A Lucky Day

Summary: A routine search for a way off the plateau turns into yet another battle for survival for Roxton and Marguerite. ( This story was written for TLWfix's Challenge #3 June 2002 )

Disclaimer: The Lost World does not belong to me. *sigh* It belongs to The Over the Hill Gang, Coote/Hayes, New Line Television, et al, …

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The trigger clicked on an empty chamber.

Out of bullets. Roxton cursed under his breath, and pulled the trigger again, although he knew quite well that the rifle could not fire without reloading, and he had no more ammo with which to reload. Great! Now what?! He had hoped that the body of the scarred gray and black raptor he'd killed a moment ago – unfortunately after, instead of before the brute had pierced his leg with its long sharp teeth - would distract the others into feeding instead of continuing to hunt him.

But this was not his lucky day.

Out of ammunition, out of time, but not out of danger. There were still half a dozen raptors left. Big, nasty, angry-looking raptors. REALLY big. REALLY close! He changed his grip on the stock of his rifle, and used it to thrust a smashing blow upward into the closest snout snapping at him.

The yellowish eyes blazed fiercely even as the head was forced away, interfering in the attacks of two of the other beasts and giving Lord John Roxton the moment he needed.

He ran. They were right behind him. His breath ached in his chest; sweat ran in rivers down his face; muscles burned beneath his skin; his leg bled in a slow, warm gush with each step. But he couldn't stop. She was waiting and counting on him. Under those conditions she wouldn't last long. He couldn't let her down. Ignore the pain. Don't think. Just run. Survive.

If he didn't get away from them, Marguerite was dead. And that just wasn't acceptable.

So he ran for all he was worth, dodging in and out between the trees, leaping through the jungle underbrush, feeling the branches tear at his clothing. He lost his hat, but he didn't even flinch, knowing that he had to find a way to lose the raptor pack, a way they couldn't track the blood that was steadily flowing from his wound. Blast that one particularly fast raptor that had caught up with him just as he'd reached the clearing!

He could feel the vibrations of the raptors' powerful clawed feet thundering across the jungle floor in his wake, and occasionally - too often - the heat of their breath and the stir of air near his body as their teeth or talons came close to snagging him. The crash of smaller trees, the cracking of branches in the brush, and the piercing hunting cry of the vicious predators made it seem like they completely surrounded him. His own labored breathing and pounding heart filled his ears like thunder.

Which direction - there! Yes, he had his bearings, despite having started out in random flight. Now think, John, think! He and Marguerite had passed this way as they headed into the mountains to search for a path home. It had only been a couple days ago and he was sure he remembered a place he could use, if he could just strike it right. Could he find it again with all this zigging and zagging through the jungle?

It had been too long already. Marguerite couldn't possibly hold on much longer. He had to escape these remaining predators NOW! The tall hunter saw what he was looking for and dove through a patch of brush, leaving his rifle there under the shrubs.

Sure enough, he had remembered correctly. He tumbled down a clay bank and into the foaming rapids of a swift-flowing ribbon of water. He caught one desperate gulp of air and submerged himself, then angled back to the steep riverbank he'd just come down. There was less of a current here. He held his place under water and looked back up toward the sunshine that shimmered through from the surface.

One shadowy form leapt over, passing by Lord Roxton's position near the bank, splashing into the midst of the river and thrashing forward toward the other side. A second and third followed rapidly, to the left and right. The fourth, fifth and sixth splashed into the river in quick succession and surged after the first few.

But John stayed where he was, watching, waiting, his lungs burning as his air ran out. Only when his vision began to blur around the edges did he allow himself to rise cautiously to the surface. He broke through to the air as quietly as he could manage, sucking in precious oxygen only through his nostrils despite his dire need to inhale as much air as he could. He wanted to make the least noise possible even in the midst of the sounds of rushing river.

