Author's Note: *cowers* This took a long time, didn't it? Eeep, I'm so sorry. I'll try not to do it again. Ack... bad habit, bad! Bad Clez! Okay, enough of that. On with the show... oh yes, a couple of points about this chapter. I have used some data from a deleted scene, because it's just too powerful to leave out. You can probably guess which one now, from the scene explanation below, but you'll see what I mean if not. It is slightly adapted, partially to accommodate that I left something out near the beginning, and didn't want to change that, and to fit in something - only very tiny - from the book. And also, in reference to a later scene with absolutely no speech - you'll see, it's an author-inserted scene, as in I made it up - I improvised, and I've put my reasoning into the paragraphs themselves as to an 'invention' I'm not sure about. Whether or not they really would have had it... just look at the rest of the Nautilus, and you'll probably agree with my reasoning, lol. Also, as for the name of a place, I researched it, and found out how to spell it etc. Proud of me? No... good... that would be quite sad, lol. That's enough of me rambling, wouldn't you say?
Scene: Aftermath leading into Mongolia.
Shout outs:
life sucks: Hehe, yeah, had to keep my rating safe unfortunately. And as for Tom's thought about Jekyll, I was trying to lighten the mood ^_^ And I know exactly what you mean, and am really glad you can apply that feeling to this fic.
Leigh S. Durron: Lol, glad you're enjoying the update emails as much as the updates themselves. Lol!
angelic katty: I have a dry sense of humour? Awesome!
RogueSparrow: *sits herself down next to Sawyer, and turns to him* Whadda ya' think about this one huh? Crazy? *Sawyer shrugs, and then nods* Yup, that's what I thought. *smiles* But isn't that why we love her? *they both nod, and eat cookies* Thanks for the review, buddy!
Nowicki: Ah yes, rock on indeed...
Sethoz: I found out yesterday, that I have to wait 'til the 20th now! My sister can't buy it 'til then. *twitch* This is why the Americans are luckier than us! I'm getting the 2-disc set like you, Sethoz. Mwahahaha! Sorry I took so long...
freedomfighter82: I sometimes tell myself to shut up, or stop talking to myself as I'm walking along... cuz people stare at me. *hands you a bandage*
Graymoon74: Yes... 'beep' would be accurate. You and that thing for me saying anything about Nemo's inventions. Lol.
Niani: A Jekyll moment? You mean am I going to go after Jekyll and watch him? Sadly not... remember the POV thing ~_^
Psychozzy: This is the first fic of this kind I've ever even thought about doing. I'm surprised my patience is keeping up with me. I thought I'd give up about halfway through when I realised how much thought has to go into it, but it's actually pretty fun. Thanks for the encouragement.
sugaricing: UK is evil? Why? Other than the DVD thing... is there another reason apart from this is the very epitome of boring? One-sided conversations... not really a problem with them so long as you are on your own ^_^ That way no one stares at you.
Beck2: Guess you will find out now, yeah. Lol.
Silent Bob 546: Evil school! Evil! As for cats being better... well I have a Great Dane and four cats. Crazy!
LotRseer3350: Updates, updates everywhere! Well not really... but I try. Something tells me you'll like this chapter...
It was deafening and terrifying on the bridge, water spraying everywhere and crewmen toppling all around, the pressure reaching an unbearable level as he felt his ears try to compensate for the plummet in depth as they sank. All around the bridge, the rest of the League tried to hide their fear, but the hunter for one looked to be the only truly calm person in the vicinity. He had a blank expression of nonchalance on his face, while there was a hint of regret in his eyes. Was he really so ready to die?
This can't be the end, Tom thought, closing his eyes, turning his head from the crack in the front window where a spray was shooting in at frightening speeds. Jekyll, wherever you went, please tell me you had an idea. Although Tom, deep in his heart, thought this to be a slim possibility, he had relied on optimism for years, and it had always paid off to some degree.
Mina clung desperately to some pipe work close to Tom, and she yelled to Nemo over the noise, "Can nothing save us?"
