Disclaimers: See Chapter One
WENDIGO
By Susan Zell
Chapter Two: A Narrow Escape
Professor George Challenger and Ned Malone maneuvered their way through the small path granted them by the ever growing jungle. Veronica, lithe and slim and just ahead of them, made it look so easy. She bobbed between the grasping vines as if she were a trained contortionist.
Snagged by the entwined vines and jerked momentarily backwards, Ned groaned watching Veronica's weaving body dart in and out with grace. While a part of him enjoyed the show, the other manly part was jealous. It made him look that much more pathetic. Thankfully, he was behind her so he wouldn't look too much the fool.
His only consolation was that the professor was even more beleaguered than he was. Of course, he was over thirty years his senior. For a man in his fifties, Professor Challenger was in remarkable shape. There were times Ned could swear the man was in better shape than he was. That was little comfort.
Veronica continued to blaze a trail, her machete slicing through the encroaching vines and foliage. Their hunting expedition had gone well. They had killed a wild pig and now it was her job to make sure they made it home safely with their prize. Unfortunately a T-rex had blocked their normal route and they were forced to take the long way back. It was a path they didn't use much and it hadn't take long for the jungle to take back what it owned. It never failed to make perfectly clear who was the master and who were just visitors.
A sound to her left made her freeze. She couldn't see anything but she let her senses reach out, waiting. Animals tended to continue moving, fleeing an enemy or meandering on, unaware of their presence. Human natives were more clever, at least most of them. She heard nothing except for the hard muffled breathing of the two men behind her.
She caught a glimpse of white to her left. That meant human. No animal was white in the jungle. Any abnormalities, like albinos, were quickly consumed by the ferocity of the jungle beasts. They stuck out like sore thumbs.
Waving for the men to stay where they were, she slipped through the trees. She hoped to sneak around behind the figures, hopefully without them ever noticing they were being watched. With any luck, the intruders hadn't seen them and the two groups would just pass each other by, never the wiser.
She crept through the trees and finally saw the white again. They were robed figures, five in all, three men and two women. They were unfamiliar to her. It never ceased to amaze her that so many groups coexisted on the plateau and that in her numerous years she had yet to meet them all. It just continued to lend credence to Challenger's claim that this was a world out of synch with the rest of the known universe. It existed on a multitude of levels, both real and unreal.
They appeared outwardly as normal as any other denizen of the plateau. Save they were all dressed in white robes that fell about mid length around their knees, and tied with a simple hemp robe about their waists. They all wore amulets of different sizes and shapes.
But what disturbed Veronica the most was that this particular group seemed to be coming from the direction of the treehouse. Thankfully, they didn't seem interested in them and soon they were gone, swallowed up by the jungle. Veronica let them go.
There was the sound of crushing vegetation coming up behind her. She spun to see Ned scrambling up to her.
"What was it? Raptors?" Ned asked anxiously.
"No, just some people passing through."
"They looked like they came from the treehouse."
"Yes. Let's get back there."
Her tone of voice was not overly reassuring. He readjusted the shank of boar on his back and together they collected Challenger and made their way home as quickly as possible.
To their relief, nothing seemed out of place. No sign of battle. However, the trail of the visitors did show them to have been at the treehouse for some time. Their footprints were at the clearing's edge, but no further.
The elevator deposited them up top and they were met by Marguerite. Her worried expression immediately renewed their distress.
"Thank heavens, you're back," Marguerite exclaimed.
Challenger set his hat on the peg by the elevator. "What's wrong?"
"Roxton's been ill, or at least I think he's ill. Though he claims he's fine."
"Where is he?"
"Out on the balcony."
"What was the problem?" Ned asked.
Marguerite shrugged and colored a bit, a tad embarrassed that she didn't have much to go on for all this show of concern. Still she offered, "Loss of appetite, pale."
"Fever?" Veronica asked.
"No, but he seems withdrawn, quiet. He actually slept during the day."
Challenger chuckled. What Marguerite described didn't sound so bad. Most likely it was nothing serious, but to put the heiress at ease, he'd check on Roxton. "I'm sure it's nothing, Marguerite. I can't blame him for being out of sorts after all we've been through of late. I'll look in on him. In the meantime, you can help Malone and Veronica prepare the boar meat we've brought back. It's been awhile since we had fresh meat."