With only enough of his face above the water to breathe, his dark green eyes searched the other bank of the river. The raptors had been getting smarter and smarter, showing the ability to learn, to work together, to anticipate the explorers . . . at least, the ones who survived encounters with the humans. If any of this lot had experienced battle with the expedition members before, it was possible the beasts wouldn't simply charge on forward in the same direction their prey had been heading. It wouldn't be the first time he'd seen a raptor stop and search for a trail, seeming to actually think it through.

But it appeared this just might be his lucky day after all: he could still hear them charging through the brush, heading away without pause.

Quickly he clawed his way back up the clay bank, then sprawled under the shelter of the shrubs at the top. He struggled to get his breathing under control as he retrieved his rifle and unhooked the shoulder strap. The winded hunter used it to make a tourniquet for his leg. At least his dip in the river water would have cleansed the wounds a little; there was no time for more now. He tightened the strap as much as he could, then rolled out from under the bushes and staggered to his feet, rifle securely in hand.

Marguerite! Have to get back to Marguerite!

Roxton ignored the clear trail of crushed bushes and jungle grasses that led back to the clearing where he'd had the last clash with the raptors, and headed straight uphill. He'd been leading the group of predators away from where he'd left the dark-haired adventuress, and this was a more direct line toward her than following his back trail would be.

The couple had been hiking home, moving toward the treehouse after another unsuccessful search for a way off the plateau/ They'd been coming down towards the river from the mountainside when the raptors had jumped them. Fighting as they'd retreated, they'd been forced to the edge of a cliff and had tried to run along it as they continued fighting off the group of persistent dinosaurs.

Marguerite had shot at least four of the raging beasts, and John had nailed another five - the largest group of raptors they'd ever seen in one hunting pack. The running conflict had dragged on for over half an hour, with the couple repeatedly fighting free of the pack and trying to retreat to safety. The slender brunette was much stronger than she looked, but the jungle heat, the rough terrain, and the length of the battle - as well as a number of small wounds from close calls - had exhausted her.

She'd still been game and she'd have continued doing her best to stay at his side, but Roxton had keenly noted both the decrease in her response time and a tremor in her usually accurate aim. So when his sharp eye had seen the ledge a little below them, he'd taken immediate advantage of it.

"Look! This shelf will hold until it's safe," he'd announced, pointing over the rim.

Marguerite had stumbled to a halt, clutching his arm as she leaned over to look. "Are you crazy?! That will never hold us!" was her gasped response.

"Trust me! It will do the job." His reassuring smile had met her incredulous gray-green gaze. "Would I suggest it if I weren't sure?"

She couldn't argue with that. Roxton's plans had saved their lives more times than she could even remember these days. But she'd looked downward again, hesitating as she scanned the cliffside. She shook her head. "How will we get back up? There isn't anything to use for a hand or foot hold."

Roxton had touched his backpack. "Rope. Now quick, before they catch sight of us again! I'll lower you down." He hadn't needed much rope to lower her over the edge, having correctly judged that it was only about ten feet down. It was far enough to be out of reach of any raptor that might try to snap at her from above, which was all that mattered.

Of course she'd been predictably angry when she'd realized he wasn't going to join her there, as he'd implied in order to persuade her to allow him to lower her onto the ledge.

But there'd been no time to do more than assure her that he'd be back for her as soon as he could lead the rest of the raptor pack away – he'd heard them coming again. He'd only paused for one last look down into her beautiful eyes. "I'll be back," he promised. "Just hold on."

It had been for her own good; she never could've survived another round with that hissing, snapping band of predators.

None-the-less, it was only a temporary safe place for her.

The ledge hadn't been wide enough to allow her much room for movement. She was correct that there hadn't been handholds to allow her to climb back up without help, and she wouldn't be able to sit or walk about. Moreover she'd already been tired and unsteady. He had no doubt that she could manage to balance there for a little while, but didn't want to leave her there any longer than absolutely necessary. She would fall off into the ravine below the ledge if he didn't get back to her soon enough.

It had already been far longer than he had originally intended to leave her. So he forged ahead as quickly as he could, not sparing his leg, back up the mountainside, working around to the cliff.

