by Matt James
And what of Babo?
Chancing a look, Ian quickly opened and shut his eyes, taking in the darkness around him. His head pulsed with pain, and, unfortunately, he couldn’t see a damn thing—which was actually good. It meant that he, and hopefully his friend, made it into the tunnel before the drongo and/or devil birds got to them. Whatever held Ian in their clutches had apparently saved them from oblivion.
But are we allies, or just a meal for a later time?
After another five minutes of being treated like a ragdoll, Ian was about to voice his displeasure but stopped before he could. Having his eyes open and turned skyward, he watched as they entered another cavern. Unlike the one with the croc’s jungle, this one had low ceilings, twenty feet max in height.
Thirty seconds later, he was gently set down. Feeling that they were putting him down, he shut his eyes and played dead. The scattering of feet told him that his rescuers had given him some space, but not much. Cautiously, he opened his eyes and sat up, facing the tunnel mouth.
It, like everything else he’d seen so far, was a naturally formed path through the rock. While he suspected there was a human presence beneath Madagascar, Ian had yet to actually see one.
Nothing still.
He turned and stopped, seeing who was responsible for bringing him here. There, huddled together in the shadows, were a group of a dozen or so black lemurs. They were larger than usual, as was everything else beneath the island, apparently. Their bodies were more developed than the average lemurs too.
“Uh, thanks,” he croaked, coughing. The cluster reacted, spooked, scurrying away, fleeing deeper into one of the random, dark spots within the… Where was he exactly?
Turning his head, Ian looked to his left and relaxed, seeing Babo. He was still unconscious, but he was breathing. Ian figured that the big guy would be out for a while with all the blood he’d lost. Groaning, Ian stood, did a one-eighty, and stopped.
“Holy…”
It’s all he could say. Glancing back to the lemurs, Ian understood why they were gathered in the shadows. They weren’t in a random dead zone, untouched by the natural light emitted by the various plants. No, the animals were hiding in the shadow of a building.
A man-made building.
Ian had found his evidence of people beneath the surface of Madagascar. But calling them people still felt wrong. Whoever this lost civilization was, they most definitely were not human beings. The culture that had lived here was likely, instead, a long-lost relative of homo sapiens.
The open doorway to the structure was bigger than the one you’d see in an average human’s house as well, maybe ten feet tall. Most human-sized doors were around seven to eight feet in height. It was also wider than a person’s doorway. If Ian had to guess, the individuals living here, like the creatures, were larger than average. Babo would’ve probably been the runt of the family if Ian had to put it on paper.
The walls of the dwelling were a work of art, meticulously pieced together stone by stone. They were fit together perfectly with no mortar visible. It would’ve been a long, painstaking process to build even one of them. He looked around.
Let alone this many. And there were many of them.
Leaving Babo and the lemurs behind, Ian slowly walked to the door and drew his gun. He wasn’t sure what he’d see and didn’t want to take any chances. The fact that no one, Neanderthal or whatever, had come to greet, or even kill him, unnerved Ian. The place was empty except for the tame lemurs.
He stopped and looked at them, just being able to see their white eyes in the darkness. “What’s your deal?” He wasn’t complaining at all, just curious as to why the animals had gone out of their way to help him and Babo.
Before he entered, Ian pulled out his flashlight and clicked it on. Taking a deep breath, he launched himself into the home. He quickly cleared it, aiming his pistol into every corner, finding, as he suspected, nothing. The single room smelled dusky and dank—old. No one had lived here for some time.
His flashlight’s beam caught something in the back, right-hand corner of the large, single room. Whatever it was, it was covered by a blanket of some kind. Edging closer, Ian saw it was actually an animal pelt, and it was black—soft too. The lemurs had a rougher coat than this. He’d unwillingly felt it only a few moments ago.
