The Green Beans, Volume 4: Shipwrecked on Smuttynose Island
Page 1
THEY ARE NOT ALONE
Following the explosive events at the Portsmouth Museum of Historical Artifacts, the Beans find themselves with much to do. With mad scientists running amok and monsters on the loose, things have gotten slightly out of control.
Hoping for answers, they embark on a journey of scientific inquiry and exploration, beginning their search at nearby Smuttynose Island. As so oftentimes happens for the Beans, however, things don’t exactly follow the intended plan.
Soon enough, they become stranded on the island, confronted by a series of obstacles that challenge them on every level... and it doesn’t take long for them to realize Smuttynose might not be as deserted as they once believed.
A mysterious figure moves among the shadows, attempting to foil their every move. An even more disturbing suspicion is that some thing might be on the island, as well... a thing that just might be beyond the Beans, despite their growing experience in the realms of weirdness.
THE GREEN BEANS
VOLUME FOUR
SHIPWRECKED ON SMUTTYNOSE ISLAND
GABRIEL GADGET
Copyright 2015 Gabriel Gadget
Chapter One
Into the Teeth
“Hang on, boys!” Lefty O’Houlihan hollered, raising his voice to be heard above the roar of thunder, the pouring of rain, and the crashing of waves. “We must hang on!”
His words were directed at Jack and Neil, a pair of ten-year-olds who currently had their eyes forced wide by what seemed to be impending doom – a staggering storm of epic proportions. They were riding aboard a smallish boat, the modest size of which further contributed to their significant unease. It was a vessel that seemed ill suited for the task of safely navigating a storm of such formidable power.
The wind whipped across their faces with astonishing speeds, soaking them with sea spray and pounding rains. They watched as the waves that surrounded them moved like liquid monsters, rearing back before striking. These massive waves surged and smashed down upon the hull of the boat, making it lurch this way and that with each impact.
The storm was almost as if a living thing, imbued with an angry, rambunctious personality, snarling and sneering at those who dared to infringe upon its territory. It raged and roared, thrashing the vessel upon which Lefty, Neil, and Jack rode, hanging on for their very lives.
Each of the boat’s passengers felt strange, superstitious thoughts creeping into their heads… thoughts that the storm was indeed a living thing, and that it was determined to capsize them. But that was impossible… wasn’t it?
How could a storm take up a vendetta against anybody? A storm couldn’t have feelings. It was nothing more than a force of nature… wasn’t it?
The taste of salt was plastered upon their lips, and the smell of it was burned into their noses. They were thoroughly soaked by the swelling waves, which rose above the hull and smashed into their bodies, relentlessly assaulting them.
Their hands were clenched upon the rails of the boat, but even with their efforts focused on the task, it was all they could do to hang on. There was not a moment’s relief to be had, not a second to catch their breath - as soon as one wave collided with the boat, another would strike from a different direction, keeping them in a perpetual state of disorientation. It was like being aboard a toy in a tub, subjected to the wrath of an angry toddler at bath time.
“I certainly can’t say I was expecting this to happen!” Neil shouted, as his body was whipped about in the chaos. Despite his unease, he couldn’t help but whoop with delight each time the boat was rocked by the elements. “But it is kind of fun, don’t you think? The rides never get this exciting at an amusement park!”
Jack could not quite bring himself to respond. He wasn’t handling the wrath of the storm as easily as his friend (who was demonstrating a remarkable seaworthiness), and his efforts were focused on keeping his breakfast where it belonged - inside his stomach. His face had turned a rather suspicious shade of green, and his eyes were bulging from his head.
Grasping anything he could find within reach, he watched the storm increase its fury, raining down punishment upon their boat. The effect upon him was unsettling, to say the least.
“Not your cup of tea, eh?” Neil asked with a boisterous chuckle. He risked removing one hand from a railing, so he could slap his friend on the shoulder in a gesture of encouragement. “Can’t say as I blame you, buddy. But you must admit… by the beard of Archimedes - as Lefty would say - this is pretty exhilarating, don’t you think?”
Jack looked at his friend with a mixture of awe and bafflement, as if he were incapable of comprehending Neil’s enthusiasm for the matter at hand, and unable to understand the goofy grin that was plastered on his face. He opened his mouth, quite possibly to point out that this venture was looking more and more as if it would end in disaster.
