#possible trigger warnings

You knew Logan would be fine. You did but the storm had been bad. The radio said tornadoes had touched down. It sounded close to the construction site if your memory was right. Everyone slept fine except your youngest and you. He was coughing a bunch in the night, the rain irritating his asthma, and you had to give him medicine.

The next morning, it was clear skies and warm. When you texted Logan, he didn’t reply so you set an alarm to try again in thirty minutes knowing he should be home soon.

You’re trying really hard not to go crazy. Your youngest son, an eight-year-old named Alexander, you decided to keep him home, so he was in your bed watching YouTube videos of others playing video games. The older two: your eldest son, a 16-year-old named Johnathan (and a fourth to boot), was getting dressed and chatting to his partner via his phone (sort of), Cameron; and your middle child, a 12 year-old girl named Leilynni, named in honor of your deceased Mom, was taking forever in the bathroom.

You were heating their microwave breakfasts because traveling for an hour to and from school was rough on growing bodies. While it heated up, you grabbed things for afternoon snacks that the two liked and stuffed them in their front pouches along with their now-filled water bottles. Having a kid in each grade level was amazing and tiresome. You were more exhausted from not sleeping well, worried about Logan due to the storm than anything else.

A vision appeared in your mind of Logan walking through the front door with a smile. He gets hugs before taking off his shoes and once he can take his boots off, Alexander comes running up and clings to his waist.

You sigh heavily with relief and close your eyes, clutching your chest with a smile on your lips.

“Told ya,” chimed the pre-teen.

“Shut up,” you quickly silenced her before returning to the microwave. “Be happy I feed you two breakfasts.”

“What about elevenses?” Your eldest teasingly asked.

“Yeah, we only get Luncheon,” Leilynni playfully pointed out.

Your microwave dinged and the sound of a familiar truck engine was heard outside.

“Logan!” Yelled the two as they walked over to the door.

And just like in your vision, he is greeted by the eldest two demanding hugs before he can even toe off his boots. He grins and laughs. “Get your stuff before you miss the bus,” he reminds them. He had just enough time to step out of both his boots as little feet came thumping down the hallway. “Loga—!” Alex cried which turned into a coughing fit as he continued to run into the man and hug Logan’s waist. He reached down, leaned his head back as he held Alex against him waiting for him to finish coughing. The eight-year-old wiped his nose on his arm and hugged Logan around the neck. The two eldest walked by then and greeted them both “bye”.

You stood behind the island with a lopsided grin watching him with another man’s son, treating him as his own. It always makes your chest warm and tight. It made you love him more.

Logan hugged the boy tightly, taking him to his room. You could hear the two chatting about video games, which you knew Logan had limited knowledge of thanks to Johnathan and you. He knew the questions to ask to understand more and Alex couldn’t get enough of explaining it to someone else.

You put Logan’s boots away, swept what little dirt did track inside, and finished cleaning up the kitchen from breakfast.

“You eat yet?” You called.

“No,” Logan yelled back.

You took out a pan and worked on making the three of you bacon and eggs.

“Toast, biscuits, or crescent rolls?” You hollered.

“Crescent rolls!” Alex hollered back. You chuckle at that.

Forty or so minutes later, breakfast was done and everyone had eaten. Alex went back to his room to play games. You shoved Logan to the bedroom with one word on your lips, “Shower.” You gave him a peck on the lips and tried to leave the room but he wasn’t having it. You yelped when he tossed you on the bed and crawled up your pajama-clad body to cage you in with his dirty blue jeans and flannel. You heard the door click shut and looked at him. “Really?”

“I missed you,” he playfully pouted.

“Dude, you live here. It was one night,” you reminded.

“It was one night that—“ he interrupted himself by planting a kiss on your cheek. “I had to be away from you,” he said and kissed your jaw. “That’s just too much,” he commented before kissing down your neck. You hum enjoying the attention and affection.

