Return to Skull Island

CHAPTER SEVEN

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A/N: Okay, so I read over the last chapter…and there are A LOT of typos. I also wrote that Carl walked "grubbily" to the phone, and I can't figure out what I was trying to say. Groggily, maybe? Oh well... I'll try to make this chapter a little better typo-wise.

Sorry this is taking so long! I've been busy, and I have a bad habit of forgetting about my fanfiction.

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Anne sighed as her husband paced. Back and forth across the room, as if the floor would disappear if he didn't step on it.

"Jack," Anne said softly, a gentle reminder to calm down.

When he paused and looked at Anne she could see the anxiety in his dark eyes. "I'm sorry," he said automatically. "I just want Carl to tell me if he's found anything yet."

Anne smiled. "I'm sure he'll call soon," she said. "It's probably hard to find an airplane for rent."

Jack returned to his pacing with a new burst of energy. "I know!" he exclaimed. "What happens if he calls to say that he couldn't do it? What then?"

"You've been worrying about this all morning," said Anne calmly. She was anxious as well, but showing it would only add to Jack's hyperactive worry. "And we've had this conversation before, I think. If he can't get the airplane, we'll think of something else."

Jack sighed, halting once more. "I'm sorry--" he began.

The phone rang, interrupting Jack's apology. He dove to answer it, nearly tripping over the rug. "Hello?" he said. "Yes. I think so. Oh, thank God! Carl, I love you!" (Anne smiled slightly.) "Okay. So when will this be ready? Okay, thanks. I'll see you then."

He hung up.

"What happened?" Anne asked.

Jack's face cracked into a smile. "He did it. Carl did it." His voice gushed with relief. "Somehow, Carl Denham got us an airplane. We're leaving in an hour."

Anne stood up in surprise. "You're leaving in an hour?"

Jack nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. We really don't want to waste any time."

"And who is 'we?'" Anne asked, settling back into her chair.

"Well," Jack said hesitantly, as though he hadn't really considered this, "Carl and me, I think. I don't think he's bringing anyone else but the pilot." A thought passed over his face. "Did you want to come?"

"Are you inviting me?" Anne countered as she thought. Did she actually want to go? Her first reaction was a solid no. But if Jack thought it would be important for her to come, surely she could manage.

"No! I'm not inviting you!" Jack said, startled. His voice softened. "I mean, unless you want to, of course. But it's going to be dangerous and I don't want anything to happen to you."

Anne took a deep breath. Jack was so sweet, so caring, so brave. "I love you," she said.

"I love you too," Jack replied. "Are you coming?"

Anne shook her head.

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Englehorn found the remnants of his crew to be a sad sight. They seemed huddled, sitting in a group under a tall, thick tree. Some were injured, and others seemed disoriented. Miller sat as soon as they reached the group, seeming to meld into the cluster of drenched, disheartened men. Englehorn stood alone, his teeth gritted as he surveyed the remainder of his crew.

There was something strange about all of them. He knew that they were good, brave men, and not easily daunted. That's why he'd hired them. But here they were, like timid mindless animals. None spoke. What had happened when the natives attacked? Had his crew been drugged or hypnotized?

His body swayed alarmingly as he thought, though he managed to right himself before falling into the sad mass that was his crew. He grimaced. He couldn't go on much longer like this. He needed rest and real food. Perhaps that was even more urgent than running off on another rescue mission.

Well, there was probably food on the ship, but the idea of returning to the site of the deaths made his stomach turn.

He shook himself like a dog drying itself in a vain attempt to force some life into his limbs.

"What are you doing?" a crewmember asked frantically.

Englehorn couldn't tell who had spoken. Perhaps it had been more than one man. Silently, the men seemed to move jerkily as they sat but for no real purpose. He shivered involuntarily. They acted like zombies from bad films. But what could have brought this on?

Lumpy's voice echoed unexpectedly in his mind. "It's magic, I'm tellin' you. They're bewitched, you know. Cursed. I've seen it many a time."

Englehorn tiredly rubbed his forehead. As much as he had valued the dead cook's stories, they had never related to real life. There was no way that remembering them could help.

Dizzy, he swayed again. His knees threatened to give out, so he walked unsteadily to a tree and leaned against it. He didn't want to sit, for it seemed that the group of drugged, hypnotized, or--if his inner Lumpy had any say--cursed crew members would envelop him.

A crunching noise far behind him made him spin tiredly. He looked through the trees for the culprit, but saw nothing. He heard the noise again and searched harder.

He imagined for that he saw the thick dark fur of an ape behind a broad tree trunk, but at a second glance it was gone. He turned back to his crew. Perfect. Now he was hallucinating, imagining that Kong was behind him.

Maybe rest was a good idea. He hesitated by his drugged/hypnotized/cursed crew for a moment before walking a little bit into the forest.