Nemo was fighting with the helm, growling quietly in irritation and rage, as he replied loudly, "Only a miracle!"
Great... where are we going to find a miracle as we sink to the bottom of the sea? Tom thought almost dejectedly, trying to keep his spirits from resembling the Nautilus... it was getting tougher by the minute, before he thought he felt a lurch within the vessel itself. He opened his eyes, and looked to Quatermain, who was glancing around with narrowed eyes as if puzzled.
There it was again, a mighty groaning, ominous at first before taking on an almost comforting pitch. Then another lurch... and Tom felt it.
"Did anyone else-" he started, before Nemo cut in.
"There!" he yelled, and fought against the controls again. "We are rising!"
"How did you do it?" Mina yelled over the noise, even as Tom felt whatever Nemo had sensed... they were raising to the surface again, and quite rapidly at that. His stomach lurched slightly with the speed of it, and he wished for just a moment that it would slow down a little.
"It was nothing I did, Mrs. Harker," Nemo replied.
Quatermain smiled grimly, and muttered, "Miracle..."
Tom could feel the Nautilus gathering buoyancy once again, and after what felt like an unbearable eternity, the front of the submarine pierced the waves, like the tip of the sword that had given it its name. It shot up into the air, sending up a great spray of ocean as it gathered altitude, before enough of the rear of the vessel had surfaced, and it pitched forward, only to plummet back and slam down into the sea again, rocking and steadying, but noticeably listing to port. They were badly damaged. Tom laughed despite himself, just glad beyond belief to be alive at all. He let out a breath of relief, and looked to the others. They exchanged glances.
Shaking his head, Tom realised what must have happened. Patel had reported that the valves had been jammed or something... only one man... or rather beast would have had the strength to release them.
Hyde... Jekyll had found his courage.
Tom and Quatermain were in the stateroom helping with the tidying, the very beginnings of the repair of the once-proud vessel that had taken a powerful blow. Three to be precise.
Damn Gray...
Mina and Captain Nemo were helping the crew to pick up fallen or broken objects where they had listened to the fateful recording from M, whilst Tom and Quatermain took hold of the misplaced table. Tom gripped one end, the hunter the other, and together as if on some silent cue, they took to sliding it gently back to its place in the centre of the room. It made very little sound on the floor as they repositioned it, and as Tom was straightening his end, he looked up to the door, almost grinning at whom he saw there.
Dr. Henry Jekyll had clearly taken the time to change his attire before returning, and he was now striding towards the stateroom, before he paused to pick up a small table for a crewman, handing it to him with a proud smile.
I don't blame him. He just saved our lives.
Looking around, even as Jekyll entered the room, Tom saw the similar looks of gratitude on everyone's faces. Nemo's appreciation was - for once - far from hidden. Mina smiled openly, and Tom even felt a slight pang of jealousy. Quatermain, in the middle of returning a chair to its position, threw the doctor a thumb's up.
"Let's not make a saint out of a sinner," Jekyll objected, smiling nevertheless. "Next time he might not be so helpful."
I'm surprised Hyde didn't smash everything to bits as it is. Not to mention grateful of course.
Tom remained at the head of the table, trying to put everything into place. It was all in a bit of a mess so far, and this latest strike had thrown everything even further out of perspective, if such a thing was possible. None of this made sense to him, and he wished someone would explain it.
"Can we, uh... still follow Gray?" Jekyll asked tentatively, motioning to the place where the mapping device had been tracking the Nautiloid. Two crewmen were replacing the dislodged tracking arms... they had lost the signal for the time being.
Fantastic... Even in his head, the sarcasm was immense.
"Well we were the faster," Quatermain began with a sigh, moving to pick up one of the heavier chairs to the left hand side of Tom at the table's edge, "but now we're the tortoise to his hare."
Jekyll moved to assist the hunter, and as the two bent down to lift the chair, Tom heard the doctor say in a very deflated manner, "So we're done."
