Wrath of the Volcano God Part Two

 

WRATH OF THE VOLCANO GOD

A Pulp Adventure

Part Two

It was a short drop to a rude landing on a leafy hillside.  Then they rolled downhill, an avalanche of explorers, into a shadowy gulley.

Amid a chorus of moans and curses, Lewis stood up, reached out to help Sarah to her feet and asked, "Everyone all right?"  Suddenly, Bethany cried out in pain.  "What's the matter?" Lewis asked, as he stepped toward her.

Then a sleek and shiny reptilian head emerged from the undergrowth.  Sarah screamed at its sudden appearance, Ethan and Wayne gasped.  Bethany grabbed her arm, suddenly bleeding from two puncture marks.  Lewis froze in place as the snake raised up high enough to look him in the eye.  It was a great green monster with wide brown spots, sharp fangs, and an evil gleam in its yellow eyes.

The snake, swaying, hissed.  Lewis opened his hands in slow deliberation.  With sweat glistening from his forehead, his muscles tightened as he readied himself to grab the animal just behind its head.

As if sensing his intentions, the snake hissed and lunged forward.  A thundercrack sounded, blood erupted from the side of the snake's head, and it dropped heavily into the underbrush.  With a cry of panic, Lewis fell backward, and found himself sitting on the jungle floor, momentarily confused at what had just happened.

"Good shot!" Ethan exclaimed.

Wayne blew the smoke away from the barrel of his gun and holstered it.  "Tweren't nuthin'," he casually replied.

Sarah stared with horrified eyes.  "B-Bethany?"

Lewis sprang to the fallen woman's side.  Already she looked pale and red rings were developing around her eyes.  With haste, he peeled her out of her safari jacket and rolled up the sleeve of her shirt where he found two red dots puckered and swollen just below her elbow.  Without hesitation, he brought the wound to his lips and made a desperate attempt to suck out the venom.

After a few long minutes, it was obvious to them all that this noble effort was not working.  Bethany swooned as Lewis spat and wiped his lips for the final time.  "Who's got the snakebite kit?" he demanded.

His companions scrambled through their packs, but were dismayed to find no snakebite kit or any first aid supplies at all.

"Carlsbad!" Wayne spat, "He and Klugman must've swiped ém 'fore they left us to die!"

With a gasp, Sarah placed one hand on Lewis' shoulder.  "What do we do now?"

Lewis weighed the few options at hand, and made a decision.  "We still have to head for that ship, it's our only hope."  He stood up, lifted Bethany's limp body into his arms.  He looked around; found they had fallen into a deep valley with foliage covering the rocky walls.  He couldn't see the sky from here, and shadows were too thick to determine the sun's position.  But his trusted sense of direction told him that following the valley would lead them toward the beach.  "Come on," he said, and started marching.

*  *  *

Nearly an hour later, Lewis had been proven correct.  The valley opened onto a wide beach of white sand.  The valley was a gap in a long cave-riddled cliff wall that ran along the inland edge of the beach.  The sandy beach stretched on for as long as they could see, boulders were scattered along the way, and a line of jetsam showed them how high the surf ventured.  A few yards away the skeleton of some great jungle cat jutted up from the sands.  Further down the beach they could easily see more bones in the sand, too distant to tell what animal they belonged to.

The boat sat not far offshore, parallel to the coastline.  A long, segmented gangplank stretched from the pale sand to the squalid ship.  It was a small cargo vessel bearing the name of Josephine's Joy across the bow.  The boat was stained by the salt water, and needed a good scrubbing.  It looked better suited to safe routes along coasts or between island chains than to a long voyage over a treacherous ocean.

Wayne hummed thoughtfully.  "Well, she ain't the purdiest sight I ever did see, and she don't seem to set quite even in the water."

It was true, the ship's bow sat low in the water as though weighted down by a heavy load.

"Ahoy!" Lewis cried out, "Ahoy on the boat!"  They waited for a long moment, but there was no reply.  He called out a second time, "Ahoy there!"  After another moment there was still no answer.  With a shrug, Lewis mounted the gangplank with the poisoned girl still in his tired arms.  "Come on, we've no time to wait for invitations."  His companions all followed him onto the deck.  "Split up, look for crewmen, for parts, and especially some first aid supplies!"

