Chapter 1
The air was hot and sticky as she sat in a corner of the lounge area sipping a glass of brandy, boots propped up onto the table. Gentleman of the older age were seated carelessly around the room sipping brandy and other types of drinks. They talked of the war, of their latest hunt, and anything else they could think to conjure up.
A young man dressed in a black suit entered the building, eyes looking this way and that, searching for someone.
"Where's Quatermain?" he asked the black man.
The black man turned around and searched the faces of the men.
"Ah. That gentleman at the back." he pointed.
The man in the black suit walked towards the back, making eye contact with almost everyone in the room. He approached an older looking gentleman that was seated, talking to someone.
"Do I have the pleasure of addressing Allan Quatermain?" he asked the two gentleman.
"Uh, yes, you do, sir. Indeed you do." said the supposed Allan Quatermain.
"You're not what I expected." said the man in the suit.
The woman in the corner couldn't help but scoff a little at what the young gentleman had said. She tipped her hat a bit to watch the show under hooded eyes.
"And I presume you're another traveler got it in your head to sample the dark continent and while you're at it, hunt down old Allan Quatermain and have him tell his adventures."
"Well-" said the man.
"Well, you just fill a seat, sir." Quatermain interrupted. "You can fill my glass. Bruce, double!"
The bartender nodded as the man sat down. Quatermain turned his attention to the young man.
"And I'll regale you with how I found King Solomon's mines, or I could relate my-"
"It is not your past that interests me." interrupted the young man.
"Um," started Quatermain as Bruce handed him his drink.
"My name is Sanderson Reed. I'm a representative of Her Majesty's British Government. The empire needs you."
"But the question is, do I need the empire?" stated the real Quatermain.
"Perhaps I should toddle off, should I, Allan?" asked Nigel.
"Yes, of course, Nigel. You toddle off." said Allan.
"Toddling." said Nigel as he rose from his seat and left.
The young woman in the corner sat up a bit more at the fact that Quatermain made himself known.
"Nigel is useful for keeping the story-seekers at bay. I am Quatermain." said Allan.
"The empire is in peril." said Reed.
Quatermain scoffed a bit. "You're probably too young to know but the empire is always in some kind of peril." said Allan.
"We need you to lead a team of unique men like yourself to combat this threat." said Reed.
Allan threw down his book and took of his glasses and offered the seat to the young man.
"Regale me." said Allan.
"There is great unrest. Countries set at each other's throats, baying for blood. It's a powder keg. The trouble of which I speak could set a match to the whole thing. War." Reed stated.
"With whom exactly?" asked Allan.
"Everyone. A world war." said Reed.
"That notion makes you sweat?" asked Allan bewildered.
"Heavens, man. Doesn't it you?" asked Reed.
"This is Africa, dear boy. Sweating is what we do." said Allan as he put his glasses back on and grabbed his book.
"Where is your sense of patriotism?" asked Reed, angered.
Allan stood and grabbed his drink, raising it in the air.
"God save the queen!" he said.
A bunch of "Save the queen," and "God bless her" were heard around the room. Allan sat back down.
"That's about as patriotic as it gets around here." he said.
"But you're Allan Quatermain. Stories of your exploits have thrilled English boys for decades." said Reed.
"That I know. And Nigel has done a grand job of reminding me. But with each past exploit, I've lost friends, white men and black, and much more. And I am not the man I once was." said Allan.
At the last two statements, the young woman lowered her head, memories flooding her vision at what Allan had said. The young man sat back in his seat at hearing his statement.
"The gentleman over there." said the black butler in the background.
"Mr. Quatermain." said one man.
"Uh, yes, indeed, sir." said Nigel, getting back into his role.
The man pulled out a gun and shot Nigel right into the chest. Allan stood and pulled his gun from his vest. He shot the bloke who had shot Nigel.
"Wrong Quatermain!" yelled Allan.
"That's him!" shouted the men.