"No," Tom cut in at once, taking his hands from the tabletop where he had rested them down. He shook his head briskly, ignoring the rebellious bangs of hair and persisted, "We're alive. If M has any ideas to the contrary, that gives us an edge."
I know it, and they know it... don't they?
"The sea is vast," Nemo piped up, from his place to the side of the room, where he was overseeing a repair. "He could be anywhere."
Tom cocked his head. It looked as though it were up to him to restore morale. "Yeah, well I'm an optimist. Now maybe that's a crime to you twisted so-and-sos, but it keeps me from going crazy."
Did I really just say that? Twisted? Crazy... I'm not crazy, or ever been on the verge of going crazy... have I? Tom picked up a fallen pitcher from the floor as he waited for someone to respond... anyone.
Mina took up the mantle, and said plainly, "Your optimism is out of place."
That's it...
Tom slammed the pitcher down on the table, and Jekyll - at least, though he may not have been the only one - started visibly and looked to the American wildly. The silence beforehand had been shattered by the sudden noise. Tom knew very well that his cocky smile had gone completely, that his eyes may had narrowed just slightly, and that his face was harder somehow, his jaw set resolutely perhaps. He'd had enough of the negativity and defeatist attitudes of these people. It was time he took a stand and told them what it was they were here for.
"You're wrong!" he said loudly, determinedly. "'Cause we will get our man." His volume faltered, and he mumbled, "At least I will."
Tom sighed, and realised he had kept something very important - at least to him - from these people. His reasons for being around were an enigma to these people, and it seemed that now was the perfect time to let them in on the motive.
"The other agent I was working with was my childhood friend," he began, in a slightly distant tone of voice, thinking back on the origin of the tale, where he had seen Huckleberry Finn die. "We were agents together 'til the Phantom shot him dead." He regained a little of his verbal confidence as he persisted heavily, "Now you can be done, but I'm not. I will avenge his death."
Even if it kills me, he added silently.
Jekyll fidgeted clearly, a little uncomfortable, and said, "It's not about any one of us, Tom... it's bigger than that."
"Yes, it is, Jekyll!" Tom agreed, and he moved around to face his companions, his determination rising, his confidence returning. "The fate of the world is in our hands." He looked them each in the face in turn, making sure they were paying attention. It appeared he had their undivided concentration. "The world!"
He regarded each of them singly again, hovering on each face as he persisted, "So M tricked you. He brought you all together, and you walked right into his trap." He let a ghost of a smile touch his youthful features. "But the way I see it, that was his biggest mistake. He brought you... us... together."
Dr. Jekyll allowed his smile to show through his anxiety, and he glanced to the others. "He... he has a point."
Quatermain regarded Tom with an expression that the American did not recognise, and he finally spoke, saying, "And the boy becomes a man."
Tom had never heard the hunter say anything so supportive before, and for a moment it surprised him, before he let the gratitude sink in, and his back straightened, a little proud.
"Perhaps a leader of men." Quatermain locked eyes with Tom, and gave him the tiniest of affirming nods.
"And women," Mina added, much to Tom's astonishment. His eyes turned to her, and he furrowed his brow at her comment. It appeared that she backed Quatermain in his support.
I didn't see that coming.
Before Tom could do or say anything else, still reeling from Mina's comment, a crewman burst into the room, and announced, "We're getting a signal!"
You mean something on this canoe still works? Tom thought with a slight smirk, afterwards reminding himself that he had just shared his optimism, and he shouldn't let it falter now, considering he had just restored hope to the rest of the League, even with all the failure they had experienced lately.
Nemo was first out of the door, following the crewman towards the communications room that Tom had passed a couple of times on the voyage but never investigated. The League trailed behind the Captain like an extended shadow, with Tom at the forefront next to Quatermain, feeling much more confident than he could remember in a long time. Mina and Jekyll walked behind them, and their short journey was silent.
When they reached the communications room, Quatermain and Nemo walked inside the door, whereas Tom, Mina and Jekyll halted at the opening. Tom leaned on the doorway, with Jekyll behind him, and Mina to his right.