Ethan, Wayne and Sarah all rushed off in different directions as Lewis carried Bethany into the nearest door.  He hefted her down a short stairway and found a door-lined hallway.  The first door he came to proved to be some crewman's cabin, and he laid the woman down on the bunk.  He lifted her heavy eyelid and peered into her unseeing eye.  He placed one hand below her nostrils and felt her weakened breath.  Then he stood, rubbed some life back into his own arms, and Lewis bolted out the cabin door on the prowl for a remedy.

*  *  *

Wayne descended a narrow stairway and found himself in the hold where sunlight poured in from the open cargo doors on the main deck.  He reached up under his hat and scratched his head, perplexed.  "I was sure I was headed for the sailors' barracks."  He shrugged it off and began to explore the crates he found instead.

He found two crates filled with rolls of fabric, and half a dozen filled with dark rocks about the size of housecats.  A quartet of rusting metal drums lined the wall, all unmarked but filled with an unknown liquid.

In the far corner of the hold, he found two small crates, each one about a foot wide and two feet long.  He pried the lid off of one and whistled in surprise at the red sticks of dynamite packed in the dry grasses.  Wayne pulled one out for a closer look, and whistled again.  "Well, would ya lookie here?"

*  *  *

Sarah Turnbull rushed along the deck, pulled open the first cabin door that she came to.  It revealed a short hallway lined with a handful of doors.  A door at the far end flung open and she gasped as Ethan stepped through the portal.

He blinked at her, plucked the dangling cigarette from his lips.  "You all right?"

"You startled me!" she announced as she stepped into the hallway and pulled the portal closed behind her.

He shrugged an apology, pulled open the first door he approached.  He pointed down into the door.  "Stairs," he told her.  "I'm gonna check it out."

"I'll look around up here," Sarah replied.  With a nod, Ethan ventured down the stairs, and the door fell shut behind him.  She noted the doors and the corridor that branched off to her left, then reached for the nearest door handle.

At first she thought she had stumbled upon a cramped storage room with a low table and a cabinet blocked by a stack of crates.  A moment's study revealed the low table against the far wall was in fact a bunk, littered with a toppled stack of cardboard boxes.  A crate stood in the center of the room, smaller wooden boxes stacked atop it were partially covered with a threadbare blanket.  She pushed the column of containers aside and found the door of a free-standing cabinet.

Within it she found a short stack of dingy cloths, a half-dozen open boxes, a few rolls of bandages, two open bottles of demon rum, a half-bottle of aspirin, and a bottle of yellow liquid labeled "Anti-Venom".  Sarah plucked the vial from the shelf and regarded it with giddy glee.  She opened the cabinet's second door and saw a gruesome collection of surgical instruments, and among them was a syringe.

Her prizes well in hand, Sarah burst from the squalid little sick bay and rushed back onto the deck, calling for Lewis Clark.

*  *  *

Ethan Clapsaddle descended the stairs and found himself in a dimly lit engine room.  He took slow steps over to the main engine and leaned in for a curious look at the grimy machine.  He shrugged and turned around to survey the chamber.  A few wrenches and a hammer lay along the floor grating, away from their mates hanging on a wall.  A free-standing cabinet stood against the wall across from the stairs, its door ajar with a piston rod sticking out.

He crossed to the cabinet, flung open the door.  A shelf near the top and the floor were littered with gears, pulley arms, and other pieces while belts and coiled hoses hung from hooks beneath the shelf. 

"Jackpot!" the pilot exclaimed as he slipped off his pack.  He grabbed a replacement hose and few other choice parts and stuffed them into his backpack.  He started for the stairs, pulling the pack up one arm when he paused.  He grabbed a few tools from the wall and secreted them in his pack before slipping it back to his shoulders.  "The Goose shall fly again!" he announced through a manic grin.

*  *  *

Sarah flung open the door, found the wheelhouse.  Lewis looked up, startled.  "Sarah!  I think I found the Captain's logbook!"  He held up a booklet with a cracked leather cover.

"I think I've found the medicine we need for Bethany!" the young woman breathlessly replied.

"Come on, we've no time to lose!" Lewis exclaimed as he charged past her with the book still in his hands.  The two ran back to the cabins, and found Bethany's pale body still lying on the bunk.