Marguerite frowned. "Oh joy," she muttered. The fun just never stopped. It was times like these, one horrid chore after another, that made her long for a way back to civilization. If she never had to look at another piece of raw meat again, it would be fine with her. She'd much rather go with Challenger and grill Roxton till he confessed what was wrong. But she also knew enough of the stubborn male animal that they were not very forthcoming with information when women were present. Maybe he would be honest with Challenger.
Yeah right, she reconsidered. And maybe the boar would dress itself. She smirked at that particular image. A nice yellow frock and a flowered hat perhaps. She was still chuckling when she walked over to Ned and Veronica who eyed her curiously.
***
Challenger found Roxton on the balcony as Marguerite indicated. The hunter was leaning on the rail and looking out over the grandness of the plateau. He looked well, a bit drawn perhaps, but then after the last few weeks he had every right. They all did. Some days the Lost World was absolutely tedious in its boredom, and then on other days, it seemed as if the mayhem and terror never stopped. Unfortunately, more often of late, they had had their share of the latter.
"Welcome home, George," Roxton spoke without even looking over his shoulder at the man.
Challenger was surprised. He didn't think he had made that much noise as he approached. What had given him away? And how the heck had the hunter known it was him and not one of the others in their party?
Challenger chalked it up to the fact that Roxton was the consummate hunter in every way. The man had skills and reflexes born of someone who lived out of the bush of Africa, New Guinea, Asia, South America, and now this forgotten plateau. The man was a bloody marvel at times with his tracking skills and quick thinking, to which the explorers owed their lives many times over.
"It's good to be back," the professor returned, coming up to stand beside his friend.
"How was the hunt?"
"It went well. Malone brought down a boar. Single shot through the heart."
"Good man."
"He's improved greatly thanks to your tutelage."
"He's got the instinct. He just needed to nurture it."
A silence stretched between them and Challenger decided it would be best to just broach the topic head on. Must be a left over part of that whole goat episode, he mused, something even Challenger wanted put behind him.
"Marguerite says you were ill while we were gone."
A small sigh of exasperation slid through Roxton's lips. "I'm fine," he offered.
"Your shoulder bothering you?"
Roxton shook his head. He knew Challenger wouldn't give up easily on this topic. He was the anointed physician since Summerlee's disappearance. A role he had adopted with far too much relish these days. "Just some queasiness. It came and passed."
"Any abdominal pain? You took some heavy hits from the Kanu. Internal bleeding could be a possibi…"
Roxton held up a hand. "Enough. Really, Challenger, with you around who needs gloom and doom Marguerite? I just got too much sun while working on the roof. I'm fine now, all right?"
It didn't really sound like Roxton at all; he had witnessed Roxton trudge for days on end in the hot sun, but Challenger dropped the subject. Pushing this man never really got him anywhere. "Well, if you experience any symptoms again, come see me. If it's a virus of some sort, we don't want to risk infecting everyone."
Blunt to the core, Roxton mused. Challenger had the bedside manner of a bloody trog. These were the days when he missed Summerlee the most.
"Also," Challenger continued, quickly changing the topic, "Veronica spied some natives watching the treehouse. We passed them on the way back."
This immediately brought Roxton up straight. He looked over sharply at the professor. "We had visitors? Who were they?"
"No one we've ever seen before. Veronica said they wore white robes. Sort of reminded me of the clan that lived underground, the one with the oracle child."
"But they weren't?"
"No," Challenger said. "The people of the oracle had lost all pigmentation from being under ground. Not so with these."
"Then who were they? Veronica didn't know?"
"They were definitely new to the plateau. We found their tracks milling over there." Challenger gestured to a small grove of saplings to the left just outside the electric fence.
It was near Roxton's sleeping quarters. The hunter didn't like the feeling of dread that crept over him.
"I'll go down there and check it out." He pushed off the rail and turned to head back into the treehouse when he felt Challenger's hand on his arm.
"They're gone for now, Roxton. Don't worry yourself."
"I don't like the fact that we were being watched, George. It means that we interesting enough to be a sightseeing stop. If they are inclined to return, then I want to know who my adversaries are."
"I can't believe they could do anything to us up here."
Roxton shook his head at the man's blind faith. The electric fence was only capable against dinosaurs and trogs and things with even lower intelligence, apemen and the like. It didn't always take a genius to figure out how to get around the device.
"Humor me, Challenger." With that, he left to retrieve his rifle. Minutes later the elevator could be heard descending.
Marguerite came back into the room. She looked at Challenger quizzically. "Where's Roxton going?"
Challenger explained and soon Marguerite was also in a huff, except she was concerned that Roxton had taken off by himself, sick as he was.
