"I don't get it," said Tom, when forty minutes later they approached Nautilus from almost the exact same direction they had initially departed.
"How in bloody blazes does he do that?" Skinner asked, muttering under his breath.
"I have no idea," responded Mina, more than a little irritation in her voice.
"Come," indicated Jekyll, motioning that the four should move towards the massive silver ship. Alan glanced behind him as he moved toward the ramp.
Nemo called out to the men on the ship in his own language, and the ramp opened up. The group, united once more in a way that they hadn't been since before Venice, entered the colossal submarine. Alan noticed several of the men giving him wary, almost frightened glances, but resolved to say nothing. Nemo's sharp eyes did not miss the situation, however, and he determined to have a talk with his crew. Soon.
After resting for a half-hour, the group convened in the dining room as the crew continued to make headway toward the Atlantic.
"We should make course for England," said Alan, throwing the idea out there.
"Why?" Skinner demanded, replacing some of the knicknacks he had been fiddling with onto the shelf.
Alan stared at him for a moment and said, "Moriarty's work isn't done."
"But he's dead. Cut the head off a snake and the body will die," pointed out Jekyll reasonably.
"We're not dealing with a snake. We never were," said Alan impatiently, standing and beginning to pace in his frustration. "A hydra - who grows two new heads for every one chopped off. That's what form evil takes."
There was silence for a moment. Alan sighed, feeling weariness from the transition from African waters to the sea. "We've reached the Atlantic," he said.
"Captain?" came a voice from the doorway. The speaker was one of Nemo's crew. "We've just left the last of the shore and are heading to open water."
"Submerge," Nemo gave the order decisively as they others glanced, surprised, at Alan. "I will have a course heading for you momentarily."
"Very good, Captain," the man responded, bowing slightly before turning smartly and exiting the room.
"We were called together to form a League," said Mina slowly.
"Well, we know what a farce that turned out to be," said Skinner snidely.
"No, I don't," said Nemo, thinking deeply. "We were thrown together in pursuit of a false mission, used and betrayed by a traitor in our very midst, and yet together, we triumphed, did we not? Our enemy created us, hoping our differences would divide our loyalties, and yet we became stronger for it, and he ended up creating his own destruction. We are a unit, a family, of sorts," he said softly. "And I think we are stronger than even we can know, together."
There was a long silence.
"So, what now?" asked Tom, subdued and moved by Nemo's words.
"I don't know about you, but I was having fun," said Skinner, relenting. "What say we give this League thing another go, eh?"
"I would agree," said Nemo.
"As would I," returned Jekyll softly.
"Indeed," Mina contributed. "We have managed to do much good."
Alan nodded to the eyes turned in his direction.
Tom grinned. "What're we waiting for?"
With renewed spirits, the group agreed to turn Nautilus toward England. It would take only three days to get there, given the speed of Nautilus and the straightforward manner of the journey.
The three days of travel, both above and under the sea, were good for the self-appointed League. They became more closely acquainted with each other, coming to terms with the stressful experiences of Antarctica, the defeat of Moriarty, and Alan's subsequent death and revival. During the mission they had learned to trust one another with their lives. Now all, even the reluctant Skinner, were learning to trust one another with their feelings and affections. They had learned to guard one another's backs, and now discovered how to guard one another's spirits. New bonds were forged, existing ones strengthened.
Yet Alan was both more and less than before. More considerate, less judgmental. Yet no less outspoken and assertive, and no more tolerant of shortcomings and unknown factors - most especially, the group discovered, within himself.
It was at dinner on the second day that the seriousness of the situation asserted itself, and the rest of the League discovered something more that Alan had been gifted with after his resurrection.
Nemo was talking with Alan, Skinner and Jekyll when he noticed Quatermain's face drain of all color. The man was pale as a sheet, and his hands shook as he replaced his cutlery next to his almost-untouched meal. Nemo, staring at Alan, barely noted that the others were also focusing their attention on him, after the Captain had trailed off in mid-sentence, distracted by his friend's obvious distress.
"Q?" asked Skinner, of all people, his voice surprisingly gentle and kind. "What's wrong, old man?"
Alan didn't respond, pushing his chair back. His entire body was shaking, trembling as if beset by a storm, his hands mercilessly clenching the side of the table. His pupils had expanded, the black emphasized by the thin ring of blue that was barely discernable. Sweat glistened on his face and forehead, his hair damp.
All were now staring at the hunter in alarmed silence, afraid to do anything that would shatter his tenuous control over whatever was happening to him.
"Alan?" asked Jekyll, carefully moving to be by the other's side. He reached out a hand and laid it on the other's shoulder. Alan flinched and pulled away. Jekyll visibly recoiled, shocked by the easygoing, accepting man's pained reaction. "Alan?" he tried again.