Soon the whole lounge was enveloped in gun fire. Allan grabbed Reed and pulled him behind a post, so as to not get him killed.
"They're indestructible!" yelled Reed.
"No, just armor-plated." said Allan.
Allan jumped out, ready to kill someone, when two men came out with machine guns and began firing. Allan ran and jumped behind a turned up table.
"Automatic rifles! Who in God's name has automatic rifles?" asked Allan, breathing heavily.
"Dashed unsporting. Probably Belgian." said an old man.
An armor-plated man ran up and was about to fire, but was shot. Another one began firing his machine gun, killing the old man. Allan grabbed the gun and shot the bad guy trying to run away. One guy had trouble with his gun, trying to get it loaded. He wasn't quick enough because soon Allan was there, beating him to bits. Allan grabbed a table and threw it over the guy, locking his arms to his sides.
"Allan!" yelled the young woman who was crouched down in the corner.
Allan turned and tried to swipe the guy with his rifle, but failed. Allan wrestled with the man, and eventually threw him to the ground. The man got up quick and began trying to hit Allan. Allan knocked him to the ground with a single punch, but the man was up and running. Allan grabbed a whiskey bottle and knocked the guy out.
"Wicked waste." he mumbled.
"Look out!" yelled an old man who was hidden behind a table.
Allan turned to see a man with throwing knives. Allan found himself pinned to the post behind him, and the man running towards him, ready to kill him. Allan knocked him out with two punches and a kick.
The man who was trapped inside the table broke free and started going for his gun. Allan ripped himself away from the post and grabbed a table, backing the man into the horn on the back wall, causing the British flag to fall over him.
The young woman looked away as she saw the man take on the horn.
"Rule Britannia." mumbled Allan. "Wasn't there another one of these buggers?"
"Mr. Quatermain!" shouted the black butler. He pointed to the window where you could see the last man running for his life.
"Bruce, Matilda." stated Allan.
Bruce grabbed a rifle from the bar and threw it to Allan. The young woman from the corner got up and followed Allan and Reed outside.
"Our friend might have some information." said Allan.
They walked onto the porch where Allan aimed his rifle.
"But, he's so far away." stated Reed.
Allan sighed and lowered his gun.
"Yes. I thought he was." said Reed.
Allan pulled out his glasses from his pocket and put them on.
"God, I hate getting old." stated Allan.
The young woman leaned up against the pillar, smirking.
Allan aimed his gun once more and took the shot. The man dropped to the ground and the locals dragged him back.
"Mm." stated Allan.
They stepped off the porch and began walking towards the man.
"How many times have I told you to wear your glasses?" said the young woman.
"And how many times have I told you to call me father?" replied Allan.
The young girl laughed as they got closer to the man being dragged.
"Did you mean to just wound him?" asked Reed.
"Obviously." said Allan.
They dropped him onto the ground, where the man instantly took something.
"Stop him! I need information!" shouted Allan as they ran up to the man.
The man fell dead onto the ground.
"Bloody poison." mumbled Allan.
"You may have no love for the empire, but I know you love Africa. A war in Europe will spread to its colonies." said Reed.
In that instant, the beautiful building that they had only just been on recently blew up. The locals began to run towards the explosion, hoping to save anything if they had to.
Allan, the young woman, and Reed turned towards the building. Allan sighed as he looked onwards.
"It appears the war has arrived." said Reed.
"Very well, Reed. I'm in." said Allan.
"Excellent. Pack for an English summer." said Reed. He put on his hat and left.
Allan stood there, watching the former building burn. The young woman stared at her father with wide eyes. She saw him turn towards the cemetery that was off to the right, and knew what he was looking at. A grave.
"You're actually going?" she asked.
"Layla. Please, not know." sighed Allan.
"You said you were through." she stated.
"Yes well, things change." he said. "Pack your things."
And with that, he left. Layla stared into the burning embers of the fire before her, not understanding why he would go back to something he swore he was done with. She turned away and went to pack. It was going to be one interesting ride.