The Most Dangerous Game Epilogue

Knife to Meet You

Rainsford was sitting in a chair by the fireplace finally getting a solid meal, when he suddenly cried out in pain and fell to the ground gasping for air, clutching his left leg. Waves of pain rolled through his body, shaking him violently. With every convulsion, the throbbing in his leg grew worse. A fever began to lick its way down his back, encasing him in a casket of heat. Although the floor underneath him was the finest mahogany, so cold and smooth, it did nothing to lessen the fever and pain that was destroying his body. He was lying face down in the stunning library that once belonged to the villainous General Zaroff. The memories crashed over him like waves in a raging tropical storm. Only a few hours before, he had just outsmarted Zaroff at his own twisted game by jumping off a cliff and swimming back to the general's mansion and hiding until he could ambush Zaroff. Rainsford was by no means physically unsound, but Zaroff had strength on his side when Rainsford attacked him. Always ready for the hunt, Zaroff had been armed with a large knife. He managed to catch Rainsford's leg with his blade before Rainsford had tricked the general yet again, causing Zaroff to drop his weapon and fall off the palatial chateau the mansion sat upon, onto the razor-sharp rocks below. The wound had given Rainsford little trouble after being expertly dressed in bandages, and not given another thought. Until now.

"I cannot just lay here," Rainsford gasped, "I won the game. I beat the hunter, this-this phantom of a sickness cannot kill me. I need to get up, get help." He knew that the chances of someone discovering the island in time and finding him were slim, if not nonexistent. Still, he knew that he had to try, and he had an idea. He was still lying on the floor of the large lavish library, face down. To his left, all the way across the room was the door he needed to get to. On his right, was a small table, and behind that, a massive wall of books, about 12 feet tall. But the most important thing about the room was that it was a perfect circle and that it was lined wall to wall with books, and lucky enough for Rainsford, also had a rolling ladder that was only a few feet away. Rainsford stopped focusing on fighting the fever and pain and withdrew into the corners of his mind, a place where the outside world did not exist anymore. He knew that what he was about to do would severely exhaust his already weakened body. Death was already knocking on his door, but Rainsford wasn't going to answer anytime soon. He stayed in this place in his mind for what seemed like 40 lifetimes, before he clenched his jaw, and set about shifting his weight to his right side.

His heavy breathing bounced around the room as Rainford braced himself. As he shifted his weight, he moved his left arm to his shoulder, and then shifted to the left, and propped up his right arm as well. With arms to either side of his shoulders, he braced himself, and he began to push into the ground, lifting his chest a few centimeters up. He shook like a leaf in the sharp bitter December wind. Sweat poured off him, and his leg screamed in pain. His head was heavy and he couldn't get any air into his lungs. But he kept going. He was almost halfway there, and his body couldn't go any further.

Rainsford growled as he pushed himself off the ground, using the last bit of his strength. As his body sailed through the air, he twisted his torso to the right and latched himself onto the edge of the table. His head was pounding inside his skull, and his leg was on fire, but for now, he was alive, and that was the only motivation he had needed to keep going. Now, sitting on his knees, he took a deep breath and clawed his way up into a standing position, leaning on the table to support his weight. His body was weak, but his spirit had the strength to go on. He tentatively began to put some weight back on his right leg and hobbled around to the other side of the table. He was now facing the bookshelf, and the ladder was almost in arms reach to his left. Rainsford stretched his arm towards the ladder, being careful to not put any weight on his bad leg, but it was no use. It was just out of reach.

"Okay, I see how it is. Fantastic." Rainsford muttered under his breath. He closed his eyes, and let go of the table, pushing his weight towards the ladder, falling through the air. With a bloodcurdling scream, he pushed his left leg forward and stepped towards the ladder. Pain sunk its claws into his leg and pulled. His fingertips brushing the step he was trying to grasp. He missed. Still falling, he pushed his right leg forward, reaching for the ladder, crying out again. Colorful dots danced in his vision as he felt his left leg give out. As he fell, he felt the step of the ladder graze his hand, and he seized the step. He hung limply from the ladder, barely supported by his one hand. Breathing hard, he gradually lifted his other arm and his left leg onto the ladder. When he lifted his right leg, he pushed off the floor, and the ladder started to roll towards the door.

Fighting to stay conscious, Rainsford let himself fall off the ladder, and onto the frame of the door. He squinted into the hallway. A small flickering light was bobbing towards him, getting brighter and brighter. Shadows began to dance on the walls creeping closer to him. The pounding in his head was so loud that it almost seemed to sound like footsteps to him. Rainsford began to laugh. He was going to die. The whole time he was playing a dangerous game with Death, and he had lost. With colors swirling, head pounding and leg crying, Rainsford took a step forward with arms wide open and fell to the ground unconscious.

The sound of the sea filled Rainsford's ears. He could not see, for everything was pitch black. Only the sound of the sea existed in the world of death, he thought to himself. A sob escaped his mouth. He was alone forever, trapped in dark with nothing but the sound of the sea. Suddenly a cold object was placed on his forehead. It startled him so, that he without realizing he opened his eyes and took in a sharp breath. After blinking to adjust to the light, he couldn't believe that what he was seeing was real. He was lying in a gorgeous bed, that he realized, was once Zaroff's. Standing next to the bed, was Whitney wringing out a cloth into a bucket of water. Rainsford couldn't do anything but blink and gape at what he thought could only be a ghost.

"No Rainsford, I'm not a ghost. It's me," Whitney said, seemingly reading Rainsford's mind. "you gave us quite a scare when you disappeared that night. Something felt off that night as I went to my bunk. I couldn't shake it, so after tossing and turning I went to go have a smoke, and you weren't there. I knew something was wrong. We searched every island for you, Rainsford. Then we nearly wrecked on this cursed island. Some men and I went to scout around and found this mansion. That's where I found you. You looked like Death himself, laughing hysterically and yelling about games. You fell on the floor unconscious. You were sick, I don't know who yet, but someone slashed your leg with this knife one of the men found near the cliff," Whitney held up Zaroff's knife. "it looks like there was a deadly poison in the edge of the blade. It got into your bloodstream and started to kill you. You were basically vulture food when we hauled you up to this room. We managed to get the poison out of you, and have been feeding you broth. You really gave us a fright there Rainsford." Whitney said with a smirk.

"Sorry Whitney," Rainsford laughed. "next time I fall off a yacht I'll let you know before I go."

"We're just glad that we didn't lose one of our best hunters. You'll be up and shooting in no time." Whitney smiled.

"You know what Whitney? I'm done with hunting. It's just some dangerous game we all play, with no real winner." Rainford muttered. Whitney began to protest, but Rainsford had already drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

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