“Logan, you stink,” you giggled trying to shove him off you knowing he won’t budge.

“You like my stink,” he countered, nuzzling against your neck. He bit and sucked along your neck, causing goose pimples to erupt across your skin. He hummed approvingly as he continued to the other side of your neck. Shuttering breath after shuttering breath escape you as he played you like a well known instrument.

“Logan,” you whined, writhing under him unable to decide if you wanted him to keep going or stop. You were indecisive.

“Patience, darlin’, he cooed. “I got you.”

“Logan, please,” you panted. It was so easy to get you going.

He knelt in between your legs, his hard cock pushing against the zipper of his jeans had your mouth watering, as he pulled off his flannel and undershirt. His natural scent and sweat seemed to cloud the room and you loved it. He always smelled of cedar and pine, a bit of tobacco and whiskey, with some earthiness to him. When he was sweaty, his spicy natural musk came through more, and for some unknown reason, you could not get enough of it. It made you feel feral and horny, wanting to roll in it until you smelled like him.

He looked down at you with a predatory grin. “Don’t act like you don’t want me.”

You scoff. “I always want you but that’s besides the point. There’s a paper in your nightstand drawer. I need you to help me with this ASAP.”

He returned to caging you, eyed you before running his nose along your jaw and neck. “After.”

You kept your hands on the bed, knowing if you touched him that you’d be done for until you two were done. “No, now,” you tried to say firmly but your voice quivered as he slid down and bit around your areola driving a groan from you. “Logan, please, just look,” you begged.

He licked your nipple before sitting up enough to reach out and open the drawer to get out the piece of paper. It was blank so he flipped it over and began to read it. Your heart rate picked up more than it had before. Your hands felt clammy and scared. He looked at you then the paper then at you and the paper again. His eyes looked at the ultrasound stapled to the page. His eyes were wide and his mouth open, slightly smiling. You were waiting to see how he felt. He gasped and stared at the scan. He ran his fingers over it, caressing. You were surprised by that. You looked away. It felt like a very private moment.

“This is from yesterday?!” He exclaimed, joy in his voice. He suddenly wrapped his arms around you and kissed all over your face. You laughed.

“Twins, really?” He asked, joyous and scared.

“If one doesn’t eat the other later, yeah.” You give a hesitant smile.

“What’s wrong?”

“You have super sperm. You’re The fucking Wolverine and you have super sperm. Everyone in the OB’s office wants your autograph or a picture with you. How do you think I feel?” You pouted.

He gently caressed your cheeks with both of his hands as you frowned. “They were more excited about finding out you were the father than making me feel better with an accidental pregnancy that shouldn’t have happened. I’ve even lost weight since we’ve been together.”

He furrowed his brows, eyes soft and understanding. “I know it’s scary but I’m not going anywhere.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve told you about all three of my pregnancies and the downfall with all three was the postpartum mental health issues that worsened with each one. I’m gonna go crazy, I’m gonna go so hormonal that I’ll fall out of love with you just like each time I did with Jack, and spend the next three years trying to figure out meds while I nurse these two for at least the first two years of their life unless they’re like Alex and refuse to go without a lot of effort from me. Logan, I’m in my early forties having not one but two more kids, and I’m fucking terrified.” Tears fall down your cheeks.

He gathered you up in his arms and moved to the headboard, sitting against it with you in his lap, holding you against him. He began rocking you a little as tears fell down your cheeks unbidden. “I see why you kept texting me now.”

You nuzzle your tear-stained face and runny nose against him as you wrap your arms around his hairy, muscular chest before finally sobbing. You were so scared of what this would do to your relationship, let alone your mental health. Postpartum depression was terrifying even if you were medicated and what would that do to the babies? Would you have to change medicine again like you did with yours?

