The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe: Book I

Chapter 6: Baptism by Fire

Spike-Eyes was about to beat one of the hounds for chasing after a squirrel when one of his accomplices called to him from the beach by the lake. "I've found something!"

Spike-Eyes whistled to the third crewman in their group and then walked toward Demented Jake, who was standing over and scrutinizing something in the sand. One of the dogs was busily sniffing at the ground beside him, looking very alert.

When Spike-Eyes drew close enough, he identified the discovery as a faded boot print. "You think it's one of theirs?" he inquired as Manslaughter Sol approached their location, followed by the other two hounds. His eyes widened at the sight.

"Françoise seems to think so," Demented Jake replied, patting the female canine on her side. The most talented sniffer, Françoise had rapidly become the hunting party's favorite and, therefore, received the most treats and strokes for her efforts.

"Muzzle the dogs," Spike-Eyes commanded. "If we've got tracks to follow, we don't need the hounds unless the footprints disappear. The mutts will only bark and warn them of our approach. If we can hunt them silent-like, they will slow their pace. We'll have a chance to catch up to 'em quicker," he pointed out, peering northward.

Demented Jake rose to his feet and spat in the sand. "Will that really be necessary? I thought we were just herding them north so the Injun tracker could intercept them," he returned. "Plus, they'll run out of food soon if they had any to begin with. Where could they possibly go? There's nothin' but hostile Injun territory north of here."

"Aye, but we need a backup plan in case Adahy should fail. Flame and Bleud would expect no less of us," Spike-Eyes countered, glancing over at Manslaughter. Demented Jake sneered and spat on the beach again. Like most of the crew, he preferred plundering for riches over chasing two hapless souls who posed no threat to them through the wilderness. Jake honestly could not care less about John Rolfe and his female companion. However, Bleud had promised them all the buxomest French wench of the lot if they captured the fugitives before anyone else, so he dutifully held his tongue.

"Are we going to follow these tracks now or wait for the other two parties to catch up to us?" Manslaughter Sol inquired as he spotted more prints farther down the beach. There were definitely two distinct human individuals that had been here, though the scent trail was almost cold by now. Only Françoise had succeeded in detecting it, as she appeared to have the best nose of the litter. Her brothers were pitiful by comparison.

"Leave a sign so's they'll know which direction we went, but we wait for no man. We best not let our quarry get any farther ahead of us than they already are," Spike-Eyes replied. Manslaughter nodded and used the tip of his boot to dig a big arrow in the sand pointing straight north. The trio muzzled the dogs and began to follow the tracks. The bootprints led them on for hours. The deserters had clearly been keeping to the lakeshore to avoid the dense forests and mangroves that were so difficult to navigate through.

It was not until the sun retreated behind the western forest canopy that they spotted something far down the beach. Spike-Eyes could not tell what it was from the distance, but it almost appeared to be a human form sleeping in the sand. "We've spotted 'em! Charge, men! Don't let 'em get away!" he cried, whipping out his sword.

His accomplices did the same and bolted through the soft white sand. Due to a curve in the edge of the lake, they had to run behind a large patch of cattails and aquatic grasses to get to their destination. Demented Jake ran faster than the others due to his nimble size and burst through the brush first. He dropped his sword and gaped in surprise.

Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter emerged behind him, also stopping to stare in shock. Adahy was lying on his side in the sand. His clothes were caked in dried blood. As his body was facing away from them, they could not readily identify the injury responsible at first. Spike-Eyes quickly jogged over and knelt down at the man's side.

Suddenly Demented Jake shrieked and pointed at something lying in the sand by the water's edge—a severed human hand. "Rolfe has cut off his other hand!"

Spike-Eyes rose back up to his feet. There was a prolonged silence after the startling announcement as the three men stared at each other in bewilderment. It was awkward until, all of a sudden, the whole trio burst out laughing at the top of their lungs.

They guffawed and carried on until their sides were sore and Demented Jake was literally rolling around in the sand. "Like I always says," Manslaughter chortled. "Never send an Injun to do a real man's job! Aye, men?" The others continued chuckling, nodding their agreement. "You'd think he'd have known well enough to guard his other hand."