Marguerite Krux hugged the rock as closely as possible, pressing her back to the cliff face and cursing the heat of the sun above her. She was coated in perspiration but if she removed her blouse she'd end up suffering severe sunburn from the open exposure of her fair skin to the powerful tropical sun. She couldn't even fan herself with her hat – she'd tried it once and had nearly overbalanced herself as the accessory was caught by the hot wind that sheered upwards along the face of the cliff. The resulting powerful tug on her arm had almost pulled her straight over the edge!

Once she'd realized how powerful the wind was, she'd actually spent the better part of a quarter hour working a scarf free from her backpack so she could wrap it over her hat and tie it beneath her chin to prevent it from being blown away. She couldn't afford to get sunstroke by losing her hat.

"Could this day get any better?!" she huffed angrily to herself.

Where the devil was Roxton? He'd been gone so long now that her anger at his high-handed manipulation was beginning to change to serious worry. And her anxiety wasn't just for the tall handsome hunter who'd been wooing her over this past couple years, though the tears she shed were certainly for his sake. No, as frightened as she was for John, she was almost as concerned about her physical condition.

She was getting pretty shaky, dehydrated as a result of their running skirmishes and the combined heat of the sun and wind as she braced herself on the narrow rock shelf so high above the ravine floor. She'd already used up all the water left in her canteen, and she knew she needed to drink more very soon. The constant strain required to stay upright against the cliff wasn't helping.

Almost immediately after John left her here, she'd meticulously searched the rock between herself and the top of the cliff, hoping to find a way to get herself up without waiting for him to get back. Her tool kit was tucked away in her backpack - after all, one never knew when there might be an opportunity to harvest a few gemstones; one should always be prepared – so she'd briefly contemplated making an effort to chisel her own hand holds into the rock between herself and the rim. But it would take far more time and a much broader base to work from than this meager ledge John had deposited her on before he'd run off.

"Blast the man! Does he always have to be the hero?!" she demanded of the wind.

Oh, she'd realized almost immediately that he'd been motivated by his intention to shield her from another confrontation with the wily raptors. But why hadn't he just joined her down here instead of insisting on leading the predators away? They might've been unnoticed here below the edge of the cliff. The raptors might've gone on by, following the humans' path of flight without realizing their prey were hidden over the side of the cliff.

Then again, she admitted honestly to herself, the raptors had been evidencing far too much intelligence lately to blindly trust to that hope. John might've ended up trapped down here beside her, with the raptors waiting for them to climb back up. This way at least he'd been sure that the raptors would follow him, since he was giving them a real trail to follow.

But had he been able to elude them? Marguerite sent yet another prayer heavenward for his safety.

A new blast of heated air rose along the cliff, whipping under her khaki skirt and making her inhale sharply as it puffed out her skirt, pulling at her and filling her nostrils with the hot air. "Roxton, I'm going to kill you myself if you survive those raptors!" she muttered hoarsely to herself, once again fighting to stay upright on the ledge.

She'd tried kneeling or sitting on the ledge, but found herself even less balanced that way, more subject to having her limbs caught in the updrafts of wind that seared the rocks. So she'd settled for merely taking off her backpack, setting it between her booted feet to hold it in place. This had enabled her to press her back to the cliff face, which was as far as she could manage to get from the buffeting of the winds. It wasn't that much more stability, but it did make a difference. Marguerite was afraid she was going to need that little bit of difference to avoid tumbling into the ravine before Roxton returned.

What a day to be wearing her skirt! This would've been so much easier in her safari trousers! At least the sun was finally starting to go down. The heat might taper off soon.

Where was John? Lord, let him be all right!

As soon as he was near enough, he began to call out her name. The British nobleman was immeasurably relieved when he heard her respond furiously, "Well, it's about bloody time, Roxton!"

He sprawled on the ground, leaning over the edge somewhat precariously in his hurry, and met her glittering gray gaze. "Sorry, my dear, but the blighters were more persistent than I planned on. Up you come!"