"Morse code," Quatermain pointed out. Towards the corner of the room sat one of Nemo's crewmen, with a pair of headphones half on his head, listening and jotting down a message. A tapping noise could be heard emanating from a device Tom recognised. Quatermain was right.
"What's it say?" Mina inquired curiously.
The crewman looked to them, confusion hidden in his eyes, and announced with a puzzled expression, "'Hello my freaky darlings'."
Tom nearly laughed, and folded his arms over his chest. "Skinner?" he stated in disbelief. He had forgotten - shamefully enough - all about the thief since the recording incident.
"... 'Hiding onboard little fish, with Gray and M... headed to base. East by Northeast... follow my lead'." The crewman relayed the message to them, glancing about to see their reactions, even as Tom let the meaning behind the words sink in.
Looks like we're not out of the game just yet. All this time, we've been thinking Skinner was nothing but a hindrance, and Jekyll only a dead weight... and now look. Tom smiled slightly at the corner of his mouth, a lopsided expression hidden from his companions. It takes the coward and the thief to save the day and maybe even the world... Huck never would have believed this.
The repairs started straight away, a new confidence and determination setting in like a fever aboard the Nautilus, everyone infected. Crew and League members alike rushed about fulfilling tasks of all kinds, trying to get the valiant vessel back to her sea-worthy state. It was a long and arduous task, but no one complained of exhaustion of hardship.
Tom, for one, was not ashamed to admit he was pretty much a runner in the operation. He wanted to help any way he could, and if that meant fetching equipment and relaying messages, then so be it.
It was on the night of the first day of repairs, that Tom stood underneath the head of one of the showers with his eyes closed, just letting the water run over him as the events replayed in his head. It was a chaotic recollection that he had trouble sorting through.
Tom had been - in his childhood - more accustomed to baths of a sort, where his cousin Mary had insisted he wash before church on Sundays. He had hated it... it had always seemed like so much effort for so small a thing that had never really mattered to him. But now, it seemed Nemo had outdone himself again for practicality. Sure, you had to stand, and it could be classed as inconvenient, although Tom appreciated it for some odd reason as the water dripped from his hair over his face. It seemed Nemo had taken into account the fact that baths for the amount of crew would be a serious waste of space considering the number of people aboard... and so he had put in a room with several 'cubicles' Tom guessed you could call them, for washing. Tom appreciated the facility nevertheless. It felt good to just stand there and let the warm water wash everything away. In all fairness, it was a marvel they still worked at all, he realised with a wry smile.
He let his forehead lean against the immaculate surface before him, his hair all in his eyes, and one palm flat against the wall for balance as he thought over what Quatermain had said to him.
"And the boy becomes a man... perhaps a leader of men..."
Tom sighed quietly, thinking, Did he really mean that? All I showed was the optimism we needed... if I hadn't said that, we'd probably still be sitting in that stateroom moping, and then M and Gray would have started a world war. All I did was show my nature, how I am... did Quatermain really mean what he said about me, or was he just humouring me?
Tom turned to rest his back on the cold wall, placing his head under the running water again and shaking his hair from his eyes with a slow exhalation. He tried not to let the potential falsehood behind the claim of Quatermain's sink in. True, the hunter could have just been showing his support for Tom's efforts, or he could have truly meant those words... the most encouraging thing anyone had ever said to the young agent.
He opened his eyes halfway, pushing off the wall, and turning his head under the flow and sighing softly again with the comforting feel of the water, before deciding he had been in here long enough with his thoughts. He should get some rest before the repairs continued in the morning. He intended to wake as early as was reasonable to help.
Grabbing a towel, he stepped from the shower.
The second day of the repairs dawned slowly, as if the morning itself was lethargic and reluctant to get started. The sun slowly rose from beyond the horizon, the light slowly piercing the slight cloud cover, and shining down on the wounded vessel sitting motionless in the middle of the waves, the sounds of maintenance already echoing through the corridors and outside the blast holes themselves, where crew worked on replacing the hull itself, a tedious but essential task.
