A/N – Due to a lack of reviews, and my own realization that I didn't quite take the time to write this last chapter as well as I should have, I have gone back and completely revised it. Please let me know what you think.
LotRseer3350 - Don't worry. I haven't had and I don't have any intention to kill off any members of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Or do I? I guess you'll have to keep reading to find out.
La Fille de Belleville – Thanks for your glowing reviews. If you liked my tricks so far, just wait until you see my next one.
The beast was restless. It growled and it raged, tossing several of the creatures through the air, grabbing and clawing at the rest. Some of the creatures soon realized the danger and stayed as far back from the beast as was possible in the holding cell. The more foolish creatures suffered the beast's wrath, until at last they saw no choice but to retreat as well.
"You don't have to feed the animal now," said Victor Frankenstein, listening to the loud growls from Mr. Hyde's holding cell. "Wait until the beast has calmed its rage. Then you will attend to it."
The monsters merely continued to plead silently with their pale, sickly eyes.
"You can attend to the animal later," Frankenstein repeated. "Now, go. Go!" With that, he shooed the creatures away.
Frankenstein brought his fingertips to his temples and massaged forcefully. What was he doing wrong? Why were his experiments still such failures? Soon, it wouldn't matter. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen would provide him with the help he needed. They would help him finish his experiments, no matter what it would take. Whether they wanted to or not.
Frankenstein walked down the stone corridor of the lair he had worked so hard to create. He entered a small room, where several of the creatures were waiting. Finally, he looked at one of the monsters, his face showing no sign of emotion. Only coldness. Frankenstein lifted a concrete bust of Napoleon from a shelf on the wall and hurled it at the monster, who whined in pain.
"You worthless pieces of refuse!" cried Frankenstein. "Why have you failed?"
The monster that had been hit began to open and close its mouth wildly. Finally, sounds began to come out. One of his creatures was trying to speak.
The monster began grunting and cooing, creating unintelligible sounds. The noise was the same as that produced by an infant trying to speak for the first time.
Frankenstein froze. Interesting. His experiments had never shown this before. Perhaps there was hope for his project after all.
> > > > > >
Elsewhere, the salty ocean breeze felt cool and refreshing. Captain Nemo and Mina Harker cherished this as they continued their trek across the beach. Mina reflected, as she had upon her arrival to the island, that it hardly seemed evil could be lurking in such a beautiful place. The exotic trees and plants. The beautiful ocean. The warm, picturesque beaches that she and the captain were now treading. It hardly seemed that the island could be holding the secret to so many violent, terrible deaths.
The fact simply remained that Mina and Nemo were not finding what they were looking for. No sign of a boat or a dock as Quatermain had suggested. No sign of any of the monsters that were supposedly responsible for the murders in Germany. No sign of anything that would connect this island to the murders in Germany. Their only encounter had been with the hunchback the other night. Still, there was something about that encounter... Mina was sure that Quatermain had been right now. Her every instinct agreed with his. Something strange was going on on this island.
Mina suddenly froze in her tracks. She finally found the signs she had been looking for. Footprints. Human footprints. Still, there was something horribly bizarre about them. They didn't follow a straight path. The feet were bent and pointed in strange directions and angles. Their paths were simply inhuman. It was as if human feet had been slovenly sewed onto strange legs.
Nemo, noticing Mina had stopped, shot his companion a questioning glance. Mina replied by pointing silently at the footprints. An uneasy silence seemed to fall over the entire island.
Finally, Nemo spoke.
"The creatures do leave footprints."
"Obviously," replied Mina nonchalantly.
Nemo bent down, giving the footprints a much closer examination.
"They're fresh," he said. "Made within the last day."
Mina and Nemo just looked at each other, their eyes saying something
their mouths wouldn't. And, in reply to this silent message, Nemo drew his sword.
> > > > > >
Meanwhile, the veil of sweat was forming more thickly than ever across the air where Rodney Skinner's face was.
"Hate to break it to you, Mr. Q," the invisible man lamented, "but I think we're going in circles."
"I think so, too, Skinner," said Allan Quatermain. "I'm starting to recognize the landmarks."
