Ultimate Aquaman: The Savage
- Entertainer13 -
Part Two: Wild Man
A fisherman. That's all he ever wanted to be. But destiny had other plans for Walter Helmsly. Instead of being a simple fisherman, making his way through live by searching the seas, he became a smuggler, a pirate and a murderer. Funny how life works out, isn't it?
"Captain, we're approaching the island," came the voice of the rotund Webber, "And we've spotted some movement around the wreckage."
Captain Helmsly had been sitting at his desk, center room, with his face buried in his hands. He had been in deep thought, wondering about a few things in his life. Now someone had simply barged into his quarters without warning. Suddenly he turned, flinging a knife towards Webber. The blade sliced through Webber's cheek, blood oozing out from the cut, and then slammed into the wall. Webber screamed in pain, holding onto his face. Helmsly slowly rose from his seat and calmly walked over to the knife, quickly removing it from the wall. Webber backed away from him as he slowly wiped the blood off of the blade with a handkerchief from a nearby table, and deftly placed it back in its sheath. Helmsly looked straight at Webber.
"Remember rule number one, Webber?" he sneered, "Knock. Next time I may not be in a good mood. Now, what was this about movement?" Webber began to talk, but he was in too much pain to get out more than a few gurgles. Helmsly sighed and grabbed the bloody handkerchief and threw it at Webber. "For the love of God, stop whimpering. I've been through worse." He emphasized his point by pointing at one of the seemingly hundreds of scars riddling his face. "Now get specific. By movement you mean human, right? About how many?"
Holding the handkerchief to his cheek, Webber barely managed, "Three... maybe four."
"Good," Helmsly nodded, "They probably see us and will assume we're here to rescue them. Go to shore with pistols and knives. Don't want to worry them with out automatics, now do we?" He looked at Webber, and seeing no nod, frowned. Webber saw this and immediately nodded. Helmsly smiled as he turned back towards his desk and began looking over papers. "Get as much about the wreck out of them as possible. You know what we're looking for. If they're unresponsive, kill all but one."
"What if we... what if we can't get anything?" Webber winced as he asked his question, glaring at Helmsly from behind.
"We'll dredge the entire goddamn Caribbean if we have to!" Helmsly barked, turning back towards Webber. Suddenly some movement in a nearby window caught the corner of his eye. Without a word, he slammed the window open, flinging the hatch upward. He then rushed to look outside to see if anyone had fallen. He frowned, seeing only a few dolphins leaping in the wake.
"Is there a problem," Webber asked, groaning a bit, "Sir?"
"I thought I... never mind." Helmsly backed away from the window, shaking his head. What had he seen? Looking at Webber just standing there, he glared. "You know the orders. Move!"
-
"You think they're here to rescue us?" Edmund Graise asked, shadowing the sun from his face with his left hand.
"Why else would they be here?" Stacy laughed, looking out towards the sea. A boat sat in the distance, unmarked and bearing no flags. Everyone had to squint, but the movements of people could be seen.
"Stop gawking, you two," Raymond Beck interrupted with a growl, "Let's pack up what we can just in case that is a rescue ship." He walked up behind them, carrying some of the supplies that had washed up. A flare gun sat atop a raft with a large hole in it, as well as an assortment of other supplies.
"What do you mean, 'just in case?'" Graise asked, walking towards Beck, "What else could it be?"
"Well," Beck answered dropping his burden onto a new that had been laid out on the sand, "They probably spotted us awhile ago. Why did they take their time getting over here?" Beck walked towards another pile of refuse. "Also, that's the same unmarked ship that was following us earlier. They wouldn't respond to calls. Who knows who or what is on that ship. It's best that we hope for the best and prepare for the - DAMN IT!"
Beck had just dropped a large chunk of wood on his foot, and he kicked it away to make room for him to jump around. He howled in pain as Stacy rushed over to try and calm him down. Graise just muttered to himself and walked back towards a make-shift shelter that he and the others had been working on earlier. Stacy finally got Beck to sit on the sand while she checked her foot.
"I hate this fucking island," he growled, "I'm cold, my foot's busted and I haven't had a cigarette for hours." He winced as Stacy accidentally put some pressure on his big toe. "Be careful! Do you even know what you're doing?"
