Rainsford groaned as he woke. His body ached all over and a long graze on the side of his neck made him grimace. Suddenly, last night’s events came crashing back to him like the waves against the jagged rocks outside the window. General Zaroff’s body lay on the ground next to the bed. A bullet hole from one of the many guns that lay hidden in various places in the late general’s room appeared starkly clear against the white, cold skin of Zaroff’s head, surrounded by bright crimson.
“Never again will you hunt, my friend. Never again,” Rainsford muttered under his breath. He threw the general’s body to the hounds as promised and set off to find food for his grumbling stomach.
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After feasting on the fine Italian sausages he found in the cellar and some wine, Rainsford realized his predicament. He couldn’t stay on this godforsaken island forever. The first thing to do, he thought, is to find a way off this place. Setting off at a brisk jog, he set out to find a ship of some kind that could bring him back to his friends.
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The island proved to be quite small, and Rainsford found a small cove around the other side of the island with a small ship. It splashed weakly in the tide, and the slightly faded and crusty name Plotter could be seen on the side of the hull. After a moment of exhilaration at his discovery, Rainsford thought logically. A ship of that size couldn’t be sailed far with one man. He needed a crew, and Rainsford knew exactly the men who could do it.
He raced back towards the chateau, giving up any means of moving silently in his haste. Panting slightly, he raced past the hound pen, banging into something then hurrying on. Finally, he stood with ten or so sailors from various ethnicities, having freed them from their prison. General Zaroff’s human victims would be given a chance to escape after all. The group headed towards the cove nervously, many glancing fearfully for signs of evil and yelped at any sudden movements. Then there was a sudden growling and barking from behind them and the group jumped, startled. Many of the sailors started staring around in panic, and it dawned on Rainsford as to why. He had set the hounds loose in his haste to get to the prisoners. The next thing he knew, he was in a mad dash for the boat, urging the group on as they ran doggedly, all having heard the screams of those caught by the canines. The dogs, having finished with one of the unlucky sailors, were quickly catching up with the other malnourished sailors.
All was silent at the cove. The sea splashed silently and the Plotter creaked. Suddenly, furious barking split through the calm night. Rainsford and four men burst through the thick curtain that was the jungle, fear engraved upon their faces. The hounds, green eyes flashing like those risen from the dead, teeth glaring, gnashing in the bright Caribbean sun.
“There!” Rainsford shouted, pointing to the Plotter. The sailors’ eyes widened as they realized that this beach was the last stretch to escape. Rainsford leaped onto the boat first and motioned for the sailors to come aboard. He untied the ship from the small post in the sand, and looked for paddles as the others scrambled on board. He found four and handed them to the sailors. As soon as the last one touched his paddle, Rainsford swept the remaining one in an arc over his head to smash the growling maw of the fastest hound as it leaped for them. The sailors looked at him dumbstruck, Rainsford yelling at them to go. The snap asthe next dog's neck collided with the heavy paddle jolted them from their stupor and they rushed to start paddling. Within a few seconds they were away from the beach, Rainford batting at the dogs who tried to swim after.
The group sighed as one in relief. No one said a word as they drifted off onto the open waters. Rainsford sat down on of the benches, and the sailors all looked at him. He realized they were waiting for him to give them orders. Thinking back to the horrendous night and the direction Whitney and the crew were headed based on the position to the island. He stood, surveyed the island behind them and pointed vaguely at the direction he thought the ship had gone. And so the group paddled on.
After some time, Rainsford noticed the glances the others were throwing at him. He pretended not to notice. Rainsford stood and walked to the bow of the boat, pretending to stare off at the ocean before them. The sailors saw this as his guard being down, but little did they know that his hunter’s instincts were at their sharpest.
Silently, one of the sailors stood and crept towards Rainsford. The latter, his heart racing as his muscles tensed, waiting to whip around, and he was rewarded. The sailor swung his paddle at Rainsford with a clumsy yet strong blow towards his head. At the last possible moment Rainsford ducked and parried the sailor. The strike of wood on wood rang through the silence of before. As his attacker stared at him dumbfoundedly, holding his own paddle limply, Rainsford promptly jabbed him in the stomach, and kicked him overboard. The other two rose and held their own paddles out uncertainly, and Rainsford knew he had the upper hand.
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The ocean surged beside him. The other paddle he had grabbed before kicking its previous owner into the ocean rattled against the boat's hull. He realized that his vision was turning blurry and that he had collapsed. Not knowing how long he had been floating, Rainsford promptly accepted the blackness.
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General Zaroff’s face, caked with dried blood from the bullet hole on his forehead, grinned wickedly at Rainsford. Rainsford screamed and jumped out of the bed that he was lying in, and realized that Zaroff was lying next to him. He raced to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked from the outside. The general, a bloody monster, still grinning, got off the bed and staggered toward him. Rainsford looked around wildly, trying to find a weapon or an escape, but the window was directly behind the apparition that was General Zaroff. He did the only thing he could, and struck out with his fist.
“Ow!” Whitney cried, and let go of Rainsford’s arm as his fist connected with his stomach. Doubling over, Whitney wheezed for breath as the others lowered Rainsford onto the deck of the ship. “Rainsford! How could you!?”
His eyes open, and he met with the same murky black Caribbean night sky. He shuddered as his words rang out at him. The world is made out of hunters and huntees. Luckily, you and I are the hunters. Rainsford knew that these words would never again come out of his mouth. His last words before drifting off into the blackness of sleep raised Whitney’s head:
“The jaguar knows pain. It knows fear. I know this because I was the jaguar. He was the hunter. Whitney! I know the jaguar’s feelings. I am the jaguar.”