He slammed the logbook on a nearby table, took the items from Sarah.  He filled the needle with the curative, and injected it into his patient's arm. 

A mere moment passed before Sarah asked her urgent questions:  "Will it work?  How long before she wakes up?"

Lewis shrugged.  "It depends...on far too many things."  He pulled back one of Bethany's eyelids and frowned into her brown eye; then pressed his fingers against her neck to check her pulse.   "There ought to be some food or water around somewhere.  See if you can find a galley.  When she does wake up, she'll need to replenish her strength."

"Right away!" she nodded and ran from the room.

Again, Lewis checked his patient's pulse, peered into her eye.  With a worrisome frown, he sat in the cabin's only chair and idly perused the most recent entries of the Captain's Log as he waited.

*  *  *

As Wayne and Ethan slowly worked their way back to the main deck, Sarah found the ship's galley.  A stove and counter line one wall, cluttered with dirty dishes and pans, while the other was lined with cabinets.  A large barrel stood beside the counter, a heavy ladle resting on top.  When she lifted the lid she found it half full of fresh water.  Her smile was fleeting, and she set about searching through the cabinets in search of some drinking vessel and whatever foodstuffs she could find.  She opened door after door in her frantic search, until she slammed one door closed and suddenly found Igor Klugman's scowling face beside her.

Sarah screamed as she bolted, but the big man was too quick for her.  His beefy hands seized her backpack, pulled her back, away from the door.  Suddenly one of his meat hooks slapped over her mouth, stifling her screams as she reached out for some handhold that she might use to pull herself from his grasp.

Her fingers wrapped around a handle, but instead of impeding her kidnapping, she pulled the cast-iron skillet from the stove.  Sarah looked at it with panicked eyes, and the object didn't fully register in her mind.  She only knew that it was not what she sought, an instant later her instinct took over and she swung the heavy pan over her shoulder.

The iron pan struck the brute's forehead with a thwack.   One hand released her, pressed against the pain instead.  Sarah tried to run, but one of his heavy hands was still clamped around her arm.  She spun about, flung the pan up to the other side of his head.  Igor wailed in agony and she was free!  Without hesitation, she dropped the skillet, which fell to the floorboards with a clang, and burst through the galley door screaming for help.

*  *  *

Lewis looked up from the Captains Log as he heard Sarah screaming out on deck.  He rushed out to learn the cause of her panic. 

"Mr. Klugman is here!" she cried, "He just assaulted me in the galley!"

"That means Everard's here, too," Lewis declared.  "We'd better get off this boat."

"But...Miss Gale..." the young woman stammered.

"Come on!"

The two rushed back to the cabin and once more Lewis picked up the prone woman and carried her in his arms.  The exited out to the deck and started for the gangplank.

"Stop right there!"  They both recognized the oily voice behind them.  "Turn around."  Lewis and Sarah turned and found Dr. Everard Carlsbad with a pistol trained on them.  "I see now why you insisted on having Clapsaddle as our pilot.  He handled that landing, most deftly!  I daresay very few would perform half as well!"

Lewis tried to offer a gracious smile as Sarah cowered behind him.  "I'll be sure to pass on the compliment."

Carlsbad nodded.  "However Lewis, the fact remains that none of you were expecting to survive what was meant to be a crash."

"Lucky for you that we did," Lewis said as he hefted the girl in his arms.  "There doesn't seem to be anyone aboard this ship.  Looking over the Captain's Log, it seems to me they ran afoul of the local natives.  You know perfectly well that the Kazoolis don't like outsiders in their territory.  Looks like the ride home you planned has been cancelled!"

Carlsbad sneered at the setback.  "Indeed.  But no matter.  Once I've recovered the Heart of Tiki-Taki, we can easily repair the plane and return to civilization."

Lewis brandished a friendly smile.  "Now Ev, you know I can't let you do that."

Carlsbad narrowed his eyes, raised the pistol.  "Yes, I fully expect you to be trouble.  As I said, you were all meant to be dead by now."  He pulled back the hammer on his revolver with a loud click.

As Lewis and Carlsbad talked, Bethany lolled her groggy head toward their assailant.  Her bleary eyes focused and a heavy brow formed.  Her leg shot out, knocked the revolver from the Doctor's hand.  In a flash, Lewis spun about, placed Bethany's unsteady feet on the planks and dropped her into Sarah's arms.  He spun back and his fist flew into Carlsbad's face.