"I almost went to med school, buster," Stacy said, a little offended, "I know enough."
"Well, be more careful!"
"I'm doing the best I can!"
"What's going on here?" a voice broke in. The two turned to see Miranda standing in front of them, a box of glass containers in her arms. The two just glared at each other, ignoring Miranda's question. Finally, Stacy rose up from the sand, brushed herself off and walked towards the direction Graise had gone. Miranda watched as her friend left, and then looked at Beck expectantly.
"What!" he yelled defensively, "I didn't do a damn thing. She's just high strung." Miranda raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I dropped something on my foot and she went and poked it. It hurt, for the love of God!" Miranda shook her head and carefully placed the box on the sandy beach. Kneeling in front of Beck, she took a look at his foot.
"It's not sprained or broken," Miranda said after a few seconds, "Just bruised, you big baby."
"I'm not the one who stormed off," Beck growled.
"Just because you haven't had a cigarette for awhile, you go ballistic on her," Miranda responded practically, "She likes you, in case you hadn't noticed."
"I know," Beck sighed, looking over towards the direction of the sea, "But I'm a little more worried about a few other things. Who knows what the hell is in that boat."
"Well, I found the flares for the gun," Miranda said, rising from the ground, "That's our best shot. If we get a small army down here, we're not exactly going to have the best chances."
"True," Beck admitted, "Let's just get the rest of the stuff together and be careful."
-
Two, small boats floated up and down in the waves, heading towards the uncharted island. One boat sat behind, about three men sitting inside, all large and wearing army fatigues. Inside the lead boat were five more men, all of the same size and dress. At the bow sat Steven Webber, second in command of the Nameless Ship. Sweat poured off of his brow, his attempts to wipe it away seemingly futile. He sat atop a small crate, inside of which were a number of automatic guns. Knives were strapped to each of the men behind of him, and even Webber himself carried a small pistol. The mission had been laid out: get the information needed and then wipe them out.
"Hey, I think I see a few women," a tall, tanned man behind Webber chuckled.
A grin fell upon the face of another. "Too bad Helmsly would kill us if we don't do 'exactly as told' or whatever."
"Will you two shut up?" Webber snapped, checking that the thick bandage on his cheek hadn't fallen off, "Let's just do this quickly and move on?"
"Hey, Webs?" a third man with dark black, skin chimed in, "What the hell are we even looking for? I thought that ship was just some stupid fishing vessel."
"It was collecting ocean life samples, for one thing," Webber sneered, "Not fishing. Second, what we're looking for isn't your problem."
"What a tool," the man mumbled under his breath. The comment went unheard by Webber.
The boat suddenly started shaking beneath them, swaying back and forth. The men fell to their knees, grabbing onto the sides of the boat, attempting to steady it. As quickly as it had begun, the shifting stopped. A silence hung in the air as all six men looked at each other, wordlessly asking, "what was that?" Only the silent ocean rippled in reply. Webber cast a look to the ship behind them and saw only a confused look from the three men. As he watched them, he saw their boat suddenly begin shaking as well. With only three men to steady it, it capsized within moments. The men clung to the boat, trying to stay afloat.
"Turn around, men!" Webber growled, "Let's get them out of the water." As two men began rowing, Webber looked on in shock as one of the men in the water was suddenly pulled under. Webber blinked and looked again. The man was still gone. Webber was shaken and changed the orders, saying that they should stay away. A minute passed, and the missing man suddenly rose face up to the surface. As quickly as he surfaced, another was pulled under. The third man started screaming for help.
"We need to help him!" the black man yelled at Webber.
Webber turned his back on the sight. "Let's get to shore. I'm not in the mood to fight sharks." The man rose up and screamed at Webber.
"You bast!"
Webber slapped him across the face. "Helmsly put me in charge, not you! You have a problem with my orders, take it up with him." The black man was going to protest, but one of the rowers pulled him back.