The two had both predicted this moment was coming. Quatermain said the path would only be sure as long as it was straight. And the path was only straight until Quatermain and Skinner came to a creek. Quatermain judged the creek to be just wide enough and thick enough to be dangerous to wade through. The obvious course of action was to walk around the obstacle. Unfortunately, the creek was much longer than the two could have foreseen.
After wading through smaller creeks, traveling over steep hills, and starting down several twisting paths, Skinner felt certain that by now Quatermain was just as hopelessly lost as he was.
"I'm sorry, Skinner," admitted Quatermain. "These are unexplored lands for the both of us. And unexplored lands are best traveled through with a guide that knows the territory."
"Splendid," said Skinner. "Now where are we supposed to find...?"
Skinner was stopped by Quatermain, who held a finger in the air, requesting silence. His sharp, seasoned ears had caught something.
Just beyond Quatermain's vision, obscured by the thick jungle foliage, someone was watching. The young boy had dark skin and long, unruly black hair. He was dressed only in a loincloth. His whole face and figure held all of the wildness of some sort of animal. He seemed to sense someone had looked in his direction. With all the silence and agility of a wolf, the boy crept away, back through the jungle.
> > > > > >
Tom Sawyer opened his eyes. Not that it made much difference. He was surrounded by complete darkness. Looking down, he could barely see the shackles around his wrists.
Sawyer fought the urge to slip into sleep again. Now wasn't the time for sleeping. Now was the time for thinking. Sawyer's mind began to eagerly race through every thing the agency had taught him. He had to access his situation. He had to know his prison. He had to find a way out.
It was useless. The harder he thought, the harder his mind seemed to slam against dead ends. He stopped thinking just long enough for his stomach to take over where his brain had stopped. How long had it been since he had last had anything to eat or drink?
As if in answer to his question, there was a loud creaking sound and a burst of light filled the cell, momentarily blinding Sawyer. A door had been opened, allowing a beam of light to enter. Within the beam, Sawyer could make out the same twisted, deformed figures that had captured him.
"Get out!" screamed Sawyer, lunging as far forward as the chains would allow. "Get away from me!'
The creatures stepped back, worry filling their already hideous faces. Sawyer tried to bust from the chains, tried to attack his captors. It was no use. After a minute of struggling, Sawyer finally began to calm down. It was then that he noticed one of the creatures was placing a plate of food on the ground.
Sawyer tried to remain calm as two of the creatures came closer to him. He heard the sound of a key, and then he could move his hands once again. Sawyer's first impulse was to overpower the creatures and escape. Then he thought better of it. The creatures seemed to be caring for him. Feeding him. They didn't seem to want to do him any harm right now.
Sawyer grabbed a piece of food, examining it carefully, checking to make sure it hadn't somehow been poisoned. He couldn't tell. When his stomach growled once again, he realized he didn't really care. He'd take his chances. He ate noisily, ravenously. Drops of juice fell down his chin and onto his clothes.
As he looked up from his food, Sawyer saw the creatures still looking at him. He knew there was only one proper thing to do.
"Thank you," he said gently.
The creautes looked at him, puzzled. Finally, Sawyer could see one of their mouth's moving. Moving like his. Trying to produce sound. Nothing came out.
The creatures simply turned and moved out of the cell, shutting the door behind them and leaving Sawyer once again in the cold darkness.
> > > > > >
Skinner groaned. His legs ached. He was out of breath. He wanted nothing better than to slip back into sleep once again.
"Keep going," said Quatermain. "Keep marching. We should be there soon." "Be where?" asked Skinner, barely whispering the words as he gasped for breath.
"I recognize this stream," said Quatermain. "If we can find a way to retrace our steps, we can at least make it back to the creek. We'll decide what to do next once we get there."
Skinner opened his mouth to complain, but Quatermain immediately silenced him. Something didn't feel right.
Quatermain perked up his ears and listened to the sounds all around him. Beneath the hiss of the flowing water, he could hear another hissing. A softer but steadier hissing. Quatermain's sharp eyes slowly scanned the edge of the stream. His eye caught something.