As he dropped the rope to her he noted that there were tear tracks on her dusty face, and her eyes were as full of worry as the usual fury he'd expected after getting the better of her as he'd done. Tactfully, he made no comment about the tears and worry, but simply proceeded with climbing to his feet the second he'd verified her grasp on the lifeline he lowered to her. The hunter braced himself and began to pull her up.

The ire in her expression disappeared entirely once she was back on solid ground and she had her first good look at his blood-stained pant leg and battered appearance. "John, you look terrible!" she cried, all anger gone in her sudden overwhelming concern for him.

She wanted to tend the punctures immediately, but it was too close to the path of their previous encounters with the raptor pack for the experienced hunter to feel comfortable about staying for any length of time. He took just long enough to reload his rifle with ammunition from the backpack she'd been carrying, and to give Marguerite a long drink from his canteen. Then he insisted that they move on until they could find someplace more secure to stop. "Once we find a safe place, Marguerite, you can play Florence Nightingale to your heart's content," he teased lightly.

Marguerite agreed reluctantly, ignoring his attempt to distract her. She was worried not only about the amount of blood on his leg but the multitude of scratches and bruises from his desperate run through the brush down the mountainside and into the river. Typically, she covered up her concern for him by finding something else to fret about. In this case she opted for scolding about the condition of his clothes as they moved away from the cliff in search of a safer area.

"Really, Roxton, couldn't you have chosen a path with less briars and sharp edges?! Do you know how long it's going to take to mend all those tears - not to mention laundering out all the stains! It looks like you've coated half your body with some kind of clay!"

He ignored her complaints, understanding from long experience that she was only venting her tension. He'd already satisfied himself that her own cuts and abrasions were not too serious, so he just kept leading her at a good clip until they were well away from the site of the chase. He refused any rest stops for his own sake, scorning the continued pain in his leg in favor of gaining distance from danger, but he insisted on several pauses to continue giving Marguerite water to quench her deep thirst.

She'd been far too close to being dehydrated after the extended time in the hot sun and wind with only a little water; he'd seen it at once when he had her safe beside him atop the cliff. Fortunately, there were plenty of streams on the mountainside to enable them to refill the canteens as needed.

The sun was near setting before he found a place he deemed defensible and safe for the night, having rejected three other places Marguerite had argued were perfectly fine. Then he insisted that they should top off the canteens and set up camp before doing anything else. As a result, the worried brunette was predictably irritated with him by the time they had the "camp" prepared. Wisely, he didn't insist on tending to her injuries first, knowing she'd never allow it. She was way too wound up from the day's stresses. The best thing he could do now was permit her to fuss over him a while, so he allowed her to tend his wounds.

Marguerite fetched a bowl of water from the nearby stream and set about looking after him. He stoically endured her scolding for leaving her behind and accepted her continued tirade about the state of his clothing. He knew her true feelings were coming through in the gentle ministrations of her trembling hands as she washed and medicated all the places on his lean jungle-hardened body that bore signs of their latest battle to survive.

His amused, knowing gaze didn't help her temper soften. His warm hazel-green eyes were so full of understanding and affection that Marguerite was totally rattled. How could he be so calm when her nerves were so near the breaking point?!

His lady was taking special care with the bite marks on his outer thigh, thoroughly washing the punctures and then dosing them with Challenger's healing powder to prevent infection. Despite her grumbling about his lack of care for his clothing, she cut away the tattered material around the wound without a second thought for the mending that would be required to patch his pants. He suppressed a grin at the dichotomy, deciding it was the better part of valor not to tease her about this - at least, not just yet. Later… definitely.

"You should have done this before you came for me," she admonished in concern. "Infection seems to set in so quickly here." Thank God for this marvelous medicinal powder Summerlee and Challenger had developed so early on after the group had been stranded on the plateau!

His body bore clear proof of how close he'd come to never making it back to her today. If the raptors had been even a centimeter closer those scratches on his back and shoulders would've been deadly gashes. He'd even lost his hat! Lord John Roxton NEVER lost his hat!

