Return to Skull Island
CHAPTER THREE
-------------------------------------------------
A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone... if you want a reply, let me know (I know I like reading them) and I'd be happy to write one.
--------------------------------------------------
Jimmy struggled harder than he had in his entire life as the natives pulled him toward the fire. He kicked, elbowed, bit, twisted and headbutted, ignoring the prods from the spear. He was going to die anyway; what did it matter if they poked him first?
He was completely surprised when they halted suddenly a few feet from the fire. The heat was intense, but it was tolerable, and much better than being thrown inside the fire.
Two native men held his arms, but he had ceased to fight for the moment. What were they doing?
An old woman with a hunched back and bloodshot eyes suddenly appeared out of the gloom. It was so bright beside the fire that he could barely see the natives that surrounded him. The old woman shoved a necklace of skulls and bones over his head, their rough ends scratching his face. The woman disappeared as quickly as she had come.
Sweat began to bead on his face and moisten his clothes. His face burned and his eyes seemed to shrivel in the heat. He wondered if the natives, who stood as close to the flames as he did, could feel the heat.
Suddenly, they pulled him away, into the darkness. His vision flashed with a ghostly green memory of the flames, obscuring the darker area from view. He stumbled and fell against a native who quickly pushed him upward. He could feel the grip on his arms change as he was handed to a new pair of natives. They half forced, half dragged him away from the fire. His vision had only begun to clear.
Maybe, he realized, this was the reason for the fire. Maybe it was part of a ritual. He couldn't remember what had happened to Anne, he couldn't think…
The natives halted, and Jimmy immediately recognized the place. A tall, hinged bridge that could span a gorge stood in its upright position. Its forked top already held the ropes to tie an unfortunate sacrifice into place.
Jimmy resumed his struggling as he realized what the natives wanted to do. He yelled obscenities at the natives. "Kong is never coming! He's dead!" he added.
At the word "Kong," both natives stiffened. Their expressionless faces suddenly lit up with…what? Hope? Anger? The strange natives were too foreign for Jimmy to guess.
Whatever they were feeling, they quickened their pace.
"No!" Jimmy screamed angrily, stomping at one's foot and missing. He tried to wrench free from their grasp, but they only hurried faster.
As he had expected, he was bound to the end of the bridge. The rough ropes cut cruelly into his arms but did not budge as he tugged at them.
He saw the natives retreat into the forest from the corner of his eye. He sagged. It was going to be a long night.
----------------------------------------------------------
Jack Driscoll scanned the front page of the newspaper, debating whether or not it was worth the few cents he had to pay. Money wasn't an issue after the success of his newest play, but there was rarely anything in the news that he wanted to read.
A lot of political garbage, some bad news about a fire a few states away, and—He grabbed the newspaper, aware that the vendor gave him a nasty look. In small print, on the bottom of the front page, the title read, "Ship Marooned on Unknown Island." There was little text below it, but the writing described a message that a ship—specifically, The Venture, had been carried by a storm to an island without a name.
"You gonna buy that?" the vendor asked.
Jack dug in his pocket and handed the money to the man.
Continued on C4. Jack flipped hurriedly through the pages, letting the unimportant sections like Sports and Local fall to the ground. He found his heart pounding, and he took a deep steadying breath as he found the article.
Maybe it was a different Venture. Maybe it was a different island. After all, there were probably plenty ships named Venture and countless undiscovered islands.
Still, it seemed like too much of a coincidence. He found a bench and sat down, his eyes glued to the paper. He needed names, something to tell him that this was Englehorn's Venture or that the island was called "Skull" by the natives.
Englehorn's name was about halfway through the article: The crew report that the Captain, Englehorn, disappeared shortly after the crash, as did many crew members.
Jack stared blankly for a moment, then read the sentence again.
The rest of the article said little of value. Apparently no one knew much about what had happened.
He started at a jog towards his house. Anne would need to see this, and together they could decide on a course of action.
----------------------------------------------------------
The fire had burned down to embers as Englehorn watched the natives' central area. Most had disappeared to wherever they slept, but a few remained to watch his captive crew.
If there was a time to stage a rescue, it would be now, he decided. But there was no way that he, exhausted and injured as he was, could fight the natives.
He tried to remember how his last rescue mission had worked. The natives had been scared of his gun and had run away. It had seemed so simple then.
Maybe, now, he could scare them enough that his crew could escape. It would be risky, and might not work, but he shuddered to think of what the natives could do.
He took a deep breath, stood, and raised his gun.
---------------------------------------------------
Once again, thank you all for the reviews.