CAGED SOULS - CHAPTER THREE
Discl: None of the known characters are mine, but Marvel's. No money.
Char: Sabretooth and others.
In short: Life as a Mercenary and the beginning of a beautiful enmity, as always.
Rating: mmm.. -language and violence.
And the third one. This is a shorter but I had a brainstorm on Tuesday and managed to put it all down in writing. Mind you, I never thought I would get this far without tangling myself (and poor Vic) in some dead end situation. Enjoy (hopefully) and PLEASE REVIEW.
========
Hunting again in the rainforest. Ahh! This was the life! Victor could never get over the stench of men and their cities, his heightened senses refused to become accustomed. It must be all that shit they eat, he thought. He breathed deeply. This place, on the other side, made him feel completely renewed in body and soul. The clean, cold misty air, plenty of game, clear water, and no humans. He caught himself smiling.
If not for anything else, this was reason enough to make the trip, he thought. They had been in the jungle for two days and homing in to the location of the bunker. He figured they were about three days from the place. It would have been about half the time for him, but he had to account for Raims who was slower than him (well, everybody was slower than him), and for Foster who had managed to stumble in every single branch and fall in every single hole in their way, as if he had an in-built tracking device, and generally made a nuisance of himself. The only thing that had kept him alive, even though Victor had had claws half out most of the time, was the fact that the little rat had proved to be a bottomless well of information and that was something Creed valued way over his need for fun or peace.
They had started their trek at a minor airport by the end of the jagged line of the Chilean cost, way down south near the glaciers, and worked their way to the jungle by foot to avoid being noticed, which had taken them three days. Technology in the last 3 hundred years had developed a lot of means of transport which avoided detection, but of course it had also provided the counterpart, so they were basically back to square one, sort of speak, and had to do this the old way. Not that Victor minded. Except for the timeframe, he enjoyed and welcomed physical tasks as they formed most of his normal "workout" to keep fit. He actually preferred it this way because he believed real situations were far more effective to tune body and senses than artificial ones.
He was a well developed man, and even though his healing factor got rid of most of the insidious toxins he (or others) put in it, he generally preferred a very natural diet: mostly fresh meat and some vegetables and fruit, all of it raw. Not that he didn't enjoy fine cuisine, which he certainly did, but that was something he did as an exception to treat himself, which didn't happen often on account of his status of "most wanted" by authorities almost worldwide. Being an international assassin among other things had its downside. The only exception to this was alcohol which he drank gallons of and never had any effect on him, a fact that annoyed him greatly.
He had a blurred flashback of a drinking contest, swelling with rage as he recognized the opponent: Logan. Where? When? Real memory or implant? As always when he thought of the runt his anger surged and his reason went haywire and he slashed in rage at a tree nearby and then another and then another until the anger wore off a few minutes later, resulting in a wide circle of destruction around him. He pushed all thoughts of Wolverine and his old times aside, and calmed down.
Fortunately he had already eaten his hunt of the day because all living things around him had scurried off or flown away at top speed as soon as his outburst had begun . He tried to shake the last remains of reminiscence away as he started back to the camp and failed. Passing visions of uniforms, armored suits, visors, they all flashed into his mind and he could almost feel them on for an instant. Bits of conversation too or shouting and, over all the rest, scents of burning flesh, scents of blood, scents of gun lube, scents of fear, then nothing. He sighed and concentrated, trying to catch a glimpse of recognizable reality in any of those memories, something to tell him for sure that they were his, but to no avail. No amount of concentration had helped him so far and he would have to leave it at that stage for the time being.
His mind continued wandering and stopped at his last contact with Fear, almost a year ago in this same part of the world.
========
A year earlier
=========
He came back to conscience only partially and noticed it was dark and cold around him. In spite of the general numbness of his body he could feel cold stone against his chest and cheek. He realized he was lying on the floor, probably on a cellar or basement, and he had been stripped of his shirt and shoes. His hands and feet felt contained and he guessed hard metal. Making an effort he managed to move slightly and recognized the feel of strong ankle and wrist restraints. His hands were also bound into fists with metal straps. *Great* he thought.
His mind started to clear to some extent and the happenings of earlier came back to him. There had been no scents to warn him, so they were wearing phenomonal inhibitors. And he had fallen for their trap like a baby following candy trail. He could kick himself for being so stupid. Very, very sloppy, Victor, you're getting old, he thought with an inner growl of anger.
