The Feral Sentence (Book 1, Part 2) (3 page)

“
We’re
going on a hunt,” she said. “Trim’s orders.”

To my
surprise, Pin and Hamu had been told to stay behind and continue
practicing along with several other Battle Women.

“
The
fewer women, the better,” Biggie said, looking down at
me.

She led
me to Trim and the usual crew, and I suddenly felt nauseous at the
realization that I was the only Archer. Were they really going to
entrust me with the responsibility of capturing food to feed the
entire Village? I’d managed to hit my target today—big whoop. How
was I supposed to hit a
moving
target?

The sound of
women sparring grew distant as did the waterfall’s powerful roar.
Trim led us into the jungle, and I felt a lump swell at the base of
my throat. The anxiety was not the result of my having to prove my
worth as a Hunter, but rather, the result of one horrifying memory:
Sunny. I couldn’t get the image out of my mind nor the idea of
Ogres lurking nearby, women who’d turned away from civilization and
succumbed to living like animals.

I couldn’t
imagine what these women would do—if they hadn’t done it already—to
Sunny. Rocket had let it slip that cannibalism was one of the many
myths associated with the concept of Ogres, along with sacrificial
rituals and baiting.

I’d feared the
Northers ever since being dropped onto Kormace Island, but if there
was one thing far worse than Northers, it was Ogres.

I followed
Trim and the others into the jungle, my heart racing every time I
heard a noise in the distance. The farther away we were led from
the waterfall, the more anxious I felt. I gripped and regripped my
bow, afraid that it might slip out of my sweaty palm.

“
This
way,” Trim whispered.

She led us
through a narrow path fabricated of moist verdure and along the
current of a crystal-clear stream that originated from the Working
Grounds. I ducked just in time to avoid an oversized spider web—an
intricate pattern fabricated at the tips of two tree branches.

The further we
ventured, the more uncomfortable I became.

“
Brone,”
I heard.

My name had
come from the front of the line led by Trim.

“
At the
front,” Trim ordered.

I wasn’t
accustomed to being at the front of the line. The front of the line
had always been reserved for

Trim and
Fisher, and oftentimes Eagle during a hunt. I remembered Eagle’s
short, messy blonde hair and the way she’d stared down at me the
first time we’d met. I didn’t know her, but I knew she was still a
human being, and for the sake of the Hunters and all other women on
the island, I truly hoped she’d be okay.

I walked by
Trim’s side, shifting my eyes toward every sound I heard to the
point of paranoia.

“
Relax,”
Trim said, glancing sideways at me.

I parted my
lips to speak, even though I had nothing to say, but Trim raised a
hand and everyone stopped moving. How was I supposed to relax when
even Trim knew danger lurked nearby?

“
Tracks,” she said.

Fisher moved
in closer. She crouched beside us and analyzed the print that had
been left in a patch of mud. The print was sloppy, and a good part
of it was missing, but it didn’t take a genius to see that this
print didn’t belong to a human being.

Fisher gently
touched the inside of the print with her index and middle finger
then glanced up at Trim and said, “Leopard.”

A leopard?
This was the kind of jungle I’d been dropped on? The kind that had
wildcats? I suddenly felt lightheaded. How was anyone supposed to
survive this island without facing a painful, gruesome death? If it
wasn’t a Norther, it was an Ogre—and if it wasn’t either one of
those, it was some predatory animal in search of its next meal.

Trim turned
around. “Keep your eyes open for spots or silky black.”

“
Silky
black?” I asked.

“
Black
panthers. They tend to hide in trees,” she said.

“
Yeah
and drag their carcasses up there,” Rocket added.

Fisher
suddenly lunged forward and stood face-to-face with Rocket; both
her fists were clenched on either side of her body. I could see
Fisher’s shoulders rising up and down to the rhythm of her rapid
breathing.

“
Fisher,
I… I wasn’t trying to bring up Emilia,” Rocket said. “I just meant
in general.”

“
I know
what you fucking meant, and no one needed to be reminded,” Fisher
said.

“
That’s
enough,” Trim said.

But Fisher
didn’t move. It was apparent that the thought of tearing Rocket’s
face off was running through her mind.

“
Bring
her up one more time,” Fisher said.

“
I said
enough!” Trim grabbed Fisher by the arm and pulled her
back.

I could tell
the confrontation had shaken Rocket up a bit by the way she
nervously tugged on her fingers and bit down on her lip, and I
didn’t blame her. Fisher was a fighter, a born killer while Rocket
was fast but small and frail in comparison. Rocket wouldn’t have
stood a chance.

“
Let’s
keep moving,” Trim ordered. “We go west, away from the
prints.”

Fisher and
Trim moved forward quickly, leaving me behind with the other
Hunters.

“
Who’s
Emilia?” I asked.

Flander
glanced toward Fisher and Trim, ensuring safe distance, and said,
“Fisher’s girlfriend. She was killed by a panther.”

“
And
dragged into a tree,” Rocket added.