"Well, now we know that Rolfe's still got his sword on him. I'm looking forward to crossing blades with the ol' dog now. Haven't had a challenge in months, matter of fact. The sailors on the supply ship were pitiful!" Spike-Eyes declared.

"Aye! Save some of him for us though, mate," Manslaughter joked, picking up the severed hand and waving it around in the air. He laughed as he toyed with the mutilated body part. "Shall we keep this as a souvenir?" he wickedly suggested.

Spike-Eyes was about to reply when they all heard a groan. They glanced at what they believed was nothing more than a lifeless corpse. Adahy was pale as death, but he moved a leg ever so slightly as he came in and out of consciousness. He murmured something in his native language and the pirates peered at each other in confusion.

"Well apparently he's not dead yet, but he's close to it," Manslaughter finally concluded, shrugging in an exaggerated manner. He paced over to the body and used his boot to roll Adahy onto his back as the man's eyes fluttered. "Hey, Injun! You want us to put ye out of your misery? Technically you don't deserve it for losing to a fop, but I'm in a generous mood," he offered, grinning down at Adahy with a wide gold-toothed smile.

"Get… the blade," Adahy murmured in a barely audible voice. "He calls to me from the water. Bring him, I will reward…" He passed out again before he could finish. Suddenly, one of the French hounds whined loudly through its muzzle and dashed away from Spike-Eyes. In his distraction, he had only had a loose grasp on the animal's leash.

"Bloody mongrel!" Spike-Eyes howled, running after the fleeing dog as it plunged headfirst into the lake. The pirate stopped at the edge, not wanting to get wet, and pulled out his pistol. He took aim at the animal. "I've had it with that damned mutt!"

"Don't waste your bullets on the beast," Manslaughter advised him. "A better fate to let a disobedient hound starve to death with a muzzle on its face than kill it mercifully quick with a pistol. Besides, Françoise is the only canine we really need."

Spike-Eyes clenched his teeth but saw reason in his accomplice's argument. He stowed away his gun as the animal swam farther out into the lake and turned away from the water, approaching the others. "Come on, let's not give the fugitives any more of a head start than they've already got," he finally decreed, returning his sword to its scabbard. He glanced north and observed that the lake ended at the mouth of a river.

"What about the Injun?" Jake inquired, nudging the limp man with the tip of his boot.

Spike-Eyes glanced back, throwing an arm up in dismissal. "Leave him. He's useless to us and he'll only slow us down," he replied, plodding over to the forest's edge. He broke a thick limb off of an oak tree, cut it down to size with his sword, and wrapped the end in linen. "Make yourselves torches, men. It'll be getting dark soon," he told them.

When they were ready, they continued north along the escapees' tracks. Devil willing, they hoped to catch up with the runaways before having to forgo sleep.

…

"The captain is dead!" cried the alarmed voice of Leonard Legless. He had just emerged from the captain's quarters aboard the Blood Draw and his announcement promptly got the attention of the entire crew. With as many of the French fugitives tracked down and butchered as possible, the rest of the crewmen had returned to the decimated port.

As it was just past dark, the captain had been enjoying a sumptuous victory meal alone in his cabin. Legless had gone to deliver him rum but had instead found Bleud on the dusty carpet of his quarters. The deceased man's grayish-brown eyes were open and bloodshot as if he had glimpsed the devil just before heaving his final ragged breath.

Voices of panic and curiosity echoed through the crowd until Flame swung over to the Draw from his own vessel. "Dead, you say?" he decried from the port side railing. He whipped out his blade and pointed it at the crew, panning between one pirate and the next. "This reeks of mutiny. Who be the scurvy dog that would dare betray our beloved leader, eh? Come forward, ye slimy coward, so as I can gut you meself!"

Flame wore a demeanor of ferocity and feigned loyalty as he regarded the alarmed men. He had to be sure that no one would have the gall to cross blades with him or attempt to challenge him for leadership and he was pleased with the results of the test.

"Cap'n Flame!" Legless cried. "Bleud was dining alone in his quarters, sir. How can we be sure this was a willful slaying on the part of a member of the crew?"