On the shore, Miranda and the others looked on in disbelief. Beck had propped himself up between Graise and Stacy, refusing to sit down. Miranda was behind the bow of the Derringer, flare gun in hand and ready for trouble. They weren't prepared to see one of the possible rescue boats fall over, the men inside appearing to drown.
"What's... what's going on out there?" Stacy stammered.
"Probably a shark," Graise decided, talking to no one in particular, "Figures."
"One of the boats is getting away," Beck said quietly, certain he was witnessing the death of more people. He couldn't really handle that thought. Beck looked back towards were Miranda was hid. She was apparently a good shot, and since Beck's foot had swollen he wasn't prepared to worry about the shock of firing a flare gun. "Stay where you are Miranda." Beck warned her too late. She had already looked and pulled back in shock.
Webber's boat hit the sand, and the five other men jumped out and pulled it ashore. Webber looked at the small welcoming committee and wasn't impressed. Two paper thin scientists and a lame man weren't going to cause much trouble. He rose from his seat and stared at one of the men, motioning for him to come closer. "I'm not in the mood to play games, considering what happened," he sneered, "Let's do this quick, and let's do this now."
The man nodded and went to the crate in the boat, opening it up. Meanwhile, Webber began a slow, methodical walk towards Beck and the others, slowly pulling out the pistol he had strapped to his belt.
"What the sam hell is going on here?" Beck demanded. He tried to step forward, but then he cried out in pain, followed up by a curse. He crumpled to the beach, holding onto his foot. The four men around Webber, now carrying automatics, just laughed.
"Give us the information we want, and you may come out of this little ordeal alive," Webber said simply. One of the men behind Webber cocked a gun, emphasizing his point.
"So..." Beck growled, holding back his pain, "There still are pirates. Pathetic."
"Pirates," Webber chuckled, "There's a first. Sure, I guess we fit the bill. We steal from ships, and all."
"Well, we won't tell you anything," Stacy said, stepping forward, raising her head defiantly."
"Speak for yourself," Graise said, stepping back and raising his hands. Looking at Webber, he said quickly, "I'm ready to cooperate in anyway possible."
"Jerk," Stacy said under her breath.
"That's great to hear," Webber said, slowly walking forward, gun raised, "What have you recovered from the wreckage so far? Anything of interest?"
"I don't know what it is you want!" a voice yelled. Everyone turned to see the black 'pirate' leading Miranda out from her hiding place with his rifle. She had her arms raised, no longer holding the flare gun, and continued. "We were just collecting ocean samples."
"That's not what my employer was told," Webber said shrugging.
"She's telling the truth," Graise offered. Webber gave an incredulous look to the smaller man, and then hit him across the back of the head with the butt of his pistol. Graise dropped like a rock, knocked out completely.
"Throw them together," Webber snarled. Stacy and Miranda were thrown on the fallen form of Graise and Beck soon followed. Webber scratched his forehead with the barrel of the gun. "Now, if you're not going to cooperate, we can just dredge ocean and look through what you've scrapped together. It makes no difference to me."
"We don't know what you're looking for!" Miranda screamed, "It's the truth!"
"Huh," Webber replied, "You really don't. Oh well, your loss."
"Wait!" Beck interrupted, his eyes wide open as if he remembered something, "Are you looking for something... like an artifact?"
Webber smiled. "Now we're getting somewhere," he smiled. Webber dropped to one knee, though it took much groaning and heavy breathing on his part. "Was this something in a small, black box, located in a hidden hold?"
"Yeah," Beck said, suddenly getting a confused look, "But how did you know?"
"There was a plant on your ship," Webber answered with a shrug, "However, he seems to have not survived the storm." Webber looked around, just to make sure. Then he locked eyes with Beck. "So tell me, where is it now?"
During this interrogation, Miranda's eyes grew wide as she noticed something behind the men in front of her. There was a man rising from the water, a golden mane of unruly hair atop of his head and a long beard on his face. He wore no shirt and had a pair of sleek, black pants on. Behind him he dragged the three men who had been pulled under water earlier.
"I don't know," Beck said, unnoticed by Miranda, "Probably at the bottom of the sea. Destroyed for all I know."
For a moment, Miranda locked her fearful eyes with the wild looking man's. A shiver went down her back as she met his cold, steel blue eyes. He took his attention away from her and looked straight at the men in front of her.