Even as she thought about it, he ran a hand through his short windblown hair and grimaced. "We'll have to backtrack a bit tomorrow, if you don't mind, Marguerite. I'm pretty sure I know where I lost my hat and I'd like to retrieve it. I didn't want to stop today to get it."

She met his eyes and realized he'd left his hat behind because he was hurrying back to her. The last of her anger melted away. "Sure. No problem."

"Thanks." He winced as she added the white powder to yet another cut across his left shoulder, then deemed it safe to try an apology since her lips were no longer turned down at the corners and her gray-green eyes were more green than gray now. "I'm sorry about tricking you into getting onto the ledge, Marguerite," he offered a little warily.

She sighed. "I know. You wouldn't have gotten me out of danger any other way." She could see that her ready admission surprised and pleased her suitor. She met his gaze again and added ruefully, "I was pretty mad at you, but I understood, John. It's okay. I'm just thankful that you came back safely."

She turned away to get his clean shirt from his backpack, and when she faced him again he was smiling broadly. She held out the shirt to him, somewhat disconcerted. "What?"

"Oh, I was just thinking about how much we've changed since we first met," he replied, taking the shirt and shrugging it on over the now-cleaned and medicated wounds. "You'd have been just as happy to have me eaten alive, back then," he teased.

The formerly hard-shelled woman blushed. "You would've deserved it sometimes, back then," she retorted without rancor, smiling. "But I wouldn't really have been happy about it, even before we were stranded here. I didn't let the caiman eat you, did I? Besides, you would've been just as glad to have found an opportunity to feed me to the wolves, those early days," she teased him right back, laughter lighting her face as she remembered the night he'd told her that.

Lord Roxton chuckled. "Yes, I seem to recall saying something along those lines." He touched the side of his upper lip, where a tiny white scar was the souvenir of his first attempt to kiss the feisty young heiress. He'd had no idea, then, that he'd grow to care so deeply for this woman. "And you were right, my dear. I would've been surprised to see who actually got eaten!"

"Really?" she asked, grin widening. "Which would you have been betting on, the wolf or me?"

His smile faded. "I think that even then I suspected you'd come off the victor. I've always known you're a winner," he said sincerely.

Her eyes widened incredulously as she searched his face for a moment. Then, seeing that he meant it, she smiled at him, more than a little pleased with the compliment. "Thank you, John."

He inclined his head, then shifted position to ease his leg. "Ready for me to have a look at some of your battle scars from today's little encounters?" he asked lightly.

"Sure."

She gathered her long dark curls in one hand and pulled her hair over her left shoulder as she settled herself gracefully on the ground between his outstretched legs, facing away from him to make it easier for him to tend to the back of her right shoulder. The long scratches there were the only ones she hadn't been able to reach to tend on her own while he'd been setting up camp. She passed him the bowl of water and the packet of healing powder, then unbuttoned her blouse and dropped the material to her waist to bare the raw marks left by the raptor's claws.

He shook his head, smiling to himself at the trust she'd just manifested.

This was another thing that had changed drastically over the last three years.

Of course she'd never been shy about revealing her camisoles around her fellow explorers. She'd been stripping down to the beautiful lacy undergarments since they started up the Amazon. She'd never bothered about proprieties in the face of the tropical heat. No, Marguerite Krux wasn't shy about her beautiful body. However, he also knew she held a high enough standard of modesty that he'd never see her walking around in as little as Veronica or Finn.

But when they'd first been stranded in this Lost World she'd never have yielded so willingly and easily to his ministrations - or anyone else's, either, he reflected, recalling how cynical and suspicious she'd been toward all the other members of the Expedition in those early days. Each of the explorers had changed as they learned to live together and survive here in this lost world, but it had been Marguerite who had it the hardest, in his opinion.