Finley Flame ran a hand through his short red beard as he pretended to consider his first mate's words. "Alone? Hm. Perhaps the good captain fell to sudden illness. Let me examine the body," he proclaimed, nimbly hopping down onto the deck. He put away his sword as the men backed up, making a wide path for him through the crowd.

Flame climbed the stairs to the upper deck and Legless held open the door to the filthy but lush quarters that had once belonged to Bleud. Flame strutted straight back to the dining table. Indeed, the old captain was sprawled across the carpeted floor with one big foot propped up on the stool from which he had fallen as the silent poison took hold.

Legless walked over, holding his wide-brimmed hat to his chest in a gesture of respect. Flame inwardly rolled his eyes at the action but said nothing. Kneeling down, the disfigured Irishman checked Bleud's pulse first and then swept his hand over the man's face to close his bloodshot eyes. "Aye, he's gone. No sign of a wound. Must have been an illness. Best to get rid of the body in case it's infectious," he decreed, rising again.

Flame saw Legless's throat tighten as the man swallowed in apprehension. "The spirits… it must be the spirits," he heard his first mate murmur under his breath.

Captain Flame raised an eyebrow. Though he had never believed any such horse dribble, he had often used a feigned superstitious nature to his advantage. "Aye, it must be…" he shot back, placing a hand to his chest to appear taken aback by the revelation.

"They're furious that we've foregone our mission against the Spanish, captain! They'll kill more of us if we don't head south!" Leonard Legless proclaimed.

Flame's eyes widened. This was not going how he had planned. He shook his head. "Nay, methinks another explanation is in order," he blurted, thinking quick on his feet. He had Legless's full attention, so he started to pace the room as he considered the possibilities. A thought came to mind and the fiend smirked to himself. He spun back to face Legless. "I found a document of interest on the other ship just before ye called, mate. It identifies Rolfe as a Spaniard in disguise. The man was a spy against England and he got found out. He must've failed to mention this because he didn't want us to know that he wouldn't fight against his Spanish brethren. The trickster likely would have sabotaged our ambush! His heritage was the real reason for his death sentence, not treachery!"

Leonard Legless's mouth fell open in surprise as he listened to the Irishman reveal the shocking news. "That… that is quite startling, captain. But how does it explain Bleud's untimely death?" he inquired worriedly. "I don't understand the link."

Captain Flame scowled. "Isn't it obvious, you fool? The Aztec ghosts want us to hunt the Spaniards. Our so-called 'John Rolfe' is a Spaniard! They want us on his trail, not making merry with wenches and rum as old Captain Bleud here was apt to do. He was punished for his frivolity. If we don't catch this fugitive, we'll be punished as well!"

Legless gasped. "Egads! We've got to warn the crew, sir!"

"I am the only commander now, Legless. Don't ye worry! I will keep the men safe from the wrath of vengeful phantoms. Just make sure they all swear fealty to me and you'll have nothing to worry yourself over. Now, we best get rid of the body. Bring in some men to carry the corpse away, mate," Captain Flame fiendishly replied. "Go!"

Legless nodded and disappeared from the room. Flame took the opportunity to snatch up the half-eaten cherry tart on Bleud's plate and tossed it out the open-hatch window. So long as no one else took a bite and keeled over, there would be little reason for suspicion against him. Now all Flame had to do was forge a false document identifying John Rolfe as a Spanish spy and all would go according to his devious design. He left the captain's quarters and returned to his own vessel to carry out his fiendish plot.

…

Pocahontas swayed in exhaustion as they reached the leg of the river where they had begun their journey. The water flowed a bit faster here as the river was relatively narrow compared to miles downstream. They had returned to their starting point, yet they still had infinitely farther to go until they would get home. Hundreds of miles.

Dark had fallen hours ago and it had officially been over twenty-four hours since they had last slept. The sudden silence of the hunting parties troubled John Rolfe. The dogs had stopped barking. Pocahontas thought they were resting, but Rolfe was unsure. The quietude did not sit well with him, so he pushed onward despite immense fatigue.

As they trudged along, John Rolfe offered Pocahontas another piece of coconut to help keep her energy up, but she turned it down. "No food. I need rest," she groaned. Every bone in her body felt like it bore a crushing weight. They had not sat down or stopped moving once since she had saved Rolfe from the tattooed pirate that morning.

