Sprinting behind Nibbler as quickly as he could manage, Neil arrived at the large outcrop of bedrock and boulders that the boat had been smashed upon. Woofing as he went, Nibbler began scrambling up the rocky surface, while the claws of his paws clicked and scraped, searching for purchase.
Using his hands for assistance, Neil hunkered down low in order to climb like a monkey - something with which he had a great deal of experience, due to his many years of tree climbing, adventuring, and exploration. As he reached the apex of the outcrop, he could see what lay beyond, the place where Nibbler was eagerly leading him.
There, Jack lay upon the beach; a limp form amid a pile of beached driftwood.
He was a bedraggled sight if ever there was one - smeared with sand and mud, covered in seaweed, and generally speaking, filthy to the utmost. As far as cleanliness went, there was not a whole lot of difference between him and the scattered pieces of driftwood among which he lay.
Nibbler descended the rocks and trotted over to Jack, looking down at the boy, his furry brow creasing with concern. He woofed once, and then began applying his slobbery tongue to Jack’s face, administering rejuvenating kisses that he hoped might awaken him.
“Jack!” Neil exclaimed. But to his surprise, the name was released from his throat as a dusty whisper, and he felt his heart racing in alarm.
As Neil ran over to his friend, he could see that Jack was not alone. Murphy was there as well, standing beside the boy’s head. The flying squirrel was administering gentle slaps to Jack’s cheek with his little palm, attempting to revive him. He uttered squeaky noises of squirrelly encouragement, urging him to awaken.
“Chimmy-wonk-stonk!” Murphy declared in rodent gibberish, rearing back to slap the comatose Jack. As his palm met cheek, he added, “Jerboa-toonock-wock!”
Thus far, his squirrelly slapping applications had yielded no results… but it was not for lack of effort. In fact, Neil couldn’t help but be infected with the suspicion that Murphy was enjoying himself a bit too much - but then again, he was the King of the Squirrel Folk. And as far as anybody had been able to ascertain, the primary currency of the Squirrel Folk was mischief.
Neil raced forward, stumbling on the sand in his haste. When he reached his friend, he knelt beside him and placed his hands on his chest. Jack was a dirty and disheveled sight indeed (as Neil imagined he must look himself), having just been the victim of a shipwreck.
But he was breathing! Neil could feel and see his friend’s chest slowly rising and falling beneath the red life jacket, and he sighed with relief.
With one hand, he gently brushed aside some medium-sized crabs that had been scaling Jack’s torso as if it were an interesting, colorful mountain that had spontaneously appeared in their seaside world. At Neil’s prompting, they sashayed away in the sideways manner that was singular to crab folk, leaving the humans behind, clicking their pincers in the air with what could potentially be interpreted as mild indignation.
Neil cast aside the substantial mounds of seaweed that enshrouded Jack. He unbuckled his friend’s lifejacket so there would be less restriction on his breathing, and began to gently shake him. With the combined contributions of Nibbler’s kisses, Murphy’s slaps, and Neil’s shaking, Jack was receiving a whole lot of incentive to wake up.
“Uhhh…” he moaned sleepily. “Just a few more minutes…”
“Up and at ‘em, Jack!” Neil said with a chuckle. “We’ve got some exploring to do. You can’t be lazing about on the beach all day, soaking up the sunshine - snap to it, boy!”
“Huh…?” Jack blinked his eyes slowly, without comprehension of where he was or what was going on.
Murphy wound back and delivered a slap that was surprisingly powerful, given his small size. As his little palm connected with Jack’s cheek, he uttered a squirrelly squeak that sounded apologetic in nature. It was as if he was conveying: Sorry about that, but it’s for your own good!
To compliment this rousing action, Nibbler loosed a terrific bark precisely two inches from Jack’s face, a distance that his rudimentary canine calculations had deemed to be most effective for instilling alertness.
“Gah!” Jack exclaimed, his eyes popping wide, spitting a bit of seaweed from his mouth. “Okay, okay, I’m up! Geez, I’m grateful for all the attention, but this is one heck of a rude awakening, I gotta tell you! You guys couldn’t just give me a gentle shaking? I mean… come on!”
In answer to his friend’s question, Nibbler loosed another rousing bark at the same previously calculated distance of two inches from Jack’s face.
“Woo, that’s loud!” Jack exclaimed, wiping dog slobber from his face. “Enough already, I’m telling you guys that I’m awake!”
Neil grinned down at him. “Welcome back, buddy. When the storm was closing in, and you were getting so nervous, I told you there was nothing to worry about, right? I bet you feel pretty silly right now, don’t you? Seeing how as you were all green in the face and worried about our imminent doom and whatnot? Oh yeah, I could see that thought plastered across your face like a neon sign.”
Jack looked at his friend as if he had gone bananas, and was in need of a thorough examination of his noggin.
“It’s like I promised,” Neil went on. “It was a close one, but we had nothing to worry about, am I right? Mission accomplished: We’ve arrived at Smuttynose Island!”
Chapter Six
A Theory Confirmed
The Green Beans, Volume 4: Shipwrecked on Smuttynose Island Page 5
