2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Charon
Click, click. “Pass.”
The boat rocks beneath me from where it's tied to the dock, surrounded by red water thick with floating bodies. Some are still moving, some aren't. The price you pay for resisting.
“You all know why you're here.” Jonas's voice cuts through the smoky morning air as he paces across my deck, hands clasped behind his back like he’s addressing recruits instead of prisoners. I suppose in a way, he is.
Arrogant prick.
A spotlight flickers from the watchtowers overhead, casting a sickly pallor on the line of prisoners standing near razor-wire fencing. A constant reminder that Zone T was built from the bones of a prison, and it still functions like one .
I stand near the railing, Nyx perched on my shoulder, claws digging lightly through the fabric of my jacket. She shifts restlessly, black eyes glittering as she scans the row of trembling faces.
“Welcome to Zone T,” Jonas continues, flashing a horrific smile that only accentuates his mutilated face. “Where freedom is earned, not given. Your crimes brought you here, and the only thing that determines your stay…is what’s in your blood.”
“Step forward,” one of the guards commands, motioning to the next person. “Don’t flinch.”
A boy—sixteen, maybe—wipes his nose and glances fearfully at me, but I offer no comfort. I can’t .
Nyx launches upward, her wings beating sharply in the air as she circles once overhead, then drops like a stone. The boy squeaks when she lands on his shoulder, stabbing her beak toward the exposed skin of his neck. A single drop of blood wells up, which she quickly laps away.
“ Pass .”
The crowd exhales collectively, but it’s short-lived when the next person is shoved forward.
Behind me, Jonas keeps talking, making me grit my teeth.
“…we must remain vigilant. The infection adapts. It hides in blood, in the water, in everything . But thanks to our Judge’s efforts, we continue to stay ahead of the rot.”
I nearly roll my eyes at the words I've heard him speak a thousand times.
Nyx flaps to the edge of the boat, already watching the next one step forward. A woman, shaking and frail. Probably hasn’t slept or eaten in days, either. But it doesn’t matter. Nyx will decide.
The crow lands on the woman’s shoulder, then her beak comes down sharply, pecking once at the woman's throat. She flinches but doesn’t move to swat the bird away.
Nyx tilts her head. “ Pass .”
The woman sobs, and I gesture toward the gang plank, allowing her to pass where a guard waits, preparing her intake to the prison.
Next. Last one.
A man this time with darting eyes. Nyx hops to him, lightly landing on his shoulder, and the man's breath stutters when her beak meets skin.
A second passes. Then another.
Click, click. “ Fail .”
The man starts shaking his head before the word even finishes leaving Nyx's mouth. He takes a step back, lips parting with a plea, but Nyx doesn’t give him a chance to beg.
She dives for his face, sharp beak piercing his eyeball, and the man shrieks when she pecks it out before swallowing the mushy mass whole.
The price you pay for being rotten.
My boat rocks violently when a soldier steps up to the man and hauls him away, his screams echoing off the high walls protecting Zone T. He'll be put with the other rotters—those who carry the infection—and sectioned off from the rest of the prisoners.
An eye for an eye.
Jonas follows them off the boat, silver glinting in the hole on his face where his nose should have been. I shudder at the thought of how painful it would be to cut off one's own nose. “Let this be a reminder to you all. Zone T is not your punishment. It’s your second chance.”
It's your death.
Nyx flaps back to my shoulder, talons digging into my flesh. Blood drips from her beak as she nips at my ear. “ In we go.”
I huff, petting her head with a click of my tongue in response. Patience.
Rita steps up next to me, the silver plate on her skull glowing under the moonlight. “Well, that's the last of them. Except for him.”
She points toward the back of the boat, where the man from earlier still lies passed out. His clothes are torn and dirty, blond curls tangled around his face. Thankfully, that leg stopped bleeding after I'd cauterized it with a hot poker.
“What shall we do with him?” she asks, tapping her chin. “Bet he'd make good sport in the pit with only one foot. Or a new test subject for the Judge.”
No.
Fury lances through me, but I lift the shoulder that Nyx is on with faked disinterest, causing my bird to bristle her feathers.
Another soldier walks over to the man's prone body, kicking him hard enough in the ribs that I hear one crack, and red explodes inside my vision.
When the soldier pulls a foot back for another kick, I’m across the deck in seconds, my fist connecting with his jaw in a sickening crunch. He staggers back, spitting blood, eyes wide with disbelief.
I throw another punch, then another, until he drops like a sack of grain on my deck. The others reach for their weapons, but Rita holds up a hand, her metallic skull gleaming as she watches me.
Nyx screeches above us, landing protectively on the injured man's chest, wings spread wide. I step between them anyway, planting myself firmly over his broken body as I glare at the remaining soldiers down on the dock.
Mine.
Rita tilts her head, eyes bouncing between me and the man like she’s solving a puzzle. “Got it. Don't play with the monster's food.”
I bare my teeth, standing my ground as Nyx flutters to my shoulder, squawking loudly. “ In we go, in we go.”
Rita raises a brow in amusement, stepping forward to pull two crude silver coins from her pocket. “The Judge thanks you for your service.”
With a shake of my head, I wave the coins away, just wanting her off my boat so I can wrap the man's wounds.
She tilts her head. “Supply replenish?”
I nod once, and she curls her fingers around the coins before putting them away. “Until the next one, then. Get the Ferryman his supplies.”
I watch as she takes the prison's new residents beyond the gates, leading them into their new life. One they never wanted, or asked for. But it doesn't matter. The Judge will soon make use of them all. Some will get the chance to become soldiers, and others, well…
Nyx shifts, her talons flexing against my jacket like she can sense my pulse quicken.
I try to ignore the tightness in my chest, but my heart pounds too fast as I drag my gaze to the carrier on my deck.
He’s still breathing. I can see it—the slow, uneven rise and fall of his chest. Blood and dirt obscure his features, but he’s alive.
" Fail, fail ," Nyx croaks, snapping her beak. " Eye for an eye ."
Shushing her sharply, I shake my head, wishing I could tell her no, not this one. Not those eyes.
A whistle pulls my attention toward the gates, where Jonas stands just beyond the threshold.
"Here you go, freak," he calls, grinning cruelly as he shakes a burlap ration bag. "Come and get it."
Then he’s gone, vanishing behind the walls, leaving my bag on the cracked pavement far away from my boat.
Beyond my reach.
The water licks at the hull, whispering warnings only I can hear when I step toward the gangplank. My grip tightens on the railing, nails pressing into the damp wood as my teeth bite into my tongue. Up above, laughter erupts from the guards in the watchtowers, their weapons trained on me.
I can’t leave the boat. But the bag sits there, full of everything I need to survive. And I'm starving.
Which means I have two choices:
Step onto the dock and risk whatever waits for me—death, or things worse than death.
Or stay and let the hunger hollow me out until there's nothing left.
One way or another, this boat will become my tomb.