Canticle of the Undead

                                    

                                          
The boat sailed ferociously through howling winds, the wooden planks on the starboard side almost capsized.  The moon dipped down in its hidden galls of the clouds overhead cascading an ominous glow on the ship's captain and the crew mates.  All of them pulled  their weight and worked tirelessly tying down the mast and pull strings.  Winds never changed course as many of the crew heard the oak and ply wood of the hull buckle under the pressure.  Many of the deck hands scrambled to secure all the buoys and regulated safety precautions.

	Meanwhile most of the secondary crew stayed beneath in the confines of the ship.  All the regulars huddled together in a makeshift parlor, most of them holding on to each other for dear life.  There had been a solitary doctor who was taking care of a young sick girl, a minister who was holding tightly on to rosary beads while praying over anyone who is willing to listen, a fine young couple who recently got engaged and were sailing to England to be wed, a family that was made up of a single father, one son and one daughter in which he tried to calm down, and George O'Rourke himself who kept a cool head under all this pressure of a passenger ship that might or might not make it to the mainland.  Even if this ship would drop to the caverns of Davy Jone's locker, he probably would have blamed it on the forces of evil at work.  Hell...even on a night like this he wondered if there was some type of negative energy or entities holding him back to tackle his journey onward.

	The ship tumbled to and fro in bleak black waters, the howling winds made the ply wood beams creak and jolt.  The captain held sternly the wheel making sure the bow of the ship was aimed directly at incoming waves.  If one or two were to change course midway and either hit the stern or starboard, this king size ship would have definitely tipped in the favor of the night's terror.  But the captain remained strong and steadfast, barking out orders left and right to the deck hands that battered down all the hatches so the ship could take on full mast at increasing speeds splitting the oncoming hurricane induced waves in half.  As the captain pummeled through the howling tides of hell, he screamed and wailed at the top of his lungs and crew sung along with him.  

	Beneath and inside this rocky wooden turmoil George glanced up to hear the crew and its captain shout.  A smile came to his face nodding in satisfaction.  Nothing needed to be said, he knew everything was going to be alright.  "I guess there are many good men left in this world," he thought to himself.  He knew he was surrounded by decent hard working men who knew how to get their job done, and they do it well and by the books.  He peered at the two children who now were sitting close to their father, one arm around each of their shoulders.  George gestured kindly to the man and man favored him back with a slight grin and an encompassing nod.  He too understood everything will be alright, their lives were in the hands of great men, honorable sea-fairing men.  And he knew sooner or later that England would be on his doorstep.

	A full five days at sea was all it took to make it the country of proper Englishmen.  All the passengers thanked the captain and crew, except for the minister who only thanked God and completely ignored the men who were actually responsible.  George just shook his head, walked on by, thanked the crew first then the captain.  His beige duster hung loosely over his shoulders.  Two cattleman were strapped to his belt, a long rifle draped around his back along with a backpack of clothing, tools, and more importantly...weapons.  He was still not sure what he would find in a country he never visited before let alone knew anyone.  All he was given was a name and an address.  Somewhere in this country he would find the minister's friend.  

	The story he believed to be true, that his friend had purchased some type of key, an ankh to be exact that held a secret to something living within the Egyptian desert.  Hoping that whatever this thing or this creature was had been subdued before, he knew and prayed that he was able to perform what his friend, the minister had done before.  If he could the find the courage and determination to beat back or repel or perhaps even destroy such a malevolent force, he would do so.  He would have to reach back into every fathom of training, using all his skills and willpower, he definitely had the adversity to destroy any dark entity or specter or undead monstrosity he would encounter in this journey.  The only question burning his mind was how long would it exactly take?