Every fear ran the gamut through your mind as he held you and you told him every single one. He needed to know and understand what was going on. You two have only been together for a little over a year and this happens. He hasn’t even been living with you all for a year yet. Logan held you through it and acknowledged every fear. He tried to soothe and calm you as best he could.

When you seemed to finally calm down, he opened up and told you about his two sons. What happened with their mothers and him? How long ago it was. How he missed much of their lives for safety or didn’t know. How they both eventually turned on him and then told you his own fears of being a parent again, a father again. His fears of having his own genetic children.

You grabbed the blanket and covered you both up. He held on to you as he scooted down so you both could cuddle. He began petting your hair and carding his fingers through your disheveled curls. You spoke of your shared future and dreams.

“I want to get my garden up and going. Grow my own vegetables and have pollinators around. Not wasps or hornets. They and fig trees can die,” you groaned.

Logan laughed out loud when Alex came knocking to check on you both.

“It’s all good, bub. Go play your games. Let your maw rest,” Logan answered.

“Ok. Love you,” Alex called as he closed the door.

“Love you too,” Logan called back. You smiled up at him.

Fatherhood is sexy especially when it’s a man loving a kid that isn’t biologically his. “God damn, you’re a DILF. C’mere,” you prettily purred, grabbing him by the back of his neck and bringing him to your lips. He grinned against your lips and his hand slid down to your abdomen. His instincts grow more protective, knowing you have his children in you. You two make out like horny teenagers under the blanket, working to remove the rest of your clothes from each other.

He pulled away, suddenly. “Did you really call me a DILF?”

“Dad I’d like to fuck? Why yes, Mr. Howlett, I did. Now come to Mama, Daddy.” Logan rumbles at those words, rolling you on your back and you wrap your arms around his neck when his lips return to yours.

-So there's a scene where a women's corpse (which is just a dummy for the sake of the play) is shown off to a class and there's some MAJOR misogyny during the examination of the body. In one of the few times he's being decent, Jekyll does call this out and corrects some things in regards to the woman's death (that I'm not going to get into because–again–some of it might trigger some readers).

-When the woman's corpse is to be dissected, apparantly Hyde snuck it out of the class.... and replaced it with a pig corpse according to the tale.

–when the reveal of the two being one and the same happens.... interestingly, it's one of the female Hydes that takes the potion and transforms into Jekyll, who, as I said before, is played by a man. Interesting interpretation there when I think about it.... like if you were going for a full on LGBTQ version of Jekyll and Hyde, that would actually be a great idea.

-Interesting thing about this play is that it's almost like how Once upon a Time tackled the story–Hyde may be really awful, but he's still able to have some standards. On the other hand, Jekyll isn't as decent as he believes himself to be–he has an obsession of maintaining a perfect image that he's willing to frame Hyde for some things he didn't do AND manages to kill someone himself.

-And actually, Jekyll is going to kill Elizabeth when she finds out the truth, but.... I think the implication was that Hyde took over long enough to kill Jekyll-and thus, himself-before that could happen.

Once they were on the shore, both teams worked to bring the equipment to solid ground. While they hauled the last of it, Gajeel let the gentle waves lap at his boots as he surveyed the length of the beach.

Most of it sand as far as the eye could see in either direction. Not more than forty yards inland the sand gave way to grass and trees. Further in was a mixed mass of rock and greenery of which the top could not be seen.

He slowly started up the sand towards a fallen tree trunk.

"Where are you going?" Levy asked. When he didn't answer, she pursed her lips and trudged after him, incoherently muttering along the way.

When she caught up with him, he was standing with one foot up on the log looking down at the map of the island in his hands.

"It's supposed to be here," he said to himself. His finger swirled over an area on the unfolded paper.

Levy peered over his arms to see where he was pointing. "How long do you think it'll take?"

"Dunno."

"Well, what do you think we should do first? I mean," she paused mid-sentence to swat at a flying insect crossing in front of her face. "Taking account for everyone on the payroll who follows us there."