Sarah slowly dragged the poisoned girl down the gangplank as Lewis and Carlsbad traded blows. 

Klugman stumbled out of the galley, one hand pressed against his head.  Anger burned in his beady eyes as he spotted the girl escaping down the gangplank burdened by the other woman's weight.  He started to pursue, but rounded a corner and saw the fistfight on the main deck.  Klugman came to the aid of his boss.

Lewis pulled back for another swing, but someone caught his fist before he could let it fly.  He turned and found Klugman standing over him, his Cro-Magnon brow hung low over his angry eyes.  Klugman was like a wall, almost a foot taller and twice as wide as the smaller man.  Lewis dropped a weary sigh.

One hit knocked Lewis off his feet.  He lay sprawled on the deck beside the opening to the cargo hold.  Growling like an animal, Klugman reached down and pulled him back to his feet.  Raised his meaty fist to deliver another strike.

Ethan came out of nowhere, swung a pipe wrench in his friend's defense, but only smashed the brute's heavy backpack.  Klugman seemed to lose interest in his prey, turned and glared at the pilot, who whimpered in regret.

Undaunted, Lewis jumped up on the giant's back.  But already weakened from fighting, the large man had no trouble shrugging him off.  Lewis landed on his feet, and a stack of coiled rope dropped over his head and bound his arms.  The sudden weight threw him off-balance and he fell.  Looking up from the deck he saw Carlsbad wiping his hands as he sneered down and gloated, "Don't move."

Carlsbad sauntered across the planks, plucked his revolver from where it had settled beside the ship's railing.  "This is the end of your meddlesome career, Mr. Clark!" he sneered as he pointed the gun at the man tangled in the rope. 

A shot rang out, and Carlsbad frown down at the pistol in confusion as he had yet to squeeze the trigger.

Instead, a rope snapped on the ship's hoist.  It's heavy arm swung in a wide arc overhead, dragging its iron hook through the air and across the main deck.  The heavy hook flew a few short feet over Lewis as he struggled with the ropes.  Carlsbad looked up with wide eyes just before the iron hook slammed into him, driving him over the rail, screaming into the water below.

Wayne Johnson stepped around the corner, the last wisps of smoke still wafting from the barrel of his revolver.  His keen eyes quickly surveyed the scene:  Lewis, tangled in a heavy coil of rope, lay on the deck beside the open cargo doors and Ethan engaged in a losing battle with Carlsbad's mammoth henchman.

Ethan launched his fists at the oncoming brute, but his punches had no effect.  With a predatory grunt, Klugman lunged forward, seized the pilot in his meaty mitts, and raised the small man high over his head.  With a savage but wordless cry, Klugman stomped toward the nearest railing.

Wayne's gun pivoted towards the hulking brute, barked off a warning shot.  "Put 'im down, Klugman!"  The big man continued on as though he didn't hear, so Wayne fired another shot that ricocheted off the ship's rail.  "I said put 'im down!  I ain't playin'!"

But Carlsbad's lackey ignored him.

Grumbling in exasperation, Wayne holstered his gun.  He crossed the deck to join Lewis as he pulled forth a stick of dynamite and a match. 

"Klugman!" he cried, "You do as I say or I'll blow your sorry hide to smithereens!"

Klugman arrived at the railing, stopped dead in his tracks.  He turned around, glared at the misplaced cowboy.

"I mean it!" Wayne told him.  Klugman stared on in silence.  Wayne struck the match, held it to the fuse.

The meanness and anger left Klugman's face, replaced with an unmistakable mortal dread.  A whimper escaped his lips as his mind raced in search of a suitable counter-move.  None came to him.  His panic grew as he watched the fuse grow shorter.  At last he could no longer stand his own inaction.  He threw the pilot through the air and hit his mark, dropping Wayne onto the deck, and the dynamite down to the hold.  Klugman shrieked in fear and launched himself over the ship's rail.  He landed in the water with a graceless splash.

Wayne scrambled to his feet, peered down into the cargo hold with a wide-eyed fear he hadn't known since the stampede on Old Man Bodine's ranch.  "We gotta go!" he announced, "There's a whole mess o' dynamite down there, this ship's gonna blow!"

