by G. C. Julien
I fell into a crouched position and waited. I considered running back to the Village, but for all I knew, I’d be running away from a wild cat. It was better to stay still.
Silence returned. Maybe I was overreacting… Maybe it was nothing more than a rabbit or a wild turkey lurking nearby. I’d been so paranoid ever since Sunny’s abduction that I imagined the slightest of sounds to be some horrid predatory beast.
But the sound that followed next proved to me that I wasn’t overreacting… I was being followed. The noise had been faint but distinguishable nonetheless—heavy breathing.
CHAPTER 6
“You so much as breathe too loud, and I’ll slit your fucking throat,” she said, a filthy hand held tightly over my lips and the sharp point of a blade pressing into the base of my throat.
I lay on my back, my elbows digging into the jungle’s moist earth; she sat on me with both legs on either side of my body. I couldn’t see her face—not because of the darkness but because of the yellow serpentine mask covering her nose, her eyes, and the majority of her forehead. It almost looked as though she’d collected snake molt and glued it to a plain wooden mask.
Behind her stood another woman who wore a similar mask, only it appeared brown and much too large for her face. She fidgeted, constantly shifting her gaze toward the Village as if at any moment, the Night Watcher would blow the horn, warning everyone of the nearby threat.
The woman in the yellow mask leaned in closer, her raunchy breath warming the lower half my face.
“Every time you get paid, we’ll expect a cut.”
The woman behind her shuffled around. “Hurry up, H—Panther, I think someone’s comin’.”
Panther—I assumed it was her code name—turned around and waved a careless hand before returning her focus onto me. “Three pearls, weekly.”
Three pearls? I only earned five pearls per week. And this woman expected me to hand over more than half of my earnings?
“That gonna be a problem?” Panther asked.
I quickly shook my head, feeling as though my heart might explode. I didn’t have much of a choice.
The weight of her body began to take its toll, and all I wanted was to run away, but I couldn’t move.
“You know where the Cliff is?” she asked.
I nodded, feeling the sharp point of her blade dig deeper into my neck.
“There’s a boulder farther down with a palm tree beside it. Dig the pearls behind the boulder, got it?” I nodded.
“Panther, come on…” the other woman said.
“I know you get paid every seven days. In fact, pay day’s coming up, so I’ll expect to fine me some treasure by the Cliff soon,” Panther said. She shoved me into the dirt and climbed off of me. But she didn’t walk away. Instead, she just stood there, hovering over me as would a predator over its tortured prey.
She pointed her blade at me, and I realized it was actually a shiv made of bone. “You mention this to anyone, and waste won’t be the only thing thrown over the Cliff.”
And with that, she disappeared into the jungle. I wished I’d caught a glimpse of her eye color, her hair color, tattoos—anything. But it had been too dark. All I could see in my mind was the cracked snakeskin floating above my face.
I hurried back to the Village, both terrified and vulnerable. What was I supposed to do? Run to Trim? Tell her what happened? I didn’t know who this woman was. For all I knew, she was Trim’s friend. I thought of finding Ellie, but the last thing I wanted to do was put her at risk. This woman—Panther—was unidentifiable. Was she a Norther? An Ogre? Was she one of us? My heart pounded, and my legs trembled so bad I had to walk slowly to avoid collapsing to the ground.
I could hear Murk’s voice in the distance, but it sounded so faint, so surreal as if being emitted through a large construction pipe, or a never-ending tunnel. She was praising Eagle, from what I could gather—recognizing her bravery, her selflessness, and so on. But the last thing I cared about was Eagle.
The only thing racing through my mind was the serpentine masks and the idea of being thrown to my death from atop the Cliff. How had this happened? The Village was supposed to be safe. Murk prided herself on keeping her women safe. Why was there no security outside the Village walls?
“Whoa, Brone, where’re you going?” I heard.