John Rolfe put the food away and offered a hand instead. "Give me your pack. I'll carry everything to make things easier," he proposed, "but I don't think we should stop yet."

Pocahontas grumbled in aggravation. "The dogs aren't even barking anymore. Maybe they've given up and headed back south? I don't see why we can't just rest for a bit," she expressed, finally coming to a stop. She lowered herself to her knees in the soft sand and then dropped the pilfered green supply pack to the ground at her side.

John Rolfe frowned but realized she was right. The only member of the group that was not exhausted was Flit, as he had made a nest on Pocahontas's head hours ago and was fast asleep therein. When Pocahontas stopped walking, Flit roused and looked up.

John Rolfe peered at the bird. "Hey, Flit. We need to rest, but we're not sure if we're still being followed. Can you keep watch and scout the area while we sleep? Wake us if our pursuers begin catching up to us, alright?" he implored, removing his satchel.

The hummingbird yawned and nodded, zipping up from his spot on top of Pocahontas's head. He sped off into the forest, intent on checking the area in concentric circles around his four companions until he was sure they were all alone. "Alright," John Rolfe decided, dropping his own satchel to the ground. He plopped down into the sand and stretched out, heaving a huge sigh of relief. "Oh heavens, yes. You were right, Pocahontas. This feels amazing," he murmured, letting his tired bones sink into the supportive sand. He closed his eyes as he scooted his satchel under his head. "I seriously never thought that just lying down could feel this good," he added in a sleepy voice, yawning deeply.

Pocahontas stretched out perpendicular to him, same as before, and laid her head on his belly. She yawned as well. "I know, it's amazing," she whispered in reply. She really could not believe how exhausted she was. While she was far sorer than she had been after their first night with the pirates, she suspected it was likely a different story for John Rolfe. Percy stretched his back and collapsed by Pocahontas's abdomen. Meeko, on the other hand, curled up on the Englishman's broad chest for warmth.

The trickling of the river water lulled Pocahontas, John Rolfe, Meeko, and Percy to sleep as the stars twinkled overhead. The balmy weather combined with their huddling allowed the four companions to stay relatively comfortable—despite the lack of warm sunlight, as they had had before. Despite their aching bones and muscles, they slept peacefully.

…

When the dogs finally collapsed, the hunting party was forced to stop for a rest as well. Manslaughter Sol removed their muzzles and fed them before putting the muzzles back on. "No more than a few hours rest, men. It'll be daylight in short order. We're the only ones who can bring in the deserters now. Flame and Bleud'll have to rely on us," Spike-Eyes plainly stated as Manslaughter dropped to the sand, completely worn out.

Manslaughter slapped something on his knee. "Damn mosquitos," he bellyached. Spike-Eyes licked his forefinger and raised it up in the air to test the direction of the wind. It was a mild breeze, but it appeared to be flowing north now. Unfortunately, that gave the escapees somewhat of an advantage. If they were downwind from their pursuers, the pug dog with them could possibly detect the pirates' scent and alert them.

Demented Jake stretched his back and pointed to the woods. "Be right back, men. I've got to drain the dragon, as it were," he indicated, plodding off into the forest with his torch to light the way. He stumbled over logs and fallen debris until he was out of sight of the others. Then he jabbed the handle of his torch into a crotch between two branches of a live oak tree. As he was fiddling with the belt of his trousers, his foot got caught on a thorny vine and he stumbled backwards. The top of his head knocked the torch out of the tree crotch and the flaming stick fell to the forest floor with a clatter.

Jake gasped and quickly grabbed it up, but the flame had already spread to a dried leaf. He made to stomp it out only to discover that his foot was still caught by the thorny vine, causing him to tumble over. The force of his fall blew the flaming leaf a few feet away, out of reach. He gasped and tore his boot away from the thorns, running over to stomp out the burning leaf. However, as the bungler was gathering his wits, a dancing light grew behind him and gently illuminated his figure against the tall dark trees.