After only a moment’s effort, however, Jack realized speech was impossible for him under the current circumstances. He wisely elected to refocus his energies on holding tight to the railing that was beneath his fingers, as well as the aforementioned breakfast, which had recently taken up inclinations which could only be described as rebellious.
Complicating this daunting task was the fact that Jack could only use a single hand to grip the side of the boat. His other hand was occupied with the responsibility of hanging onto his dog, Nibbler.
The furry Labradoodle was thoroughly soaked, and he had been slipping and sliding about the wet surface of the boat’s deck, until Jack began holding onto him, grabbing him by the collar. He wore a yellow rain jacket that had been fashioned for dogs, and a life vest was snapped into place over it.
Despite the horrendous weather, Nibbler seemed to be enjoying himself as much as Neil was, and his tail wagged about in clockwork fashion, as he took in all that was unfolding before his doggy eyes.
It was quite the spectacle to behold, for humankind and canine ambassadors alike. All those present were enraptured by the meteorological sight that lay before them, regardless of whether they were possessed of hands or paws, nose or snout, skin or luxurious, curly coat of Labradoodle fur.
It was just that kind of event - when an epic storm erupted from previously calm skies in a matter of moments, it really got your attention, no matter your species.
Neil, Jack, and Nibbler were toward the front of the boat, where the waves broke against the bow, drenching them with each impact. Theirs was a position of unquestionable sogginess, given their proximity to the forward position of their ill-placed vessel.
The boat was not a sizable one, so there were few places they could retreat to, even if they had somehow been able to miraculously summon a measure of balance amid the raging tempest. It was a modest craft that had seemed more than adequate for the task at hand, when they had departed the shores of New Hampshire only a half hour earlier. However, it was clearly not up to snuff, now that this momentous storm had arisen from nowhere, focusing its wrath upon the strange band of seafarers.
Near the stern, Lefty stood behind the boat’s console, centered on the steering wheel. He clenched it so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, and he fought against the resistance with all his might. The wheel had become like an angry animal within his hands, fighting against him. It tried to wriggle from his grasp, but he held fast, straining for control, his teeth clenched together with effort.
In the face of the powerful storm, it was all he could do to keep the boat on any kind of reasonable course. He struggled valiantly, and with every ounce of his being, but it seemed to be a battle he was losing.
Lefty gasped with the exertion of his labors, fighting a
gainst the wheel as best he could. His glasses were splattered with water, obscuring his vision to a great extent, and his signature lab coat - a white, multi-pocketed thing - billowed out behind him in the face of the strong winds and sideways rains. Like the boys, he wore a bright red life jacket and a yellow rain slicker, which had been secured to his torso over his lab coat.
Upon his shoulder, there rode a curious companion - it was Murphy, the King of the Squirrel Folk. The small rodent dug his paws into the fabric of Lefty’s coat, hanging on for dear life, swaying amid the wind and water. A tiny, yellow raincoat protected him, as well as a pair of aviator goggles, but he had still gotten plenty wet. Around his midsection, some bubble wrap had been taped, serving as an improvised life jacket.
Murphy chirped and squeaked in his squirrelly language as he beheld the wrath of the storm, salty drops of seawater clinging to his whiskers. He seemed to be encouraging Lefty, willing him toward a successful navigation of the treacherous elements.
This, of course, was opposed to the intelligent odds, which were so heavily stacked against a favorable outcome. But Murphy was an optimist, and encourage he did, rooting his companion on, squeaking into his ear.
No matter the encouragement he might receive, however, there was nothing Lefty could do to escape the unparalleled ferocity of the storm. The dark clouds, high winds, and raging rains had arisen so suddenly, and grown to such a tremendous circumference so quickly, it had completely enveloped the boat.
There was no question about it - they were headed straight into the very teeth of the storm, and it went without saying that nothing pleasant could result from that particular foray.
The most troubling aspect to this weather event played upon the minds of the boat’s imperiled passengers and captain. The storm seemed to have come from nowhere, granting the impression that there were otherworldly forces behind its power and origin.
This was far from a comforting notion, given their current, dubious circumstances, and it further enhanced the notion that the storm was not simply a force of nature, but a living thing that was… well, that was out to get them.
But how could a storm… how could the weather itself… exhibit the traits of a personality? The answer was simple - it couldn’t.
Could it?
Chapter Two
Seeking Safe Passage