His fine hearing picked up some conversation from outside the room.
*What's the reading?* a commanding voice was asking.
*Alive, sir and coping with a huge amount of sedative* a second voice said and then a soft whistle. *a HUGE amount, sir*.
*Dosage?*
*40 doses an hour just to keep him under*
*We don't have enough sedative stored to keep this up commander* put in a third voice, concern showing in his tone. *We'll have to call one of the warriors to handle him, and very soon too*
*Let's hope they send us one of the sane ones..* the other subaltern voice added.
*Enough* the commanding voice was admonitory and hard. *Put the dosage at 50 an hour and keep an eye in the reading. If it gets anywhere near conscious, hit him with an extra 20 doses and call me*. Victor heard his firm step for a while until they faded in the distance.
*I just can't understand why they would want this guy anyway. Way too dangerous if you ask me* first voice muttered *did you see what he did to the German guy in the third unit? The stuff nightmares are made of, man!*
Second voice was more relaxed or knew more *We are not keeping him. Key the entry in, his readings are getting higher* and then darkness came again.
==
The second time he came around he found himself recovering at great speed. Good, it meant they had either run out of sedative or suspended it. He lay down motionless gathering energy for his next move. He was still in the stone room and he could feel now a needle connected to his artery in the neck, where a collar was tight but not enough to suffocate him. He opened his eyes and in the dim light let in by a tiny window he got his bearings. The room was not too big but big enough for a man to stand close to the walls out of his reach. He was secured to the wall with a small length of a thick chain, hand and feet. The collar around his neck had a line of tube hooked to a dispenser unit on the wall.
Completely conscious now, he took in deeply, catching the scent of three men just outside the door. There was a lot of fear there and he smiled inwardly thinking he still had the touch. The door opened and two of them came in very cautiously. Victor closed his eyes and waited.
*He should be semi-conscious now* one of them said.
As the other was about to answer, in one fluid movement Victor pushed himself back toward the wall and launched himself with all his might at them, roaring. He saw their eyes widen in sheer terror. His momentum snapped the chains and caused the bolts in the wall and the coupling on the bracelets to give a few millimeters and he almost got a bite-full of the first man. The soldier fell on his back screaming in terror, then flipped over frantically and retreated in all four whimpering. The second man had been right behind the first and had made a jump back that would have won an Olympic medal, panting through clenched teeth. Victor grinned his ugly killing grin.
*WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!* boomed an authoritarian voice just outside in the corridor and a commanding officer came into view as Victor was lashing out for the second time. He was well beyond reach so he had the guts to play the fearless leader. *You were supposed to prepare him for travel and for the warrior to handle, you idiots, not to get him on this state!* he screamed in a high pitched that betrayed his true level of courage.
Victor had bounced back and hurled himself out again with incredible force, causing the bolts to loosen a few millimeters more with a loud snap. His roaring was deafening and bounced off the walls reverberating all over the place. The sedation line had come loose and was dripping on the floor. A couple more thrusts and he would get the chains free from the wall, and even without the use of his claws he could deal with the three soldiers without even breaking into a sweat. His neck was bruised and bloody, as well as his ankles and wrists, but he almost didn't feel the pain. The huge surge of adrenaline and his inner rage had gotten the best of him and he was on pure instinct now, lashing out wildly, only one thing on his mind: get loose and kill.
*Just hold him until the warrior gets here, for fuck's sake!* the commander shouted in visible panic, *Where the hell are those two idiots with the hypo-guns?*
*No more doses, sir, we've used them all on him already, we were expecting the warrior an hour ago!* the first man shouted to be heard over Victor's roaring. He tried to reach the door to close it, but the door opened to the inside and that put his arm into Creed's range.
The commander touched his comm and looked straight at Victor. He saw relief in the man's eyes and suspicion crept into his mind. He launched himself frantically out again, his instinct telling him there was no time left, and there was another snap, bolts almost out of the wall. As he bounced back and landed on the wall to thrust out the fifth time he was hit by pain and immediately recognized the signature. He fell to the floor and the familiar wave of nausea and fear exploded in him. The level was unbearable this time and he curled up and screamed in terror. Wave after wave of pain and fear washed over him leaving him shaking and unable to move, his mind frantically trying to cope with the horrible sensation, but to no avail, and he instinctively curled up into a ball.