“Never again will you hunt, my friend. Never again,” Rainsford muttered under his breath. He threw the general’s body to the hounds as promised and set off to find food for his grumbling stomach.
-----------------------------------------------
After feasting on the fine Italian sausages he found in the cellar and some wine, Rainsford realized his predicament. He couldn’t stay on this godforsaken island forever. The first thing to do, he thought, is to find a way off this place. Setting off at a brisk jog, he set out to find a ship of some kind that could bring him back to his friends.
-----------------------------------------------
The island proved to be quite small, and Rainsford found a small cove around the other side of the island with a small ship. It splashed weakly in the tide, and the slightly faded and crusty name Plotter could be seen on the side of the hull. After a moment of exhilaration at his discovery, Rainsford thought logically. A ship of that size couldn’t be sailed far with one man. He needed a crew, and Rainsford knew exactly the men who could do it.
He raced back towards the chateau, giving up any means of moving silently in his haste. Panting slightly, he raced past the hound pen, banging into something then hurrying on. Finally, he stood with ten or so sailors from various ethnicities, having freed them from their prison. General Zaroff’s human victims would be given a chance to escape after all. The group headed towards the cove nervously, many glancing fearfully for signs of evil and yelped at any sudden movements. Then there was a sudden growling and barking from behind them and the group jumped, startled. Many of the sailors started staring around in panic, and it dawned on Rainsford as to why. He had set the hounds loose in his haste to get to the prisoners. The next thing he knew, he was in a mad dash for the boat, urging the group on as they ran doggedly, all having heard the screams of those caught by the canines. The dogs, having finished with one of the unlucky sailors, were quickly catching up with the other malnourished sailors.
All was silent at the cove. The sea splashed silently and the Plotter creaked. Suddenly, furious barking split through the calm night. Rainsford and four men burst through the thick curtain that was the jungle, fear engraved upon their faces. The hounds, green eyes flashing like those risen from the dead, teeth glaring, gnashing in the bright Caribbean sun.
“There!” Rainsford shouted, pointing to the Plotter. The sailors’ eyes widened as they realized that this beach was the last stretch to escape. Rainsford leaped onto the boat first and motioned for the sailors to come aboard. He untied the ship from the small post in the sand, and looked for paddles as the others scrambled on board. He found four and handed them to the sailors. As soon as the last one touched his paddle, Rainsford swept the remaining one in an arc over his head to smash the growling maw of the fastest hound as it leaped for them. The sailors looked at him dumbstruck, Rainsford yelling at them to go. The snap asthe next dog's neck collided with the heavy paddle jolted them from their stupor and they rushed to start paddling. Within a few seconds they were away from the beach, Rainford batting at the dogs who tried to swim after.
The group sighed as one in relief. No one said a word as they drifted off onto the open waters. Rainsford sat down on of the benches, and the sailors all looked at him. He realized they were waiting for him to give them orders. Thinking back to the horrendous night and the direction Whitney and the crew were headed based on the position to the island. He stood, surveyed the island behind them and pointed vaguely at the direction he thought the ship had gone. And so the group paddled on.
After some time, Rainsford noticed the glances the others were throwing at him. He pretended not to notice. Rainsford stood and walked to the bow of the boat, pretending to stare off at the ocean before them. The sailors saw this as his guard being down, but little did they know that his hunter’s instincts were at their sharpest.
Silently, one of the sailors stood and crept towards Rainsford. The latter, his heart racing as his muscles tensed, waiting to whip around, and he was rewarded. The sailor swung his paddle at Rainsford with a clumsy yet strong blow towards his head. At the last possible moment Rainsford ducked and parried the sailor. The strike of wood on wood rang through the silence of before. As his attacker stared at him dumbfoundedly, holding his own paddle limply, Rainsford promptly jabbed him in the stomach, and kicked him overboard. The other two rose and held their own paddles out uncertainly, and Rainsford knew he had the upper hand.
-----------------------------------------------
The ocean surged beside him. The other paddle he had grabbed before kicking its previous owner into the ocean rattled against the boat's hull. He realized that his vision was turning blurry and that he had collapsed. Not knowing how long he had been floating, Rainsford promptly accepted the blackness.
-----------------------------------------------
General Zaroff’s face, caked with dried blood from the bullet hole on his forehead, grinned wickedly at Rainsford. Rainsford screamed and jumped out of the bed that he was lying in, and realized that Zaroff was lying next to him. He raced to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked from the outside. The general, a bloody monster, still grinning, got off the bed and staggered toward him. Rainsford looked around wildly, trying to find a weapon or an escape, but the window was directly behind the apparition that was General Zaroff. He did the only thing he could, and struck out with his fist.
“Ow!” Whitney cried, and let go of Rainsford’s arm as his fist connected with his stomach. Doubling over, Whitney wheezed for breath as the others lowered Rainsford onto the deck of the ship. “Rainsford! How could you!?”
His eyes open, and he met with the same murky black Caribbean night sky. He shuddered as his words rang out at him. The world is made out of hunters and huntees. Luckily, you and I are the hunters. Rainsford knew that these words would never again come out of his mouth. His last words before drifting off into the blackness of sleep raised Whitney’s head:
“The jaguar knows pain. It knows fear. I know this because I was the jaguar. He was the hunter. Whitney! I know the jaguar’s feelings. I am the jaguar.”