Frank's eyes zero in on the cyclops barreling down on his position. He and April picked one hell of a day to visit the art exhibit. They should have stayed at home and strolled through the garden. Or maybe even had a little private time, sipping wine and eating strawberries and cheese. Anything would have been better than this.

  Glancing from left to right, Frank spies a tiny outcropping of trees nestled into the nearest cliff. But can he get there before the giant beast-man converges on him? He sure as hell better try. Either that or end up cyclops jerky.

  Racing as if his life depends on it, because it does, Frank heads for the clump of trees about fifty to seventy yards away. Behind him, the giant man-beast roars. Reaching for a wooden club, which was hidden by the matted fur covering its girthy middle, the cyclops waves the club threateningly in the air.

  "Great! Just what I needed...Another big guy threatening me with a weapon! That's just great. Never been in a fight my whole life...And this is my third fight today. I am so lucky! April...The next time you want to see some art....Paint your own damn portrait and stare at it from across the damn room!"

  Frank continues his internal rant as he races helter skelter towards the trees. The cyclops has gained some ground, stomping on baaing sheep as it attempts to overtake Frank.

  "Hey, Mate! Mate! Over here," a masculine, and deeply accented voice calls.

  Frank peers to his left and spies a man's head sticking out of the sand. At first, Frank hesitates, wary of diverging from his set path. However, the idea that the poor guy may have his head chomped off by the storming mythical beast causes Frank to reluctantly detour.

  Frank heads for the trapped man at full speed, hoping he can free him in time. As he draws closer, he is able to make out more details about the unfortunate stranger. The man isn't stuck. He is standing inside of what appears to be a trapdoor. Frank accelerates as the cyclops roars behind him. It sounds a hell of a lot closer now, but Frank doesn't dare look over his shoulder. The man in the sand waves Frank on.

  "Come on, mate! Come on, the bogan's gaining on ya. Put on the speed. Come on."

  Frank vigorously shakes his head and runs as fast as he can, lowering his head like a charging bull. When he reaches the trapdoor in the sand, the accented gentleman has already descended a small staircase. Frank jumps into the hole mere seconds before the cyclops lashes out with its club. Made it. Sort of.

  Kneeling beside the hole, the cyclops sticks its hand inside and feels around. Its sharp nails are barely centimeters from Frank's head as he goes down the steps.

  "Move over, mate," the man down below says. "Get off the steps. We can't have ole one-eye digging us out. Move aside."

  Frank moves off of the cramped improvised staircase and allows the thick-accented stranger to squeeze past him. The man climbs the steps and begins hacking at the Cyclops' groping hand with a large machete.

  The cyclops withdraws its mutilated arm and bellows. It slams the wooden club several times against the sand before moving away from the trapdoor. The loud baaing of sheep becomes similar to the sounds one might hear in a slaughterhouse. The cyclops is taking out its anger on the poor sheep.

  The sand man closes the trapdoor and descends the staircase. He extends his right hand to Frank with a wide smile.

  "Name's Brewster. What's your name, mate?"

  "Uh, Frank. Frank Martin. Thanks a bunch, Mr. Brewster. You saved my life."

  "Don't mention it. You'd have done the same."

  Brewster moves past Frank, further into the cramped space. Going down a long underground passageway, Brewster leads Frank to a small room. The room is sparsely decorated with homemade furniture, sheep's wool rugs, and hanging laundry.

  "Don't mind the swimmers. I was gonna take 'em down as soon as I got a bite to eat."

  Brewster drops down onto a rug beside a wide barrel Frank assumes must contain either water or liquor. Frank hopes it is the latter. He can really use some liquor about now.

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  "What's in the barrel?" Frank says, hope in his voice.

  "Water for my drinking and washing. In no particular order," Brewster replies with a wily smile.

  "You mean...You drink your wash water?"

  "Sure do. Can't be too choosey a beggar when you've got ole one-eye waiting to chew on your bones."

  "Yeah. I see your point," Frank says, his spirits deflating. "So...What's for breakfast? It smells good."

  "Sheep's bladder and chook eggs," Brewster exclaims, his grin growing wider.

  "Sorry I asked. Now, what's a chook?" Frank asks, fearful of the answer.