To Be Continued...

So What Are "Pulp Adventures"?

 Howdy do and how are you?

I'm fine, thanks for asking!

So let's see...in our last exciting chapter we started a new serial, Wrath of the Volcano God, and I thought I ought to give a little background of how that came about.  I know some people really like when writers talk about that stuff, so here goes.

This is actually an offshoot of the Dungeon Adventures concept, but I'll reiterate here so you don't have to find the other post.

As I've stated before on this blog, I am also associated with Fantanomicon Press, which makes downloadable paper miniatures for various genres of role playing games.  I've got figures which could be used for fantasy games, jungle pulp games, some space opera guys, and others.  

One day I had this idea that I should write some stories about this guys.  Sort of like they did in Third Edition Dungeons and Dragons, they had these "icon characters" that they used in the rulebooks, on the covers of adventure modules, and eventually made a serials of short adventure novels featuring these same characters.

And I thought:  Why don't I do that?  So I selected a handful of characters from the Basic Dungeoneers set and came up with an adventure for them to undertake.

My first thought was to try and write something funny, including things in the fantasy story that were a direct result of game mechanics, or the  game mentality.  Things like ridiculously complex mechanical traps that inexplicably pop out of cavern walls.  Having a character die and the player replacing him with a same-but-different character.  

Was I successful in this endeavor?  I guess that's up to you to decide.  As I worked on the story, other adventures came to mind.  I can have a changing roster of heroes, who forge and resume their relationships as they encounter one another on various adventures.  And I kind of liked the ideas I was cooking up.  Then I thought, too bad I can't do this with characters in the other genres.

Then I thought:  Why couldn't I?

So I set out to write a story featuring characters from the Rugged Adventurers set. Now, I've never played a pulp style RPG like Thrilling Tales or Hollow Earth Expedition, but I have read a few pulp magazines and seen a LOT of cliffhanger serials.  There won't be as many game-related concepts (although I do have a type of "Adventurer's Guild"), but so many pulps and serials have enough fun-but silly-elements that I don't think they're really necessary.  However, I am constructing their fictional version of Earth the same way I would design it for a game--I'm incorporating various fictional countries and devices that have been featured in cliffhanger serials (probably for my own amusement, though there are people out there who might recognize the references). 

And, of course, I've got other heroes for other genres who can have quick little adventures of their own.  All in all, I've got some nifty ideas in store and I'm excited to see how they come together!  Aren't you?  Of COURSE you are!  So Tune-in And See all the Thrills And Surprises coming our way!

Until then, I wish you all...

Good Adventuring!
Timothy A. Sayell

Wrath of the Volcano God Part One

 

WRATH OF THE VOLCANO GOD

A Pulp Adventure

Part One

Igor Klugman was a hulking brute of a man.  He had a low, heavy brow over his cruel beady eyes, a flat nose and a mouth that was naturally inclined to grimace.  He was in the rear compartment of a small cargo plane.  His wide-shouldered frame would have found these to be cramped quarters even if the compartment had been empty.  Instead, he was further crowded with boxes, trunks, and cases of equipment for the island expedition.

But these supplies were not his goal.  He shuffled the boxes aside until he found the rear wall of the compartment.  There, he used his knife to pry loose a panel which revealed a tangle of hoses and wires.  He glared at them, grimaced, and cut one of the hoses.

With a nod of satisfaction, he turned away from the open panel.  He gathered up the parachutes and dropped them in an untidy pile by the door.  Then he grabbed two of the backpacks and dropped them at his side.  Ready now, he opened the door and peered into the passenger compartment.

*  *  *

Lewis Clark adjusted his hat and looked around the cabin.  Wayne Johnson slumped in his seat, leaned heavily against the side wall with his own hat pulled down over his eyes.  Bethany Gale and Sarah Turnbull poured over the ragged canvas map.  Dr. Everard Carlsbad ran one thumb and forefinger across his waxed mustache as he peered back at the door to the cargo hold.  His thin, angular face snapped toward the cockpit when Ethan Clapsaddle, the pilot, called back, "We're approaching the island!  I'll circle around so we can get a look at the place!"

