Dark Island

by Matt James

  The clearing before them looked natural enough, but who knew? Maybe people lived down here years ago too? But Ian scouted the immediate area and found there to be no evidence of primitive man. No bodies or shelters of any kind or condition were present. No tool markings or cave drawings anywhere. He knew it was an elementary way of looking at things, but the animals living within the mountain unnerved him. It left him with questions like.

  How deep does it go? What else could be down here?

  “Ghost…”

  It was just a murmur, but the tone was apparent. Babo was frightened. Slowly, Ian turned and saw that his friend was looking back the way they’d come. Mentally drawing a line from Babo’s face to the tree line, he found what had spooked the man. There, just inside the worn path, was a shadow.

  The path!

  Ian instantaneously knew what the “path” really was. It was a game trail. Game trails were naturally worn passages that were regularly used for animals, predator or prey. He and Babo had just stumbled upon one. They also stumbled upon one of the creatures that frequented it.

  From this distance, Ian could tell it was definitely a big cat of some kind, or in a fossa’s case, a large mongoose-hybrid. It was crouched, feet in close to its body, ass a little higher than its head, tail swishing behind it.

  Well, it acts just like an agitated cat anyway. Of course, Ian didn’t really know what a pissed off Mongoose looked like, and “Rikki-Tikki-Tavi” didn’t count.

  Averaging almost fifty pounds, the ancestral fossa was roughly twice the size of its still-living relative. From the looks of their new friend here, the population that was alive within the massif, the adults, at least, were even bigger than that. It seemed that everything living beneath the ground was larger than anticipated.

  Even the friggin mushrooms…

  “Bob,” Ian calmly called out, “back away slowly, will you? No sudden movements.”

  Nodding, Babo did as Ian asked.

  Ian slowly shouldered his shotgun and waited for the thing to eventually show itself. It probably never had such easy access to a meal, at least not in a long time —maybe ever. In fact, given the size of the raptors they had encountered, it was more likely the fossa was used to being prey, not an "apex" predator. The fossa was, say, seventy or eighty pounds. Babo, at nearly three hundred, was still a lot bigger than it. But Babo didn't even come close to having the quickness of the king-size mongoose. Still, though, Ian's partner was pure force when it came to fighting.

  Plus, the fossa was a carnivore, so it had to, indeed, hunt something to stay alive in order to have grown to its size. Ian doubted that it fed on the plant life surrounding them. More unseen hooting erupted around them—possibly belonging to the fossa’s primary food source. It rose as the hunter moved in closer. The light within the cave was bright enough for Ian to finally get a good look at it.

  As he suspected, everything he’d seen so far that lived here was blind, including the fossa. But in contrast to the raptor, the fossa had eyes. They were milky-white and didn’t seem to have any pupils to speak of. And, unlike the dino-bird, the puma-sized fossa was jet-black in color. It clearly had fur in place of scales and feathers, hiding what Ian guessed was its equally translucent skin. It would only make sense that all the creatures shared that evolutionary trait.

  Showing its impressive fangs, the fossa purred and stepped lightly. Then, it stood higher, sizing up its enormous entrée, Babo. There was no way for Ian to see what happened next…

  Instead of continuing his retreat, Babo charged forward, roaring like some demonic hellspawn. Ian almost laughed when the fossa freaked out, turned, and leaped back into the trees with a flurry of chaos. Quiet replaced the noises of the jungle—which was good. Ian and Babo would’ve never heard the incoming horde of fossae coming at them if it didn’t.

  For a split-second, the two men just looked at one another, dumbfounded. Then, as the trees in front of them shook…and hissed…they turned and fled, continuing down the game trail like they had a rocket lit under their asses.

  The path wound left and right, narrowing in parts, slowing them some. Every so often, they were forced to vault fallen trees and other debris that littered the trail. At one point, they even had to wade across the waist-high, freezing-cold river. The temperature of the water shocked Ian as it bit into his warm, sweat-covered skin.

