I don't own any of these characters. The scratch is the only thing I own. lol

As night descended Veronica and Malone worked diligently to get dinner on the table. Marguerite sat of to the side staring blankly out into the jungle beyond. She reached up and scratched her shoulder. Roxton who sat a plate of food in front of her noticed and said,

"Do you want me to put some salve on that?"

"No. Don't trouble yourself. It just itches is all. I don't know why." She continued to scratch. Marguerite glanced at the plate of fruit in front of her and made a puckering face. "I don't feel so well. I think I will go lay down." as she listlessly made her way to her room, she didn't see the worried looks that were being cast in her wake.

"Something is not right." Roxton stated to his companions.

"What do think is the matter with her, Roxton? I mean after all it is only a scratch." Malone said over a mouth load of food.

"What did she scratch herself on?" Asked the jungle girl.

"I don't know. Something hidden under the leaves. I just wish she would let me look at it." He said still staring at the room where his love inhabited.

"Veronica, Malone, would you mind terribly going to the Zanga village for me this evening. I am running low on herbs and I want to be stocked." Challenger asked.

"Sure. Ned and I will leave as soon as he is finished stuffing his face."

"Hey! I am a man. Besides takes a lot of fruit to fill me up ." Veronica laughed and threw a grape at him. This got a laugh out of everyone. Except Roxton.

Marguerite inspected the wound. She had decided it had made its way from a scratch to a wound. The surrounding skin was puffy and red. She lightly touched it and winced with the pain. When she had checked it earlier it wasn't nearly as bad.

"Maybe I should let John or Challenger inspect it." She mulled on that thought when suddenly she was hit by a dizzy spell. "Oh, I really do need to lay down." She changed into her nightgown and snuggled into her covers. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

By ten the next day, the other explorers had begun to worry about their friend. The breakfast dishes were done and they had yet to see the heiress.

"She should have been up by now. She never sleeps this late." John stated as he paced the floor.

"Roxton, she wasn't feeling well last night. Maybe she needs her rest." the red haired man replied, as he studied a specimen in his microscope.

"Well, I am not waiting any longer." He stormed into her room and stood stock still. The sight that greeted him was not pleasant. Marguerite was lying in her bed soaked in sweat and shivering. Roxton hastened to her and felt her forehead. He jerked back his hand. It was as if he had come in contact with an open flame.

"Challenger! Get up here!" He gently gathered Marguerite into his arms. He whispered reassuring words into her ear.

"Roxton, what is all th-" the professor stopped short when he saw her. "My God! What happened to her?"

"Her 'scratch' as she so called it has become septic." Roxton pushed the material of the nightgown to the side and showed Challenger the source of Marguerite's dilemma. The scar was oozing puss. The surrounding skin was now a deep purple and was covering almost all of her left shoulder and lower back.

"We need to drain it. Damn. I wish I had sent Veronica and Malone sooner. I never expected a little scratch to turn into a full blown catastrophe." Roxton placed the woman facedown on her bed. "Roxton?" no answer. "Roxton?"
"Hmm?" he turned to his old friend.

"Go get some clean clothes and water." with Roxton's quick nod the Professor turned back to his charge. "Now you listen to me Marguerite. You are a survivor. You can over come this. Besides, you have a man who loves you tremendously. Not to mention your other friends who are like your family." He stopped talking when Roxton emerged with the things he asked for. As Challenger dabbed at the wound, Roxton asked solemnly.

"Will she live?" his forlorn eyes met Challengers own sad ones.

"I hope so." He looked at Marguerite. "I pray so" he whispered. All that was audible in the entire tree house was Marguerite laboring for every breath she took.

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