Bethany and Sarah turned to peer out the dirty window.  Lewis turned away from his fellow passengers and looked down at the lush Pacific island with appraising eyes.  It was Tiaganu Island, a shapeless mass of earth like a splatter from an artist's brush.  A blanket of thick green foliage covered the wide mass of the island, bookended with a stretch of white sand on either side and topped with the smoking volcano surrounded by a modest entourage of rocky foothills on the north side.

Sarah gave a shriek as she was pulled from her seat and Lewis stood and turned to find the young woman in Klugman's thick arms.  Carlsbad had pulled his revolver, and smirked as he stood.  "Now that we've arrived, I think there is no need to prolong our partnership.  So, if you'd be so kind as to hand over that map, Igor and I have made different arrangements."  He held one hand out toward Bethany.

Bethany narrowed her eyes, her teeth clenched in a contemptuous sneer.  "I knew it!  I knew we couldn't trust him!" she barked.  "I told you what happened in the Yukon!"

Carlsbad grinned an oily grin.  "Tut-tut, Miss Gale.  It was nothing personal.  Just business."  He waved his fingers in a come-hither motion and added, "The map, please."

Bethany growled in reply, her fists—crushing the fragile map—shook with uncontrollable anger.  Then, the engines of the plane sputtered and the propellers came to a stop.  "Uh…everything's just fine," the pilot lied, his voice tainted with panic.

"We've really no time to debate this," Carlsbad stated.  "You turn over the map, or my man Igor will be forced to put young Miss Turnbull in a state of great discomfort."

Lewis held both hands out in a placating gesture.  "Now Everard, there's no need for this.  We worked it all out back in Honalulu.  We all agreed to let bygones be bygones and work together on this one.  So why not just let Miss Sarah alone, and we can all forget this happened and go back to being friends?  What do ya say?"  As he spoke he slowly stepped out into the aisle and casually advanced.

Carlsbad snapped his fingers and barked, "Igor!"  At the sound of his name, Klugman squeezed the girl in his arms like a doll.  Sarah quickly groaned in the viselike bear-hug and Lewis froze in his tracks.

"All right, Everard, you win!" Lewis cried.  He turned to Bethany and said, "Give him the map."

She glared over her shoulder at him.  "I told you we couldn't trust him!"  With reluctance, she held out the scrap of canvas and Carlsbad plucked it from her fist.

"Thank you," he cooed as he stepped back from her.  He took the girl from his lackey's brutish arms and buried his revolver in her back.  "I'm afraid we'll be leaving you now.  Igor!"

With a nod, Klugman flung open the exit door, causing a rush of air through the compartment.  Then Klugman opened the door to the cargo area, pulled forth all but two of the parachutes and chucked them out into the open sky.  He slung one parachute onto his back and again took Sarah in his beefy arms.

Carslbad slipped into the last remaining 'chute and waved at the other passengers.  "Well, I'm off to steal a lovely Heart.  Goodbye forever!"  With those apt parting words, he jumped out of the plane.

Igor Klugman pushed Sarah up the aisle; she stumbled and fell into Lewis' arms.  Then the hulking henchman grabbed a backpack in each hand, and stepped out of the plane, following his master.

Bethany jumped to the open doorway in the plane's side, leaned out, and shook her fist while shouting curses after the two villains.  "Close the door!" Lewis shouted to her.  She reached out, strained against the onrushing air.  But the air was too strong and pulled the door from her grasp.

Lewis pulled himself up the aisle to help her as the pilot called back, "What's going on back there?"

Sarah climbed up the aisle to the cockpit.  "Ethan, Dr. Carlsbad has double-crossed us!" she cried.  "They forced us to hand over the map, then they jumped from the plane, taking all of the parachutes with them!"

Lewis and Bethany leaned into the cockpit.  "Can you get the engines started again?" Bethany demanded.

"No," Ethan replied, causing the cigarette in the corner of his mouth to drop half its length of ash onto his chest.  "I'm guessing that's more of Carlsbad's handiwork."

"More likely his lackey, Igor," Lewis corrected.

"I swear, Lewis, every time I take you anywhere, something happens to my plane!" Ethan complained.

"Are we going to crash?" Sarah asked urgently, her blue eyes bright with fear.

"No, I don't think so," Ethan said as he strained against the control stick.  "I think I can bring 'er down safe enough in that wide bay."

"That-a-boy, Clap!" Lewis smiled as he patted the pilot's shoulder.