Everyone else had at least experienced sharing a family lifestyle growing up, but this beautiful lady now letting him look after her had never known the luxury of being able to wholly trust another living soul - until she'd come on Challenger's expedition. It had been hard for her to learn, and hard for the others to endure while she was learning. She'd come such a long way, though she was still leery of fully opening her heart and admitting her true feelings.

Roxton carefully washed the tender, torn skin, and sprinkled the powder over the thankfully-minor injury with the ease of long practice before positioning bandages over it. Then he leaned forward and placed a feather light kiss between her shoulder and her neck. "I'm glad you were still on that ledge when I got back. I was a little nervous about leaving you like that," he confessed, "But I just couldn't see any safer place."

Marguerite shivered at the sensation of his warm breath and his lips on her sensitive skin, and glanced back over her shoulder at him. Yes, he was in the mood to flirt.

Well, that was okay. She could use a little light romance right now, too, after being so worried about him while he was gone. So she smiled warmly at him and leaned back against his broad chest. "Feels pretty safe right here," she drawled softly.

She could feel his heartbeat jump to a faster rhythm as his strong, familiar arms encircled her.

"Safe? You think this is safe?" he growled, voice dropping to the gravelly huskiness she loved. He nuzzled her neck, delighting in the tremors he provoked with his soft kisses.

She turned her head, tilting her face up so their lips could meet. He was quite willing to oblige her, kissing her tenderly with restrained passion that was met with such sweetness that he was encouraged to be bolder. He took advantage of the fact that she was so comfortable with him that she'd forgotten to pull up and button her blouse, drawing his hands across the smooth skin of her abdomen in a gentle caress. At her gasp, he lifted his mouth from hers to tease, "Still safe?"

Marguerite inhaled deeply to steady her suddenly-pounding pulse. Whoa! The man's touch was potent! "I'm not worried," she insisted breathlessly as she quickly laid her hands over his to keep them from wandering any further than they already were.

His chuckle was confident and knowing, but a sudden crackle in the brush had them pulling apart before they could continue the romancing.

Marguerite scrambled to her rifle, oversetting the bowl of water they'd used to cleanse one another's injuries. By the time she turned around Roxton had his own handgun up and was standing defensively between the source of the sound and his lady. As she moved to his side she wondered how he'd gotten up so quickly with his injured leg. "More raptors?" she whispered tautly.

He didn't reply; he waited, listening. So she waited, too. The sound didn't repeat itself and no new predators showed themselves.

But the adventurers had both been reminded that they had to keep their guard up. When John finally relaxed his vigil, it was only to suggest that they should eat, keeping a fireless camp for the night. His dark-haired companion sighed heavily, but agreed.

She didn't waste any time bemoaning the fact that there would be no hot food, no campfire to sit around, no coffee . . . She simply delved into their packs and got out the dried fruits and nuts that would make up their cold evening meal, along with the water from their canteens.

They ate quietly, still alert for sounds of danger around them, and then Roxton carefully checked each of their handguns and rifles as Marguerite brushed out her hair and braided it for the night before she retrieved her bedroll from her rucksack. Afterwards, while Roxton leaned on a convenient rock and took first watch, Marguerite curled up at his side on her blankets and slept.

He studied her in the starlight and thought over the day.

They'd survived the largest raptor attack they'd experienced to date.

They'd killed, or at least put out of commission, ten out of the sixteen nasty beasts.

He'd found a ledge where Marguerite would be safe and had gotten her there without a fight - which in itself had been kind of a minor miracle, upon reflection, he thought with a smile.

He'd located the river again, finding his bearings in spite of being somewhat disoriented and barely acquainted with this part of the plateau.

He'd managed to lose the last six raptors, but hadn't lost his rifle, and he had a pretty good idea where to find his hat tomorrow, too.

Marguerite had been able to stay securely on the ledge and was now safely back on solid ground, once again under his watchful eye - and she hadn't belted him for leaving her behind!

They'd even managed to fit in some successful kissing to further his courtship of his wary lady.

Yes, he decided with a smile of contentment; it had turned out to be a lucky day after all.

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