"Well then," Webber said, shaking his head and trying to rise from the ground, "I'm afraid you're useless to us." Two of the men helped Webber to his feet. He looked at his men and began to tell them to shoot, when he saw the wild man walking towards them. "What the?" The wild man leapt.
He was on them in an instant, tacking one from behind cracking him on the back of the head with his bare fists. The man was rendered unconscious. He turned towards the other men who had backed away and jumped, landing a hard kick to another one of the men. Webber screamed for the wild man to be shot, but their foe was too fast. As soon as one aimed, he was on them with a hard punch or a knee to the gut. Finally, there were only two men left standing. A gun did go off, grazing the shoulder of the wild man. It caused him to only stumble for a moment, but this moment was enough.
One of the men grabbed the wild man from behind as the other rushed forward, landing a stiff punch to the gut. The man punching noticed it felt like he was hitting a tree, but he continued laying on the punishment. The wild man grunted and finally pulled free, reaching around and flipping the man behind him forward. He fell into the other man, and the two fell unconscious. The wild man then looked at Webber who had run for the nearest boat. He jumped towards him and tackled Webber to the ground. He flipped Webber over onto his back and stared him in the face.
"Take your men," he snapped, and then pointing to the three men he dragged on shore, "All of them, and go. Don't come back." He slapped Webber in the face and grabbed his dropped pistol and crushed it in his hands. He then began walking around to all of the guns and gathering them, removing ammunition and rendering them useless in similar fashions.
Miranda and the others watched this in silence. They hadn't heard any of what he had said to Webber. All they had seen was the amazing fight. This apparent wild man had just bested five strong men, and didn't seem to break a sweat. The disheveled man walked forward and looked them over. Kneeling down, he held out his hand towards Miranda. Stacy looked at Mira fearfully, unsure of what was going to happen. Miranda gulped, and took his hand. He carefully helped her off of the ground. As she got to her feet, she felt light headed as her eyes met his. He seemed so dangerous, and yet, there was a kindness.
"Who are you?" Beck demanded wincing as he forced himself up from the ground, "I'm not in any mood for some mystery, Tarzan of the jungle shit."
The wild man let go of Mira's hand and frowned, looking towards Beck. He just glared and then helped Stacy up from the ground. Graise quickly jumped to his feet, and backed up behind Beck when the wild man approached.
"I'm a friend," the wild man said simply, "Follow me and I'll get you somewhere safe."
-
Night had fallen as a boat laden with weapons and men was lowered from the Nameless Ship. Captain Helmsly stood over the lowered boat, watching as it hit the water. He had a backpack strapped on, and a row of knives sat on a sash around his chest. He had a grin on his face as he smoked a cigar.
"Captain," Webber said, walking up behind him slowly, "Maybe we should just scavenge the sea, find the tablet and move on. I'd rather not face that savage again."
"Don't worry Webber," Helmsly said, removing the cigar and allowing the smoke to flow out from his lips, "You'll be staying here."
"But Captain-" Webber quickly stopped his protests as he saw Helmsly reach to knife. He let out a sigh of relief when the hand slowly went elsewhere.
"Webber," Helmsly said, wrapping his arm around him and walking towards the captain's quarters, "If what you say about this 'savage,' as you call it, is true, it could be worth ten times as much as that piece of rock. Think about it." The two stopped for a moment as Helmsly opened the door to his quarters. "You look like you need a drink." Helmsly motioned for Webber to go to the table with a bottle of scotch on top. Webber walked straight over, poured himself a glass and drank deeply.
After finishing his drink, Webber looked at Helmsly. He was kneeled over an opened chest. Webber tried to sneak a look inside but couldn't see anything. With a shrug, he asked, "But what if he's too dangerous for you to handle?" Webber heard a laugh and watched as Helmsly rose from the chest. In his hands sat a harpoon gun.
"There is nothing on legs or with fins I can't catch," Helmsly smiled. He took out his cigar and smashed in into an ash tray on his desk. Then he turned to Webber and aimed the gun at him. He began to laugh louder. "It's hunting season."