DISCLAIMER – Well, here's another update, especially for you Donnie fans. It ain't much, but I hope it appeases. Yep, don't own them – the turtles, not the update. I own that, at least. Enjoy!
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Chapter 29 - Paradise and Slimy Snakes
It didn't take a genius to realize just how tired Michelangelo was of sea life. Before the oarsmen could even beach the longboat, Mike leapt over the side. He hit the water running, racing knee-deep, and splashing 'wet' in every direction. Although it slowed his momentum, the shallow inlet did little to dampen his enthusiasm.
Twenty yards later, Mike hit the shoreline. He fell to his knees, kissing the sand, and almost as quickly sputtered and spit the tiny grains from his mouth. Still, even this did not discourage him. He just laughed louder and flipped over onto his back, grabbing up fistfuls of sand, and tossing them into the air. Mikey giggled like a mad man. He didn't seem to mind as gravity prevailed, the gritty rain peppering him on its way back down. His smile widened further as he next tried to make the equivalent of a snow angel. No sooner had he started, the uncooperative sand fell into itself, ruining his artwork. It only encouraged him to make another one, of course, and – of course – the same thing happened as with the first time, which had him trying a third attempt, only more determinedly.
His legs and arms worked furiously, now, creating sprays of grit that went everywhere at once. Still, the sand prevailed, but Mikey laughed even louder, his joy unfettered.
"You're absolutely insane, Mike!" Raph chuckled, as he joined his little brother on shore. He stood over Michelangelo, looking down at his silly sibling, shaking his head in pity.
Mike just grinned up at him, declaring, "No contest there, bro."
As the captain and the rest of the crew joined everyone else on the beach, pulling the longboat up onto the sand, Sparrow grunted and addressed the turtle in blue, "Your brother is certainly an odd one!"
Leonardo nodded, "Yes, Captain, he is, but he is our brother and we wouldn't have him any other way."
"Ya sure 'bout that?" Gibbs had never seen anyone react so oddly with going to shore before.
"Mr. Gibbs, every family needs a member who can make everyone else smile, even if it is in pity," Don added, his own grin proving his point. He chuckled, watching his brother in orange continue his attempt to make 'sand' angels.
Tiring of his futile work with the uncooperative silica, Mike finally lay still. He closed his eyes and drank in a large lungful of air, a look of pure ecstasy on his smiling face. He remained where he was for a moment longer. Then, looking around beseechingly to anyone paying attention to him, Mike queried, "Hey, anyone have suntan oil, I feel a tan comin' on!"
Raph rolled his eyes, "You knucklehead," and reached down, grabbing Mike by the arm. Pulling his brother to his feet, Raphael laughed, "Okay, dimwit, fun time's over."
"Hey, I'm allowed!" Mike protested, wiping his mouth, and shrugging free of Raphael's grip.
"Yeah, whatevah, Mike. You can char yerself right afta we get that gold delivered!"
Grinning, "No, really…I feel darker already!" Mike insisted brightly, bringing his arms up to show Raphael, "See, you can't tell me that's not a tan!"
"You've been this green yer whole life."
"Yeah, but now I'm…I'm GREENER!" Mike declared brightly.
Jack quirked one side of his mouth, amused, and - for a moment - he, too, took in the beauty of the subtropical landscape. He turned where he stood and gazed back towards the jungle. Standing tall before him towered a near impenetrable line of majestic palms, the space in-between filled with low-lying brush, just as thick, but more varied in texture and color. Between jungle and shoreline, a wide spit of beach separated the green belt from the sea, as warm, moist breezes gently swayed the tall virgin and unspoiled trees. Although the jungle seemed peaceful, it most likely hid a myriad of dangers, too; of this, Jack was certain. He narrowed his eyes and studied the deeper shadows, anticipating something unexpected. He wondered…
Natives, perhaps, both human and animal, he guessed, "might be close by, observing our arrival."
