
The woman, Fran, rolled her eyes and made her way around the fire, bending over gently and offering her handmade creations.
“That’s Fran,” Biggie said through a mouthful of chewed-up mango. “She’s one of the Farmers. Likes to be creative when it comes to food.”
“It’s pretty,” I said, poking at a piece of sliced guava. It had a beautiful green exterior, and its insides were a vibrant pinkish red—like the inside of a juicy watermelon. It wasn’t what you’d find at the local grocery store or at the market. It was evident that this fruit hadn’t been subjected to any chemicals or long-distance transportation.
I pulled it off of its finely carved branch and bit into it, careful not to crunch down on its seeds.
“Oh my God,” was all I managed to say.
“Ain’t nothing like Kormace fruit,” Biggie said, finishing her last piece of banana. “You gonna eat that?” She pointed at my mango.
I instinctively pulled away like a rabid dog protecting a piece of broken bone, and Biggie burst out laughing.
“You’re a true Islander now,” she said, throwing an arm around my shoulders so hard I nearly dropped my fruit.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, suddenly feeling as though my bladder might explode.
The funny thing about many apocalyptic movies and TV shows is that they don’t really incorporate the dirty details of basic comfort—which is something I had to learn the hard way on Kormace Island. Believe it or not, Murk had established rules when it came to releasing. Urination was to be done outside the Village walls and away from the Working Grounds.
* * *
“Just keep the Village in sight and do your thing,” Rocket told me one of my first few days on Kormace Island. She then plucked an oversized leaf from the base of a tree. “These are probably your best bet for wiping. I wouldn’t be too adventurous with the type of plant you grab, either… Might break out in a rash.”
She then led me around the Village walls to where greenery turned into rock and flat surfaces became rough and slanted. At the edge of these rocks was a sudden drop.
“We call this the Cliff,” she said.
I peered down into the abyss. I could see the tops of trees and I could hear the soothing sound of flowing water, but nothing more.
“Think of it as a natural garbage disposal pit,” she said. “Bones, feces, fruit peel, bodies, you know… And you don’t hover over it to take a shit, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
I hesitated. “Bodies?”
Rocket shrugged almost nonchalantly, although I could tell she’d lost people she loved by the way she
avoided my eyes. “People die, Brone. It’s not like we have shovels to dig graves for every single one of them.”
“What about funerals? A ceremony?” I asked, suddenly feeling like nothing more than a disposable object constructed of flesh and bone.
She shrugged again. “If they die in battle or on our territory, then of course we celebrate them. If they go missing, well, that’s kind of hush-hush around here. Murk
doesn’t like rumors floating around, ya know? So if someone disappears, no one talks about them.”
“And no one goes looking for them?”
She shook her head. “Not everyone who disappears gets killed. Some of them are used to lure us in by the Northers, which isn’t worth the risk. Some women decide to live on their own—or, at least, try to—and others, well… They seem to think that Rainer has more to offer.”
“That’s the Norther’s leader, right?” I asked.
Rocket smirked. “One and only. I hope she burns in hell.”
* * *
I hated leaving the Village walls past sunset. I caught the Night Watcher’s eyes as I made my way through the Village’s entrance, and I knew that despite her standing there to keep watch over the Village, her presence did not guarantee my safety. She stood tall and stiff, carrying a beige tusk in her right hand, which I knew was the only weapon she had—a means of alerting everyone of oncoming danger.
A horn wouldn’t save me from an attack or a kidnapping. I clenched my teeth as I rushed through a narrow path, guided only by old tracks dimly illuminated by the moon. I reached out, gently gliding my fingertips along the coarse, massive tree trunks as I moved forward.
“When you go, just move away from the Village. No one likes the smell of piss when they eat breakfast,” Rocket had told me the day she brought me to the Cliff.
I glanced back. I could see an orange glow hovering above the Village walls, and I could hear women talking among themselves. I shot several glances in every direction, only to be reunited with darkness and wildlife noises—cracking of tree branches, rustling of leaves, insect cries, and the faraway sound of running water.
I lowered my pants and squatted by the base of a tree, emptying my bladder as quickly as possible. I managed to find a leaf and to refasten my pants around my waist, but the moment I moved toward the Village, I heard something…
My eyes widened into the blackness, as if opening them to their fullest would somehow allow me to see beyond human capability. I couldn’t see anything, but there was movement nearby, and I feared that the sound of my own heart pounding would give away my location.