I glanced up, suddenly realizing nothing had changed inside the Village’s walls. Everyone was still celebrating—women were beating down on drums and dancing to the rhythm, drinking from their cups, smiling and laughing, and eating freshly cut fruit from wooden sticks.
“Hello?”
It was Fisher. She was standing in front of me with both hands on her waist and her head tilted to one side.
“I’m just tired. I need sleep,” I said.
“You okay?” she asked.
I nodded and quickly moved past her, but her hand suddenly caught my arm.
“What happened?” she asked.
Fisher wasn’t the empathetic type. She looked at me through narrowed eyes—not those of worry, but rather, concern.
“I… I,” I stammered.
Was my demeanor so different that she had picked up on my fear? Fisher never seemed to worry about others’ emotions. So what did she care, anyway?
She scratched the front of her throat and raised both eyebrows. “You’re bleeding.”
I mirrored her movement and gently pressed my finger against the base of my neck, feeling warmth and irritation; then I pulled my hand away. Blotches of dark red covered my fingertips.
“Well?” she pressed.
“Oh, this,” I said. “I, um… I had to go… You know. And, well,” I said and tried to create a false reality in which I slipped trying to get back up and caught a sharp rock.
“I don’t need to know,” she quickly interrupted. “Just clean it out. The last thing you want is an infection. We don’t have antibiotics here. If Trim sees you with that, you’re in for a speech. Find some lemon, salt, whatever. Go see Tegan, and get that taken care of.”
I nodded and continued toward my tent. The last thing I wanted was to go talk to anyone else. The cut could wait. I’d clean it out in the morning.
I distanced myself from the Village’s celebration and hurried into the comfort of my tent. It wasn’t much, with its dirt flooring, torn ceiling, and a stack of giant leaves I’d found while venturing to the Cliff several days after my arrival on Kormace Island—but it was where I felt comfortable.
“I hope you plan on checking those every night,” Rocket had said, eying me curiously as I dragged a handful of leaves at a time into the Village. “Bugs like leaves. Just sayin’.”
But that night, after having been ambushed by the women in masks, the last thing I wanted to do was rummage through piles of leaves in search of a critter. I hadn’t spotted one in days, and I was willing to take my chances. I dropped heavily onto my side, appreciating the cool beneath me.
For the first time since I’d been dropped onto the island, I felt a hopelessness overshadow my state of surrealism—my need to believe that Kormace Island was nothing more than a nightmare.
The reality of my situation had somehow been triggered, if not amplified, by my attack. I thought of my mother, and I could only pray she was okay. She’d endured so much. Would she try anything stupid? Would I return from Kormace only to find her name listed in the obituaries?
I thought of my body and how filthy and rugged it had become. I wondered if I would return home damaged and scarred, both physically and psychologically. Would I even survive my sentence? It was apparent that war was unfolding, and for all I knew, I could go to sleep one night and wake up to my throat being slit by a Norther.
Then, I thought of the life of comfort I’d once had—sleeping on a pillow-top bed and my down-filled pillows; sitting on our ancient, yet comfortable fabric sofa with a bowl of hot buttery popcorn; having the option to either warm or cool the apartment at any given moment; making a warm cup of coffee in the morning; wearing cle
an clothes every day; being smoothly shaven. My throat swelled, and I felt something I hadn’t felt since being sentenced to Kormace Island—tears. At first, the warm droplets trickled down the sides of my cheeks, but this sadness was quickly overpowered by grief, and with grief came uncontrollable sobbing.
The feeling was so intense that I felt my heart clench every surrounding muscle and my throat swell to the point of causing labored breathing. The crying resulted in a migraine, which brought forth yet another realization—my inability to obtain medication. This would also prove to be a challenge on this island. I couldn’t just pop a few Tylenol to ease the pain or swallow some antacid liquid when I felt nauseated. And then I realized… As a woman, I had monthly visits. How were the Islanders dealing with this? Had they found a way to make tampons?
How was anyone supposed to be prepared for this? I would have rather gone to prison.