He had heard that cannibals lived in these parts, and the pirate shuddered once, a foreboding glazing his eyes for just a moment. A fragrance came to him then, distracting him, and he knew that flowers and mango trees grew further in. The scent became rancid quickly, due to the curse, but he still swallowed hungrily. He growled, then, remembering his current curse-ly state. More determined than ever before to see to his quest and free himself of the blasted bugger, he shoved his phantom hunger down and locked it up tight.
"Need t'be vigilant, mate," he said to himself, "Not too much longer and we'll all be dinin' on…" but he hesitated slightly to even mention his first meal once he became non-eternal again, his eyes giving a sideways glance to Leonardo and his brothers.
Jack wasn't stupid. He knew the moment they all became mortal once more, his men would have a hunger to rival even the curse, and then they would all see just how fast these ninja turtles can be, if their training included dodging pistol shot. Instinctively, he fingered his gun and cutlass, both sheathed into his bandolier. Sparrow knew he would most likely employ both during this part of the trip, turtle dinner or no, given the inhospitable nature that was South America. Though the pirate captain didn't want another fight - as he had more important problems to worry about - he wasn't as concerned as he would be normally.
"At least the curse has given us tha'much," he said to himself.
Curiously, he looked at his compass again and saw how it held its position, south-southwest from where he stood. It held fast and an overwhelming sense of completion came over him. He smiled. This was it, the last leg of his journey, where he would find the Aztecs. He was quite certain, for the feeling was intense. He nodded once, determined that nothing would prevent him from his goal.
He gave his weapon an affectionate pat and took in a deep, cleansing breath of paradise – and scowled when it, too, soured on his tongue. He rubbed his tongue distastefully against the roof of his mouth, to rid it of its unpleasantness, and sighed. He took another breath, smiled, and turned to face his men and the turtles, "As much as I enjoys the sea, mates," and everyone turned to look at him, Jack's arms spread wide in welcoming, "Ev'ry now and then, tis good to be on land." He chuckled in mock merriment.
A few ayes uttered in reply and then Jack addressed his men again, "An' once this curse is no longer our problem, I'm takin' food and drink, no matter… WHO serves it!" The ayes were loud and frenzied, reacting to their captain's pep talk, the crews' voices resonating over the beach. When they calmed again, Sparrow ordered, "Okay, laddies, we 'ave much work t'do, so let's get t'unloadin' tha' boat."
The men went to task, removing the supplies from the boat for their trek inland. The turtles helped, with exception to Michelangelo, who seemed reluctant to leave the beach.
Quite content to stay where he was, Mikey dug his toes into the sand. He stared out across the sea towards the Black Pearl, anchored several hundred yards from shore. If asked, he would be the first to admit reluctance to set sail with her again. He so missed standing on firm ground, even though a sandy beach was anything but firm, but it sure beat the ever-moving deck of a ship at sea. Yet, strangely enough – just as Donnie said he would – Mikey still felt a weird sense of movement, a sort of phantom memory of being at sea for so long. And it was the constant motion of the ship, the undulating and never-ending rise and fall of the deck that had finally convinced Michelangelo he would not make a good pirate. He truly hoped to get his land legs back, again - again just as Don had said he would - because if he didn't stop feeling as if he was reeling and rolling, the thought of walking didn't appeal to him. Ninja or not, Mike felt completely off-balanced. He shook his head and then turned to join his brothers in unloading the boats.
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Once the supplies and the treasure were out of the boats and secured on shore, the men began arguing about how best to get the chest through the jungle. They discussed it with much energy, their voices rising higher and more pronounced as each idea met the doom of Jack Sparrow's critical rejection. The turtles resigned themselves to just watching the debate, with Donatello standing off to one side, listening to the lively discussion, quietly thinking to himself.
They couldn't carry it, he reasoned, the chest is far too heavy for that, not knowing how far we have to go, although they could do it if pressed. He considered the crew, hmm-ing to himself, There are, after all, enough men. Still, it would be better if…
He heard someone mentioned strapping logs together and then tying the extra rope to the front to use in pulling the makeshift platform through the jungle.
