Wilson was on his walk back from the beach after his daily smoke signal ritual.
Another day, another disappointment, he thought bitterly. He had been doing it every day without fail for a little over a week now… or was it two? It was hard to tell at this point, the days seemed to blur into each other. Day after day of hunting, gathering, and trying to survive. It really was a drag. Wilson rubbed his chin, making a face when he felt the beard that was coming in. He hated it. Sure, he could grow a pretty magnificent beard, but he felt it made him look more like a wildman than a gentleman. Long ago she liked him clean shaven…
The sound of a stick snapping behind him halted his thoughts. He spun around, prepared for a monster attack, but was met with something far worse.
A tall man in an overly fancy suit stood directly before him, smoking a cigar as if he hadn't a care in the world.
"Who are you?" Wilson demanded, pointing his spear threateningly at the man. How did he sneak up on me like that? He thought, alarmed. The man chuckled.
"Oh, don't you recognize me Wilson?" he said, casually pushing the spear's tip aside and leaning forward. "Honestly, I think you should recognize an old friend." A cruel smile played upon his prominent lips.
Wilson recognized that voice. First from the old radio, and then when he woke up in this strange place. Now its owner stood in front of him.
"You're no friend of mine, Maxwell!" Wilson yelled back fiercely, replacing the spear's business end to the man's chest. Maxwell dropped his cigar in surprise. "You dare have the gall to even pretend! You disgust me." Wilson had never been this angry. He advanced on Maxwell, forcing him to step back to avoid injury.
"Now, now, don't be so spiteful," Maxwell said, putting his hands up in mock surrender, backing himself up against a tree. His voice was slow and melodious. "I've merely come to give you some advice."
Wilson shoved his spear to Maxwell's throat, holding the quivering tip to the skin. He narrowed his eyes. "What could you ever say that would make any of this better?" he spat. "You left me here to die, and worse, one of your own kin has already paid the price!"
Maxwell smiled again. "And you care for the other, don't you? Ah, but she's holding you back, Wilson. You could be doing so much more. Don't you want to go home, make things go back to the way they were? To before she was taken by the darkness? I certainly would. I'll have you know that I can make that happen. If you don't find me, however, none of this is possible, I assure you. Your silly little smoke signals will beckon no rescuer, not today or any other day. You are mine until I say otherwise, my little puppet."
"I've found you now, doesn't that count?" Wilson was unnerved by Maxwell's knowledge of his past, more specifically, about her. Sure, it wasn't all that difficult to dig up that dirt on him, but what manner of man would so that just to spite him? Even worse… to bait him? Wilson elected to ignore this fact for the moment, and continued, "At least take Wendy home. She doesn't deserve to be stuck out here, you snake." He pushed the spear harder into his neck.
"No, no, I found you Wilson. This encounter means little. I merely came to motivate you into action. Your recent activity has been terribly boring. Wendy has domesticated you far too much. Perhaps we will have to be rid of her…" A strange, uncharacteristic expression flashed across Maxwell's face, but it was gone before Wilson had the time to assess it.
Again, Wilson pressed his spear deeper into Maxwell's neck, now breaking the skin. "Don't you dare hurt Wendy," his voice was deep, slow, and murderous. A thin stream of black blood trickled from the wound, and Wilson noted with surprise that the tip of the spear seemed to be turning dark, as if covered with soot. Maxwell reached up and touched the blood, bringing his hand forward to look at it.
"Now that wasn't very nice of you. This suit is worth more than you could ever hope to be, and now you've gone and gotten a bloodstain on it. Not much of a gentleman, are you? Though I suppose this isn't your first time that you've done such a thing."
Maxwell certainly knew where to hit where it hurt. For one, Wilson had always striven for being as gentlemanly as he could, despite his social awkwardness. To say his efforts were in vain cut him deep. He knew he was a failure as a scientist, but the only other part of himself he wasn't disappointed about was also inadequate? The accusation stung. Then there was the fact that he knew. Maxwell was using Wilson's past against him.
"It wasn't me…" Wilson whispered, looking away from Maxwell.
"But you have no way to prove it. In everybody else's eyes, it was."
Wilson didn't reply. The truth could hurt more than any weapon.
Maxwell smiled evilly at Wilson's distress. "Now that we have put you back in your place, would you mind backing off a bit? I must say, this is a most uncomfortable position you have put me in."
Wilson dejectedly put his spear down, still refusing to meet Maxwell's eyes.