  Making it safely across, Ian glanced behind his shoulder and was happy to see that the fossae weren’t following them. There was a dozen of them too. The largest of the predators was the one they had encountered in the clearing. She seemed to be the matriarch of the group, and the jungle on the other side of the water was her territory.

  “Note to self,” Ian said, breathing hard, “don’t go back that way.”

  Babo’s only response was a single raised eyebrow, saying, “duh.”

  After a couple of deep breaths, Ian and Babo headed toward the precipice of a cliff—and it was one. The ground just disappeared.

  An underground cliff?

  The relief he’d just felt was instantly torn away from him. Ian didn’t want to know what was down below. What made it worse was the ungodly red glow that had uncomfortable heat radiating from the depths.

  Shoulders slumping, Ian looked out over the pit of death. It was, in essence, another prehistoric jungle, and even though he couldn’t see what resided within it, Ian could hear them. There were high-pitch screeches and deep, bellowing roars.

  A realm of monsters.

  And there was no way to the other side except through the lost world. Their mission was still the same: Find Mack and Nash and reach the surface. Ian just hoped they were heading in their direction. Having their added firepower would be a blessing. But if they weren’t heading their way, he wasn’t sure that he and Babo would ever find them.

  There was more within the island than he could’ve ever imagined. And that red glow could only mean one thing which confirmed one of Ian's fears—miniature volcanic cones dotted the landscape and were pouring out columns of smoke.

  Madagascar was volcanically active, and they were moving closer and closer to its epicenter.

  14

  Mack was cold, but the shock of the chilling water had no effect on her now. The space before her and Nash was like something out of a Jules Verne novel. It was beautiful, lush, full of life, and, well, underground. Journey to the Center of the Earth had come to life.

  “You ever hear of the Hollow Earth theory?”

  She glanced to her right with a raised eyebrow. “You have?”

  Nash laughed. “Come on, love, I ain’t some shit-for-brains tosser.” He adjusted a make-believe t-shirt collar. “I’m the sophisticated type.”

  Whether Mack found the remark funny, or if she was just that tired, she didn’t know. Either way, she laughed. Knowing a little about the pseudoscientific concept, Mack quickly put together the pieces in her head.

  Like Verne’s novel, some people within the scientific community believed the Earth was actually hollow, or at the very least, was made up of enormous pockets of nothing deep beneath the surface. The planet’s continental crust averaged an astounding twenty to thirty miles in thickness in some areas, while measuring closer to three miles thick beneath the ocean floor.

  Mack wasn’t sure about the actual theory, but she couldn’t completely write it off. Like the ocean depths, the Earth’s crust held just as many secrets as its watery counterpart. Were there undiscovered ecosystems within the surface of the known world? Looking around, Mack was beginning to believe Verne’s tale as truth and not fiction.

  At least the concept, anyway.

  Mack could only shrug as she replied. “I think we have to keep all our options open at this point.” She motioned to the jungle. “This is pretty damn convincing that there is more inside our planet than just rock.”

  Nash nodded. “I’d say so.”

  The ceiling disappeared into the darkness high above the impressively tall tree line. The fall from the underground rive
r turned waterfall lent to the scale of the room. The ground was pockmarked with green and blue algae and mushrooms, all of which seemed to glow from within. They gave off enough light to see by but not enough to see very far.

  Better than nothing, I suppose, Mack thought, following Nash forward. She was thankful for his presence and his take-charge demeanor. Mack was also grateful for his really big gun.

  There was a small clearing between the cave wall and the first tree, where nothing seemed to grow. As Mack continued forward, she knew why, she could feel it... The ground was solid stone. Once they were close enough to see the underground-growing trees, Mack discovered that they didn’t have the same bedding beneath them. If she had to guess, she'd say it was some kind of jet-black soil.

  Probably volcanic in make-up. Volcanic soil could easily support just about all plant species—like it does in Hawaii. The cave jungle seemed to be thriving just fine.