Something green, long, and slimy was moving along the side of the stream. Skinner noticed it, too. His heart beat wildly. He remembered what Quatermain had said. About how being invisible would not keep Skinner safe from wild animals. Even if they couldn't see him, Skinner was convinced an animal would now be able to find him if only by listening to the heavy beating of his heart.
Quatermain mouthed one word at Skinner: "python."
The snake was beginning to crawl towards Quatermain. Quatermain stood still, not daring to even breath. His eyes simply stared straight forward at the snake crawling across the ground in front of him. Quatermain then realized he hadn't yet caught a glimpse of the python's tail. It had to be at least twenty feet long.
The python was swaying back and forth, moving in an odd, rhythmic pattern. It was almost as if the snake was dancing. Skinner could still feel his heart beating, but he was trying to mimick Quatermain. He locked his body into its present position, but he couldn't still the shiver running up and down his spine.
The snake's head was now a matter of inches from Skiner's foot. "Stay still," Quatermain mouthed.
Skinner almost fainted as he felt something cold and slimy cross his foot. After a minute, he was able to feel something else beneath the cold and slime. Weight. The thing was crushing his foot.
Skinner bit down hard on his lower lip, trying to kill the feeling of pain and fear. The coldness and slime now began to cover his other foot as well, doubling the intensity of the crushing pain. Skinner couldn't take it anymore.
Quatermain couldn't see his friend, but he could see the snake drop as Skinner pulled his feet out from beneath it. He could hear the sounds of Skinner grunting and moaning as he tried to flee into the jungle. And he could see the snake change direction and stop its steady crawl, now hurtling, lunging forward. Moving faster than its weight and size should have allowed. Quatermain quickly drew his pistol and fired.
The snake reacted to the bullet, but not the way Quatermain had hoped. Instead of thrashing and dying, the snake changed its direction, turning towards the spot from where the bullet had been fired. Quatermain fired again. The snake just kept moving forward, quickly, steadily. It hadn't even flinched when the bullet hit it. Quatermain fired again.
When Quatermain saw the snake was still moving, he lowered the weapon and realized his only choice was to get out of the mighty python's path. He jumped and rolled out of the way just as the snake's head came withing a couple of inches of his foot.
The snake again changed directions. Once again, it was hurtling towards Quatermain. Quatermain reached at the sheath on his lower leg and pulled out his machete. No sooner had he lifted the knife above his waist than he looked up and saw the python's mouth stretching open, poised to bite.
Quatermain grabbed the python by the jaw with his free hand. The head moved back and forth, struggling to push itself closer to Quatermain's face as the man struggled to hold the snake's head away from him. Still struggling, Quatermain lifted the machete and started hacking at the python. The knife left scratches on the snake's powerful body, but other than that it seemed to have no effect. The snake was now pushing harder, more furiously. Quatermain once again raised the knife, this time driving the blade into the snake with all of his might. The snake finally showed signs of agony, opening its mouth even wider and crying in its high pitched hiss. Quatermain had managed to drive the machete straight through the snake and into the ground.
The snake's pain seemed only momentary. It soon began to struggle again. Quatermain crawled back, trying to distance himself from the python as he watched the handle of the machete was back and forth. The handle moved forward. The python's mouth opened wide, revealing a set of fangs very similar to Mrs. Mina Harker's. Quatermain squeezed his eyes tightly, seeing no other option remaining. All he could do was expect death.
When Quatermain opened his eyes again, he was amazed to see the python sliding backwards. Soon, the python's tail had lifted high off the ground. The snake folded in the air, moving its head towards its tail. Skinner cried out in pain and the snake dropped once again to the ground.
Qyatermain reached for the closest rock at hand and hurled it at the
snake. The Snake turned towards him once again, hissed loudly, and then slowly crawled back in the direction of the stream.
Quatermain moved briskly toward the sound of Skinner's groaning.
"It really is a jungle out here, isn't it, Mr. Q?" gasped Skinner.
"Skinner," said Quatermain. "Shut up and show me where it bit you. I can't see the bloody tooth prints."
A clod of dirt in the shape of a hand raised up from the ground and pointed to a spot in the air.
"Look hard," came Skinner's weak voice.
Quatermain groaned as he reached in his pack for the anti-venom kit.