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Chapter Fourteen

Fergus tosses Regan's tiny body onto his rickety cot and continues to pull off his shirt. She hops up and down on the dusty mattress and giggles with excitement. She slowly takes her drab clothes of burlap off and lies back on the bed. Her body is so small and cute, from her perky little breasts to her firm bubble butt. She oozes raw sexuality as if two tons of napalm and dynamite have been compacted down into her four foot ten frame. Fergus leans over and kisses her forehead followed by her plump lips.

"Be gentle okay..."

"O'course dear," Fergus whispers back and continues by lifting her into his lap and kissing her soft neck. They kiss softly for five minutes when Fergus once again lays her flat on her back.

"Relax darling, I know you gonna like this," Fergus grins and pulls down the young girls tattered undergarments. With his whiskery face tickling her inner thighs, Regan lets out many small squeaks and giggles. As her hips convulse, Fergus pulls away and drops his pants.

"Remember, I said gentle," she whispers once more. Fergus moves in to her and gently starts to have his way. Regan's small body is devoured by the hulking Fergus and her yelps of pleasure fill the hut. As she gets more comfortable, the motions become harder. All the way until morning when they lie next to each other and sleep with satisfied expressions on both of their faces. Until a loud scream cuts the silence like a knife.

The morning silence is broken abruptly by a shrill female voice. The voice punctures the peaceful air with notes of anger and hostility.

"Regan! Regan!" the voice bellows. Captain Valentino emerges from his hut with eyes squinted by the bright sun.

"Areil, what is the problem?"

"Regan never came home last night. Is your crew responsible?"

"I assure you they are not."

All the huts are now emptying, all but Fergus'. They crowd around the screaming Ariel.

"Gabriel is on his way down. Jesus shall damn he who dirties my daughter!"

"Calm down!" Gaahl bellows and steps between the crazed woman and his captain.

"Don't raise your voice to me big man. Where is the other oaf? Wake him!"

"Fergus!" Gaahl bellows from deep in his belly. Fergus doesn't emerge.

"I'll solve this," Ariel storms to Fergus' hut and pulls the sheet from the doorway. She jumps back in astonishment at the sight of her young daughter, buck naked, scurrying to pull her clothes on. Fergus pulls his boots on at the edge of the bed.

"You filthy little w***e!" Ariel reaches in and grabs her daughter's wrist. "Your father shall wash you out with bleach," she claws at her daughters bare crotch.

"Hey now!" Fergus stands to take the offensive.

"And you vile pig. Your hands shall be severed and your testicles removed!" she spits in his face.

"Not if I can help it!" Fergus grabs at Regan.

"Hey now," Gaahl grabs the round lady around the shoulders and tosses her back out onto the sand

"Crew, back to the ship!" the captain has panic in his voice as he clammers to toss all his belongings into the dingy.

Saul and Alieana jump the wooden rail followed by Torri, Faux, and Raul. Two natives sprint down the beach and attempt to pull Gaahl from the struggling Ariel. Fergus wraps Regan in his large jumpsuit, scoops her up and runs for the rowboat. Son rips one of the men off Gaahl and tosses him a good fifteen yards. Baron sprints from his hut and leaps into the dingy. Iasan looks around with disgust and hobbles to waters edge. Son finally heads to the dingy and pushes it off. Gaahl still wrestles one man as Ariel bites at his ankle. His large hand buckles onto the native man's neck and squeezes the breath out of him with loud pops and cracks. With a final kick to Ariel's head, he breaks free and lumbers to the disembarking rowboat.

In the next second, Gabriel can be seen streaking down the beach with a blaze in his eyes and an ancient firearm in his arms. He quickly kneels to fire. Noticing this, the captain draws with lightning fast speed. A loud crack rings out with a puff of black smoke followed in the next millisecond by three fast shots from the captain's .45 ACP.