The League set about their individual tasks without delay, after a quick breakfast. Jekyll and Mina tended to the wounded from the bombs, and rarely left the infirmary or the crowded corridors surrounding it, where bandages and medication were dispersed and used more than the Nautilus crew had probably ever seen in their service.
Nemo stayed on the bridge whilst mapping out a course from Skinner's course headings. He mused over the plotting very carefully, and sketched out routes with precision on a map on his table, using equipment Tom had never really seen before to draw and calculate. Other than that, the Captain oversaw the repairs in the engine rooms and at the hull replacement, silently nodding and quietly offering words of encouragement and reassurance.
As for the hunter, Quatermain... he was rarely seen, and Tom took to wondering just what the man was up to. When he passed the man's cabin once or twice, he thought he heard music playing, or a recording of some kind, and often quiet mutterings of pensive considerations, spoken aloud when Quatermain thought he was far from interruption or earshot. Tom would simply furrow his brow and move on to his next task.
By lunchtime, Tom was moving briskly down a narrow passage on one of the engineering levels, where pipes loomed everywhere, and crew bustled around busily with a sense of purpose. He mostly jogged along as he helped hand out equipment, and he checked dials and meters as he went, as Nemo had shown him. He turned the small wheel at the middle of the pipe leading up to the gauge, and then tapped the glass face, checking that the reading wasn't false. As he went, and when he passed crew working on the pipes themselves, he stopped, and handed them tools from the box hanging over his shoulder on a sturdy strap. Spanners, and the like, which the crew seemed to require quite a lot. He paused by a large pipe - the use of which was lost on Tom, who decided it didn't really matter so long as it worked - and handed a couple of workers a tool each. One of them redirected him down the passage, and he nodded briskly at their recommendation, and took off at a steady but swift pace.
So far, to Tom at least, it seemed everything was going well, repair-wise at least. They still had a long way to go.
It took a further two days for the repairs to draw to a steady close, wherein crew checked and rechecked their work for any mistakes, to ensure that the Nautilus would sail again. All was satisfactory, but the most confirming of the tests was about to take place on the bridge, where the League had gathered for the event. Mina and Jekyll stood to the right of Tom, who had his arms crossed over his chest again, his hands gripping the handles of his Colts, ever ready. It was a habit now, one that he had no intention of breaking. It never hurt to be prepared, not that he was really expecting to be ambushed on the bridge anyway.
Quatermain stood towards the front of the bridge, hands hooked in his waistcoat, smiling proudly, in an almost fatherly fashion as he nodded in an affirming manner, and announced, "Good work... all of you."
Wait a minute, Tom thought, regarding the hunter very seriously whilst making it seem as though he were eyeing something else, what was Quatermain doing during the repairs? I don't remember seeing him outside of his cabin more than twice, and that was for meals. Over the last couple of days, the League had taken to eating in the stateroom, no longer hesitant to be in one another's company it seemed. They were growing ever closer to becoming an actually team... something that lifted Tom's spirits.
"Captain?" Quatermain urged, turning to Nemo, who stood close to the helm beside Patel his new first mate. Tom set his jaw at the memory of Ishmael's murder, even as the captain regarded his helm crew.
"All ahead, full!" Nemo announced, and Patel pulled on a device that rang as he did so. He moved the handle back and forwards all the way, and the slight bell of a sound carried through the bridge. Tom had - as of yet - to inquire as to the name of the device, but he was vaguely aware of its purpose. It was like a communiqué between the bridge and the engine room.
The Nautilus roared back into life, and the front of the vessel reared up slightly out of the waves as it sliced through them, the vessel in full working order, or so it appeared anyway. They were back in business, and Tom was filled with a satisfying sense of assurance that it would not be long now until they came upon M and Gray, and he would be able to fulfil his mission... Huck would be avenged...