  "You yanks call 'em a chicken. To me...It's a chook. Don't worry. The eggs are fresh. I stole them from one-eye while he was chasing sheep for his next meal. If you're not keen on sheep's bladder...You can eat the eggs."

  Frank nods happily and moves over to Brewster's side of the tiny underground room. He plops down and sits crosslegged on the ground beside Brewster's sheepskin rug.

  "How'd you get here, Brewster? I mean...I'm on a quest to save my wife. Her name is April, by the way. What the hell are you doing here? Same thing?"

  "Don't know. I've been here for years. I think I was here for a reason, but I can't be sure. I don't remember. The last thing I remember is this beautiful little Sheila. All dressed in purple. A looker she was. Great kisser too."

  Frank's eyes narrow and he heaves a deep sigh. Rolling his eyes, Frank uncrosses his legs and stretches out.

  "Yep. I know her too. She never kissed me though."

  "Did I say she kissed me?" Brewster says, his voice becoming elevated. "I didn't mean she kissed me. Some fella she was with. He was all in purple too. Snazzy dresser. They were on the beach for quite some time. He's the one who summoned up that one-eyed monster. Saw me admiring the view and got real mad. Or I think he was mad. He was smiling. So I can't be sure. Crazy fella."

  "If you're still here, Brewster...Then, you must have failed your quest. Do you have any inkling what that could have been?"

  "Nope. Like I told ya...I mostly remember the pretty Sheila and her strapping gentleman. Especially, the Sheila. I could never forget her."

  "We're you injured, Brewster? By the cyclops? Did he seriously hurt you? Were you incapacitated?"

  "I don't know. Maybe."

  "I think you were," Frank says. "The same rules which apply to me, applied to you. You failed. That's why you're still here. That purple...Uh...Sheila...She bewitched you. I wonder, if we can beat the cyclops together...Will you be free to leave?"

  "Beat ole one-eye? You're kidding?"

  "I'm not! I've just slain a white whale to get here. Even great Captain Ahab never managed to do that. I feel confident we can bring down the cyclops. Together."

  "Well....Alright, mate. If you're sure," Brewster says with a wily grin. "After we have a bite to eat...Then, we'll plan."

  Brewster offers Frank his hand again. The two men shake hands, grinning from ear to ear.

  "Then...We plan!" Frank agrees.

  ====================================

  "Okay. Let it go!" Frank cries.

  Atop his assigned place on the rugged cliff, Brewster removes the giant tree limb holding back an enormous boulder. The boulder rolls down the cliff, slamming into a makeshift wall of other boulders, painstakingly created by the two wary adventurers. The rock slide swiftly approaches a flock of sheep milling at the bottom of the cliff.

  The sheep baa loudly and begin moving away from impending danger. Frank flashes Brewster a thumbs-up. Acknowledging the sign, Brewster moves into his second position. Frank crosses his fingers and looks up at the sky.

  "I reaally hope this works! If it doesn't....I'll be stuck here the same as ole Brewster."

  The cyclops appears from around a corner, glaring down at the noisy sheep. It roars and brandishes its club. Stomping with blind anger, the cyclops tramples several sheep, in its hurry to get the flock back under control. The other sheep scatter and the cyclops follows the largest grouping of them. Brewster reaches Frank's position and nods.

  "Ready when you are, Mate."

  "Ready when you are."

  When the cyclops is directly below them, Frank and Brewster leap upon the giant's head, hiding in his wooly hair. The men stab at the cyclops with their homemade spears, making deep wounds in its scalp. The cyclops swings its club wildly. However, to hit either of the men would be to knock itself out cold.

  The men stab and stab, hoping for a lucky blow. The luck comes when Frank manages to widen a pre-existing stab wound, his spear going directly into the cyclops' brain. The cyclops' single eye widens. It drops the wooden club and claws at its head. Its left hand manages to snag the back of Brewster's shirt. Brewster cries out as the cyclops lifts him into the air.

  "Hell no...You don't!" Frank roars, as the cyclops draws Brewster toward its mouth.

  Growling deep in his chest, Frank withdraws the spear and then stabs it into the hole again. The cyclops roars in dying agony. Brewster flies through the air as the monster pitches forward. Frank watches his friend sail away with a fearful expression. To Frank's surprise, Brewster tips his hat and disappears into thin air. The giant cyclops disappears as well. Frank finds himself plummeting toward the sand.

  To be continued....