Maxwell straightened his suit and wiped the blood from his neck with a handkerchief. He cleared his throat. "I shall say it once more: come find me. Mercy may be shown to you, but only if you follow what your strings tell you to do, puppet. I will not hesitate to destroy any distractions, including that girl you picked up. In fact…" a malevolent smile crossed his face. "I may do something right now to get you moving." He snapped his fingers, and was silent for a moment.
"There." He roughly grabbed Wilson's chin and forced him to look him in the eye. His touch felt icy cold, yet burned like a mild acid. Wilson was for once glad to have his beard, as it minimized the painful skin contact with Maxwell's hand.
"That should do it. Now run, Wilson. She doesn't have long." Maxwell shoved Wilson to the ground, and the sound of cruel laughter filled the area. By the time Wilson recovered from the fall, Maxwell was gone.
A horrible, hellish noise echoed through the forest. Far off, but no doubt something deadly.
Wendy! Wilson thought frantically. He gripped the spear, scrambled to his feet, and began to sprint toward the camp as fast as his legs would carry him.
Please let me get there on time! He begged to whatever deities that may hear his plea.
He crashed through the underbrush, his arms and face getting whipped and scratched by low-hanging branches and thorny bushes. His lungs ached from the exertion, and he thanked the stars his ribs had healed enough to allow him this endeavor with minimal pain.
Wilson rushed into camp, his sides heaving from the effort of getting there so quickly. Wendy stood in the middle of the area, wide-eyed and terrorized, clutching the extra spear they had made.
"Wilson, what's that noise?" she whimpered. Her usual stoic expression was replaced with a very childlike fear.
"I don't know, but we need to move. Now. Grab as many vital supplies as you can and put them in the backpack. Quickly!" The two rushed about, grabbing food, leftover silk and spider glands, some torches, and a few other necessities. Wilson shouldered the pack and grabbed Wendy's hand.
"Are you good to run?"
She nodded, checking for flower in her pocket—now almost fully bloomed—and gripped her spear tighter.
They ran.
The low noises eventually solidified into deep barks, and became louder as the beasts came closer. Wendy and Wilson crashed through the forest, miraculously keeping their footing as they sprinted across the uneven ground.
Wilson neglected watching where they were going in his haste to vacate the area. He soon found himself lost, but the mad howling behind them kept him barreling blindly forward, leading Wendy along with him at breakneck speeds, pulling her up by her arm any time she stumbled.
The barking grew closer, and soon he was able to hear the foliage crashing behind him. Adrenaline lashed at this muscles like a whip made of lightning, and he heard Wendy cry out in fear on more than one occasion. To be honest with himself, some of those cries might have been him.
Wilson chanced a glance behind him, and he nearly stumbled in his surprise. Following them were two unnaturally huge, black hounds. Why can't anything on this cursed island just stay a normal size? He screamed in his mind. He was too out of breath to say it out loud.
One of the dogs rushed up behind them, and tried to take a bite out of Wendy. Wilson was able to jerk her away just in time for the creature's maw to close down on empty air. It stopped and barked angrily a few times, beginning to run again when its twin flew past it.
A quick glance at Wendy revealed that she had tears running down her face, and Wilson's heart ached at the sight.
They broke through the tree line, and scrambled onto the beach. Wilson could see the site of his smoke signal off in the distance, and he turned sharply, helping Wendy to her feet when she slipped on the loose sand. They ran toward the fire.
They didn't get far before one of the hounds cut them off, growling and barking at them ferociously, foamy saliva spraying from its mouth.
Wilson turned on his heel to head the opposite way, only to be blocked by the other, bigger hound.
Wilson pulled Wendy protectively behind him, backing slowly toward the water as the hounds closed in, licking their chops in anticipation of their meal. With the two feasts in front of them backing into the ocean's water, they, unlike Wilson and Wendy, were unlikely to worry about not having salt on their meal.
Wilson kept one hand on Wendy behind him, and swung his spear threateningly at the hounds, making the most threatening face and posture he could muster. One of the dogs coughed in a way that sounded like it was laughing at his frail display.
He could feel water seeping into his shoes as the hounds grew ever closer, the lukewarm water feeling chilly in comparison to the beasts' hot breath. The larger hound's head reached Wilson's shoulders, and the sheer muscle mass on the thing was akin to a rhinoceros. The smaller one was quivering with excitement on its short, stocky legs. They reminded Wilson of overgrown Rottweilers mixed with a hellhound, covered in bristling, coarse fur that piled on their huge shoulders like a mane.