Demented Jake's eyes widened as he spun around. In his pursuit of the burning leaf, he had dropped the torch itself in a pile of bone-dry forest debris. It was not just a small flame this time—it was a small fire that was rapidly growing into a massive bonfire. Jake nearly peed on himself as he took to a sprint, stumbling over fallen logs to get back to the campsite by the river. "Fire!" he cried in alarm as he stumbled out of the woods.

Manslaughter and Spike-Eyes sprung to their feet. "You blundering idiot! You dropped your torch, didn't ye?" the latter accused as the forest lit up the night. Spike-Eyes grabbed a hold of Jake's neck and throttled him as the fire grew in the woods behind them.

"Quick! We've got to swim to the other side of the river!" Manslaughter Sol exclaimed, ignoring the fighting between his brethren. He snatched the canines by their leashes and bounded down the riverbank with the whining sleep-deprived animals in tow.

"Ye ought to be burned alive, bloody numskull!" Spike-Eyes spat. He whipped out his sword and threw the slighter Jake against a tree, impaling him against the wood with the blade through his shoulder. Jake screamed as the sword pierced his flesh. His attacker ignored him and turned tail, following Manslaughter Sol down into the river.

A strong wind blew as the fire crested the canopy, whisking the hot flames north at a rapid pace. Demented Jake could already feel the immense heat from the fire against his sides. His survival instinct numbed the pain from the blade and he grabbed hold of an overhead limb with one hand. He hung onto the flat of the sword with his other hand and did a midair crunch, lifting both feet off the ground and resting the soles on the cross-guards of the weapon. Taking a deep breath, he pushed with all his might and shrieked in agony as the force began to tear the long steel blade free from his flesh.

As Spike-Eyes was three times Jake's size, the strong man had embedded the sword quite deep into the trunk of the tree. It took all of Demented Jake's remaining strength to kick it out and he fell bleeding to the ground. There was little time to rest as he felt a flame lick at his heels moments later. He crawled down the riverbank with his good arm.

Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter Sol had made it to the other side and they were no longer in sight, so Demented Jake simply rolled into the shallow water and kept his head low to protect his lungs from the smoke. He waded farther out to avoid falling limbs, finding that the cool water both burned and soothed his shoulder wound simultaneously.

…

With the remaining crew under Captain Flame's full command, the men had moved everything useful from the supply ship over to the Blood Draw. There simply were not enough men left to pilot both ships, so they burned the stolen English vessel and sailed north out of the bay. Legless was pleased to report that the winds had become favorable in that direction. The sinister ship was able to move quickly along the dark coast.

Finley Flame stood at the helm as the ship sailed swiftly through the dark Floridian waters. He fiendishly leaned forward and put a hand to his deformed ear, eavesdropping on a whispered conversation between two crewmen on the deck below.

"They're saying that Rolfe is actually a Spaniard. It must be the real reason King James sentenced him. If the rumors about Bleud's death are to be believed, then we best catch the whelp lest the accursed dead send plague over the whole ship," a one-eyed man said.

His stocky companion nodded. "I heard Rolfe's real name is Juan Santino," he added.

"No, you daft fool!" the other man snapped back. "It's Juan Ignacio. I just heard it meself from Legless. He says the cap'n found a document identifying Ignacio as a spy."

"Aye. But that begets the question, what was the nature of the man's relationship to the Injun tart? Maybe the girl was in on some plot against the English throne! If they were a threat to her tribe, it makes right sense. Either that or those two were just lovers. You'd think that'd be the case with the way he saved her," replied the stockier pirate.

Captain Flame's lips curled into a grin as the men continued to spread the false rumors amongst themselves. He so loved superstition and gossip when they were of benefit to him. However, the one-eyed man's next comment troubled the captain slightly.

"I don't know, mate. There's something fishy about all of this. Why would the Injun ghosties want us to chase after a single Spaniard when we could be robbing and killing hundreds of the Catholic nuts?" he pointed out, lowering his voice even more.

"Aye," replied the stocky one. "Methinks there's more to this Juan fellow than we realize if the spirits of the murdered Aztecs want him dead above all others. Perhaps King James wanted it kept a secret… but why? What's that royal bastard hiding?"