“Giant fossa,” he whispered, impressed. The animal was easily bigger than the one that had attacked him and Babo too. Someone had killed and skinned the creature. It showed him that whoever built this place, stone by stone, were also capable hunters. He thought back to the pit of bones. “Warriors even.” This was an advanced culture, proficient in basic architecture and well adept at taking down extremely deadly predators.
Leaning down, Ian carefully pulled back the curtain. What he saw gave him another look at what may have happened to the home’s owners.
“Damn…” Ian sighed, picturing the gruesome scene in his head.
It had been a massacre.
He could easily identify three bodies beneath the makeshift burial. Two were a lot smaller than the other. It looked like a mother clutching her children…before dying. The larger of the skeletons had one arm wrapped around each child, protecting them both with all of her being. But, as the cracked bones and various missing limbs revealed, all had gruesomely perished.
Someone survived, though, Ian thought, still gripping the edge of the skin. Someone had found the bodies and covered them in respect and remembrance.
Like a large percentage of ancient warring cultures, the men would often go out and hunt and defend their territory while the women stayed behind and took care of their offspring. The “woman” before him was a good bit bigger than him—Babo too—so Ian wasn’t sure what was right or not with this particular group.
Understanding the care someone had taken here, Ian replaced the fur and showed his light around the rest of the “studio apartment.” The space was one huge room with columns to help support the ceiling. Everything was made of stone and wood, explaining the clear-cut section just outside of the tunnel entrance.
The wood was rotted, but Ian could still see where and how it was used. Pieces of crudely built furniture were everywhere, destroyed by whatever killed the family here. The vision of a raptor murdering his wife was too much for Ian, and he rushed out of the home, blinking away a set of tears. While a fantastic find, it was also a terrifying one.
Stepping out into the “open air” of the cave, Ian saw another home just across the central pathway. Swallowing his fear, he slowly entered that one too, only to find the same thing. More death. More families ripped apart—literally. Their murderers showed no mercy when they attacked. It was the definition of a bloodbath.
The floor, walls, and ceiling were stained with it. He didn’t notice any stains in the first home, and he had no intention of returning to find out if they were, in fact, present.
He knew they were there. Ian had been so engrossed in the bodies themselves that he had overlooked the discoloration.
Shaking his head, he left the second family in peace and stepped out. The only thing that made him smile was seeing Babo stirring from his impromptu slumber.
“Hey, Bob.”
Babo flinched but calmed when he saw it was only Ian. Woozy, he climbed to his feet, stumbling a little as he did. Ian rushed over and helped his friend steady himself, before letting go. Babo patted him on the shoulder, looking around with his one good eye.
“We aren’t the first ones here,” Ian said, looking out over the settlement again.
Babo’s only answer was a grunt and a nod. Following Ian, he also drew his sidearm and flashlight. Ian filled Babo in with what he found inside the two homes, relaying his thought process on what may have happened too.
“Which way?” Babo asked, looking back to the tunnel.
Ian shrugged. “Well, we can’t go back that way.” Ian turned and also looked back into their entry point. “That’s for damn sure.” In his mind’s eye, he could see the drongo struggling to
squeeze into the too-small-of-an-opening in pursuit of its escaped snake.
“And the raptors?” Babo asked. “What stop them from following?”
Ian shook his head. “Nothing.” He peeked into another home, seeing more of the same carnage. “Besides, I think they’ve been here already.”
The raptors were small enough to fit into the tunnel and numerous enough to get the job done. But what about the hundreds of animal bodies within the pit? If these warriors were able to take down the number of creatures they had, then defending themselves against a horde of raptors should’ve been a cakewalk.
After passing by twenty of the homes, ten on each side of the winding path, Ian and Babo found how the dinos had entered. The ceiling was missing, completely caved in by… The ground beneath the two men shook again.
By one of those.
Just like Ian and his team, the raptors were given access following a massive earthquake. He could almost see a large pod of the predators minding their own business when—suddenly—the rock beneath their clawed feet fell free. The timing was perfect too. The settlement’s warriors were undoubtedly gone, hunting for food when it all took place.