Gaahl's body jerks and he tumbles headfirst into the wooden hull. In the same second, Gabriel twitches as three .45 shells rip through his chest plate. He falls to the sand in twitchy pile as his wife cries out in agony.

"Son of a b***h!" the captain bellows and draws both of his pistols. In a blaze of anger he empties the clips into the crowd of gathering natives. A dozen or so drop, felled by the franticly flying shells. Gaahl rolls over in the hull of the boat with a grown as blood drains from his shoulder. Son rows like he's never rowed before, all the way back to the metal rungs leading up to the deck. As the crew files up the metal latter, Gaahl sits up in the dingy and coughs through blood. Son works quickly to get the hoisting gear around the hull of the rowboat and hustles up the rungs. With his powerful arms, he cranks the pulley system, hauling up the rowboat with the bloodied Gaahl inside it. Once level with the deck, Son and the captain bound across and awkwardly lift the mammoth Gaahl and drag him onto the deck.

"Iasan, get to the infirmary and clear a bed!" the captain huffs and puffs under the large mans weight.

"Aye!" Iasan barks and limps quickly bellow deck.

"Saul, please help Son move him to the Infirmary," the captain orders and Saul obediently follows his orders, Alieana is close behind hoping her first aid skills may come in handy. Next, the captain turns to Fergus who is still clutching the tiny Regan close, wrapped in his green grease monkey uniform. For the first time, Fergus wear a grave, worried expression knowing that this completely fell on his shoulders.

"What the f**k were you thinking?" the captain almost hisses with extra emphasis on the f**k.

"I uh, captain. Just tell me what I can do," Fergus' voice is low and genuine.

"Get her clothed and then go see Iasan for any assistance you can lend," the captain turns now to his lovely wife.

"My dear, would you so kind as to take the other girls and unload our food suppy?" his voice is kind and charming again as he kisses her on the forehead.

"Anything captain," Orabella looks rather pale due to the fright caused during the last ten minutes. She ushers Torri, Faux, and Raul towards the rowboat that still hangs just beyond the deck rails. Johan and Baron are the only two remaining in the captain's presence until Anjelo sprints from bellow deck with his usual blank, emotionless expression.

"Get us out of here bud," and Anjelo rushes off to fulfill his orders.

"Boss?" Baron says as if waiting for orders.

"I guess there's not much left but to settle back in and prepare for the voyage across the Atlantic," the captain hangs his head a little and heads off below the deck. Baron and Johan do the same.

"Put 'im right here boyo," Iasan shows Saul and Son to an empty bed at the back of his spotlessly clean infirmary. They gently place the bloodied and delirious Gaahl down on the bed and Iasan quickly goes to work. The engines fire and suck up the sea water followed by the lurching from the metal beast.

Iasan takes a close look at the wound and finds a crude hole made by an ancient musket ball. The skin is torn and blackened with lumps of deep coagulated blood oozing from within. He quickly grabs a pair of forceps.

"Boyo, swallow these an' bite this," he hands him two purple pills and a patch of thick leather. He pushes the pills between Gaahl's lips and pinches the leather between his teeth. Using the forceps, Iasan digs into the open wound to get ahold of the small, lead ball. The wound pulses and sputters out blood as a deep groan comes from Gaahl's throat.

Iasan finally finds the ball and pinches it tight in the forceps. With a precise, surgeons concentration, the ball is removed and tossed with a clang into a metal dish. Next, he retrieves a coil of thin, clear filament. Attaching a needle to the end, he begins to suture the wound shut. Finally, with the wound stitched shut, Gaahl sits silently in a drug induced slumber.

"Will be okay?" Son asks in his broken English.

"I sure hope, infection could be a buggah. I'm low on antibiotics," Iasan looks a little worried.

"Can we help with anything else?" Alieana asks kindly.

"Nah, action tis over fer now," Iasan limps back to his desk and flips open his old copy of Moby Dick. Without a spoken word, Saul and Alieana move back topside while Son heads back to his cabin to lift some weights.