"He seemed fine, Marguerite. Tired, I suppose, but he has every right."
"Yes, and did you ever think as to why he might be tired, George? He's pushing himself. He's not ready to tackle another adventure right now. And off he goes and you just let him."
"He's a grown man, Marguerite. He does as he pleases. I see no sense taking on the role of his father. And neither should you be interested in taking on the role of his mother."
Marguerite glared hotly at him. "If that's what you think then you obviously have no clue as to what is going on in this treehouse," she snapped.
She grabbed her pistol rig off the rack and strode for the elevator. Challenger let her go, a bit stunned by her outburst. He shrugged. Perhaps she could keep Roxton in hand, if he decided to chase after their visitors. The professor instead went to change into something less ripe after a two day hunting expedition.
***
Roxton slipped silently through the branches, his eyes tracking the soft-soled footprints on the ground before him. His prey kept single file to hide their numbers, a plot Roxton himself had used often. They had an unusual smell, one that permeated the very air around him still. It was an earth scent, yet mixed with that of iron, which Challenger collected sometimes for his experiments. The stench of it never used to bother Roxton until lately. Now he hated it. And worse still, it was maddeningly familiar. He had smelled it once before, a long time ago. But he couldn't figure out from where.
His adversaries' trail continued moving away from the treehouse, which relieved him. Soon they would be out of the explorers' territory and Roxton would be satisfied that they hadn't turned around.
He stopped following them and took his bearings. He was about ten miles from the treehouse. He'd be back after nightfall but not too late. Still, he knew it would be enough to worry his companions. They all worried a bit too much in his opinion. Of all of them, he was the most capable out here, even more so than Veronica. He was better armed and far stronger. He had learned all he needed to learn from her about the savagery of the plateau and how to survive it.
He took a last cursory glance around, letting the sounds and smells of the jungle wash over him as he stock of his surroundings. Content that he was alone, he headed home at a leisurely pace. It was nice to be out of the treehouse. He had felt far too confined of late with everyone fussing. He was fine, damn it! There was only the barest of twinges from his shoulder wound and the other bruised and battered places on his body were inconsequential. Certainly nothing that warranted being caged like he was. The fresh air and sunshine would do him far more good than being stuck in the treehouse.
The long trek back was a pleasure despite the fact that he was a little tired and stiff, but overall not bad. He had to pause several times to let passing dinosaurs go by, but he always remained downwind and invisible to them, giving him free passage. He was well over halfway home and darkness was starting to descend, drawing long shadows from the large trees. Roxton welcomed them. He could move more easily and felt safer hidden within them. He didn't need a torch to light his way; it would only bring him to the attention of other predators.
A snapping of brush made him freeze. Listening intently and taking a scent of the wind, he realized that whatever had made the sound was close. And in trouble.
With a smile on his face, he stalked toward it, reveling in its plaintive cries, and the smell of sweat, blood and fear was unmistakable. He should put it out of its misery, quickly, painlessly, lest some raptor found it and started feasting before its victim was truly dead. The beast had very little caring for their prey. He had once witnessed them toying with a poor victim, just for the sport of it.
He crept through the jungle, his rifle still slung over his shoulder, his eyes centering on the sound from up the trail. He slipped his knife from his sheath. He'd do it quietly. One shot from the rifle would carry to the treehouse and alert everyone. No sense doing that. A single cut through the jugular and the life giving blood would drain, swiftly, efficiently. A shiver of anticipation went through Roxton. He licked his lips.
****
Marguerite tried to untangle herself from the creeper vine nest she had fallen into thanks to the pitch darkness. Her torch had fallen to the side, but thankfully it was still lit. She struggled to extract her left leg, twisted and caught in the sticky grip of the damned thing. A sharp prick on her hand quickly informed her that some other thorny bush was tangled in it as well. It only served to make her even more annoyed. She was scratched in numerous places and she could tell her beautiful blouse was taking a beating from it.
She hated sewing! It didn't matter she was good at it. Damn those nuns at the orphanage anyway. Couldn't they have taught her a more useful skill, like escaping jungle vines.
As her last curse faded from her lips, she became aware of another sound, the sound of breathing, deep and harsh. It came from the darkness surrounding her. It was unmistakably an animal, one that didn't care if its prey heard it or not, as if it knew that there was no way for its prey to escape.
A predator.
Marguerite fumbled for her pistol at her side. Thanks to the tangle of vines, her fingers just barely brushed the butt of it, just out of reach.