As the first shock wore off he managed to turn his face to the door, where he heard the voices of the soldiers as if in a dream. He managed to clench his teeth and kept an enraged and fearful moaning instead of the shouting. At the door was Fear, robe-clad as always, her face a cold mask where only a glimpse of recognition had crept for a split second. The soldiers were covered in sweat and so was the commander, but they had regained their composure and the commander was bowing to the woman.
*Put him in the shuttle* she said, and left.
The three men grabbed him and hurriedly put him on a hover-pallet. He tried desperately to regain control of his movements, but he was still very much in Fear's grasp and shaking in terror and pain, completely at their mercy. A man stood by his feet maneuvering the hover-pallet into the corridor and then into an elevator to the outside. As they came out in the open he realized he was in a different location from the house where they had captured him (they had probably moved him while drugged). He saw Fear again standing by a small shuttle. Crimson was slowly rising within him and rage was competing with fear. He caught another glimpse of her strange eyes but then he was moved and stowed into the open shuttlecraft and he lost sight of her.
As his healing factor adapted to the levels of pain and fear, new waves hit him with excruciating results. He closed his eyes and roared once more, realizing in a blur that he was being rolled off from the pallet and towards one of the inner walls of the shuttlecraft. His chains were reduced to a feet or so in length and secured to the wall, and then the soldiers started to get in. A trooper with a massive hypo-gun and a device he assumed to be a taser sat next to him, so close he could almost grab his heavy booted feet. Fear also sat on his line of view but further away, looking at him intently. He had managed to keep his teeth clenched and a low moaning.
The shuttlecraft took off and he figured they were going at very high speed, judging from the screaming engines. The man sitting close to him put the hypo-gun to his neck and made a round of shots with it, half numbing Victor, then the pain and the fear stopped abruptly. As he realized he had been released from Fear's grip he lay down motionless, hoping there would be a window of opportunity, but the man put the hypo-gun against his throat again to give him another round, then something odd happened. The man flinched almost imperceptibly and retreated, then leveled the gun again, but it was too late.
Still half numb but in full possession of his faculties, Victor used the wall as platform once again and hurled himself forward across the floor with all the might that his rage could gather, coming loose and carrying a piece of the wall together with the chains and knocking over everyone on his way. He ended up against the other wall by the door lock panel and he went for it. Mayhem all around was caused by the sudden depressurization, and knowing he could not reach Fear before she hit him again, as two men obstaculised him, he jumped out and fell into the void. The last thing he saw before going out was Fear herself, sitting on the floor, her eyes half open staring at him with a strange intensity. As he went through the door his jaw dropped in surprise and realization.
He fell for long minutes amidst torrential rain and finally hit bottom, realizing with surprise and relief that they had been flying over the sea. He went under for ages and then floated back up, his lungs almost exploding as he reached the surface of the water. He could feel his ribs broken and all his body bruised, probably a lot of internal bleeding as well. Luckily it seemed they had not been very high and that had saved his life. He floated on his back and struggled to keep his head clear of the water, exhausted, hoping there were no sharks around. The was a big storm building rapidly all around him, which was good news because it meant that the shuttle would not be able to either come for him nor trace him. The bad news was that he was in shit shape and very likely to drown miserably. *Been worse* he thought, trying to keep his optimism alive.
His hand were still bound and he pushed against the straps and then the bracelets with his feet, braking a few bones in the process but finally getting rid of them. He didn't have the energy to try and get rid of the collar and anklets and left them there for later.
As he struggled to keep afloat in the growing storm, a darker shadow came into view and he realized a ship was within reach. Frantically using the last of his energy, he fought back the pain and started swimming jerkily towards it. If he was lucky they would pick him up and, being in the middle of a storm, they would not be able to communicate his rescue to anyone until he could arrange for this never to be known.
==
Huge waves towering around his ship, the captain and crew were completely blinded by the wall of water coming down. Except for the captain himself and the navigator, they were too busy trying to keep the cargo intact to notice anything besides that. The captain, however, worrying that the pounding waves would loosen up some of the apparel secured to the decks, was keeping an eye just in case. As the ship dove down a mass of water washed its deck in a huge cataract, leaving something big behind that crushed into the deck with a big thud. *A walrus, or perhaps a sea lion?* the captain thought. *That would be a story worth telling* he figured with a smile, then the smile froze as he saw the figure claw out to grab a metal rail before the next avalanche of water could take it away and his heart shrank in ill omen.