"I'm not talking to you!" Ethan cried through gritted teeth as he wrestled with the controls.  "But you should all go strap yourselves in."  The three of them hurried back to their seats and pulled on their seatbelts.

The Grumman Goose banked low in the tropical sky, descending upon the circular bay nestled between two of the island's arms.  It was thirty-eight-and-a-half feet of forward momentum; a fat yellow-orange bird that belly-flopped down on the water with no grace at all.  It sliced through the bay, shooting spray into the air and leaving a churning trail in its wake.  The yellow plane drew nearer to the jungle-covered land and turned to the right, skirting the shoreline until it finally lurched to a halt.

Ethan released the control stick, flexed his fingers, slumped in the pilot's chair.  He threw his cigarette butt out the window, lit a fresh one with his lighter and inhaled deeply.  Behind him, a cheer erupted from the passenger compartment as Lewis, Bethany and Sarah rejoiced.

With a snort, Wayne Johnson sat up in his seat, pushed his Stetson up to the crown of his head and looked about with bleary brown eyes.  "Oh, are we there all ready?" he yawned.

*  *  *

Wayne stood in the inflatable raft, floating by the Grumman's open door.  Bethany stood in the cargo compartment, passing packs and equipment to Lewis, who then passed it to Wayne to stow in the raft.  Sarah checked her own equipment, chiefly her Kodak Junior Six-16 and its accessories.  Satisfied they were undamaged, she slung the camera case round her shoulder, slipped four rolls of film in one pocket and a pack of flash bulbs in another.  Meanwhile, Ethan climbed across the plane from one engine to the other searching for the signs of sabotage.

"That's the last of it," Bethany said as she handed over the last pack.

Lewis nodded, leaned out to hand the pack off to Wayne.  Then Lewis cupped one hand beside his mouth and called out to the pilot:  "Clap!  We're about ready down here!"

"I'm not talking to you," Ethan called back as he appeared atop the wing.  "What have you got against my planes, anyway?"

"Aw, come on, Clap…"

"You remember what happened to the Bluebird?" Ethan said accusingly.

"That was a storm!" a defensive tone had overtaken Lewis' voice.

"And don't get me started about the Goldfinch!" Ethan continued.

"Now that wasn't my fault at all!" Lewis countered.

"Now we can add the Golden Goose to your list of victims!" the pilot scolded.

"Could ya figger out what them bushwhackers did or not?" Wayne interjected.

"Yeah, near as I can tell, all they did was cut the fuel line in the back of the cargo compartment.  The engines themselves are fine," Ethan told them.  "If we had a way to fix the fuel line, we ought to be able to fly right out of here."

"Haven't you got any tools or spare parts?" Sarah asked with sincere wonder.

Ethan dropped a heavy sigh, then smiled wryly and gestured toward Lewis.  "No.  Someone asked me to make as much spare room as possible for the expedition supplies."

Lewis turned and scanned the horizon with a hawk-like gaze.  "All right, all right, quit yer grousing," he said.  "As we came around the island I spotted an old tramp steamer off the eastern beach."

"What do you reckon brought them here?" Wayne asked.

Lewis shook his head.  "I don't know, but they might be able to help us out.  If I can only get my bearings, I'm sure we could find it."

Bethany handed him a rough bit of crudely folded brown paper.  He took the scrap, unfolded and frowned down at it in bewilderment.  "What's this?"

"I made a copy of the map," she said flatly.  "I knew better than to trust Carlsbad, even if you didn't."

"Excellent!  That means we ought to be here…"  He jabbed his finger at a spot between two squiggles that may have been land masses or tentacles.  "So if we cut across this peninsula, we ought to get to that beach in just a few hours."

Bethany placed one hand on his arm.  "Why would anyone else be out here?  And why would they help us?"

Lewis shrugged.  "I don't know.  But I'm hoping they'll have some useful parts that they're willing to trade.  If not, we should be able to arrange a ride back to civilization, where we know we can get parts."  His eyes flashed up towards the pilot then back to the woman and he continued in a louder voice.  "Then we can come back, fix the plane and fly right out of here!"

Ethan's face emerged from behind the wing.  "You mean it?"

Lewis smiled up at him.  "Clap, I swear to you here and now, the Golden Goose shall fly again!"