She struggled harder, knowing it was the only thing that would save her, even though she realized that her motions of helplessness probably only served to excite her stalker.
"Oh please," she lamented harshly as she strained for her weapon. "Just this once, can something go right?"
She heard a slight shuffle of branches as the thing moved around behind her. "Damn it!" She moved her entire weight, ignoring the stab of the thorns as they dug into her tender flesh as she leaned over as far as she could.
Fingers finally curled around the pistol. "Thank heavens!" She jerked it up quickly, only to have it snagged by a vine and ripped from her grasp.
"NO!"
There was a crashing behind her and she screamed, twisting around to face her attacker, waiting for the slashing teeth and claws to slice into her. She shrieked in terror.
To her shock and relief, it was Roxton, holding a knife and crouched low.
"Roxton!" she cried out, relieved to see him.
He continued to stalk towards her. His face was twisted into a sick snarl, the knife gleaming in the firelight. Was it a trick of the light or were his eyes glowing yellow?
"John!" she shouted forcefully.
Roxton drew up short and blinked at her. He bowed his head, shaking it for a second, and then looked up.
"Marguerite?"
His eyes were back to the simple green they were. It must have been a trick of the light.
"Yes, it's me, Roxton, goddamn it. Stop messing around and help me out of this! There's something out there."
He gazed at the knife in his hand as if unsure what it was. Then he slipped it back into its sheath and came forward
"There's nothing out there," he told her.
"Yeah, right. Just the big thing with the heavy breathing!"
He pulled the vines carefully from her, trying hard to ignore the fact that smears of blood dotted her. Nothing serious but the way it glistened in the torchlight mixed with her salty sweat…
He swallowed convulsively. He must have looked oddly pale, because Marguerite touched his arm.
"What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing. I'm fine."
"Was it you crawling around in the bushes? What are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?"
Roxton remained silent and finished extracting Marguerite from her trap. He heaved her to her feet, and while she took stock of herself and adjusted her wardrobe, he retrieved her pistol. She snatched it from his hands and shoved it into her holster. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she grabbed the torch, considering the solemn hunter before her.
He looked pale and drawn. His eyes were bloodshot, which explained maybe what she thought she had seen before. She didn't bother asking him if he was feeling well. She knew the answer. Instead, she decided to just get him back to the treehouse. She picked a safe topic.
"Did you find our little party crashers?"
The man shook his head. "They moved out of our territory."
"That's good." She regarded him oddly. "Territory? We have a territory?"
Embarrassed at his choice of terminology, Roxton turned and moved toward the jungle's edge. "Yes," he stated.
"Who would have known." What an odd term for Roxton to use, she thought. It sounded like…well, it was just weird. She trudged after him with the torch. How was he able to see where he was going without one? The little creep of dread was back and it grew more intense as she watched Roxton move unerringly through the woods, his pace strong and determined.
"John," she called out, wanting him to slow down. He was pushing himself. Not to mention her. He jerked to a halt and turned to stare at her, his shoulders hunched and his eyes reflected in her torchlight like an animal's, large and luminous with a haunting green glow. Marguerite suppressed a shiver.
"What?" he growled at her.
No, not growled. Growled.
"Do you need the torch?" she asked meekly.
"No," came the sharp, throaty reply.
"We are heading back to the treehouse, right?"
"Yes."
"That's good." She stared at him in fear.
Roxton noticed the expression in her face and looked abruptly away. He made an effort to straighten and shove aside the whirlwind of sensations swirling inside him. He couldn't grasp any of them, though he knew they had hold of him somehow.
A part of him was losing the battle. Every time he stared at Marguerite's blood flecked face, saw the glisten of sweat on her brow, the smell of her fear, he felt something want to snap inside him. With the same Herculean effort that had stopped him in the clearing, he shoved it all down into the pit of his soul.
For Marguerite's sake.
For the sake of his own sanity.
"Come on, let's go home," he said in a much quieter voice. He offered her a small smile in an attempt to reassure her, though it did little to reassure himself.
Relieved, she smiled back. That sounded more like the Lord John Roxton she knew. It was short lived however. As he took the torch from her hands, she could see that the dark of his pupils had filled his entire iris. No human eye could do such a thing. As the light of the torch entered them, they shrank back to normal.
He cocked his head in puzzlement at her, as if unaware of what had just happened, but then turned and lead the way toward home. It was a second or two before Marguerite followed, absolute dread filling her thoughts.