Gajeel bit his cheek and then turned his head away from her to spit. "Dunno yet."

"I mean for tonight. For dinner and sleeping arrangements. It's not going to happen over-"

Cutting her off with a huff, Gajeel turned his head to her, the map crinkling in his fists. He seethed, "I don't know, dammit! And I'm not gonna know if you keep runnin' your piehole. I've never been here before, ya know."

Levy scowled at him and at the tone he used with her. She blew out a breath. "Neither have I but I did research before my approved documentation was stolen."

That piqued Gajeel's interest. He calmly looked at her.

"What kind of research?"

Levy opened her mouth to speak but promptly shut it. She gave him a sarcastic look -a wag of her eyebrows and a head tilt- and crossed her arms over her chest. She wasn't going to oblige if her questions would be waved off and ignored.

He shook his head, his eyes narrowed. "Naw, don't give me that bullshit. Since we have to work together, it's in your best interest to tell me everything you know. To help the rest of the crew. For a successful excavation."

She waved a hand out in front of her face and looked at him in her peripheral to see what he would do while she kept silent on her secret knowledge.

He didn't wait long. He breathed a rough sigh and let slip a quiet curse before going back to the map.

And she wouldn't tell him either. If he was going to be an asshole on all fronts, then some secrets were worth keeping to herself. And right now she was the only one she could trust. 

The sun disappeared beyond the horizon when the crew finished settling the main camp. Small tents were pegged in the stretch of green vegetation between the beach and the rest of the jungle-like terrain. The night air cooled the island considerably. It was something which Levy had forgotten to take into account when she bounded off in search for Gajeel's ship.

She sat shivering on the same log from earlier in the day in front of the lively fire. Focusing on the orange flames, she jumped when something soft dropped onto her head.

"Put it on before you freeze." Gajeel sat down unceremoniously beside her.

She uttered her thanks and pulled it over shoulders. Warmth quickly seeped into her bones. A deep breath drew in a fresh manly scent, which told her he had recently worn it.

A coffee mug in his hand, he sipped at it and cleared his throat, keeping his eyes on the burning wood. The two of them sat in silence for some time, listening to the camp crackle with the crew's intermittent conversations and the nightly music of the island's various insects and other wildlife.

Levy looked over at the expedition's captain. Her fellow relic hunter seemed to be the type to hate waiting on others but also refused to ask for help or directions. As much as she hated the idea of him taking her claims for himself, he had a point in that they were now in it together whether it was desired or not.

They had to work as a cohesive team.

"You wouldn't like it even if I told you." Her voice cracked when she finally spoke.

His immediate response to her statement told her he had indeed been waiting on her said research.

"That so. And what would that be?"

"It's said there's a curse on the gold, any who open the chest or touch its contents are doomed for eternal misery in Davy Jones' Locker."

Gajeel coughed down the hot liquid. He snorted back a laugh and caught her gaze, her eyes alight from the glowing fire. He asked simply, "And you believe that shit? Are you an archaeologist or a superstitious historian?"

The woman was slightly taken aback. "Do you really think I'd be telling a made-up story? There's proof in the texts I found in Port Royal."

His hard stare bore a hole into her skull. Ha ha. She was pulling his leg. She had to be. When she stared back just as hard, he knew she was serious. Turning back to the fire, he gave a smile and said, "There's no such thing as curses."

A cold wind brushed through the camp. It stirred the fire and blew the hair from both of their faces.

"The ocean wind from the beach," he said, a matter of fact. He sat back and stretched out his legs.

Levy pursed her lips and stood up. She raised her chin but squinted down at him. There was no way the impossible man would believe it without physical evidence, and there was no way of obtaining it.

He stared back with a smug expression and put his hands behind his head.

"I know what I read, Mr. Redfox, captain," she said, holding her arms tightly over her chest against the cold air. "I don't need or want your condescending-"

In her rush to leave, the toe of her boot caught part of the log that had rotted off. Before she could throw her arms out to catch herself, she stumbled forward in the direction of her broad-shouldered rival.

