Sierra:  I bet you got sleep.  Lol.  And, yeah, there's going to be another convention.  Think you'll go?

Jessie:  I'm trying to hold true to the show as much as possible, but we'll see what happens.  Thanks for the review!  And, hey, I've seen you around on the board.  Are you going to the convention?

Taya:  Hahaha…I know…I'm evil.  But just how evil?  Will I let him live…or not?

Windsor:  OH YES!  Lol.  Thanks for the review!

Keys:  Sure…you think you've got me figured out…but do you? evil cackle

Kat:  Lol.  Waterfalls, dropping out of trees…what will happen next?!  And I can't help being cruel…it's too fun!

NOTE TO READERS:  Dialect that is italicized means that it is being spoken in another language even if it's written out in English.  What's in English you're supposed to understand (meaning, it's what Marguerite understands).  What's written differently isn't meant for you to understand (meaning, Marguerite doesn't understand it). 

Chapter Four

Not in Kansas*

Marguerite pounded on his chest in fury, shrieking in rage and sorrow.  Blow after blow she cursed him for leaving her alone.  A soft noise caused her head to snap up and her eyes to whisk over their surroundings.  Something in the bushes moved.  They weren't alone.  Marguerite reached for her pistol, cursing when her hand touched not her holster but the khaki fabric of her skirt.  They were stranded without weapons.

She flinched when a shrill yelp pierced her ears.  Instantly, warriors burst forth from the trees, hollering and whooping, brandishing their arrows and spears.  Marguerite concentrated, focusing on their dialect in the desperate hope that she could communicate with the natives.

A group of them circled around the waterlogged woman and the still man she hovered over protectively.  It was then Marguerite noticed the irregularities about them.  They were men, but peculiarly proportioned with lean midriffs and thick legs.  They also had strange bumps rolling down their backs.  Yet, she had to hold back a gasp at the sight of their webbed feet.

One of the apparent leaders stepped forth, nudging her gently with the point of his spear.  "Kichen ik mier?"

Marguerite shuddered, swallowing.  "I…I don't understand."

"Kichen ik mier," he repeated more forcibly.

She struggled with the translation.  Maybe if she heard more she would pick up on his language.  "Kichen ik mier," she questioned, looking confused.

Leader growled and poked her again, this time more aggressively, tearing a tiny hole into her violet blouse.  "Kichen ik mier.  Kimik eke jipele ekeli eekwi."  He nodded down at Roxton.  "Ek keek Qal."

"We not living here," Marguerite said somewhat choppily in their native tongue, only understanding the fundamentals of their language.  She pointed to Roxton, tears shimmering in her withering eyes.  "Dead."

Leader grunted.  "Let Qal ik lihe."  He looked to his warriors and they bent down, scooping Roxton up.

Marguerite leapt to her feet, screaming.  "Leave him alone!"

Leader eyed her oddly, miffed by her explosion.  "Bikipe deki," he barked, flicking his wrist.

Two men came up on either side of her and grasped onto her forearms.  Marguerite debated her options, neither outcome fetching her fancy.  Yet, she did know one thing: like hell she would leave Roxton's body in the clasp of those natives.  She sighed in resignation.

"They better not be cannibals," she grumbled as the warriors dragged her off.

End Chapter Four

* The title Not in Kansas derives from the phrase "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto".  It's from the movie/play The Wizard of Oz.  It's a popular way of saying "we're no longer in familiar territory" or "we're lost in a strange place".