***
To be continued in Chapter Three
WENDIGO
By Susan Zell
Chapter Two: A Narrow Escape
Professor George Challenger and Ned Malone maneuvered their way through the small path granted them by the ever growing jungle. Veronica, lithe and slim and just ahead of them, made it look so easy. She bobbed between the grasping vines as if she were a trained contortionist.
Snagged by the entwined vines and jerked momentarily backwards, Ned groaned watching Veronica's weaving body dart in and out with grace. While a part of him enjoyed the show, the other manly part was jealous. It made him look that much more pathetic. Thankfully, he was behind her so he wouldn't look too much the fool.
His only consolation was that the professor was even more beleaguered than he was. Of course, he was over thirty years his senior. For a man in his fifties, Professor Challenger was in remarkable shape. There were times Ned could swear the man was in better shape than he was. That was little comfort.
Veronica continued to blaze a trail, her machete slicing through the encroaching vines and foliage. Their hunting expedition had gone well. They had killed a wild pig and now it was her job to make sure they made it home safely with their prize. Unfortunately a T-rex had blocked their normal route and they were forced to take the long way back. It was a path they didn't use much and it hadn't take long for the jungle to take back what it owned. It never failed to make perfectly clear who was the master and who were just visitors.
A sound to her left made her freeze. She couldn't see anything but she let her senses reach out, waiting. Animals tended to continue moving, fleeing an enemy or meandering on, unaware of their presence. Human natives were more clever, at least most of them. She heard nothing except for the hard muffled breathing of the two men behind her.
She caught a glimpse of white to her left. That meant human. No animal was white in the jungle. Any abnormalities, like albinos, were quickly consumed by the ferocity of the jungle beasts. They stuck out like sore thumbs.
Waving for the men to stay where they were, she slipped through the trees. She hoped to sneak around behind the figures, hopefully without them ever noticing they were being watched. With any luck, the intruders hadn't seen them and the two groups would just pass each other by, never the wiser.
She crept through the trees and finally saw the white again. They were robed figures, five in all, three men and two women. They were unfamiliar to her. It never ceased to amaze her that so many groups coexisted on the plateau and that in her numerous years she had yet to meet them all. It just continued to lend credence to Challenger's claim that this was a world out of synch with the rest of the known universe. It existed on a multitude of levels, both real and unreal.
They appeared outwardly as normal as any other denizen of the plateau. Save they were all dressed in white robes that fell about mid length around their knees, and tied with a simple hemp robe about their waists. They all wore amulets of different sizes and shapes.
But what disturbed Veronica the most was that this particular group seemed to be coming from the direction of the treehouse. Thankfully, they didn't seem interested in them and soon they were gone, swallowed up by the jungle. Veronica let them go.
There was the sound of crushing vegetation coming up behind her. She spun to see Ned scrambling up to her.
"What was it? Raptors?" Ned asked anxiously.
"No, just some people passing through."
"They looked like they came from the treehouse."
"Yes. Let's get back there."
Her tone of voice was not overly reassuring. He readjusted the shank of boar on his back and together they collected Challenger and made their way home as quickly as possible.
To their relief, nothing seemed out of place. No sign of battle. However, the trail of the visitors did show them to have been at the treehouse for some time. Their footprints were at the clearing's edge, but no further.
The elevator deposited them up top and they were met by Marguerite. Her worried expression immediately renewed their distress.
"Thank heavens, you're back," Marguerite exclaimed.
Challenger set his hat on the peg by the elevator. "What's wrong?"
"Roxton's been ill, or at least I think he's ill. Though he claims he's fine."
"Where is he?"
"Out on the balcony."
"What was the problem?" Ned asked.
Marguerite shrugged and colored a bit, a tad embarrassed that she didn't have much to go on for all this show of concern. Still she offered, "Loss of appetite, pale."
"Fever?" Veronica asked.
"No, but he seems withdrawn, quiet. He actually slept during the day."
Challenger chuckled. What Marguerite described didn't sound so bad. Most likely it was nothing serious, but to put the heiress at ease, he'd check on Roxton. "I'm sure it's nothing, Marguerite. I can't blame him for being out of sorts after all we've been through of late. I'll look in on him. In the meantime, you can help Malone and Veronica prepare the boar meat we've brought back. It's been awhile since we had fresh meat."