The coffee mug spilled its contents on the ground beside Gajeel as Levy's weight dropped straight down into his lap.

Standing one moment, the next she was gazing up at the surprise plastered on him. She was well aware of his arms tightly folded over her body.

He gaped wide-eyed. "You ok?" He asked.

"Y-yea," she murmured, still shocked at the sudden change. Her nose briefly grazed his cheek and she could smell the dried sweat on his skin.

And for some reason, it smelled good.

A blush crept into her cheeks. She scrambled to her feet, left as quickly as the dark would let her and hoped he wouldn't bring it up in the morning.

***

Gajeel observed with a heightened excitement as the last bit of debris was removed from the roped-off digging area. Three full days of digging away as much dirt as possible in the humid air had taken most of the remaining patience he had left.

The deep pit revealed what appeared to be broken bits of old pitch-covered wood. Pieces of frayed rope and other non-degradable material surrounded an old, half-buried chest. 

"Break out the cooler," Laxus called out. He stood above on the topsoil. He tossed their leader a glass container which sloshed with golden-brown liquid.

Gajeel untwisted the cap. "A round of Captain Morgan!" He exclaimed, then brought the bottle to his mouth for the first sip. He passed it to the closest man.

As he and the others celebrated their discovery, Levy felt an uneasiness. She had suspected some kind of supernatural boobytrap, but none came to slow down their progress. The lack thereof made her become overly cautious.

"Come on," Gajeel said to her without looking her way. No trace of their brief conversation the few nights before -and what had accidentally occurred between them- appeared to be of any concern to him.

Levy watched from her perch above them on the ground untouched by the digging equipment. Glancing around at the surrounding environment, she couldn't shake the odd feeling. She wanted to warn him again, but would her heed only fall on deaf ears?

"Gajeel, wait," she called anyways.

Standing by the chest and posing for pictures with other crew members, he seemed not to notice her. Only when the pit cleared away did he remember she had called to him.

He put one large hand on her shoulder and said, "We found it."

"Yes, I can see. Please don't touch it yet."

He huffed. "Levy, I'm telling you, there's nothing going to happen."

Despite his rebuke of the truth and reliability of her "research", he took his hand from her, but kept his other hand on his hip. With her experience in professionally recovering lost artifacts for science and the occasional museum, he let her take point to inspect it.

Levy approached the chest, assuming control of the situation. Bending at the waist, she put her hands on her knees.

Behind her came a clearing of a throat. Gajeel shifted his weight. He tried to not notice her short blue jean shorts rising up the underside of her thigh. His gaze averted, but only for a second. An inaudible grunt of slight arousal settled in his chest.

Oblivious, her eyes roamed over the old wooden box. Rusty iron strips were nailed into the decaying wood at the corners. Bugs crawled over parts around the bottom. It looked like anything someone could dig up if one went deep enough. The closer she got to it, the more it revealed of itself.

Walking around it and without physical contact with it, she closely inspected the front side. The standard keyhole lock from the era was missing. Red crumbly bits of rust settled on the iron rest where it would have been. A faint inscription was etched on the domed lid above the iron edging. A black substance stained its surface.

She frowned. Her stomach threatened to empty itself. The ancient documentation in Port Royal had to be accurate.

"What is it?" Gajeel asked.

Pointing, Levy read aloud the message carved into the rotten mahogany, "'Gold, silver, all treasures this chest has carried now lives to tell of souls long dead and tarried'."

Gajeel's brows furrowed. "The fuck," he grumbled. He quickly moved to her side, his eyes on their prize. "What does that even mean?"

He reached out a hand to flip the lid away to peer inside. Levy gasped and caught his arm, pulling it towards her.

"No! Don't do that!"

"Levy!" He roared in frustration.

