Part 202: Scouting and Testing
Sayid pointed his gun ahead as they finally arrived at the hatch. McKay held his gun in the other direction. Micheal followed close behind, checking the areas that they were looking at. The Iraqi looked around and his heat sank; seeing no signs of their friends. McKay was growing more and more worried about John and Tony. His friends that he considered brothers and he thought for a brief second how empty his life would be without them. Michael’s only thoughts were on that of his son. But the sight of the Hatch confused him immensely. “What is . . .that thing?” he asked.
“A hatch that leads into the ground,” Sayid holstered his gun, “ Locke discovered it about three weeks.”
“And he didn’t tell us about this, WHY?” the black man demanded.
“Is that really an issue now?” the Middle Easterner raised his eyebrows.
Micheal sighed, crossing his arms. “No, I just . . .want my boy back.” He sighed.
McKay leaned down toward the hatch, feeling it all over. The hatch was a rough design, very crude. It looked like it had been welded together from pieces. Then it occurred to him; what if it wasn’t welded by pieces ORIGINALLY? “Sayid, do you think they managed to get the hatch open?” McKay asked.
“Clearly they didn’t but . . . .the hatch looks different,” he pointed, “The edges are more rough than normal.”
“It is rougher than normal,” Micheal rubbed it, “I recognize this type of work from my days in Architecture. This was welded shut in a hurry, and very fast.”
“Allah be merciful,” Sayid stood up, “Do you think . . these Others have put Jack and the others inside the Hatch?”
“No,” McKay said looking at the ground, “But they were taken.”
“How do you know that?” Micheal asked.
McKay kneeled down to the ground. He was studying the various foot-prints that were left in the muddy grassy knoll surrounded by the hatch. He checked one print and checked another. Micheal and Sayid watched him closely. “Ten, maybe fifteen men came through here,” he pointed, “At least four of them were wearing US issued Army boots.”
“Military?” Sayid asked.
“Too early to tell, could just be men with American Military equipment,” the Australian looked around,” They were all escorted out in a single file line. I recognize John’s hightops that he wears and . . .”
“And what?” asked Micheal.
McKay took a few steps forward and placed his foot onto a footprint that nearly engulfed his foot. “There is a foot print here . . .bigger than my head,” he said, flabbergasted, “The man who’s foot was this big . . .I mean, we are talking Andre The Giant big.”
“So you think they were captured?”
“I hope so, “ McKay walked back toward the hatch.
Sayid and Micheal followed him as the kneeled down. He then reached down and tore up a chunk of grass. What alarmed the two men behind him was the that the grass was not green but red. “Blood?” asked Sayid.
“Somebody was wounded,” McKay looked down at the area near the hatch, “And the blood was covered over with dirt. Why did they do that?”
“It would imply they are trying to hide something.” Sayid pondered.
“Maybe John got lucky and got a shot off before they took him,” McKay stood up.
“Or maybe, Archer boy is dead just like those freaks tried to do me and the others on the raft.” Micheal grunted.
“I am not going to assume they are dead!” McKay snapped back at him.
“You can assume all you want, man! I want my boy back and now can either one of you lead me to these bastards?” the black man yelled.
“And if you find him, what then?” asked Sayid, “You said there were four people on the boat. McKay, to the best of his ability, said that there are fifteen men here, that have our friends captive. I know what you are going through, Micheal,-“
“You don’t know squat about what I am going through,” he grunted.
“However,” he continued, “The last thing we want is to go off, trapeing into the jungle and arriving at whatever we find. There may be twenty men, guarding our friends, there may be more.”
“Sayid is right, Micheal,” the Australian said, putting an hand on his shoulder, “Until we know the size of the force we are dealing with, it’s best we do a recon of the surrounding area.”
“And what happens when we find them?” Micheal asked.
“Then we regroup with the others and go from there,” the bald man turned around, “Something tells me we are going to need more than just three of us.”
McKay began to walk back toward the cave area. Sayid looked to his black friend and then back to the Australian and within seconds he began to follow him. Micheal grunted; he felt they should head off into the jungle at that moment but he had to admit they were right. He only saw four people who took his boy; their may be many more. He took a deep breath and looked behind him. “Hang in there, Walt,” he coughed, “It won’t be much longer.”
The black man then turned and began to walk through the woods, catching up to the others.
------------------------------------------------------,
Walt stayed huddled in corner of the dark room; hugging his knees. He remembered being taken from his father and they threw a bomb onto the raft. It blew up, forcing his father into the water. The last thing he remembered was his father and Yolanda screaming his name as they faded into the blackness of the nighttime ocean. He hoped they were okay. He sniffed; worried that he never got the chance to tell his dad he loved him. Or that he might not get the chance to tell Yolanda that he liked her too and she should live with his dad and him to become a family again. He really wanted that most of all.
