Chosen
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Chapter 11: Fears
Melusine shuddered. That would happen to her mate, the Beetle-Guide. He would die of his sickness and the insects and birds would devour him.
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Burns woke at the touch of Melusine's wide hand on his chest. Usually she returned from her nocturnal hunting trip after he had woken, but this time she had caught him sleeping. Last night had been anything but routine, so he really couldn't be that surprised. Her cold wet hands pawed at him, but it felt good, especially on his forehead. His head hurt and he felt hot. He reached up and held her hand over his forehead and eyes, enjoying the clamminess of her touch for once.
As his consciousness rose, he realized he wasn't hungover, but that he actually seemed to be sick. The feverish aching of his body and the queasy feeling in his stomach hinted at flu. But there were plenty of tropical diseases and jungle fevers that could be responsible for his condition. Had he caught something from her? He sighed and stroked Melusine's scaly skin. Besides a bottle of aspirin there were no medications in the cabin. He would just have to tough it out.
Melusine sat with him as long as she could before needing to return to the water. Throughout the morning she constantly left the water to check on him, eventually lifting him from the bed and carrying him to the river. "I'm up! I'm up!" he protested, but she held him down, somehow knowing that the water would cool his elevated body temperature. After a while, he ceased his squirming and just lay in her arms, his face above the water, closing his eyes against the strong sunlight.
And suddenly he began to shiver violently, and he swam from her hands and crawled onto the beach, lying in the warm sand for some time like a beached castaway. She crawled up and lay beside him, some misguided parody of the evolutionary process, and stroked her wide hand across his bare back.
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"You know, since we returned from Brazil, I just can't look at these fellows the same way," remarked Sector, staring into a large tank of tropical fish. He opened the tank lid and dropped several pinches of chopped chicken into the water. The fish inside swam forward and ate it excitedly. Seconds later several catfish appeared from beneath a hollowed-out log and inhaled the larger pieces. "I close my eyes and I can still see her there, swimming just off of the boat looking up at us, so elegant and elemental, like some Devonian Esther Williams.
"The girl you can't get off of your mind?" asked Trakker liltingly.
Sector chuckled. "I guess so. I will admit it's been quite a while since I've met a woman I've been quite so fascinated by."
"Likewise." And then he laughed aloud. "I think you and I need to get out a little more." Trakker leaned forward and watched a school of graceful angelfish saunter by in another tank. "I keep wondering about where she came from...what her people are like."
Sector paused from feeding the fish in the next tank and reached into his pocket, pulled out a notepad, flipped it open to a particular page, and handed it to Trakker.
He read aloud. "An upper tributary of the Amazon... small population—500 to 2000 individuals at most... trade based economy if any... tight social structure... strong sense of family and extended family... protein based diet... endothermic... oviparous..." Trakker closed the notebook. "I see you've been thinking about it as well.
"Would you have expected otherwise?" Trakker handed back the notebook and Sector tucked it back into his pocket. "Admittedly I did call you down here with the intent of discussing this with you."
"Mmmm?" Trakker's attention turned to another tank, this one housing a breeding pair of discus fish.
"If we can contact her again, through Maria, I think we might be able to make her an offer. If we will take her upriver to find her own kind, she may be persuaded to give us Calhoun back."
"I'd love to, but the Amazon basin's a big place. We could spend a decade or two looking for her home."
"I thought about that, but I'm certain she can guide us right to it."
Trakker flashed him a puzzled look.
"She's got to have a strong sense of smell...fish do. You saw how quickly those catfish came out. I think that if we get her close enough to home, she'll be able to pick up the scent of where she was born and raised."
"Just like a salmon returning to the river it was spawned in..."
"We could start at Manaus and work up the river from there."
"A brilliant plan, Alex...if we are able to contact her again. Julio said that she's not even been around to talk to Maria.
"If we did get the opportunity, would you think it would work?"
"Completely...if we get the opportunity."
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Days later, Burns lay on his side staring out the door watching the rising sun bring light to the marshes and river courses. The alternating bouts of chills and heat had kept him awake through the night, exhausting him though he simply lay there. Yesterday he thought perhaps he had shaken whatever malady had gotten him, for his temperature had gone down and he felt somewhat recovered. But in the evening, the high fever was back for a third time, leaving him feeling the worst ever. The queasiness had returned to his stomach making him wonder if he should drag himself outside and try to vomit. Though what would it accomplish? His stomach was empty. He had eaten nothing since the previous afternoon.
Melusine returned as the sun rose slightly higher. He smiled at her as she came up to the cabin and knelt beside the bed. In her net bag were three oranges and a gorgeous peacock bass. They had learned that these feisty fish were his favorite to eat but were a challenge for her to catch. It was obvious this was a gift she hoped would raise his spirits. But as she took it from the bag, the bass wriggling in her hands, he rolled away from her. "I'm sorry...I'm too sick to eat fish."
She looked down at the refused meal, knowing that his sickness was growing worse. She replaced the bass and took out the oranges, and was pleased to see him take one from her hand and begin to peel it. She still hated the scent of them, but at least he was eating something.
Melusine rose and went back down to the water, sliding along the channel and swimming to the deeper area beyond the sandbar. She crouched on the river bottom and ate the bass as she looked up at the river surface above.
The horrible thoughts returned...the drowned man-of-land...
Thirteen floods ago, she had found him floating in the river, barely alive.
He was weak and only slightly conscious. She had dragged him onto the riverbank where he lay barely moving. He would not eat. He hardly opened his eyes. When the sun grew hot, she dragged him into the shade, where he ceased to move altogether.
The man-of-land looked horrible in death—grey and bloated. The insects crawled upon his body, laying their eggs for their larva to feast upon it or eating it themselves. Vultures came later and picked his flesh from his bones.
Melusine shuddered. That would happen to her mate, the Beetle-Guide. He would die of his sickness and the insects and birds would devour him.
And for the first time since she had brought him to the island she felt the darkness of solitude again, and it made her heart ache.
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Chosen continues in Chapter 12: "Good News"
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M.A.S.K. and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of DIC Enterprises, Inc and Kenner Toys. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.
This fic is dedicated to Ben Chapman (1925-2008), Ricou Browning, and Tom Hennesey (1923-2011)
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