Donatello smiled, rather amused and somewhat impressed with the suggestion. He still said nothing, but watched and listened.
There was a brief debate as to which direction to strap the logs, to which Gibbs suggested, "I tell ya, ya'll have a stronger base if ye tie the blimey logs t'gether, one in front of the other and so on, and pulls it, like a sled!" His voice pitched slightly, a sure sign that the pirate's patience had worn thin.
"Nay, that'll just pile up sand, like a rake. We should roll it along," challenged someone else, "by puttin' the chest on top o' th'logs an' walk it. We brings along a couple o'extra logs, t'put down in th'front, and then we push and roll the chest forwards over it. It'll take less work."
"That'd take too much time. An, besides…" Gibbs declared, arms flung wide in frustration, "We're on sand, th'weight o'th'chest alone will bog it all down, and then we'll be STUCK!"
Donatello stood there, listening, waiting for someone to come up with the right idea. He gave as much time for the pirates to discuss the issue as his patience allowed.
Finally, the men began to argue louder amongst themselves, shouting and yelling out ideas, with fists raised, weapons drawn, all ready to turn the discussion into an all-out brawl.
Well, so much for not interfering… and that was when Don quietly interrupted loudly, in order for the men to hear him, "Actually, the first idea is half right."
A sudden quiet fell over the rowdy crowd of buccaneers.
"What? Are ye daft?" Jack exclaimed and whirled around on the turtle, "The logs will get bogged down, just as Gibbs said. It won't get us very far!"
Don could tell by the captain's flushed expression that the curse was working on him, as well as Gibbs, enticing the pirate to an angry state.
"No, we don't strap a bunch together, one in front of the other. We take just two and create runners, like a sled, then add logs on top, crossways and above the sand, to act as a platform for the chest. We have the tools to do it. If we use hatchets to score the undersides of the runners, so they're narrower, they'll cut through the sand as they would on snow. It'll be easier and with the least resistance. We have to make sure that the rails are wide enough apart to hold the chest, of course, and we don't have to strap them, either, as the weight of the chest will keep the base in place. Or, if you prefer, we could tie the logs together using rope made from palm fronds. There're plenty of palm trees, after all, and the fronds are of good, sturdy material." Don added, "Then, we take the rope we used to get the longboat to shore as pulls for the sled."
Jack thought about the turtle's idea and slowly, he smiled. He grinned broadly, "I likes the way ya thinks, Donatello! You are an asset, Messdeck Lawyer or no!" and he slapped the terrapin on his shell, announcing, "Okay, men, you heard the beast! Get t'cuttin' down those trees!"
Soon, the crew went to work, chopping down as many of the palm trees as they could to make the sled. As each tree collapsed to the beach, a second team came around to clean it of its frond-laden crown. Sparrow preferred tying the logs together, so he had his men took the fronds and cut them into strips, braiding them in sets of three and then braiding those sets to make a series of rope. Mike helped with that, while Raphael assisted with chopping down the needed trees. Fortunately, there were plenty of trees and, therefore, plenty of fronds, so they had a lot of material to work with.
For most of the day, the men and turtles toiled. Leo helped to whittle the underside of the 'rails' to a sharpened edge and when he was done, he used Donnie's measurements to notch the tops. Sparrow had decided he preferred the logs imbedded into the rails, so that the logs lying across them would have a permanent fit. They then used the braided fronds to tie the logs to the rails, securing them.
However, when it came time to decide how best to tie the pulling ropes to the sled it created another argument…
"Look, we're losing time, arguin'! Jus'tie th' bloody rope to th' front and be done with it!" Jack exclaimed, rolling his eyes in impatience.
"No, if we do that," Don disagreed, "we could pull the log right out of its notches."
"So…" Jack swaggered his head, "how SHOULD we do it, Turtle?"