Why couldn’t I stop thinking? I pulled one of my giant leaves closer to my chest, holding onto it as I’d once done every night with my fluffy pillow. The effect wasn’t quite the same—the leaf was cool and thin—but it was better than nothing.
All I could do was hope for a better tomorrow.
CHAPTER 7
I didn’t need a mirror to know my eyes were all pink and puffy when I woke up the next morning. I’d cried myself to sleep, which, ever since I was a little girl, had always resulted in my eyes swelling to an embarrassing grapefruit pink.
I avoided eye contact with as many women as possible on my way to breakfast, not wanting to be ridiculed or viewed at as weak. I followed the line to the fire pit with my head low. When it was my turn to be served, I extended my bowl, careful not to glance up.
“One scoop, or two?” Sumi asked.
I glanced up. She’d never cared about me or about what I wanted to eat. Why the change of heart? I Hesitated.
“Two.”
“You get one.” She scooped a spoonful of slimy egg into my bowl then turned to her followers and said, “Told ya she was hiding somethin’. Looks like the city girl finally broke.” Laughter erupted all around me, and I felt everyone’s eyes on me.
“Lookin’ a little pink there, Brone.”
“Stace owes me three pearls. I bet two weeks, she bet one.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, kid.”
“I’ll take care o’ ya, babe.”
“Fuck off, Nym. The girl’s mine.”
Why was everyone talking to me? I tried to move past them, but I was trapped. There were distorted faces all around me—some smiling, others grimacing. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I was pulled out of the crowd.
“Don’t mind them,” Flander said, flicking her wrist, “ain’t like they got nothin’ better to do.”
“Did I miss something?” I asked. “My eyes are swollen… So what?”
“Just a game the women play,” she said. “Every time there’s a new drop, everyone bets on how long it’ll take before the girl finally realizes how shitty her life is and finally breaks down for the first time. Don’t always come quick, ya know. Took me four weeks when I first got ’ere. Think it’s the shock… Nothing feels real at first, ya know?”
I nodded slowly. I definitely knew. I couldn’t understand how these women purposely went out of their way to find amusement in someone else’s misery. I couldn’t imagine myself betting on a drop.
“Case you’re wonderin’,” Flander said, “the average is two weeks.”
I smirked, even though I didn’t find this funny. “So, I’m the average, then.”
She smacked me on the shoulder and laughed. “Eat up, buttercup. We’re goin’ fishing today.”
* * *
“I feel sorry for you,” Rocket said, leaning in.
We were exiting the Working Grounds, with bows and spears in hand, on our way to the Western shoreline.
I turned around to catch dozens of women with their eyes glued to me. They were smiling at me, but not in a genuine way. There was a thirst in their eyes—a sexual, predatory lust. I swallowed hard.
Rocket shook her head. “You’re fair game now, Brone.”
“Because I cried?” I asked, even though all I’d wanted to do was scream. Was I not allowed to cry? How juvenile were these women?
“Just the way things work around here,” Rocket said. “You’re not available until you break, ’cause once you break, it means you’re one of us. Those are the rules. So most women won’t even look at you until that happens. But now, in their eyes, you’re fresh meat.”
“But I’m not a lesbian…” I whispered.
Trim and Fisher, who must have been listening in on our entire conversation, burst out laughing up ahead of us.
“You are now,” Fisher said, glancing back at me.
What was that supposed to mean?
Rocket must have noticed the look of disgust on my face because she nudged me in the shoulder and said, “Happens to guys too, you know… in prison. I miss a good fuck like any other woman here, but all we got’s each other. You learn to like it”—she winked at me—“sometimes more than you thought you did.”
I felt my face warm. I’d only ever had sex a handful of times at the age of sixteen with my boyfriend, and to be quite frank, it was everything my mother had told me it would be—painful and awkward. The last thing on my mind on Kormace Island was sex.
“This way,” Trim ordered.