Despite the next couple days of beautiful weather and smooth sailing, the general mood of the ship is dead and depressive. The captain won't talk to Fergus or even acknowledge Regan which leaves the rest of the crew feeling divided and uncomfortable. The captain has begun to ration food to make it last as long as possible. Gaahl still sits in the infirmary fighting a raging infection. Fergus sits alone by the slumbering Norwegian in the middle of the night. Guilt still staining his conscience. He knows his actions directly led to the attack but how could he just ignore Regan? She was miserable trapped on that island surrounded by her overbearing, loony mother and father. She had to be saved. And Gaahl was going to be alright, he had to be, he was too strong and hulking and indestructible to be felled by an old lead ball fired from the ancient musket of a middle aged, cult leading wacko.

Almost a week passes and Gaahl continues to loose more and more resolution. His face has become pale and sunken with black pockets under each eye and deep cracks on his wizened lips. Whenever asked about his condition, Iasan just frowns, mumbles and limps away.

On the tenth day, the captain arrives in the Infirmary. His eyes are stern as he looks over his dying first mate.

"What's the prognosis old friend?"

"Bah! Can't fight no infection if'n I don't have penicillin, an' amputatin' aint an option with the wound in 'is damn shoulder."

Iasan gives the look of a disgusted and defeated man. Not something he is used to at all. He plops down in his chair and rubs his chin as he gets lost in deep thought. Finally, he looks back up to the thunderstruck captain.

"What we gonna do?"

"We wait for him to beat this out. He's taken down bigger opponents then this."

"I hope you right, I hope you damn right," Iasan stands and hobbles back into his bunk area as the captain sighs and bids a final farewell to his loyal first mate and friend.

As their journey leads them further into the open ocean, the crew spends more and more time below the deck trying to overcome the constant rolling and rocking. While the original crew members don't seam to be bothered by the equilibrium jarring motions, the others, especially Fergus, aren't taking to it very kindly. At the prospect of his dying friend, the captain has turned rather dull and introverted, not even Orabella is able to draw a smile from his stoic face. Cabin fever is effectively set in.

On the twelfth day, Iasan leans over slowly to check Gaahl's usually weak pulse. As his fingers touch the large man's neck, his eyes open momentarily.

"Give me to tha sea in a blaze of glory. Valhalla I am coming..."

As the last breath of life fleets from the proud warrior, the lack of any pressure of a pulse causes Iasan's eyes to shut with bitter displeasure. Like some Celtic grim reaper, Iasan pulls a sheet over Gaahl's stone cold frame and head. Slightly shaken, Iasan clears his throat, regains his composure and goes on his way to find the captain.

The day is bright and warm as Valhalla's Wake bobs gently in some unknown location, a steel needle lost in a giant aquatic haystack. Gathered around a sleek steal  casket in the center of the open deck, stand the entire crew of Captain Valentino Ferrari's ship. The captain stands at the forefront in his best attire. The two silver .45's on each hip. Orabella flanks him close behind, her pretty face doesn't display her usual soft and inviting features. Now her expression is merely cold, defeated and slightly nauseated.

With their guns drawn, Son and the captain aim for the sky and blast off their version of a twenty-one gun salute. Clips empty, Son strolls to the open casket and places Gaahl's trusty broad axe across his unmoving chest. He turns back to the captain and silently strolls to the other side of the rail. The captain nods and begins to dowse the corpse with a pungent, crude fuel. A lone match strikes on his belt and a blaze erupts as the wooden toothpick bounces between the cadavers legs. They watch the conflagration for five minutes until the fuel is burned off. Baron swiftly runs to the casket, torch in hand, and begins to weld the cover on tightly.

With the cover solidly attached and the scorched metal cooled, the captain, Son, Baron, Fergus, Johan, and Saul become pallbearers to send Gaahl plunging over the rail and down into the murky depths. The crew disperses and heads back to their cabins, promptly ending Gaahl's ceremony without a word being spoken.

Author's Note

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