  Nash stopped ten feet from the edge of the trees and scratched his head, thinking. Mack stepped up next to him and waited for him to say something. When he didn’t, she did.

  “What is it?” she asked softly.

  He shook her off. “Nothin.’”

  “Then why do you look so concerned?”

  He looked at her. “Because nothin’ is always worse than somethin’ in my line of work. I’d rather see the blokes right in front of me than play this cat and mouse game.”

  “You think something knows we’re here?”

  He laughed. “If someone kicked in your front door, would you know?”

  Nash had a point. They did just waltz right up to something’s doorstep, unannounced. Whatever called this place home wouldn’t take to the intrusion well. It’s not like the creatures of this world had ever seen a human before. They had no reason to think of her and Nash as a threat.

  But they don’t have a reason to fear us either.

  The thought made her grip her gun harder.

  “Well,” Nash said, stepping forward, “no sense standin’ around with our thumbs in our asses.”

  Shaking her head, Mack quietly followed him into the knee-high brush. The space between each tree seemed to be about ten feet, which gave them more room to maneuver through the growth than she thought they'd get. That meant they might get through it with relative ease which resulted in finding the rest of her team sooner, rather than later. She knew that their chances of survival diminished the longer the team was split up.

  A deep squawk echoed around them, causing both Mack and Nash to raise their respective weapons up. Mack looked behind them, while Nash stayed focused on the jungle ahead.

  “Fuck,” Nash whispered. “I nearly wet myself.”

  “What was that?” Mack asked rhetorically. She knew that Nash had no idea. Still, speaking aloud helped her cope with stressful situations.

  This would definitely count.

  “Ummm…”

  Mack took her eyes off their rears and faced forward. Leaning around Nash, she saw a large shape moving toward them. She wasn’t really sure what to make of it at first. It wasn’t one of the winged dinosaurs—it wasn’t built like one at all. This creature was tall and had a long, spindly neck with a thick, round body. Its skinny legs were easily four or five feet tall too.

  “What the—” Nash said, getting interrupted by another loud squawk.

  The animal came into view, passing by a large pod of glowing mushrooms. Mack almost laughed at what she saw but knew not to underestimate the bird.

  “It’s an ostrich?” Nash questioned, confirming Mack’s hypothesis.

  The problem with this ostrich was that its beak was long and slightly hooked, like an eagle or a hawk. Its three-toed feet were huge and sported a wicked talon on each digit. The animal turned when it “saw” them, apparently surprised to have visitors.

  Like the raptor, the ostrich was also blind. It didn’t seem to bother it, though. It glided past each tree with ease, never once bumping into one of them. At nearly twelve-feet-tall, this particular species was something that Mack had heard of. While not exactly the same animal, the giant in front of them was what was known as an elephant bird—one of the largest families of flightless birds ever found.

  Where was the biggest from again? She asked herself. Oh, right, Australia.

  “That’s a lot of bird,” Nash whispered, shouldering his rifle.

  “It’s got to be at least a thousand pounds,” Mack added, stunned.

  “Easily that,” Nash agreed, “probably more.” He glanced at Mack. “I wonder what it tastes like?”

  “No wings,” Mack said, ignoring Nash’s last comment. Even an ostrich had a pair.

  Nash huffed at getting no response out of her, but nodded his head, seeing it for himself as it stood sideways. It was barely twenty feet from their position now. Similar to the raptors, the mammoth bird had a beautiful plume of feathers. It was mostly black, except where it had striking pink and purple accents around its eyes and on its back, and short tail feathers. Its head was turned toward them, studying them with a faraway look. It reminded Mack of her dad’s blind friend from thirty-plus years ago.

  Walter was a gentle soul who would routinely look over Mack’s five-year-old head while they talked. She remembered Walter so vividly because, at the time, she thought that it was hilarious when he looked at the ceiling as he talked instead of at her face.