The one-eyed man shrugged. "Perhaps if we find Ignacio, we can torture the truth out of the ol' Spanish dog. Hell, maybe we'll even find the key to bringing down the whole Spanish empire. Just consider the possibilities, mate! Think of all the massive piles of gold stored in Spanish palaces! We'd be rich beyond our wildest dreams…"

Flame relaxed again, seeing the men held no suspicion towards him. Everything was working out well. The only thing that bugged Flame now was how the bosun kept glancing at him. The Irishman knew how sharp the swarthy man was. Flame reminded himself to keep an eye on the bosun, lest he put the puzzle pieces together.

Captain Flame drove the ship onwards for hours until an unusual light appeared on the distant horizon. Flame was the first to spot it and he whipped out his pocket telescope to get a better view. The Irishman whistled loudly over the rushing winds to get his first mate's attention. Legless came over and the captain handed him the telescope, pointing north. "What make you of that? It appears the forest be alight," he remarked.

Legless raised an eyebrow as he peered through the lens. "Aye, a forest fire it is. But what could have started the flame? The sky is clear and no signs of lightning in any direction," he pointed out, lowering the telescope with a look of puzzlement on his face.

"No clue, mate," Flame returned. "But perhaps we'll get lucky and the flames will flush out our quarry. The ship is moving fast now. We're sure to catch up to their location in short order." He took the telescope back from his companion and glanced through the lens again as the ship drew closer. It could be seen with the naked eye now. Some of the crew pointed northward as they discussed the development amongst themselves.

"What about the hunting parties? They could be incinerated!" Legless exclaimed.

"And your point is? If those fools are worthy of the crew, then they'll find a way to get themselves to safety. Besides, if they perish we don't have to keep Bleud's promise to 'em. We can keep that gorgeous French lass all to ourselves," Captain Flame replied, collapsing the telescope and shoving it into his pocket. He had had his eye on Nicole Lorrise St. Germaine since the raid on St. Augustine but kept her locked down in the brig with the others to avoid distraction during their pursuit of the deserters.

"True, but this could throw a wrench in our plans to track the fugitives. A fire can destroy a scent trail. Without the hounds being of use, it'll be a lot harder to find Ignacio and his Injun wench—assuming they even survive the fire," Legless explained. "Adahy could be killed too and he's our best human tracker. This is getting complicated, captain."

"An Injun would know what to do when a forest fire strikes. The louts all lived in a forest after all. As for the rest, we'll have to wish them luck. There's nothing we can do about it from here, so no use bellyachin' over the matter. We need to keep heading north and pray to the Aztecs we catch up to the deserters," Flame stated, putting an end to the discussion. He waved his first mate off and turned the ship slightly eastward to keep the vessel out of the line of smoke. The ash would blind the crew if the winds changed suddenly.

…

John Rolfe awoke to the feeling of something tapping against his temple. He sat up slowly, totally disoriented, and rubbed his eyes to clear his sleep-blurred vision. "Wha's happened? What's going on?" he slurred as he came to. Flit chirped loudly and turned to Pocahontas. Her head had fallen into Rolfe's lap when the Englishman had sat up.

The frantic hummingbird began throwing his tiny body against Pocahontas's cheek in an attempt to wake her. John Rolfe saw it was still dark out. They could not have been asleep for more than a few hours at most. Dread struck him and he jumped to his feet as Pocahontas roused from Flit's harassment, rubbing her face as she sat up.

There was an orange light on the southern horizon. John Rolfe knew immediately that it could not be the dawn—it was approaching much too quickly. He sucked in a breath. "Pocahontas! The forest is on fire!" he bellowed. A herd of white-tailed deer charged out of the brush from downriver, heading straight in their direction. On the western riverbank, a black bear ran as fast as its four legs could carry it, followed by two young cubs. Bats and birds darted overhead. All the animals in the forest were fleeing the flames, heading north as fast as their claws, hooves, or wings could carry them. It was chaos.

Meeko climbed up on John Rolfe's shoulder as he grabbed Pocahontas. The Englishman dragged her into the river just before the deer stampede could trample her into the sand. Percy cried out, unable to get out of the path of the deer. He danced around clumsily, only barely managing to avoid sharp hooves as they ran over him at high speed. The forest was in an uproar as the strong northern winds blew the flames in their direction.