========
END OF CHAPTER THREE
Discl: None of the known characters are mine, but Marvel's. No money.
Char: Sabretooth and others.
In short: Life as a Mercenary and the beginning of a beautiful enmity, as always.
Rating: mmm.. -language and violence.
And the third one. This is a shorter but I had a brainstorm on Tuesday and managed to put it all down in writing. Mind you, I never thought I would get this far without tangling myself (and poor Vic) in some dead end situation. Enjoy (hopefully) and PLEASE REVIEW.
========
Hunting again in the rainforest. Ahh! This was the life! Victor could never get over the stench of men and their cities, his heightened senses refused to become accustomed. It must be all that shit they eat, he thought. He breathed deeply. This place, on the other side, made him feel completely renewed in body and soul. The clean, cold misty air, plenty of game, clear water, and no humans. He caught himself smiling.
If not for anything else, this was reason enough to make the trip, he thought. They had been in the jungle for two days and homing in to the location of the bunker. He figured they were about three days from the place. It would have been about half the time for him, but he had to account for Raims who was slower than him (well, everybody was slower than him), and for Foster who had managed to stumble in every single branch and fall in every single hole in their way, as if he had an in-built tracking device, and generally made a nuisance of himself. The only thing that had kept him alive, even though Victor had had claws half out most of the time, was the fact that the little rat had proved to be a bottomless well of information and that was something Creed valued way over his need for fun or peace.
They had started their trek at a minor airport by the end of the jagged line of the Chilean cost, way down south near the glaciers, and worked their way to the jungle by foot to avoid being noticed, which had taken them three days. Technology in the last 3 hundred years had developed a lot of means of transport which avoided detection, but of course it had also provided the counterpart, so they were basically back to square one, sort of speak, and had to do this the old way. Not that Victor minded. Except for the timeframe, he enjoyed and welcomed physical tasks as they formed most of his normal "workout" to keep fit. He actually preferred it this way because he believed real situations were far more effective to tune body and senses than artificial ones.
He was a well developed man, and even though his healing factor got rid of most of the insidious toxins he (or others) put in it, he generally preferred a very natural diet: mostly fresh meat and some vegetables and fruit, all of it raw. Not that he didn't enjoy fine cuisine, which he certainly did, but that was something he did as an exception to treat himself, which didn't happen often on account of his status of "most wanted" by authorities almost worldwide. Being an international assassin among other things had its downside. The only exception to this was alcohol which he drank gallons of and never had any effect on him, a fact that annoyed him greatly.
He had a blurred flashback of a drinking contest, swelling with rage as he recognized the opponent: Logan. Where? When? Real memory or implant? As always when he thought of the runt his anger surged and his reason went haywire and he slashed in rage at a tree nearby and then another and then another until the anger wore off a few minutes later, resulting in a wide circle of destruction around him. He pushed all thoughts of Wolverine and his old times aside, and calmed down.
Fortunately he had already eaten his hunt of the day because all living things around him had scurried off or flown away at top speed as soon as his outburst had begun . He tried to shake the last remains of reminiscence away as he started back to the camp and failed. Passing visions of uniforms, armored suits, visors, they all flashed into his mind and he could almost feel them on for an instant. Bits of conversation too or shouting and, over all the rest, scents of burning flesh, scents of blood, scents of gun lube, scents of fear, then nothing. He sighed and concentrated, trying to catch a glimpse of recognizable reality in any of those memories, something to tell him for sure that they were his, but to no avail. No amount of concentration had helped him so far and he would have to leave it at that stage for the time being.
His mind continued wandering and stopped at his last contact with Fear, almost a year ago in this same part of the world.
========
A year earlier
=========
He came back to conscience only partially and noticed it was dark and cold around him. In spite of the general numbness of his body he could feel cold stone against his chest and cheek. He realized he was lying on the floor, probably on a cellar or basement, and he had been stripped of his shirt and shoes. His hands and feet felt contained and he guessed hard metal. Making an effort he managed to move slightly and recognized the feel of strong ankle and wrist restraints. His hands were also bound into fists with metal straps. *Great* he thought.
His mind started to clear to some extent and the happenings of earlier came back to him. There had been no scents to warn him, so they were wearing phenomonal inhibitors. And he had fallen for their trap like a baby following candy trail. He could kick himself for being so stupid. Very, very sloppy, Victor, you're getting old, he thought with an inner growl of anger.