He had a nagging feeling that he should be rescuing and not sleeping, but it was overpowered easily by the logic that without rest, rescue wasn't possible.

Before he had gotten far, his legs gave out again. This time he lay where he had fallen, and it didn't take long for his exhaustion to envelop him.

He dreamed of large, black apes.

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Jimmy fought his bonds harder than ever before. He felt alone and stupid because he hadn't realized that the rest of the crew was gone.

His movement attracted the attention of a few natives and they crowded around him, holding him fast with rough hands. They jabbered to each other in their gibberish language, and before long an old man carrying a long, rough rope emerged from somewhere behind Jimmy.

The rope was handed to the nearest of the natives and they began to wind it slowly around Jimmy's body until he could no longer move at all. Even his head and neck were bound to the crag—the fibers of the rope bit uncomfortably into his forehead. Then the crowd dissipated, leaving Jimmy alone once more.

He waited for hours. The natives ignored him completely, and he resumed futilely watching them and worrying about the rest of the crew. When he was too exhausted and hungry to worry properly, he had nothing to do but observe the natives.

Their language was repetitive and strange, but listening to it Jimmy had an absurd idea. He looked for the small child that had acted as an ambassador earlier. It had disappeared.

Another child of about five years of age ran by, and Jimmy called out to him. The child paused and viewed Jimmy with interest for a moment before running over.

"Jimmy," Jimmy said, gesturing with one unbound thumb at himself.

The child cocked his head to one side.

"Jimmy," Jimmy said again.

The child gestured with the same jerky movement at itself.

"No, no," Jimmy said, though of course the child couldn't understand. He pointed with more vehemence at himself. "Jimmy," he repeated.

"Jih. Me," the boy said, pointing at his own grubby chest.

This dialogue attracted the attention of a few other natives, and an old woman stood, watching, a few feet away. Jimmy looked at her face, hoping that she would intercept his gaze and come closer.

Her eyes caught his and she stared. The intensity of the glance made Jimmy's skin crawl, but he forced himself not to look away.

The woman walked away.

Jimmy swore. The child, whom Jimmy had nearly forgotten, repeated him and smiled gleefully.

Deciding to give his attempt at communication with the child one last try, Jimmy pointed deliberately at himself and said, slowly, "Jimmy." For the first time, the implications of Jimmy's movement seemed to dawn on the child's face. His eyes widened and he raised a thin arm to point at Jimmy.

"Jih. Me," the child said. He turned his arm to himself. "Nakowenf."

Jimmy repeated the name—or what he assumed was the name—as best he could. The child seemed to bounce with happiness. Jimmy's face relaxed into a smile, though he wasn't sure how to continue.

His language lesson was cut short when the child scampered away.

"Wait!" Jimmy called. "Nako—Nakowenf!"

He sighed miserably. Why did these people run away every time he tried to contact them?

There was no way that he would be able to escape by force, and he didn't know how much Englehorn would be able to help him. If only he could talk to the natives he might be able to bargain his way out of captivity. It was the only plan he had left.

He had started with the child—Nakowenf—mostly because he was afraid to contact the adults, and the children had already proven themselves friendly.

Unfortunately, it looked as though communication would be slow.

The sun was high in the sky, just beginning to dip down on its journey into night. Jimmy tried to gauge the time. Probably two or three in the afternoon.

An unfounded dread that something bad would happen at nightfall sat in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to make some progress before the darkness came. He wasn't afraid of the dark—of course not—but he would much rather deal with the natives in the light of day.

He groaned with frustration. Nakowenf had thoroughly disappeared, and he didn't want to go through the same process with any more children than necessary.

Jimmy squirmed, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible, though in his current position comfort was a distant memory. He had a feeling that he would be waiting for a long time.

He didn't move significantly again until, as he had predicted, the night came. The natives dragged him back to the bridge and bound him there again. Jimmy barely had the strength to fight.

He resigned himself to another uncomfortable night. Sleep did not come easily.

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They were to arrive at Skull Island in the wee hours of the morning. It was a long flight, especially with the dubious coordinates that Jack had copied from the map during the first voyage. He hadn't expected to need them, thinking that he wouldn't lose the map or return, but he was glad that he'd made them.

He was a vial of nervous energy, which drove both Carl and the captain of the small plane insane.

The reunion with Carl had been awkward, as they had spoken little in the months since the King Kong fiasco, but they were united enough by the problem at hand.

Jack was amazed that Carl had been able to find a plane at all; the moviemaker said that it belonged to a friend's rich friend. The sum that the rich friend asked for had nearly daunted Jack.

He stared out a window now, his energy ebbing slightly as the light began to fade. The ocean stretched out below him like an endless blanket.

Am I crazy? he wondered. Well, I'm going back to Skull Island. I must be.

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