*  *  *

Ethan Clapsaddle was five feet and ten inches of complaints and underdeveloped muscles.  His skinny frame was hidden beneath his leather bomber's jacket, and though not overburdened by his natural body weight he was unaccustomed to the rigors of hiking through the jungle.  It was no help that he perpetually had a cigarette jutting from the corner of his mouth, a long-standing habit told by the yellowing of his fingertips and teeth.  He huffed and puffed as he diligently marched with the others, whining about the Golden Goose and the fates of other planes he had owned in the past.

Finally, Bethany could stand it no more.  "Would you shut up about your stupid plane!" she barked.  "We've got to find out what happened to Carlsbad, and stop him from stealing the Heart of Tiki-Taki!"

"Ooh, that would be wonderful, wouldn't it?" Sarah said airily.

"What?"

"I mean, concrete evidence of the cult of the Volcano God!" she couldn't contain her excitement at the prospect.  "That's what we're here for, after all!"

"Maybe so, but your father done sent us here to collect facts for the university and relics for the museum, not to be robbin' no temples for personal gain," Wayne reminded her as they marched through the brush.

Sarah's face clouded over and a worrisome frown bent over her clear blue eyes.  "You don't really think Dr. Carlsbad would do such a thing?"

"You do remember he pulled a gun on you just to get away with the map?" Bethany barked in response.  "If he gets that ruby, he's sure to hock it for as much as he can get!"

"We mustn't let that happen!  Mr. Clark…" Sarah stumbled, the thick foliage beneath her feet stretched, bent beneath her weight.

Lewis held up one hand and called for them to "Stop!"  He frowned down at the thick layer of plant life they were traversing.  "I think we have a more pressing problem."

"What is it, Lew?" the pilot asked.  As he took a step forward the leaves and vines sank with his weight, but held.  It was an odd sensation, like walking across a trampoline.

"This ground sure feels funny," Wayne commented.

"I don't think we're on solid ground," Lewis told them.  "I think we've wandered onto a blanket of foliage, so thick that it looks like the jungle floor, but is actually suspended—almost like a hammock—over a depression or gulley of some kind."

Everyone froze in place, stretching out their arms to maintain their balance.

"What do we do now?" Sarah asked with unmasked worry in her tone.

"Back up," Lewis commanded, "Very carefully.  One wrong step and…"

A vine snapped.  In an instant the foliage beneath them unraveled, and they fell...

To Be Continued...

It's a New Year for New Adventures!

Well a hearty hello and Happy New Year to you!

I know I don't have to tell you that last year was a messed-up affair all the way around.  Layoffs, lockdowns, sicknesses, depression, civil unrest, anguish mixed with inner turmoil, and then there's all the stuff going on out in the world, too!

Well, we're not going to let that stop us, no sirree!  We're planning to embark upon more adventures, expeditions, and safaris even as we speak!  And, of course, you're invited to come along, because it wouldn't be the same without you!  After all, everyone needs a healthy imagination and a hearty dose of adventure once in a while!  How do I know?  Because of fan messages like these*:

Dear Tim,

I'm so glad I've found your website and started reading your stories!  By avidly reading your thoroughly entertaining tales, I have vicariously experienced adventure, excitement, and really wild things!  Please keep up the good work, because nothing gets my blood pumping like when there's a new exciting installment to read for Serial Saturday!  I am proud and thankful to be part of The Adventure Squadron!

Signed, one of Tim's Ardent Supporters

And while these words of praise are most welcome, perhaps a more convincing argument can be found in this message, from someone who has NOT yet found my stories...

Dear              ,

I have not found your website, nor read any of your stories.  As a result, my boring little life seems dull and gray.  I, too, long for adventure, excitement, and really wild things but, instead, it seems my life is mired in ho-hum humdrummery.  Sigh.  Woe is me!

Signed, Torpid And Stagnant

Fear not, my fine fellow for it is NEVER too late!  In fact, this is the perfect time to become part of The Adventure Squadron because  more stories are coming to Serial Saturdays, and more stories are coming out this year for sale on Amazon!

Until then, I wish you all...

Good Adventuring!
Timothy A. Sayell

* these messages may not have come from actual fans, but may have been composed in-house, inspired by a bit Jon Lovitz did on an old episode of Saturday Night Live