One of the crew members hopped down into the pit. "If you two aren't gonna, let me, for fuck's sake..."

He quickly threw the lid back.

Levy, still clinging to Gajeel's arm, shut her eyes. Gajeel glanced down at her as she squeezed his limb tighter. Her forehead brushed against his bicep.

The crew member fell silent. No one spoke. The seconds that ticked by seemed more like minutes. Gajeel shifted his weight once again in his impatience.

"Well?"

The crewman's shoulders fell. His tone was one of shock. "It's empty."

Levy's eyes shot open. She spoke at the same moment as Gajeel.

"It is?"

"Come again?"

He shook off Levy's hold and was beside the brave crew member in one stride, dead set on seeing for himself. It had to be a joke. They spent way too much time and effort to come up short.

There was nothing inside. Not even dirt or sand.

Levy had hoped that despite the warning that there would lie some kind of treasure. It didn't have to be gold or other precious jewels or the like. She would have been ecstatic with an old half-filled journal. Or a comb. Or even a spoon.

She looked at Gajeel, defeated. "Now what?"

A dull, dumping sound filled the pit, like a pile of dirt dumped onto concrete. It gradually became louder.

A surprised cry spouted from the only person known to have touched what was supposed to have been a bountiful riches.

Gajeel looked in disgust at the crewman's arm as it turned a pale green with a shattered cracking pattern snaking across the skin right before his waking eyes.

He put his arm in front of Levy and backed them both to the excavation pit's edge. "Lax, are you seeing this?" His voice seemed both distant and as if he were shouting at the same time.

Laxus replied. "Yea…"

The others were watching the scene unfold, not knowing what was going on or what to do; obviously, no one had trained for something such as this.

The first mate hesitantly pulled the pistol from his holster and brought it up. He didn't want to point it at his friends, but what was happening below to one of them was not normal by any standards. "And I don't like it."

The man's skin went from the pale green to gray, the cracks webbing out began to widen, until one of his wrists severed from the rest of the lifeless limb. The man who had opened the chest was decaying at an unbelievably fast rate.

Levy abruptly turned upon the realization. She made a grab for the hanging rope ladder. Her breaths came shallow and hurried, her only thoughts were of getting out unscathed.

The crewman's face began to change colors. He twitched and jerked while the deterioration accelerated. One of his kneecaps slid diagonally down to the side, causing his leg to turn unnaturally when he attempted to take a step. When he moved his head, the gray skin cracking like dried mud broke loose. The mandible beneath unhinged itself from the skull, permanently propping open the man's mouth.

"Climb faster," Gajeel murmured.

The undead stepped out in his direction.

"Faster, Levy," he repeated with more force.

His colleague was halfway up the ladder. He shoved his hand upwards and cupped one of her ass cheeks, pushing her the rest of the way so he could begin his ascent to get the hell out.

Once she was at the top, a gunshot fired once and echoed into the rest of the island. Levy turned to see Gajeel hurrying up the ladder and the undead shipmate now without an arm on his way towards them.

Laxus fired another shot that missed.

"Has anyone else touched the chest?!" Levy shouted. Goosebumps traveled down her arms and legs. She hoped and prayed it was just the one.

If others had as she suspected, no one confessed. A commotion of mixed shouts and warnings came from the campsite. A few crew members cleared out of the way before the same thing that had just occurred in the pit began to eat away at two more.

Morgan's curse was spreading.

Gajeel scrambled to his feet once he reached solid ground. He yanked the ladder out in case the undead could come up after him. The rotted body loosed a sound that would have been a snarl and clawed at the dirt wall.

"So much for buried treasure, shoulda known," Gajeel roughly spat. In two quick strides, he was right next to Levy. 

She gave him a disapproving look. "I tried to tell you."

"Yea, yea." He took her hand and swiftly guided them away from the excavation pit.

The main camp was in disarray. The undead was numerous, turning the others who had ignorantly treated the dig site as every other they previously created.