John Rolfe watched in horror as a flaming tree crashed down across the narrowing waterway some ways down the river, spreading the fire to the west side. Pocahontas coughed and sputtered as a blast of smoke filled her lungs from the blazing inferno. It passed quickly and she struggled to stand in the rushing water. Looking up, she swiftly processed the dire situation that had arisen while they were sleeping.

"We will have to hide in the water! It's our only chance!" John Rolfe hollered, dragging her deeper into the middle of the narrow tributary. They were forced to grab hold of a protruding boulder to avoid being carried away by the strong rushing current.

Pocahontas glanced downstream and saw steam rising from the river there, mixing with the smoke from the fire. "John, no! The river is not wide or deep enough to protect us. Trees will come crashing down on us! The water could even boil if the fire is hot enough. We are not safe here. I've lived in forests all my life, I would know," she told him.

John Rolfe was about to reply when both he and Pocahontas spotted their hummingbird friend on the riverbank squeaking in a frenzy and zipping around. He pointed a wing into the dense forest. "Come on," Pocahontas said to Rolfe, grabbing his hand. "He must have found a way to safety. If we hurry, we can get there before the fire arrives."

"We'll be incinerated!" John Rolfe cried as Pocahontas pulled him back to the eastern bank once the deer herd had passed. "Please, Pocahontas, no! The forest is too dense. You might make it out alive, but I'll never keep up with you!" Sweat dripped down his face, though the hot flames had yet to reach them. The idea of being burned alive was even more terrifying than a fatal fall. His knees trembled at the prospect of stumbling through a burning forest. He would much rather take his chances submerged in the river. "Follow Flit and escape," he told her. "Take our supplies. Hurry!" He gave her both survival packs and put the turtle shell on her head, pushing her towards the edge of the woods.

Pocahontas spun back to John Rolfe with a furious expression. She grabbed him by his shirt collar and jerked him toward her. "You need to trust me! I'm not leaving you behind! We live together or die together!" she shouted at the top of her lungs over the approaching roar. She could tell Rolfe was terrified with the sweat pouring down his face and neck, but they could not let fear stop them from living to see the sunrise.

John Rolfe hesitantly nodded and Pocahontas shoved his satchel back in his hands. He slung it over his shoulder and she made a beeline for the dark woods, following the animals who were fleeing as fast as their paws could carry them. The panicked diplomat pursued as swiftly as he could, hopping over a log between two close-knit trees.

The darkness did not last long as the inferno drew near, lighting up the woods brighter than a thousand bonfires. The trees, branches, dead logs, and dried debris burst into flame faster than John Rolfe could move through the challenging landscape. Pocahontas was forced to slow her pace to help him over a variety of difficult obstacles. Thorns tore at their clothes and faces as they burst through a line of thick bushes, but adrenaline numbed them to the pain as they fought for survival. It was an all or nothing situation.

The wind howled furiously above the forest canopy. Whipping the high leaves and branches into a frenzy, the gale brought the hellish inferno ever closer. The hummingbird buzzed around them and squeaked frantically in an attempt to hurry them along.

At last, the fire was upon them. They had to hop around in the brush as they ran just to prevent the flames from licking the skin from their legs. With hot feet, they thankfully reached a small clearing in the flaming forest. John Rolfe coughed and wheezed from the smoke as he caught up with Pocahontas, noting that she had dropped the turtle shell at some point during their flight. He no longer cared as the situation had just worsened considerably. Pocahontas forced his head down to keep him from breathing in the smoke as she kicked the sparser burning debris aside, making a clear path for them.

The intense heat grew as they ran and John Rolfe tripped over a protruding tree root, causing Pocahontas to skid to a stop. She looked back at him in horror when she heard a crack from high up in the trees. The massive limb of a giant pine tree broke off and plummeted to earth. Pocahontas screamed and raced back as fast as her feet could carry her, knocking Rolfe out of the way of the limb with the full force of her body.