  The bird’s timid body language said that it might turn and flee if provoked. However, with the beak and talons of a bird of prey, Mack was pretty sure this thing was a predator. Hooked beaks were made to rip flesh. She had a feeling this oversized ostrich was sizing them up, not contemplating any kind of retreat.

  The movie Up flashed across her mind. Damn you, Kevin.

  Mack was about to suggest that she and Nash should skirt around the animal, but she didn’t get a chance to say so. It pivoted on its powerful legs and launched itself at them, covering the twenty-foot gap between them with ease. It attacked like the raptors did, slashing at them with its clawed feet, raking them across…nothing. Mack dove left, and Nash dove right, both nearly being decapitated by their aggressor.

  Damn you, evolution! Mack thought, scrambling to her feet as Nash yanked on her arm. They both took off running deeper into the bird’s domain. They zigzagged, trying to keep as many trees in between them and the approaching bird. Looking back, Mack saw that their plan was working. Must. Go. Faster. But the bird was having trouble taking the tight turns at full speed. The key to their survival would be their natural agility and their shorter strides.

  The jungle itself came to life around them too, squawks of every pitch and volume joined in with their pursuer’s. There were more elephant birds within the trees somewhere. Unfortunately, Mack and Nash were making a ton of noise, running as fast as they could. The brush around their legs swooshed as they moved, creating a never-ending static hiss as it rubbed against their pant legs.

  “Keep moving!” Nash yelled over the bombardment of noise. Mack was only a few feet behind him, and even then she could barely hear his voice.

  Movement to her right caught her eye.

  “Down!” she screamed, following her own advice. Nash listened and dove forward, turning it into a smooth roll, just as a smaller, probably younger, one of the birds sailed over their heads.

  On one knee, Mack brought her gun up but hesitated to shoot the creature as it landed, understanding that the bird's home was being invaded, not the other way around. Nash didn’t falter, however, pumping three quick shots into its flank. It cried out and fell to the ground, thrashing like a swarm of bees was attacking it.

  What a shame.

  Mack’s love for the outdoors and the animals living in it would need to be shoved aside. Next time, Nash might not be there. It was either their lives or the birds.’ Spinning at the sound of pounding footsteps, Mack unloaded into the chest of the first of the predators they encountered. It pitched forward and slid to a stop at her feet.

  Breathing hard, Mack was alarmed when Nash
grabbed her arm and pulled her forward. Being ever so thankful, she was glad that he didn’t just bolt and leave her behind. She didn't mean anything to Nash so it wouldn't surprise her at all if he did bolt.

  They ran, still weaving themselves through the thick, bamboo-like trees. Mack was relieved to hear, well, nothing. Since she shot the larger of the birds, the remaining ones seemed to lose interest in her and Nash. She knew it was probably the matriarch that she had killed, scaring the rest back into hiding.

  While happy to be alive, Mack also experienced something that felt like regret. She’d undoubtedly slain one of the most endangered species in the world—the raptors that Nash killed too. Regardless of how gut-wrenching the feeling was, Mack didn’t want to die. She would do everything possible not to injure or kill any of the animals they found, but she'd have to put her own life first.

  No matter what.

  “There’s a clearing up ahead,” Nash announced, talking quieter now. There was no need to yell anymore. The only sound emulating from the jungle was the rhythmic chirping of cicadas.

  Or what “might” be this world’s version of the insects.

  Stepping into the clearing, Mack wasn’t sure what was worse, the carnivorous ostriches, or what waited for them now. The sight made her gag. If there was one thing she had no qualms about killing, it was bugs…really big bugs.

  Nash’s shoulders dropped, and his nose turned up in disgust. “Bloody hell.”

  15

  The cliffside descent was treacherous, and Ian’s chest wounds burned something fierce. Initially, they were only sore, feeling the worst when his sweaty, salt-laden clothes rubbed against them. Now, they hurt when he breathed in heavily, making it hard to catch his breath as he climbed.

  “You okay?” Babo asked from below, his concern evident.

  “I’d be lying if I said I was,” Ian grunted back, biting his lip.