Flander shook
her head. “It was awful. She was screamin’, but we couldn’t stop
the attack. When it finally killed her, it dragged her up above us,
and we just stood there, listen’ to the crunchin’ and tearin’
sounds of the cat eatin’ through her bones and muscles.”

“
Shut
up,” Biggie interjected, “all of you. You know better than to talk
about Emilia. Ever.”

She brushed
passed us, nearly knocking Flander over in the process, and
followed Trim through an array of multicolored flowers.

“
You’d
better get up there too, kid,” Flander said. “Archers always stay
at the front.”

I did as
instructed and caught up with Trim and Fisher. I only prayed they
weren’t relying on me to save them from a wild panther with my
mediocre archery skills.

The sound of
water suddenly caught my attention, and I licked my dry, chapped
lips. Trim led us to an opening filled with moss-covered trees and
smooth stones scattered across a shallow bed of water. There was a
small waterfall at the far back, although one could barely call it
a waterfall. It was a flow of water that poured down from one rock
to another.

“
Rest,”
Trim said.

Rocket was the
first to remove a dark brown leather water bladder from her belt.
She rushed to the clear water spilling over the sharp-edged rocks
and filled it to the brim. The others followed, and I realized I
had more purchases to make from the merchant tents.

“
It’s
fresh?” I asked.

Although my
mouth was pasty and my lips felt as though they’d shriveled up like
raisins, the last thing I wanted to do was drink salt water.

“
Sure
is,” Biggie said. She’d sat down at the edge of the pool, and she
began splashing water on her face, her neck, and throughout her
short woolly hair.

I wanted to
jump into the water, but instead, I placed my bow against the
nearest tree and crept up to the waterfall, then formed a cup
underneath with the palms of my hands. The water was cool and
hard—a texture dissimilar to the large green bed of salt water
found on the Working Grounds, which was warm and silky. I pressed
my lips against the edge of my palm and slowly tilted back,
allowing the fluid to pour past my lips and into my parched
mouth.

The taste was
beyond satisfaction. I was given filtered water on the Working
Grounds in a stone-carved cup during training, but it was always
warm. This water was fresh and crisp, and it slid so effortlessly
into the bottom of my stomach, cooling my insides in the
process.

I drank some
more until I felt my stomach might explode. I could feel the water
splashing around inside, and it felt as though I’d just eaten an
entire meal.

The other
women had already filled their water bladders by the time I was
finished loading up on a day’s worth of water, and they’d all sat
down to rest around the small pond, their bare feet dipped into the
water. I knew I’d have to stop our hunt on several occasions to
pee. I could live with that—I only hoped Trim and the others would
be so patient.

I slid off my
sneakers—which were now entirely brown and ripping at the soles—and
sat down between Flander and Biggie. Flander was playing with her
water bladder—rubbing the thick stitching with her index finger and
brushing her hand over the smooth exterior.

“
Three
pearls,” she said, glancing sideways at me.

“
Oh,” I
said, “I don’t want to take—”

She chortled
as if I were dumber than a dead battery. “I ain’t selling you
mine.” I stared at her.

“
When
you go see Hammer,” she said, “don’t let her charge you more than
three pearls.”

Trim laughed.
I’d never heard her laugh before. She was much nicer to look at
with a smile on her face. It seemed to take away from the ugliness
she’d been cursed with at birth.

“
You got
gypped,” she told Flander.

“
Whad’ya
mean?” Flander furrowed her eyebrows and grimaced.

“
You’re
a Hunter,” Trim said nonchalantly. “All necessities are
free.”

“
And
water’s a necessity when hunting,” Fisher chimed in, raising her
water bladder.

Flander
grunted. “Well ain’t nobody told me.” “We just did,” Trim said.

Flander rolled
her eyes toward me. “What’re you here for? How long’s your
sentence?”

I shot several
glances at the rest of the Hunters, feeling both violated and
tricked. I’d been told that our past lives were irrelevant on
Kormace Island.

“
What’s
said here, stays here,” Biggie said, towering over me. “I killed a
boy in high school during a fight. Dey waited for me after school,
to prove that I wasn’t too big to take down. Two of ’em ran, but
when I caught the leader, I couldn’t stop myself. Just kept beatin’
down on his face over and over ’gain.” She sighed. “Got sentenced
to three years here.”

“
How
long do you have left?” I asked.

She quickly
looked up at Trim. “Don’t matter.”

I didn’t have
the time to question her any further.

“
I shot
someone, got seven years,” Fisher said, glaring at the water around
her feet.

“
That’s
it?” Biggie said. I just gave my life story and dat’s all you gon’
say?”

Fisher
grimaced then rolled her eyes. “I was involved in some illegal
shit—you know, gangs.” She widened her eyes at me as if I was too
stupid to understand the concept of street gangs. “Anyways… I had
to shoot some guy who’d been selling on our corner. Turns out he
was a cop’s kid.”

I wasn’t sure
whether to feel sorry for her or frightened by her. Was this
sharing of information supposed to make me feel closer to these
women?

“
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.