The League stood in the stateroom, leaning over the table and listening to Nemo as they perused a rather beautifully depicted map of their destination. Tom leaned down on the table with his arms crossed, lower than the others to get a good vantage point of both the map and Nemo's face at the head of the table. Quatermain stood to the left of Tom, with Mina and Jekyll on the other side.
Mina was standing up straight with her hands knitted in front, the perfect image of a proper lady, with Jekyll resting his palms flat down on the immaculate tabletop before him. Quatermain, to the left of Tom, stood with his hands linked behind his back, looking quite casual but listening intently.
The captain himself practically mirrored Quatermain for stance, but there was urgency and a fire in his dark eyes that told Tom their time was running out, and they needed to hasten things up. He, for one, knew that the Nautilus had increased speed over the course of a few hours. Nemo was pushing the vessel to her limits, and then some.
"If Skinner's headings are correct, we will pass through the treacherous straits of Tartary," Nemo was telling them in a loud clear voice; his words perfectly emphasised so as not to be mistaken. His eyes met theirs each in turn, as he continued, "And enter the Amur River, which empties out into the frozen lakes of Mongolia, virtually inaccessible to outsiders."
"I think it is safe to say that M will not be expecting us," Mina voiced, looking around at the faces collected there, looking for acknowledgement.
Tom nodded. "He probably thinks we're dead."
"So there should be no resistance in the area surrounding his stronghold," Nemo agreed. "We should have little trouble getting close. It will be entering the facility which will prove problematic."
"Let's concentrate on getting there first," Quatermain told them calmly. Tom nodded in acknowledgement, agreeing to the older man's advice. The hunter looked down at him briefly, just as Tom eyed the map again, where Nemo had neatly sketched out their route in clear crisp lines. Tom followed them with his green eyes, and wondered how long it would take them to make the journey.
It seemed the way Nemo was planning it, it certainly wouldn't take them very long, just as long as the Nautilus held out...
Under the advice of Quatermain, Tom and the others rested as much as possible on the journey. The American agent for one found it hard to sleep when confrontation was so close at hand. He tossed and turned in his bed, sighing heavily through irritation that sleep seemed so impossible and unreachable. He stared up at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, but when he looked at the small clock beside the bed, only three minutes had passed. He groaned, and rolled over onto his stomach, burying his head in the pillow for only a moment.
When a loud knocking sounded on his door, his head shot up from the same pillow, and his eyes darted to the clock. He'd been asleep for four hours.
How'd that happen?
Instead of musing over something that did not matter, he stumbled out of his bed when the knocking sounded again, accompanied by a loud, "Sawyer? Are you awake?"
No... I'm sound asleep. Of course I'm awake! He called to the door, "Yeah... I'm up. I'm coming."
"We've arrived." It was Quatermain.
Where the hell did I put my shirt? Tom looked from side to side, running his fingers through his hair quickly, and located the item of clothing at the foot of his bed. He pulled it on and buttoned it whilst looking for his waistcoat. It was lying over the back of the chair. He slipped it on, and checked he'd done up his pants. He fastened his boots and grabbed his jacket. He was pulling the door open as he donned it, and looked Quatermain in the face with a cheeky grin. "Told you I was up."
The adventurer threw him a humoured glance, and tossed something at him. Tom caught it in both hands and looked down at it, then met the hunter's gaze again, saying, "Not really my style."
Quatermain chuckled lightly. He had one in his hands also, even as Tom was eyeing his doubtfully. It was white, and felt reasonably thick, with a... well; the best word to describe the collar and cuffs was 'fluffy'. He raised an eyebrow, and looked at Quatermain again.
"You're going to need it when we go up on deck, Sawyer," the hunter told him, slipping the coat on. Tom copied him, a little reluctantly, and followed him to the ladders up to the conning tower. They climbed them steadily, and when they opened the door up at the top, Tom's eyes widened slightly. The cold hit him in the face at once, biting at his cheeks and hands. He dropped his jaw a little at the freezing temperatures, and was suddenly thankful for the coat. Mina, Nemo and Jekyll were already on deck, dressed similarly.