His fine hearing picked up some conversation from outside the room.
*What's the reading?* a commanding voice was asking.
*Alive, sir and coping with a huge amount of sedative* a second voice said and then a soft whistle. *a HUGE amount, sir*.
*Dosage?*
*40 doses an hour just to keep him under*
*We don't have enough sedative stored to keep this up commander* put in a third voice, concern showing in his tone. *We'll have to call one of the warriors to handle him, and very soon too*
*Let's hope they send us one of the sane ones..* the other subaltern voice added.
*Enough* the commanding voice was admonitory and hard. *Put the dosage at 50 an hour and keep an eye in the reading. If it gets anywhere near conscious, hit him with an extra 20 doses and call me*. Victor heard his firm step for a while until they faded in the distance.
*I just can't understand why they would want this guy anyway. Way too dangerous if you ask me* first voice muttered *did you see what he did to the German guy in the third unit? The stuff nightmares are made of, man!*
Second voice was more relaxed or knew more *We are not keeping him. Key the entry in, his readings are getting higher* and then darkness came again.
==
The second time he came around he found himself recovering at great speed. Good, it meant they had either run out of sedative or suspended it. He lay down motionless gathering energy for his next move. He was still in the stone room and he could feel now a needle connected to his artery in the neck, where a collar was tight but not enough to suffocate him. He opened his eyes and in the dim light let in by a tiny window he got his bearings. The room was not too big but big enough for a man to stand close to the walls out of his reach. He was secured to the wall with a small length of a thick chain, hand and feet. The collar around his neck had a line of tube hooked to a dispenser unit on the wall.
Completely conscious now, he took in deeply, catching the scent of three men just outside the door. There was a lot of fear there and he smiled inwardly thinking he still had the touch. The door opened and two of them came in very cautiously. Victor closed his eyes and waited.
*He should be semi-conscious now* one of them said.
As the other was about to answer, in one fluid movement Victor pushed himself back toward the wall and launched himself with all his might at them, roaring. He saw their eyes widen in sheer terror. His momentum snapped the chains and caused the bolts in the wall and the coupling on the bracelets to give a few millimeters and he almost got a bite-full of the first man. The soldier fell on his back screaming in terror, then flipped over frantically and retreated in all four whimpering. The second man had been right behind the first and had made a jump back that would have won an Olympic medal, panting through clenched teeth. Victor grinned his ugly killing grin.
*WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!* boomed an authoritarian voice just outside in the corridor and a commanding officer came into view as Victor was lashing out for the second time. He was well beyond reach so he had the guts to play the fearless leader. *You were supposed to prepare him for travel and for the warrior to handle, you idiots, not to get him on this state!* he screamed in a high pitched that betrayed his true level of courage.
Victor had bounced back and hurled himself out again with incredible force, causing the bolts to loosen a few millimeters more with a loud snap. His roaring was deafening and bounced off the walls reverberating all over the place. The sedation line had come loose and was dripping on the floor. A couple more thrusts and he would get the chains free from the wall, and even without the use of his claws he could deal with the three soldiers without even breaking into a sweat. His neck was bruised and bloody, as well as his ankles and wrists, but he almost didn't feel the pain. The huge surge of adrenaline and his inner rage had gotten the best of him and he was on pure instinct now, lashing out wildly, only one thing on his mind: get loose and kill.
*Just hold him until the warrior gets here, for fuck's sake!* the commander shouted in visible panic, *Where the hell are those two idiots with the hypo-guns?*
*No more doses, sir, we've used them all on him already, we were expecting the warrior an hour ago!* the first man shouted to be heard over Victor's roaring. He tried to reach the door to close it, but the door opened to the inside and that put his arm into Creed's range.
The commander touched his comm and looked straight at Victor. He saw relief in the man's eyes and suspicion crept into his mind. He launched himself frantically out again, his instinct telling him there was no time left, and there was another snap, bolts almost out of the wall. As he bounced back and landed on the wall to thrust out the fifth time he was hit by pain and immediately recognized the signature. He fell to the floor and the familiar wave of nausea and fear exploded in him. The level was unbearable this time and he curled up and screamed in terror. Wave after wave of pain and fear washed over him leaving him shaking and unable to move, his mind frantically trying to cope with the horrible sensation, but to no avail, and he instinctively curled up into a ball.