"If we make a horizontal cut in the back end of each rail and run the rope through each, and then corkscrew towards the front around both rails, we'll have greater leverage to pull the sled," reasoned Don, "without the fear of pulling the whole contraption apart. However," and Don raised one eye ridge, "it would be prudent if we start the sled on more stable ground, like packed dirt, rather than on sand. This will mean, of course, that we will have to cut a path from where the jungle starts, until we find a more compact surface."
A rather disgruntled voice called up from behind Donatello, "I thought you said that this platform of yours will work on sand."
"I've given some consideration to that, Miss Swann," Don replied, turning to face the woman, who stood a few feet away with her hands on her hips, as if in challenge, "and I'd rather NOT take a chance that I could be…wrong. We already know that with enough men helping, we can lift the chest well enough, so if we can 'jump start' this sled on good ground, then it's all the better, don't you think?"
"Well, I guess," Elizabeth said reluctantly, "That would be better, yes. But, it's getting rather late to start, don't you think?" She looked towards the west, her face radiating an orange-ish glow from the near setting sun.
"Yes, Captain," Will agreed, "I think we should make camp here, rather than venture into an unknown jungle at night. I think it's best we start fresh tomorrow!"
"Indeed, even though there be nothin' in there that can harm ye? And, what about th'next night, if we don't find th'Aztecs tomorrow?"
"I sides with the whelp!" called out one crewman, as the rest gave their ayes of approval, "At least tomorrow we can send scouts ahead, to find a good place to camp – for the night – if, that is, we don't find these Aztecs first!"
"So be it, Mr. GIBBS!" Jack snorted in disappointment, "We camp. However, at first light, we leave, an' we don't waste a minute arguin' about it." Then Jack turned heel and walked away, muttering and complaining to himself. It was obvious to everyone that the captain was anxious to be done with his quest. As to why he was in such a hurry, no one knew, not for sure anyway.
As Mikey basked in the late afternoon sun, surprised at how un-sore his muscles were (probably the curse at work, he thought), he was just beginning to feel normal again. Well, at least feeling as if he wasn't moving all the time. Occasionally, he would look over at the jungle and wonder what their next adventure would be like. He smiled, thinking about how cool it was going to be to hack through the dense underbrush, acting the part of explorers in a new land. Thoughts of Indiana Jones filled his head. The more he thought about it, the more excited he got, until…slowly, his smile suddenly disappeared.
With concern edging his voice, Mikey sat down on the sand and turned to his brother in purple, "Hey, Donnie, what…ah…kind of animals are there in that jungle?"
"Oh, a great many, if I'm correct about our location." Don replied easily, lying on his side.
"And…where would that 'location' be, oh mighty brain," Raphael asked, flopping down next to him, "'Cuz I've been wonderin' where exactly we are."
Don smiled, "Well, I think we're pretty close to the northern side of South America or somewhere along the southernmost end of Central America, or…somewhere far from where we started…at least."
"You aren't sure?" Raphael stared incredulously at his genius brother.
Don grinned, "Considering Sparrow's very strange compass, Raph, we could be in Timbuktu, for all I know."
Leonardo joined the three-some and sat down, "Couldn't the constellations last night tell you where we are?"
"Leo, I studied them for a long time and all it told me is that we're still in the Caribbean," Don said, "Yes, given the Pearl's southwesterly direction, it is safe to say that we were heading towards South America, but this could be an island – a very big island, or possibly Panama, or Columbia, or Venezuela. The best I can offer is what I just said. Northern part of South America or southern Central America along its eastern side."
"So…ah…other than - gators, like what we encountered on that island, what other kind of animals can we expect to see…in there?" Mike asked again, hooking a thumb towards the jungle.
"Caiman, Mike, but, for another - snakes…"
"SNAKES?" Mike sat up instantly, his eyes wide with worry.
"Um, yeah, South America has the world's largest variety of snakes, Mike," Don rolled onto his stomach and looked at his baby brother curiously, his elbow buried in the sand, his head nestled on top his fists, "The most frequently seen are the green anaconda and boa constrictor." Don smiled, apparently very interested and eager to explore said jungle.
"Hey, aren't those the really big ones that can eat a man whole?"