The hunter's shaking increased, yet he made as if to move, and froze in response. "There are five of them, in a cage, far from home. Seven arrived, and five are left. They were taken in the night. Their families murdered. They were subdued - unharmed - made to watch as their wives and children were killed in front of them." Alan's blue eyes were staring inward, his shaking, hoarse voice relating horror none of the League were prepared for.
"He is coming. They know it. Each day he has taken one of them, and loosed him in the wild. Today he made them wait until nightfall, until the darkness came to cover his actions. He craves the challenge. They have heard the noise of the hounds, and when the others didn't come back, they knew. He lives for the challenge, lives for the hunt. They can see it in his eyes. They are hunters themselves, and they know a predator when they see one."
Alan took a deep, shaking breath, and for a moment, the shaking stopped. He shut his eyes in pain. "His name is Masvito, and he knows it is his night. Kufo was taken the first morning, and Nhamo the second. Chipo, Wataou, Ambuya and Vasati are with him, and he steps forward when the cage door is opened. His spirit has not been crushed by captivity. He will never bow," Alan snarled, his visage twisted in fury and pain.
The hunter gasped, clutching the side of his chest. "He has been running and hiding for hours now. The dogs were loosed, and he ran them a false trail before killing the leader of the pack. He was not happy when he found Masvito's victory - the dead beast strung up from the lowest branches of a tree.
"But now he has nowhere to go. He is on the trail, and has shot Masvito. Masvito can feel the wound pouring his lifeblood, and - arrrgh!"
Alan twisted in obvious agony, slamming back into his chair, pressing a hand hard to the right side of his chest. "He is coming," Alan gasped, lapsing into the tongue of the natives. "Fight! Fight him!"
The images and sound rushed into his head, jumbling into a cacophony of violence and noise, blood and darkness. There was an overwhelming pain, agony ripping through him and Alan gave voice to Masvito's scream as life was torn from his body. Blackness swirled through him, fading in and out.
The pain receded. Alan opened his eyes, and found the other members of the League staring at him, looks of deep concern etched onto their features. "He's dead," said Alan, his voice a dull monotone.
The hunter tried to rise from his chair, but his legs folded and he collapsed back into the cushioning, slumping backward.
"What the hell just happened?" asked Tom.
Nemo gave the younger man a glare, which he didn't even see.
"Four nights ago, a man entered Africa, and came to a tribe that lives two miles from the house where we stayed." Alan's voice was rough, his body shaking now in reaction. "He plundered and stole - not goods, as you would suspect, but people. Not for slavery. To hunt." The hunter sounded singularly disgusted. "The thrill of the chase, for this man, is to stalk the most intelligent creatures he can find. Long ago he graduated from the hunting of regular men, to the preying on other hunters like himself. I believe he is searching for the ultimate challenge - one as skilled as himself, who will kill him, or come close to it. He lives for nothing but the hunt." The revulsion on the faces around him was clear, shock and pure abhorrence vying for supremacy.
"Do you know who he is?"
"I have everything but solid proof," Alan replied, running a hand down his face in answer to Jekyll's question.
"What was that?" asked Tom, concerned and unnerved. Alan smiled, the expression bitter.
"Africa sings," he responded.
"What?"
Alan repeated himself, in English. "It appears that Africa revived me for a reason. I feel - so different. So many things. I know the land, its creatures. I feel the pain of the land, when it cries out from the pain of its children. It's like an echo, passing through every living being. I feel it. I know things I've never known before." He shook his head, a little frightened. "We need to get to England."
"What can we do there? It seems to me that you need to go searching for this hunter," said Mina.
"Yes," said Alan. His trembling had slowly ceased. "But there are people I need to talk to, information I need. And this feud - could be very, very personal."
"Who do you think can help us?"
"For starters, Martin St. Lawrence. The man who was head of the League when I knew them fifteen years ago. He would be able to help us, and I have every reason to think he would bend over backwards to assist us in catching this particular hunter."
"Why is that?" Jekyll was only curious, Alan knew. But voicing the answer to that question left a wound that ached to the very bone.
"Because Martin was, at one time, very fond of my son. And if this man is who I think he is, he is responsible for my son's murder."
The quiet statement rocked the entire room. Alan, by choice, never revealed much of his past to anyone. There had never seemed much point, and the few people who did get close were never close for long. But the League had a right to know, if they were going after this villain, that Alan was more emotionally involved than even he had been aware of. Tied to Africa, and thus to the hunters who were being killed, gave him another bond as great as the death of his son, to this matter.
The chiming of a clock broke the silence. It was nine. "I believe it is past time we all retired," stated Nemo quietly, with all the finesse of a host who was responsible for the comfort of his guests. Alan nodded tiredly.
Jekyll, still concerned, offered the hunter a hand. Since his return to youth, Alan had been possessed of all the vitality of his apparent age. That was gone now, and he moved like a man of a hundred. The strain and stress were wearing on him, and Jekyll could only hope that this Martin St. Lawrence had answers.