As the first shock wore off he managed to turn his face to the door, where he heard the voices of the soldiers as if in a dream. He managed to clench his teeth and kept an enraged and fearful moaning instead of the shouting. At the door was Fear, robe-clad as always, her face a cold mask where only a glimpse of recognition had crept for a split second. The soldiers were covered in sweat and so was the commander, but they had regained their composure and the commander was bowing to the woman.
*Put him in the shuttle* she said, and left.
The three men grabbed him and hurriedly put him on a hover-pallet. He tried desperately to regain control of his movements, but he was still very much in Fear's grasp and shaking in terror and pain, completely at their mercy. A man stood by his feet maneuvering the hover-pallet into the corridor and then into an elevator to the outside. As they came out in the open he realized he was in a different location from the house where they had captured him (they had probably moved him while drugged). He saw Fear again standing by a small shuttle. Crimson was slowly rising within him and rage was competing with fear. He caught another glimpse of her strange eyes but then he was moved and stowed into the open shuttlecraft and he lost sight of her.
As his healing factor adapted to the levels of pain and fear, new waves hit him with excruciating results. He closed his eyes and roared once more, realizing in a blur that he was being rolled off from the pallet and towards one of the inner walls of the shuttlecraft. His chains were reduced to a feet or so in length and secured to the wall, and then the soldiers started to get in. A trooper with a massive hypo-gun and a device he assumed to be a taser sat next to him, so close he could almost grab his heavy booted feet. Fear also sat on his line of view but further away, looking at him intently. He had managed to keep his teeth clenched and a low moaning.
The shuttlecraft took off and he figured they were going at very high speed, judging from the screaming engines. The man sitting close to him put the hypo-gun to his neck and made a round of shots with it, half numbing Victor, then the pain and the fear stopped abruptly. As he realized he had been released from Fear's grip he lay down motionless, hoping there would be a window of opportunity, but the man put the hypo-gun against his throat again to give him another round, then something odd happened. The man flinched almost imperceptibly and retreated, then leveled the gun again, but it was too late.
Still half numb but in full possession of his faculties, Victor used the wall as platform once again and hurled himself forward across the floor with all the might that his rage could gather, coming loose and carrying a piece of the wall together with the chains and knocking over everyone on his way. He ended up against the other wall by the door lock panel and he went for it. Mayhem all around was caused by the sudden depressurization, and knowing he could not reach Fear before she hit him again, as two men obstaculised him, he jumped out and fell into the void. The last thing he saw before going out was Fear herself, sitting on the floor, her eyes half open staring at him with a strange intensity. As he went through the door his jaw dropped in surprise and realization.
He fell for long minutes amidst torrential rain and finally hit bottom, realizing with surprise and relief that they had been flying over the sea. He went under for ages and then floated back up, his lungs almost exploding as he reached the surface of the water. He could feel his ribs broken and all his body bruised, probably a lot of internal bleeding as well. Luckily it seemed they had not been very high and that had saved his life. He floated on his back and struggled to keep his head clear of the water, exhausted, hoping there were no sharks around. The was a big storm building rapidly all around him, which was good news because it meant that the shuttle would not be able to either come for him nor trace him. The bad news was that he was in shit shape and very likely to drown miserably. *Been worse* he thought, trying to keep his optimism alive.
His hand were still bound and he pushed against the straps and then the bracelets with his feet, braking a few bones in the process but finally getting rid of them. He didn't have the energy to try and get rid of the collar and anklets and left them there for later.
As he struggled to keep afloat in the growing storm, a darker shadow came into view and he realized a ship was within reach. Frantically using the last of his energy, he fought back the pain and started swimming jerkily towards it. If he was lucky they would pick him up and, being in the middle of a storm, they would not be able to communicate his rescue to anyone until he could arrange for this never to be known.
==
Huge waves towering around his ship, the captain and crew were completely blinded by the wall of water coming down. Except for the captain himself and the navigator, they were too busy trying to keep the cargo intact to notice anything besides that. The captain, however, worrying that the pounding waves would loosen up some of the apparel secured to the decks, was keeping an eye just in case. As the ship dove down a mass of water washed its deck in a huge cataract, leaving something big behind that crushed into the deck with a big thud. *A walrus, or perhaps a sea lion?* the captain thought. *That would be a story worth telling* he figured with a smile, then the smile froze as he saw the figure claw out to grab a metal rail before the next avalanche of water could take it away and his heart shrank in ill omen.
========
END OF CHAPTER THREE