Marguerite frowned. "Oh joy," she muttered. The fun just never stopped. It was times like these, one horrid chore after another, that made her long for a way back to civilization. If she never had to look at another piece of raw meat again, it would be fine with her. She'd much rather go with Challenger and grill Roxton till he confessed what was wrong. But she also knew enough of the stubborn male animal that they were not very forthcoming with information when women were present. Maybe he would be honest with Challenger.
Yeah right, she reconsidered. And maybe the boar would dress itself. She smirked at that particular image. A nice yellow frock and a flowered hat perhaps. She was still chuckling when she walked over to Ned and Veronica who eyed her curiously.
***
Challenger found Roxton on the balcony as Marguerite indicated. The hunter was leaning on the rail and looking out over the grandness of the plateau. He looked well, a bit drawn perhaps, but then after the last few weeks he had every right. They all did. Some days the Lost World was absolutely tedious in its boredom, and then on other days, it seemed as if the mayhem and terror never stopped. Unfortunately, more often of late, they had had their share of the latter.
"Welcome home, George," Roxton spoke without even looking over his shoulder at the man.
Challenger was surprised. He didn't think he had made that much noise as he approached. What had given him away? And how the heck had the hunter known it was him and not one of the others in their party?
Challenger chalked it up to the fact that Roxton was the consummate hunter in every way. The man had skills and reflexes born of someone who lived out of the bush of Africa, New Guinea, Asia, South America, and now this forgotten plateau. The man was a bloody marvel at times with his tracking skills and quick thinking, to which the explorers owed their lives many times over.
"It's good to be back," the professor returned, coming up to stand beside his friend.
"How was the hunt?"
"It went well. Malone brought down a boar. Single shot through the heart."
"Good man."
"He's improved greatly thanks to your tutelage."
"He's got the instinct. He just needed to nurture it."
A silence stretched between them and Challenger decided it would be best to just broach the topic head on. Must be a left over part of that whole goat episode, he mused, something even Challenger wanted put behind him.
"Marguerite says you were ill while we were gone."
A small sigh of exasperation slid through Roxton's lips. "I'm fine," he offered.
"Your shoulder bothering you?"
Roxton shook his head. He knew Challenger wouldn't give up easily on this topic. He was the anointed physician since Summerlee's disappearance. A role he had adopted with far too much relish these days. "Just some queasiness. It came and passed."
"Any abdominal pain? You took some heavy hits from the Kanu. Internal bleeding could be a possibi…"
Roxton held up a hand. "Enough. Really, Challenger, with you around who needs gloom and doom Marguerite? I just got too much sun while working on the roof. I'm fine now, all right?"
It didn't really sound like Roxton at all; he had witnessed Roxton trudge for days on end in the hot sun, but Challenger dropped the subject. Pushing this man never really got him anywhere. "Well, if you experience any symptoms again, come see me. If it's a virus of some sort, we don't want to risk infecting everyone."
Blunt to the core, Roxton mused. Challenger had the bedside manner of a bloody trog. These were the days when he missed Summerlee the most.
"Also," Challenger continued, quickly changing the topic, "Veronica spied some natives watching the treehouse. We passed them on the way back."
This immediately brought Roxton up straight. He looked over sharply at the professor. "We had visitors? Who were they?"
"No one we've ever seen before. Veronica said they wore white robes. Sort of reminded me of the clan that lived underground, the one with the oracle child."
"But they weren't?"
"No," Challenger said. "The people of the oracle had lost all pigmentation from being under ground. Not so with these."
"Then who were they? Veronica didn't know?"
"They were definitely new to the plateau. We found their tracks milling over there." Challenger gestured to a small grove of saplings to the left just outside the electric fence.
It was near Roxton's sleeping quarters. The hunter didn't like the feeling of dread that crept over him.
"I'll go down there and check it out." He pushed off the rail and turned to head back into the treehouse when he felt Challenger's hand on his arm.
"They're gone for now, Roxton. Don't worry yourself."
"I don't like the fact that we were being watched, George. It means that we interesting enough to be a sightseeing stop. If they are inclined to return, then I want to know who my adversaries are."
"I can't believe they could do anything to us up here."
Roxton shook his head at the man's blind faith. The electric fence was only capable against dinosaurs and trogs and things with even lower intelligence, apemen and the like. It didn't always take a genius to figure out how to get around the device.
"Humor me, Challenger." With that, he left to retrieve his rifle. Minutes later the elevator could be heard descending.
Marguerite came back into the room. She looked at Challenger quizzically. "Where's Roxton going?"
Challenger explained and soon Marguerite was also in a huff, except she was concerned that Roxton had taken off by himself, sick as he was.
