The Feral Sentence (Book 1, Part 2) (6 page)

* * *

“
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.

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.

“
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.