What could they do? Obviously, they couldn't outrun the hounds. Their spears seemed like toothpicks compared to the bulk of the monsters before them. He chanced a hasty glance at Wendy behind him, who was holding onto Wilson's waistcoat in a death grip as she squeezed her eyes shut.
The hounds seemed to be enjoying tormenting their quarry, putting off the kill like a man would put off a good cigar. Wilson's thoughts raced, though his head hurt more ever. Could he distract them while Wendy made a break for it? It would likely get him killed, leaving the poor girl to herself once again. He didn't want to put her through witnessing another death. But what other option was there? It was either him or both of them, and he had already promised to keep her safe. He once inadvertently broke that promise with someone else, and he had been haunted by it every day of his life since. If it came down to him having to sacrifice his own life to keep his promise this time, then so be it.
"Wendy, listen to me. Do exactly as I say," he said quietly and urgently over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the hounds. He heard a small whimper in response. "I'm going to get their attention and distract them. When I say 'go,' run back into the forest. Climb a tree or something, find a safe place to hide. I'll… I'll take care of the hounds."
He felt her grip grow harder on his waistcoat. "Wilson, they'll use your bones for toothpicks!"
"What other choice do we have?" a hound barked at his outburst, nipping at his heels. He backed them up further, the water at his knees.
"Please. Do this for me, Miss Wendy. Get out of here. Find Maxwell and get out of this place. For the both of us." He felt numb. Hollow. But a strange sense of purpose filled his being, and he felt light. Finally, he could be useful for something other than an object of scorn.
He looked back once more, and saw Wendy look up at him. Her faced slowly eased into compliance at his resolute, grim expression. Another tear found its way down her cheek as she gave a small nod. She turned away from Wilson, releasing his waistcoat and squeezing her eyes shut, angrily rubbing away the tears.
Wilson turned to face the hounds.
Wendy watched as Wilson braced his position, glaring directly at the larger dog. The characteristic bags under his eyes seemed to grow deeper with the realization of his quickly approaching termination. She knew all too well that his plan would end in his untimely demise. She felt an ironic sense of happiness knowing how much he cared for her…enough to die for her. She had taken him as a rather wimpy man, too caught up in the inner workings of his mind to see what was around him. He knew much about the world, yet he was utterly blind to it.
Except now. It seemed to her that at here and now his eyes were open. He lived for this moment. It wasn't the first occurrence of this kind of experience, the grass fight on the night he found her he was also able to abandon his scientific mind for a more simplistic, human one. Now was another one of those instances. She could see it in his eyes, his stance, his firm resolution. His mind was clear, and he had no need to scrutinize the situation.
Wilson, without breaking eye contact with the hound, rolled up his sleeves and slipped the backpack of supplies off his shoulders and handed it to her. She was careful to keep it out of the water, which reached nearly to her waist, her skirt dancing in the small motions of the waves.
What terrible insight is bestowed upon a person as someone they care about dies before their very eyes. Wendy had seen it once before, and it very nearly destroyed her before her unlikely reprieve. But now here she was again, preparing to view it once more. Only this time she doubted she would be as lucky as she was with Abigail.
Wilson tensed in front of her. With a yell he charged at the largest hound, hitting it sharply on the head with his black-tipped spear. The beast yelped, then released a mighty roar, lunging at Wilson. He broke into an awkward run through the water, effectively drawing all the attention to himself as the hounds practically smiled in anticipation of another good chase.
Wendy watched Wilson hit dry sand and make a break for it. "GO!" he shouted to her, with more terror and desperation than Wendy ever wanted to hear again. The sound of his breaking voice tore into her soul. It was the keen of a man who knew his dark fate, yet so desperately wanted to cling to life.
Wendy waded quickly and clumsily to shore, her eyes stinging from tears and salt water. She didn't want Wilson to go.
She shot toward the trees, stopping when she reached the edge. She took one last look at her companion as he scrambled about, keeping the dogs occupied so she would have time to escape. She was just about to continue into the forest when she saw Wilson trip, his spear flying from his hand as he collapsed to the ground.
Wendy wanted to scream. To shout. To cry. To lament on the unfairness of it all. Everything seemed to go in slow motion as the hounds made their final lunges at Wilson's prone form, dragging him by his legs and tearing at him.
Wendy squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears. No matter how hard she tried to block it out, she still heard loud yelps from the hounds, accompanied by the worst screams she has ever heard in her life.
The screams were filled with terror. The sheer terror of a dying man.