"Raph, you'renothelpinghere!" Mike snapped hurriedly. His eyes were now wider with even more worry. He wasn't the least bit amused.
Raphael chuckled.
"Well, yeah, they are big and some can get big enough to eat a man," Donnie admitted, "but it has to be a very big snake and be very hungry to have any interest. Usually, when they encounter people, they just slither away, unless they don't have any fear. Considering this particular timeline, though," Don mused, "I don't' think civilization has encroached enough to impress the wildlife to stay away from humans."
"But…wh…what about TURTLES, such as big, bi-pedal; the 'not your garden variety' type?" Mike was nearly hyperventilating now.
"Mike, ya don't have to worry about it, I don't think yer on their menu."
"Easy for you to say, RAPH! You don't have one wrapped around you YET!" Mike shot back quickly, almost hyperventilating.
"So, where would we find them," Leo asked softly, adding his voice to the discussion.
Don shook his head, hearing the concern in his big brother's words, "You, too?"
"Well, I just…want to be prepared, that's all."
Raph smirked, "Yeah, fearless, I got yer number."
"I JUST WANT TO BE PREPARED, OKAY?" Leo snapped, and then quickly explained, "That's what 'fearless…leaders' do, prepare!" He gave a pointed look at his brother in red before addressing the one in purple, "So, Don, how 'bout it, where exactly do these – anacondas - live?"
Donatello did his best not to smile, but he couldn't help it, one managed to slip through. One warning look from Leo, though, brushed it way, and then Don said, "Look, if it makes you feel any better, I'm just as – interested – in keeping myself in one piece as you are. Keep in mind, we're cursed, okay? We can't die, but…to find myself in the grips of one of those very, large snakes…" He shook his head, "Whooo boy…"
"And you're not helping either, DONNIE!"
"…kind of unnerves me, too, Mikey." Don added softly as he grinned.
"Yeah, and like you said, especially since we can't DIE!" Mike threw his hands up in the air and rolled over onto his back, "I mean, think about it, bros," he suddenly hugged himself and gulped, "It's got you in its grip," he tightened his arms around himself, eyes bugging out, his voice sounding strangled, "and he coils his snaky body around you, getting tighter and tighter and tighter, but yer still 'alive' and then he EATS YOU WHOLE! Next thing you know, you're laying there inside its belly, aware of everything, but you can't see anything at all because it's all dark and slimy and squirmy…" Suddenly, Mike yelped as Raphael slapped him upside the head, "HEY, what was THAT for?"
"Thanks a lot, dimwit, now ya've given me the creeps!"
"Ooo, ooo…and I bet there'll be lots o' big BUGS in that jungle, too, Raphie!" Mike sing-songed, wagging his head in time with his diddy.
"Not helping, BRO!" Raph tried to slap his brother again, but this time Mike rolled beyond Raphael's reach, sticking out his tongue as he did.
"Okay, back to my question...about habitat."
"Okay, Leo, here are the stats. Anacondas prefer fresh water, while boa constrictors live either in trees or underground."
"So if we stay away from rivers, trees, and don't go diggin' anywhere…" Raphael asked.
"We'll be safe." Don smiled.
"Yeah, we're dead." Mike sighed and gave a wary look back at the overgrown jungle. He looked forlornly out at the Pearl floating in the bay, "It makes being a pirate all the more attractive, now, know what I mean?"
"Unless ya meets up with the Kraken, lads, and then ye'll be wish'n fer that snake!" Gibbs quipped softly, passing the quartet, carrying an armful of wood. As he headed towards the group of men, now crowding around a newly made campfire, and which grew bright against the ever encroaching dark, Gibbs called back as an afterthought, "An ye might wants t'gather 'round that bit o'flame here," he inclined his head towards the campfire, "and not be so close to that jungle, since it's fire that'll keep them slimy snakes from gettin' ya!"
"AHHHHHH…" In a flash, both Raph and Mike were up and running, beating not only Leo and Don to the campfire, but Joshamee Gibbs, too.
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TBC
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