Quatermain accepted a pair of binoculars from Nemo, and walked to the railing carefully. Tom looked down, realising the footing was a little treacherous. Mina was standing steadily at the rail, looking out through binoculars as well, like the two older members. Jekyll rubbed his hands together, and breathed on them to try and warm them up. Tom gave him a wan smile.
Tom walked carefully to the railing to stand between the hunter and the vampire as he tucked his hands in his pockets, looking out through narrowed eyes as the snow fell gracefully down all around them. Their breath curled away from them visibly in the gnawing chill, and Jekyll kept near the rear as if eager to sap the warmth from within the very vessel itself.
"Peasant settlements," Quatermain said quietly from out of the blue. Tom squinted to try and see what it was that the man was referring to, and picked out small black dots in the distance that could very well have been a town. "All deserted," the man added after a tense moment.
Tom looked to Quatermain, the snow settling on his hair and in his bangs. He had tucked his hands away from the cold, but still felt it on his face, and nudged up the collar with his shoulders a little more.
"Why deserted?" Mina inquired softly, looking through her own binoculars at - Tom guessed - the very same thing.
The cold might be a good reason, but maybe that's just me...
"Fear no doubt," Nemo commented, and Tom looked back to the distance, and caught a glow of something unnatural on the horizon, beyond the mountains. It was industrial... Tom was sure of that.
M...
Glaring through the falling snow, Tom heard Nemo tell Quatermain that they should set off at once if they were to rendezvous with Skinner. Mina nodded, and Tom just inclined his head slightly, whilst Jekyll muttered his acknowledgements.
Tom hesitated on the conning tower for a moment longer, after everyone else started to descend to prepare. His eyes stared out fixatedly towards the glowing on the horizon, and he felt a deep gnawing sense of trepidation settle in, just below the determination.
The small group trudged along through the thick snow, dragging their feet through it instead of trying to lift their heavy boots. Some of them carried heavy bags on their backs, packed with equipment and weapons. The League were heading the procession, Tom and Quatermain in the lead with their rifles wrapped so they wouldn't freeze up or jam. Everybody was covered head to toe in protective insulated clothing, from coats to gloves, with head gear to keep out the chill, and even goggles to defend their eyes from the light blizzard.
People seriously live in places like this? How do they get anywhere? Tom looked around as far as he could see in the snow... which wasn't very far at all. Then again, I don't suppose there are many places to go.
It took them almost an hour to even reach the settlements that the others had spoken of before, and Tom glanced around, seeing that they truly were deserted. There was not a trace of life in the huts. It looked as though they had packed up and left some time ago. The 'buildings' were close on collapsing, battered by the elements and in need of restoring.
By the time they had started to trek up the mountain, over the low pass, Tom's feet were starting to go a little numb, and the exposed parts of his face were so cold he couldn't even feel them. He kept quiet though, knowing that the others had to be going through the same sensations, and he doubted any of them were comfortable.
Quatermain moved steadily but surely to the edge of the mouth of the canyon trail they had taken, which doubled as a kind of wind tunnel annoyingly enough, and pulled his goggles up. Tom followed, doing the same, looking down on a kind of fortress, a very formidable one at that, with looming towers and stone walls. There were a couple of small signs of movement, as if from guards on patrol, but they were far out of sight and in no danger of being spotted.
Tom glowered down at the building. M seems to be preparing for the worst... either that or he's got a whole army in there... I probably shouldn't have said that.
Sarcastically, he said over the wind, "M's summer retreat."
Quatermain turned his head to face his younger companion, and pointed down beneath them for emphasis as he stated, "This is where Skinner signalled he'd meet us." He sighed delicately, a slight sound that was lost to everyone behind them, except for Tom. "So we wait."
Tom watched the man walk off to find shelter, the others taking it upon themselves to pursue him at a gradual pace, fighting against the chill and the wind. Tom stayed in his place for a moment, looking down on the ugly fortress from his vantage point, and narrowing his eyes.
Why do I have a bad feeling about this...?