Killed off by bad luck.
It wasn’t a disease, war, or even famine that killed these people, it was crap luck and lousy timing. The hunters would’ve come home to the one-sided battle and taken out their vengeance on the entire pack of carnivores.
“Where are the bodies?”
“What?” Babo asked, hearing him talk to himself.
“The dead… All we’ve seen are the settlers’ remains.” He looked up at Babo. “Where are their attackers?”
Looking back and forth between homes, Ian discovered the answer to his question a few seconds after Babo did. Muttering a short prayer in Malagasy, Ian sauntered up next to Babo and gasped in horror.
Directly beneath a broken section of ceiling, and hidden in darkness, was an entanglement of death. Warriors locked in battle—and the afterlife—with their prehistoric foes. Raptors and man, dozens and dozens of them. But it wasn’t the cave dwellers, or even the pack of ravenous dinosaurs, that caught Ian’s attention the most. It wasn’t even the black soot of a fire, signifying that all of the remains had been burned… It was the monstrous creature at the center of it all.
The mountain of bones began with the giant warriors battling the raptors with primitive, albeit, ingenious weaponry. Most used spears and knives made from the claws of the dinos themselves. Ian had built himself a similar weapon when he was stuck inside the mass grave.
The biggest raptor, the matriarch most likely, had several of the spears lodged in its chest and back. Its skeletal mouth was locked open in death, roaring into the air with its final breath. So far, Ian had only seen the smaller raptors. This—she—was something new…again. There were even bigger ones out there somewhere.
“They fight until end,” Babo said, unsheathing one of his dagger-like claws. He held it up. “I will avenge.”
Ian smiled at the passionate way Babo spoke. It’s as if the big guy was one of them—a proud warrior. Ian stepped forward, gripped the closest of the spears, and yanked it free. Babo also procured one for himself. The spears were well built, their shafts still in good shape. The wood had been coated in something that resembled a stain. Whatever it was, it seemed to have preserved the weapon.
Giving himself some space, Ian stepped away from Babo and swung the clawed spear in a wide arc. The staff flexed and snapped forward violently like a contemporary golf club. The added energy would only help in a fight, increasing its ability to slash and maim.
Low on ammo, both men holstered their guns, opting for the local flavor instead. Worst-case scenario, they always had their modern-day firepower.
“Come on, Bob. Let’s keep moving.”
24
So far, Mack and Nash had yet to see another creature since their encounter with the giant fossa. In fact, the only other noise they heard, besides their own footfalls and heavy breaths, was an occasional hoot from above. It seemed that the lemurs were keeping them company.
Our eyes in the sky, Mack thought, peering into the darkness above. The closest branches were barely visible, fifty feet overhead.
“Well,” Nash said from up ahead, “this blows.”
Mack stepped up next to him and saw what had stopped him. In front of them was a cleared section of trees. Not a single one could be seen in the low light of the massive cavern. Who or what could’ve clear-cut an entire section of redwood-like trees, she couldn’t fathom. It would have to be huge, or they would have to be very skilled.
“No more hiding…unfortunately,” Mack said, looking back and forth. Even their escorts within the trees had gone silent.
“Which way?” Nash asked, staring forward.
“I mean, we can’t go back, right?”
Nash nodded and stepped out into nothingness. The empty landscape was eerie, like a cool underground wasteland. Following along behind Nash, Mack didn’t see what got his attention. The Brit stopped and kneeled. Mack stepped around him and saw it.
“Woah.”
It was all she could say. In the ground, was a crater-like depression. It looked to be the same diameter as the trees behind them, only a little smaller.
“Someone removed these trees.” Mack pointed to the hole in the earth. “They are smaller because they were uprooted long ago, leaving the forest behind us to grow taller.”