I saw a break of white in between the trees up ahead, and as we moved closer, I realized that the light was in fact not light at all—it was sand. We stepped out into the opening, and I was nearly blinded by how bright everything was. The sand was white as snow, and I could see it even through the ocean water.
“Welcome to the Western shoreline,” Biggie said, tapping me on the back so hard I nearly fell forward.
“Why couldn’t they have dropped me off here?” I asked, but all I received in return was laughter.
I’d never travelled before, but the scenery before me could have been mistaken for a picture found on the cover of a travel magazine. A true paradise. A cool mist floated over the beach, sprinkling onto my chest and face. I listened to the sound of waves crashing on the tide and the sound of birds chirping as they flew in circular motions above the water.
It was a bit overwhelming, if not frightening, to gaze out into open water. The horizon was flat with not one hint of land in sight. I couldn’t imagine how far we were from civilization. Were there other islands like Kormace? Other felons sentenced to the same fate?
“Brone, come on,” I heard.
I glanced up to spot Trim walking into the ocean completely naked. Fisher quickly pulled off her top, revealing small but rounded breasts and a set of abs you’d expect to see on a man. The others quickly followed, tossing their leather garments onto the bed of sand and running wildly into the foamy water.
“Come on, Brone!”
I stared into the open water—at Trim, whose head was visible, but nothing else; at Biggie, who stomped her way into the water, her body jiggling at every step; at Fisher, who dove headfirst into the deep; at Rocket, who playfully lunged toward Flander; and finally, at Flander, who cursed as she fell backward, submerging herself entirely into the water.
Did they really expect me to join them? Naked? I awkwardly tugged at the bottom corner of my hand-sewn leather top.
“It’s just skin!”
“No one here but us, Brone!”
I’d always been the type of girl to shy away in one of the enclosed changing rooms after gym class while all the other girls dressed and undressed around one another, gossiping about boys or about the newest sugar-free salad dressing available at the store. I’d always been so self-conscious of my body, even though I weighed a measly one hundred and fifteen pounds and I’d been gifted with a naturally muscular build.
It’s just skin, I repeated in my head. I knew I had to get over myself. Life just wasn’t the same anymore, and it wouldn’t be for a very long time. I’d be hairy and filthy, and I’d smell of sour swea
t and salt for the next few years. There was no use trying to maintain appearances or impress anyone for that matter. We were all living life on Kormace Island for the sole purpose of existing, of surviving—not for pleasantries.
With this new outlook in mind, I slid my top over my head, slipped out of my bottoms, and removed my brown cruddy sneakers, before running full force into the open water.
Although captive on a remote island, I felt liberated for the first time in my life.
“Wooooo!” Rocket slapped a handful of water at my face.
I splashed back, forgetting the island’s brutality and the savagery just long enough to relish something I hadn’t experienced for quite some time—fun.
But it wasn’t long before Trim stepped out of the water and ordered us to do the same. I slid my clothes back on, covering my skin in a grainy layer of wet sand and fastened my quiver and bow onto my back.
“Here,” Trim said, tossing a fishing spear to me.
To my surprise, I actually caught it.
“Time to fish,” she said.
The others were handed their spears, and together, we moved along the shoreline toward what appeared to be a small bay bordered by heavy rocks and darkened sand.
Trim was the first to step up onto one of the rocks and stab her spear into the water. She pulled back, revealing a large blue-tailed fish that flapped from side to side.
“And that’s how it’s done.” She smirked, pulled the fish off the sharpened point of her spear, and tossed it into the sand beside my feet.
“Show off,” Rocket muttered.
We circled the bay, stepping up onto the stones, and I couldn’t help but gaze into the water, admiring the multitude of shapes and colors moving swiftly below us. Spears started piercing the water, and the fish moved about frantically. I just stood there with my spear gripped in both hands.
“Come on, Brone, help us out,” Biggie said, wiping sweat from the tops of her eyebrows.
“Ain’t rocket science,” Flander said.