"He seemed fine, Marguerite. Tired, I suppose, but he has every right."
"Yes, and did you ever think as to why he might be tired, George? He's pushing himself. He's not ready to tackle another adventure right now. And off he goes and you just let him."
"He's a grown man, Marguerite. He does as he pleases. I see no sense taking on the role of his father. And neither should you be interested in taking on the role of his mother."
Marguerite glared hotly at him. "If that's what you think then you obviously have no clue as to what is going on in this treehouse," she snapped.
She grabbed her pistol rig off the rack and strode for the elevator. Challenger let her go, a bit stunned by her outburst. He shrugged. Perhaps she could keep Roxton in hand, if he decided to chase after their visitors. The professor instead went to change into something less ripe after a two day hunting expedition.
***
Roxton slipped silently through the branches, his eyes tracking the soft-soled footprints on the ground before him. His prey kept single file to hide their numbers, a plot Roxton himself had used often. They had an unusual smell, one that permeated the very air around him still. It was an earth scent, yet mixed with that of iron, which Challenger collected sometimes for his experiments. The stench of it never used to bother Roxton until lately. Now he hated it. And worse still, it was maddeningly familiar. He had smelled it once before, a long time ago. But he couldn't figure out from where.
His adversaries' trail continued moving away from the treehouse, which relieved him. Soon they would be out of the explorers' territory and Roxton would be satisfied that they hadn't turned around.
He stopped following them and took his bearings. He was about ten miles from the treehouse. He'd be back after nightfall but not too late. Still, he knew it would be enough to worry his companions. They all worried a bit too much in his opinion. Of all of them, he was the most capable out here, even more so than Veronica. He was better armed and far stronger. He had learned all he needed to learn from her about the savagery of the plateau and how to survive it.
He took a last cursory glance around, letting the sounds and smells of the jungle wash over him as he stock of his surroundings. Content that he was alone, he headed home at a leisurely pace. It was nice to be out of the treehouse. He had felt far too confined of late with everyone fussing. He was fine, damn it! There was only the barest of twinges from his shoulder wound and the other bruised and battered places on his body were inconsequential. Certainly nothing that warranted being caged like he was. The fresh air and sunshine would do him far more good than being stuck in the treehouse.
The long trek back was a pleasure despite the fact that he was a little tired and stiff, but overall not bad. He had to pause several times to let passing dinosaurs go by, but he always remained downwind and invisible to them, giving him free passage. He was well over halfway home and darkness was starting to descend, drawing long shadows from the large trees. Roxton welcomed them. He could move more easily and felt safer hidden within them. He didn't need a torch to light his way; it would only bring him to the attention of other predators.
A snapping of brush made him freeze. Listening intently and taking a scent of the wind, he realized that whatever had made the sound was close. And in trouble.
With a smile on his face, he stalked toward it, reveling in its plaintive cries, and the smell of sweat, blood and fear was unmistakable. He should put it out of its misery, quickly, painlessly, lest some raptor found it and started feasting before its victim was truly dead. The beast had very little caring for their prey. He had once witnessed them toying with a poor victim, just for the sport of it.
He crept through the jungle, his rifle still slung over his shoulder, his eyes centering on the sound from up the trail. He slipped his knife from his sheath. He'd do it quietly. One shot from the rifle would carry to the treehouse and alert everyone. No sense doing that. A single cut through the jugular and the life giving blood would drain, swiftly, efficiently. A shiver of anticipation went through Roxton. He licked his lips.
****
Marguerite tried to untangle herself from the creeper vine nest she had fallen into thanks to the pitch darkness. Her torch had fallen to the side, but thankfully it was still lit. She struggled to extract her left leg, twisted and caught in the sticky grip of the damned thing. A sharp prick on her hand quickly informed her that some other thorny bush was tangled in it as well. It only served to make her even more annoyed. She was scratched in numerous places and she could tell her beautiful blouse was taking a beating from it.
She hated sewing! It didn't matter she was good at it. Damn those nuns at the orphanage anyway. Couldn't they have taught her a more useful skill, like escaping jungle vines.
As her last curse faded from her lips, she became aware of another sound, the sound of breathing, deep and harsh. It came from the darkness surrounding her. It was unmistakably an animal, one that didn't care if its prey heard it or not, as if it knew that there was no way for its prey to escape.
A predator.
Marguerite fumbled for her pistol at her side. Thanks to the tangle of vines, her fingers just barely brushed the butt of it, just out of reach.