“Hang on,” Nash argued. “Even if there was some kind of ancient culture down here, what would they need all these trees for?” He motioned to the emptiness around them. “There have to be hundreds of one-hundred-foot-tall trees missing. That’s a shit-ton of wood, even for Fred and Wilma!”
Mack snickered at the Flintstones reference. He was right, though. What would a primate civilization need with that much wood?
She stood. “How ’bout we find out?”
Nash looked behind them, then made eye contact with Mack. Without saying a word, Mack knew he had no interest in reversing course and backtracking. Circumventing the small crater, they continued across the expanse in silence. They were out in the open with no backup. The lemurs seemed to prefer the trees and were no longer silent, chatting it up.
Mack figured they were gossiping about the stupid humans leaving the safety of the forest. Not knowing where to go, Mack tried to shake off the feeling of dread that had been steadily crawling up her spine. Now, it sat firmly on her shoulders, digging in and not letting go.
But we have to know, she thought, agreeing with herself.
They needed to know where the flat landscape ended and who was responsible for such large-scale deforestation—and how they did it. She seriously doubted that the people responsible had chainsaws tens of thousands of years ago.
Her mind went over the possibilities.
Hyper-intelligent cavepeople? Smart enough to design tools to cut down trees, and build whatever they did with them, but unable to find an outlet to the surface? What about a semi-modern tribe from above that chose to live underground away from the chaos of the world.
No, she decided, too radical. Plus, we would’ve seen evidence of aboveground engineering already. Flashlights or lanterns, saws, axes, weapons to hunt with… She shook her head, avoiding another crater. These people were down here long before the Industrial Age. Intelligent “cavemen” were her guess for now. A lost tribe of advanced, ancient people.
It sounded utterly ridiculous, but, then again, she was where she was. She was walking through the most asinine setting of her life, even more ludicrous than the incident in the Amazon with him. She refused to say his name since he stole her notepad and left her behind in that decimated, riverside village.
“Asshole,” she said to herself.
“Huh?” Nash asked, half-hearing what she said.
“Oh, nothing…” She felt herself blush but was thankful that Nash didn’t turn around.
The light was much lower than it was in the forest, but it wasn’t entir
ely black either. Little patches of bioluminescent plants grew sporadically around them, most taking root where the trees had been. Plus, they had their flashlights if they needed them. Nash had yet to turn his on since reaching ground level, as did Mack. She wanted to ignite hers and drive back the creepy shadows but trusted in the former soldier’s reasoning for not using one himself. Her night vision was naturally exceptional anyway, which eased her mind some. Mack had joked over the years that she saw better at night than she did during the day.
Her father needed to turn on every light in the house at night if he wanted to avoid stubbing his toe on the furniture. Mack didn’t. She could walk through the jet-black, two-story-tall home without the need of any illumination. She could even do it with her eyes shut during the middle of the day if she wanted to.
Looking down at her watch, she saw that they’d been at it for twenty minutes since leaving the forest. Thankfully, nothing had come to investigate them. While somewhat confident in their weaponry, Mack was still shaky in having to use them. It wasn’t having the pistol in her hands either, that wasn’t the issue. The problem was whether the caliber of their guns could take down whatever they ran into.
They were sitting ducks if something huge showed up.
“I think we have something.”
Mack looked up from her wrist and saw nothing. Well, nothing, wasn’t exactly right. There was something up ahead, but it was hidden in the shadows.
Heading toward it, Mack saw that it was the shadow. There was a wall of jet-black rock at the end of their path. That meant one of two things: Either they were walking toward a dead-end or they were approaching a cliff that they might be able to climb.
She wanted neither if she was honest with herself. Nothing would make them turn around and head back into the trees, though, and the cliff meant a death-defying climb up a vertical wall of stone with no equipment. Either way, both were terrible scenarios, in her opinion.
As the wall came into view, Mack noticed an anomaly at its base off to their right. She couldn’t be sure, but it resembled a tunnel entrance. Both she and Nash took off running in stride with one another, slowing only as they neared.