The sound of the hounds awoke me from my sleep. I looked over at the Victorian grandfather clock to check the time: five o' clock in the afternoon.
"Where am I?" I muttered to myself. Suddenly, the past four days' accounts rushed through my brain like a raging tsunami. The thought that haunted my mind most was the duel between General Zaroff and me last night. He made the first move. He swung at me with a surprising amount of strength for such an old man; actually, it was a surprising amount of strength for anyone. I quickly side-stepped to my right and he toppled over. I fell on top of him and wailed at him. After many blows to the head, he pushed me off. He got some good hits to me with the assistance of a nearby lamp. After that, we were both set up perfectly for my next maneuver. He charged me, and flung him over my shoulder and out the window. He landed right in the dog pit. I was certain the dogs would finish him if by some miracle he survived.
But, was it all possible? It all felt like a horrible nightmare. It had to be true; I had the bruises and cuts to verify that. It was five o' eight now. I stumbled out of bed, towards the window. I gazed down upon the dog pit, seeing fresh blood covering the ground. Human blood. Zaroff's blood, I reminded myself. Looking down at the dog pit also reminded me of the reason for my awakening. I glanced out over the island, noticing a small motor boat caressing the shoreline. Who in the world would come to this island now? No one had been around to turn on General Zaroff's contraption. Who would possibly be fool enough to purposefully come to this God-forsaken place?
My instincts made me grab a nearby revolver. I recognized it immediately. And why wouldn't I? It was the one that had been pointed at my heart a short four days ago. It was Ivan's.
I began to flee from the house and towards the shore. I knew this island well by now, and found my destination in no time. I hid behind a group of bushes to try and locate my visitor. A timid body slowly rose from the vessel, and I recognized him immediately.
"Whitney!" I called. We ran for each other like long lost brothers. He looked at me like I was crazy. What a sight I must have been, clothes tattered and blood stained. Hair ruffled to the extreme.
"Rainsford! I knew you'd be here! I tried to convince the captain to come ashore, but he wouldn't come. I don't blame him, of course. I mean, just look at you! Yes, look at you. What has happened?" I told him everything. Of the mansion, General Zaroff, Ivan, the hunt, how and why I fell off the boat. No detail escaped my tale. It sounded so far off to me, as if I knew I was lying. But, I wasn't. Whitney believed it all though. Good ol' Whitney.
I took him back to the mansion, but only after reassuring him that the evil General Zaroff of which I spoke was really dead. I showed him everything there. We got to a particular door, and a thought struck me. What about all the people down in General Zaroff's twisted training school? I rushed down the steps much to the confusion of Whitney. The teachers look strangely at me. I had to act fast. I quickly took out the four of them with a bear taking method I learned in The Rockies. I told all of the students that they were free now. They flew from the place, but most stayed and took residence at the mansion. Good for them.
Whitney and I soon returned to the larger ship, and we finally were off to the Amazon to do some good jaguar hunting. Who would've guessed I'd survive? Not I. At last playing the role of the hunter once again, I told myself.
We entered the dense forest. After about an hour of anticipation, I saw the largest, most magnificent jaguar of my life. I knew that I had to have it. I aimed carefully as sweat dripped from my face and trigger finder. My thumb stealthily crept up to the hammer and pulled it back. As it made the slight click of the gun being cocked, the jaguar gazed towards me. I no longer saw a head on my wall, just another stupid animal waiting to get shot to death. I saw myself in those eyes. I saw myself look into Zaroff's heatless eyes, waiting for the inevitable. I saw an animal experiencing fear. I placed my rifle in Whitney's hands and walked back to the boat.
Ever since that day, I have never shot another gun. Or killed another animal. Now here I am, sitting at my typewriter, telling of my tale. I am currently living with other Ship-Trap island survivors in Zaroff's mansion. It's a good life, I guess, but I value life a lot more now. I must leave now, as I am about to leave for New York to present this very story to a publishing company. Farewell.