She struggled harder, knowing it was the only thing that would save her, even though she realized that her motions of helplessness probably only served to excite her stalker.
"Oh please," she lamented harshly as she strained for her weapon. "Just this once, can something go right?"
She heard a slight shuffle of branches as the thing moved around behind her. "Damn it!" She moved her entire weight, ignoring the stab of the thorns as they dug into her tender flesh as she leaned over as far as she could.
Fingers finally curled around the pistol. "Thank heavens!" She jerked it up quickly, only to have it snagged by a vine and ripped from her grasp.
"NO!"
There was a crashing behind her and she screamed, twisting around to face her attacker, waiting for the slashing teeth and claws to slice into her. She shrieked in terror.
To her shock and relief, it was Roxton, holding a knife and crouched low.
"Roxton!" she cried out, relieved to see him.
He continued to stalk towards her. His face was twisted into a sick snarl, the knife gleaming in the firelight. Was it a trick of the light or were his eyes glowing yellow?
"John!" she shouted forcefully.
Roxton drew up short and blinked at her. He bowed his head, shaking it for a second, and then looked up.
"Marguerite?"
His eyes were back to the simple green they were. It must have been a trick of the light.
"Yes, it's me, Roxton, goddamn it. Stop messing around and help me out of this! There's something out there."
He gazed at the knife in his hand as if unsure what it was. Then he slipped it back into its sheath and came forward
"There's nothing out there," he told her.
"Yeah, right. Just the big thing with the heavy breathing!"
He pulled the vines carefully from her, trying hard to ignore the fact that smears of blood dotted her. Nothing serious but the way it glistened in the torchlight mixed with her salty sweat…
He swallowed convulsively. He must have looked oddly pale, because Marguerite touched his arm.
"What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing. I'm fine."
"Was it you crawling around in the bushes? What are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?"
Roxton remained silent and finished extracting Marguerite from her trap. He heaved her to her feet, and while she took stock of herself and adjusted her wardrobe, he retrieved her pistol. She snatched it from his hands and shoved it into her holster. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she grabbed the torch, considering the solemn hunter before her.
He looked pale and drawn. His eyes were bloodshot, which explained maybe what she thought she had seen before. She didn't bother asking him if he was feeling well. She knew the answer. Instead, she decided to just get him back to the treehouse. She picked a safe topic.
"Did you find our little party crashers?"
The man shook his head. "They moved out of our territory."
"That's good." She regarded him oddly. "Territory? We have a territory?"
Embarrassed at his choice of terminology, Roxton turned and moved toward the jungle's edge. "Yes," he stated.
"Who would have known." What an odd term for Roxton to use, she thought. It sounded like…well, it was just weird. She trudged after him with the torch. How was he able to see where he was going without one? The little creep of dread was back and it grew more intense as she watched Roxton move unerringly through the woods, his pace strong and determined.
"John," she called out, wanting him to slow down. He was pushing himself. Not to mention her. He jerked to a halt and turned to stare at her, his shoulders hunched and his eyes reflected in her torchlight like an animal's, large and luminous with a haunting green glow. Marguerite suppressed a shiver.
"What?" he growled at her.
No, not growled. Growled.
"Do you need the torch?" she asked meekly.
"No," came the sharp, throaty reply.
"We are heading back to the treehouse, right?"
"Yes."
"That's good." She stared at him in fear.
Roxton noticed the expression in her face and looked abruptly away. He made an effort to straighten and shove aside the whirlwind of sensations swirling inside him. He couldn't grasp any of them, though he knew they had hold of him somehow.
A part of him was losing the battle. Every time he stared at Marguerite's blood flecked face, saw the glisten of sweat on her brow, the smell of her fear, he felt something want to snap inside him. With the same Herculean effort that had stopped him in the clearing, he shoved it all down into the pit of his soul.
For Marguerite's sake.
For the sake of his own sanity.
"Come on, let's go home," he said in a much quieter voice. He offered her a small smile in an attempt to reassure her, though it did little to reassure himself.
Relieved, she smiled back. That sounded more like the Lord John Roxton she knew. It was short lived however. As he took the torch from her hands, she could see that the dark of his pupils had filled his entire iris. No human eye could do such a thing. As the light of the torch entered them, they shrank back to normal.
He cocked his head in puzzlement at her, as if unaware of what had just happened, but then turned and lead the way toward home. It was a second or two before Marguerite followed, absolute dread filling her thoughts.
***
To be continued in Chapter Three