Then the door opened again. Walt looked up and saw the blonde man, the one called Belmont. He looked like he hadn’t washed his hair in days; but he didn’t stink. He looked at the young black boy with a strange curiosity. Another soldier walked up and handed him a piece of wide paper. Then the soldier walked away while he studied it. He then walked in and kneeled down in front of the young boy. “You were singing like a canary a few days ago, Walt,” Belmont smiled, “Now we are not picking up a single reading from you. I wonder . . .is it because you are scared?”
“I ain’t scare of you,” he grunted.
“Brave boy, “ he stood up, “You mouth may say one thing but I know that your mind says something else. You are afraid of me . . .as well as you should be.”
“Are you gonna hurt me, you big bully?” he sneered back.
“Why would I want to hurt you? That would accomplish nothing.” He said, folding up the piece of paper and putting it in his back pocket, “I just need to study you for the next few days. See if you are what the Colonel wants from you.”
“Who is the Colonel?” Walt asked.
“Colonel Marcus Fender.” Belmont smiled, “He is currently away on business but should be back in the next five days. I think he will want to check on your progress.”
“Progress to do what?”
Belmont stepped closer to him, making the boy back away. He sneered at him with a hateful glare. “Come now, little man,” he said through gritted teeth, “Surely you don’t believe it was coincidence?”
”I don’t-“
“THE BEARS, WALT!” Belmont yelped, “Every time you have touched that comic book, you brought one of the bears around. They are trying to keep to themselves but you are increasing their hostility. If that is not proof, how about the backgammon? Or the bald fool teaching you how to throw a knife, that you magically have been able to throw with an accurate hand? How do you think . ..that all happened?”
“I don’t know.” Walt confessed.
“You commanded the Island, Walt,” Belmont grunted,” And it gave you what you wanted. I am beginning to believe that you are doing it only on a subconscious level and the moment you try to do it by will alone, you fail.”
“If I can do what you say I can, then why haven’t I been able to get off the island?” he said angrily, “I’ve wanted that all along.”
“Don’t play me for the fool, Walt. I know for a fact that you wanted to stay on the island. You even admitted it to Locke why you burned the raft.”
“How . .how do you know all that?” he asked.
Belmont smiled, “I could write a book on the things you don’t know, boy.”
He turned around began to talk toward the door. He stopped and took the handle. “You want to see something cool?” he smiled.
“Like what?” asked Walt.
“It’s going to rain in six seconds.” He smiled.
“Bull crap.” Walt grunted.
“six . . .five . .four . .three . .two and . . .one.”
Then rain started pouring down outside. Walt looked to the ceiling in horror as he heard the rain beating down. Belmont winked at him and the closed the door. The black boy huddled against the corner still. He was almost believing what he said, about him commanding the Island. Plus, how would he know when it was going to rain to the exact second? He didn’t want to think about it at that moment. He decided to wait for his father to show up.
He just knew he would.
“A hatch that leads into the ground,” Sayid holstered his gun, “ Locke discovered it about three weeks.”
“And he didn’t tell us about this, WHY?” the black man demanded.
“Is that really an issue now?” the Middle Easterner raised his eyebrows.
Micheal sighed, crossing his arms. “No, I just . . .want my boy back.” He sighed.
McKay leaned down toward the hatch, feeling it all over. The hatch was a rough design, very crude. It looked like it had been welded together from pieces. Then it occurred to him; what if it wasn’t welded by pieces ORIGINALLY? “Sayid, do you think they managed to get the hatch open?” McKay asked.
“Clearly they didn’t but . . . .the hatch looks different,” he pointed, “The edges are more rough than normal.”
“It is rougher than normal,” Micheal rubbed it, “I recognize this type of work from my days in Architecture. This was welded shut in a hurry, and very fast.”
“Allah be merciful,” Sayid stood up, “Do you think . . these Others have put Jack and the others inside the Hatch?”
“No,” McKay said looking at the ground, “But they were taken.”
“How do you know that?” Micheal asked.
McKay kneeled down to the ground. He was studying the various foot-prints that were left in the muddy grassy knoll surrounded by the hatch. He checked one print and checked another. Micheal and Sayid watched him closely. “Ten, maybe fifteen men came through here,” he pointed, “At least four of them were wearing US issued Army boots.”
“Military?” Sayid asked.
“Too early to tell, could just be men with American Military equipment,” the Australian looked around,” They were all escorted out in a single file line. I recognize John’s hightops that he wears and . . .”
“And what?” asked Micheal.
McKay took a few steps forward and placed his foot onto a footprint that nearly engulfed his foot. “There is a foot print here . . .bigger than my head,” he said, flabbergasted, “The man who’s foot was this big . . .I mean, we are talking Andre The Giant big.”
“So you think they were captured?”
“I hope so, “ McKay walked back toward the hatch.
Sayid and Micheal followed him as the kneeled down. He then reached down and tore up a chunk of grass. What alarmed the two men behind him was the that the grass was not green but red. “Blood?” asked Sayid.
“Somebody was wounded,” McKay looked down at the area near the hatch, “And the blood was covered over with dirt. Why did they do that?”