John Rolfe rolled out of harm's way as the branch landed and the Powhatan woman cried out in pain. "Pocahontas, NO!" he shrieked, scrambling back to his feet. Her left foot was trapped beneath the heavy partly-burning tree limb. Flit squeaked in terror as the fire surrounded them, buzzing from side to side to avoid flaming leaves and sticks that fell from the alight canopy. More branches overhead cracked as burning debris crashed down around them. The Englishman coughed and crawled over to his beloved, trying in vain to pull her away from the fallen branch. He stopped when she screamed in pain.

Pocahontas coughed and hacked, her body going limp as her consciousness faded. John Rolfe knew the massive flaming branch would be near impossible to lift, but he had to try. He knew he would have to use leverage to his advantage, so he rapidly analyzed the length of the limb. About ten feet down from Pocahontas was an area where the wood was high enough above the ground that he could scoot his body beneath it.

He crawled over and lay down on his back, placing his feet flat on the underside of the log. Then he heaved and pushed upwards with all his might. Flit watched in alarm as the Englishman's face went from white to pink to red to purple and a series of veins swelled along his forehead from the immense effort. It took all the strength he had in his body to lift the branch even an inch, but it was enough. "Move your leg, Pocahontas!" he bit out sharply, glancing over. To his horror, she was out cold. "Pocahontas, no!"

Meeko and Percy reappeared in the clearing, having realized the humans had fallen behind. Unable to speak as his strength began to give out, the Englishman pointed to Pocahontas. Then he pointed to his own leg and mimed a pulling action.

The two larger animals understood and rushed over. Meeko and Percy both sunk their teeth into the fabric of Pocahontas's pants. It took all of their combined energy, but they managed to drag her leg out from under the tree limb just as John Rolfe's strength gave out completely. The Englishman screamed in anguish, knowing the limb would crush her ankle, and then he blacked out momentarily. When he came to, he quickly discovered that Meeko and Percy had thankfully succeeded in the mission he had assigned them.

Pocahontas lay unconscious in the dirt as flaming leaves fluttered around her body. Her wet clothes did not catch fire readily, thanks to the water from the river, but the heat from the fire was rapidly drying them out. It was the same with John Rolfe's clothes.

The diplomat yelped and pulled back as flames engulfed the part of the limb his feet had been in contact with. He closed his eyes, whispering a desperate plea to God Almighty to restore his strength just long enough for him to rescue Pocahontas from the inferno.

Heaving with the effort, he pulled himself back to his feet when he had thought he could not possibly do so. He stumbled over to Pocahontas and struggled to lift her over his shoulder. Meeko and Percy helped him get her up. Rolfe peered around through smoke-blurred eyes, seeking an escape route that was not blocked by a wall of flames.

Flit squeaked at him and zipped northward, following the clearing. John Rolfe, Meeko, and Percy trudged in the hummingbird's direction. Rolfe felt like his skin was about to catch fire until he caught sight of a route to the beach up ahead. He had to sear his boot on a fiery log to get there, but he finally reached the end of the burning woodland.

While he was still coughing madly, a balmy breeze from the ocean brought him a much-needed breath of fresh air. In his exhaustion, he collapsed the moment he made it to the sand. With Pocahontas draped across his back, he crawled away from the fire and down the sloping beach until he reached cool wet sand a few meters up from the surf.

Meeko, Percy, and Flit watched them in woe as John Rolfe laid Pocahontas out on her back. He feared the worst, as she did not appear to be breathing. He pinched her nose shut and clamped his mouth over hers, inflating her chest to pump clean air into her.

A tremor ran through her body just before she started heaving and wheezing violently to clear her blackened lungs. She was alive and Percy promptly rejoiced. Meeko and Flit were stunned into silence. To them, it appeared that John Rolfe had literally brought her back to life—but they quickly gave in to the impulse to celebrate with Percy.

John Rolfe collapsed in the sand by Pocahontas's side, pulling her head to his chest as she regained partial consciousness. Nothing needed to be said between them. In a spiritual sense, both of them felt like they had been reborn that night. Like creatures of myth, they had risen from the ashes changed profoundly for the experience. Their wakefulness did not last as their eyelids drooped in exhaustion. As the tide moved out, the gentle sound of waves lulled them to sleep in each other's arms. It was not long before Meeko, Percy, and Flit joined them. They all huddled together on the sand and slept soundly.