"We gotta get to the ship before they do."

A half snarl growl from the freshly dead warned Gajeel of its proximity in time for him to snatch up one of the cooking pans by the fire and connect it with the side of its ugly, deformed face. The remnants of their earlier breakfast unstuck itself to snag on the zombie's protruding nasal bone.

It fell to the ground, but of course, nothing could kill an undead in this case, given that it was unleashed via a curse.

He picked up another pan and shoved it into Levy's hand. "It won't kill them, but it'll keep you alive," he stated. He gave her a hard, meaningful gaze, shifting to both of her eyes. "Stay on my ass, Lev."

At her nod, he looked both ways for incoming bogeys and then rushed forward in the direction of the beach.

Gunshots echoed, screams and shouts of men running for their lives met their ears. They lept for the grassy trail which led straight for the ocean. Skinny tree trunks and other tall plants flashed by in a blur as they hightailed it, as fast as the overgrown vegetation would allow.

Gajeel used his pan like a sword and wacked two unsuspecting undeads clear off their broken feet. Bits of dust plumed out in small clouds from the contact made with his makeshift but effective weapon.

When they reached the beach's hot sand, he looked over his shoulder. The fierce little woman abruptly stopped and swung her frying pan like a baseball bat at the zombie following close behind her.

She gave a short grunt with the effort. The bottom of the weapon smacked the unnatural creature, its head popped off and flew back the way they came. Dust clouded the air in her wake. The undead body crumpled in a heap to the ground.

A clean headshot.

The display of power greatly impressed Gajeel.

Her next step onto the beach was a stumble, but he was there to catch her in one of his arms.

"Careful," he murmured. His gaze lingered on her face as he set her upright.

She saw the look in his eyes. A red-tinged her cheeks. Before he could see it, she grabbed his arm with her free hand and gave a tough tug. Her voice was breathless, "We can't stand around, come on!"

They ran for The Sea Wither still at anchor a distance away in deeper water. The smaller boat they came to shore in sat untouched on the dry sand, the motor flipped upside down inside for storage.

When Levy bounded into it, Gajeel started to shove the boat towards the water. They heard a loud shout for them to wait.

Laxus lead a few others out of the fray. They wielded various objects from camp, frantically booking it over the loose sand. The first mate slowed to a stop and immediately helped Gajeel in pushing the large vessel.

The others threw themselves into the boat, breathing heavily, scared out of their wits. Odd weaponry lay on the boat floor: another frying pan, a shovel, a machete, a long stick, a foldable chair. She gave credit for creativity within the group of people still alive.

"Alright, let's get the hell out of dodge," Gajeel said to Laxus and nodded.

Two other crewmen pulled their leader into the boat while Laxus readied the motor by securing it onto its mount. He yanked the pull cord and it suddenly came to life. 

"What about the equipment? Everyone else still out there?" A man asked. He gripped his crowbar white knuckles.

"It's not worth the risk. Not right now."

With the motorboat gaining speed towards their ticket home, Gajeel looked back to see more decomposing bodies now emerging from the cursed island. He took a breath and turned to Levy. "Whoever's left isn't going to last," he admitted aloud for everyone to hear above the motor's roar.

Biting her lip, Levy had to turn away from the beach. She shook from adrenaline still coursing through her veins. The cold sea air didn't help either. She felt the warmth radiating from Gajeel when he sat next to her. What comfort she could feel came from him.

The boat slowed when they arrived at the ship. One by one they wasted no time in boarding the massive ship. The first thing he did after making sure what remained of his crew were safely aboard, Gajeel entered the bridge and created a distress call on the appropriate channels.

Levy sat in one of the main chairs and listened as he successfully made contact with the mainland. In her relief knowing there would be a rescue, her gaze shifted from the ships controls to the beach.

"Gajeel, y-you need to s-see this," she stuttered. Fear was again present in her voice.