“It would imply they are trying to hide something.” Sayid pondered.
“Maybe John got lucky and got a shot off before they took him,” McKay stood up.
“Or maybe, Archer boy is dead just like those freaks tried to do me and the others on the raft.” Micheal grunted.
“I am not going to assume they are dead!” McKay snapped back at him.
“You can assume all you want, man! I want my boy back and now can either one of you lead me to these bastards?” the black man yelled.
“And if you find him, what then?” asked Sayid, “You said there were four people on the boat. McKay, to the best of his ability, said that there are fifteen men here, that have our friends captive. I know what you are going through, Micheal,-“
“You don’t know squat about what I am going through,” he grunted.
“However,” he continued, “The last thing we want is to go off, trapeing into the jungle and arriving at whatever we find. There may be twenty men, guarding our friends, there may be more.”
“Sayid is right, Micheal,” the Australian said, putting an hand on his shoulder, “Until we know the size of the force we are dealing with, it’s best we do a recon of the surrounding area.”
“And what happens when we find them?” Micheal asked.
“Then we regroup with the others and go from there,” the bald man turned around, “Something tells me we are going to need more than just three of us.”
McKay began to walk back toward the cave area. Sayid looked to his black friend and then back to the Australian and within seconds he began to follow him. Micheal grunted; he felt they should head off into the jungle at that moment but he had to admit they were right. He only saw four people who took his boy; their may be many more. He took a deep breath and looked behind him. “Hang in there, Walt,” he coughed, “It won’t be much longer.”
The black man then turned and began to walk through the woods, catching up to the others.
------------------------------------------------------,
Walt stayed huddled in corner of the dark room; hugging his knees. He remembered being taken from his father and they threw a bomb onto the raft. It blew up, forcing his father into the water. The last thing he remembered was his father and Yolanda screaming his name as they faded into the blackness of the nighttime ocean. He hoped they were okay. He sniffed; worried that he never got the chance to tell his dad he loved him. Or that he might not get the chance to tell Yolanda that he liked her too and she should live with his dad and him to become a family again. He really wanted that most of all.
Then the door opened again. Walt looked up and saw the blonde man, the one called Belmont. He looked like he hadn’t washed his hair in days; but he didn’t stink. He looked at the young black boy with a strange curiosity. Another soldier walked up and handed him a piece of wide paper. Then the soldier walked away while he studied it. He then walked in and kneeled down in front of the young boy. “You were singing like a canary a few days ago, Walt,” Belmont smiled, “Now we are not picking up a single reading from you. I wonder . . .is it because you are scared?”
“I ain’t scare of you,” he grunted.
“Brave boy, “ he stood up, “You mouth may say one thing but I know that your mind says something else. You are afraid of me . . .as well as you should be.”
“Are you gonna hurt me, you big bully?” he sneered back.
“Why would I want to hurt you? That would accomplish nothing.” He said, folding up the piece of paper and putting it in his back pocket, “I just need to study you for the next few days. See if you are what the Colonel wants from you.”
“Who is the Colonel?” Walt asked.
“Colonel Marcus Fender.” Belmont smiled, “He is currently away on business but should be back in the next five days. I think he will want to check on your progress.”
“Progress to do what?”
Belmont stepped closer to him, making the boy back away. He sneered at him with a hateful glare. “Come now, little man,” he said through gritted teeth, “Surely you don’t believe it was coincidence?”
”I don’t-“
“THE BEARS, WALT!” Belmont yelped, “Every time you have touched that comic book, you brought one of the bears around. They are trying to keep to themselves but you are increasing their hostility. If that is not proof, how about the backgammon? Or the bald fool teaching you how to throw a knife, that you magically have been able to throw with an accurate hand? How do you think . ..that all happened?”
“I don’t know.” Walt confessed.
“You commanded the Island, Walt,” Belmont grunted,” And it gave you what you wanted. I am beginning to believe that you are doing it only on a subconscious level and the moment you try to do it by will alone, you fail.”
“If I can do what you say I can, then why haven’t I been able to get off the island?” he said angrily, “I’ve wanted that all along.”
“Don’t play me for the fool, Walt. I know for a fact that you wanted to stay on the island. You even admitted it to Locke why you burned the raft.”
“How . .how do you know all that?” he asked.
Belmont smiled, “I could write a book on the things you don’t know, boy.”
He turned around began to talk toward the door. He stopped and took the handle. “You want to see something cool?” he smiled.
“Like what?” asked Walt.
“It’s going to rain in six seconds.” He smiled.
“Bull crap.” Walt grunted.
“six . . .five . .four . .three . .two and . . .one.”
Then rain started pouring down outside. Walt looked to the ceiling in horror as he heard the rain beating down. Belmont winked at him and the closed the door. The black boy huddled against the corner still. He was almost believing what he said, about him commanding the Island. Plus, how would he know when it was going to rain to the exact second? He didn’t want to think about it at that moment. He decided to wait for his father to show up.
He just knew he would.
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