The crew followed Barbossa, apprehensively at first, and then as time wore on with no sign of the un-dead, more boldly.
Elizabeth had been walking hand-in-hand with Will, concentrating on keeping her footing in the treacherous sand and shale, and being thankful for wearing the breeches and loose shirt that she had bought in Tortuga instead of one of her voluminous dresses. Now, however, she loosed her hand from Will's and walked up to where Barbossa was leading the way.
"Where exactly are we heading to, Barbossa? And how do we know you're not just going to lead us to the mouth of hell and leave us there? I think it's time you told us some more about how we're going to ever find Jack in...in...this!" She gestured at the unchanging grey landscape around her.
Barbossa's eyes flicked over to share a glance with Will, before he answered smoothly, "I'm not in the business of betrayin' ye, Miss Tur- Elizabeth. Ye can rest assured about that. And ye'll know when we've reached Jack, because that's when we'll be on board the Black Pearl."
"The Black Pearl? But...that's a ship..."
"Ah yes, but the Pearl, she had a soul...why do you think Jack sold his own to get her resurrected from the depths? As surely as I am standing here before ye, Jack will be on the Pearl, down here." Barbossa tapped the side of his nose.
"I was going to say, we're heading inland. The Black Pearl, even if it's down here, would be on water, wouldn't you think?" They were heading towards a forest now. Granted, the trees were dead, bare, and standing starkly against the sky like so many clawed fingers, but Elizabeth could not even hear the ocean's waves any more.
"Let's just say that down here, things don't make so much sense," Barbossa said, almost to himself. "The Pearl should be on the other side of this forest," he raised his voice so the rest of the crew could hear, "but be wary: the forest is where the damned like to play."
The trees, though they had no leaves, nonetheless blocked out the strange grey light that lit the sky, dimming it down to a maze of shadows and pockets of gloom. Elizabeth stayed close to Will, who had his faithful hatchet in hand, and her hand in his other. She herself was armed, but held fears of tripping and impaling herself or shooting herself in the foot in careless nervousness. The tension was so thick it was nearly palatable: just beyond this forest was Jack, but lurking in every dark hollow were the monsters that imagination created.
The trees were thinning and Elizabeth thought she could make out the shape of something dark looming on the horizon –was it a ship?– when a twig snapped and there was a yelp. Jumping, Elizabeth spun, pistol drawn, to see a sheepish Pintel nursing his toe. "Oi tripped," he said, and giggled nervously. Elizabeth and Will shared a look of amused exasperation, and the crew relaxed visibly.
They had taken only three more steps when the first figure stepped out on to the trail in front of them, wielding mace and chain silently and with skill. Elizabeth bit back on a shriek, and looked around wildly: all around them, figures advanced: one riding a ghastly pale horse, one toting the biggest bow she had ever seen, all of them armed and with glowing red eyes. Without a word, they closed in, and the crew began to fight for their lives.
The most terrifying thing, thought Elizabeth, as she blew the head off of a man with a horned helmet, was that they made no noise at all. The pistol shots were deafening; the clash of swords jarring in the eerie quiet. And, true to Barbossa's word, the figures would not cease in their silent onslaught until completely dismembered. The trouble was, there were too many of them. Elizabeth's pistol clicked: she was out of shots. She had no sword; only a dagger Will had made specially for her, concealed in her belt.
"Elizabeth!" Will grabbed her wrist; he had heard the click as well. "Run!"
"Where to?" She retorted, hearing her voice slicing the silence as surely as any gunshot.
"Ahead! It's the Pearl!"
She didn't ask how he knew, only whispering a hurried "I love you," before dodging the club of a hunched figure and madly dashing out of the last of the trees, hoping against hope that none of the damned would follow her.