Antarktos Rising

by Jeremy Robinson

  Merrill picked up his XM-29 and stood unsteadily as the boat floor flexed under the heavier pressure points created by all his weight pushing down at his feet. He had no idea what firing a gun would feel like, let alone a high-powered rifle with exploding rounds. He thought they’d all be safer if he didn’t have one at all. The boat was bumped from below again and Merrill was knocked off balance. As he fell, his fingers flinched and pulled the trigger. The round exploded from the XM-29 and sailed across the water, coming into contact with a tree on the approaching shore, splitting it in half. Merrill, already falling, was launched into the air by the weapon’s considerable recoil. The XM-29 fell out of Merrill’s hands and landed in the boat.

  Merrill and the shattered tree hit the water at the same time.

  Coughing as he resurfaced, Merrill was struck by two sensations. First, the water was freezing cold. While the air was a tepid steam bath, the water had retained its glacial chill. He realized the lake must be thousands of feet deep. Second, whatever creature roamed those waters was headed straight for him.

  Water rose over the creature’s dark gray back as it swam toward Merrill.

  Vesuvius barked, trying to jump out of the boat. Mira strained to hold him steady. “Shoot it!” she yelled.

  “He’s too close!” Wright said. “Switch to conventional rounds!”

  As Wright and Cruz frantically switched their weapons’ modes of firing, the creature closed in and Merrill could make out light and dark spots speckled across its gray hide. He suddenly recognized the creature for what it was. “Hold your fire!” he shouted.

  The creature continued forward and struck Merrill in the chest. The impact wasn’t hard, but he was dragged under the water, yelping as he plunged under. The creature’s features came into view under the water, lit by the sunlight filtering in from above. It looked at him through big black eyes that held no malice. As the creature turned away, Merrill was freed.

  Merrill kicked to the surface, where he was yanked out of the water before taking a breath. Wright and Cruz set him down in the boat.

  “Are you okay?” Mira asked.

  “Fine, fine,” he said with a broad smile.

  “He’s gone loco,” Cruz said.

  “I’ve always been a little crazy,” Merrill said. “But we’re in no danger.”

  “That thing tried to eat you, man!”

  “No, it’s just curious . . . and there is more than one.”

  The boat was jostled again. Everyone looked into the water. The large creature swirled around just below them. Cruz took aim.

  “No!” Merrill shouted, pushing the man’s weapon down. “It’s just a seal.”

  Cruz looked confused. “A seal?”

  “They’re Weddell seals,” Merrill said. “They only eat fish. We’re in no danger.”

  “Seals live in the ocean,” Wright said. “How did they get here?”

  “There’s a river that leads from the lake to the ocean,” Merrill explained. “It’s on the Piri Reis map. If the seals were indigenous to this lake before Antarctica froze over, they could have migrated to the ocean when the continent froze. When it thawed, their genetics told them to come back. They must be adapted to both fresh and briny water.”

  As if on cue, the large Weddell seal poked his head out of the water and gave them an appraising look. Wright laughed. “I’ll be damned.” The seal twitched its long whiskers and gave a snort.

  Mira leaned out of the boat and patted the seal on the head. “You’re just a curious fella, aren’t you?” The seal dipped back beneath the water then called out again, its voice echoing through the water. “Loud, too.”

  Vesuvius let out a bark and tried again to jump into the water. He seemed eager to play with their new friends. Mirabelle held him tightly and watched the water bubble from below as something massive rose.

  A group of maybe twenty seals, ranging in size from six to ten feet long, rose out of the water. They swam in elegant circles around the boat, playing with each other, inspecting the visitors, and nudging the boat. Cruz and Wright resumed rowing while Mira and Merrill kept the seals occupied, talking to them and reaching out for physical contact. They’d made friends.

  The seals escorted the boat the rest of the way across the lake and waited thirty feet from shore as the crew unloaded. Whitney said a quick goodbye to Argus, the name she’d given the large bull seal that had first introduced himself. Then they were off again, venturing back into the dark jungle where something much less friendly waited.

  Chapter 40

  With twitching muscles, Jacobson maintained his aim, though he had no target. From their position just above where the odd penguin-like birds had been spotted, the view of the surrounding jungle was minimal. He could see the team in tight formation behind him, and the Frenchman ready to defend against an attack. But from where?

  Through the few breaks in the overgrowth, Jacobson could see only another ten feet. Visibility was nil. He hoped that whatever was out there would have just as hard a time finding them.

  A sound like sandpaper rubbing against stone sifted toward them through the trees. “What is that?” the Frenchman whispered.

  Jacobson gave the man an angry glance, shrugged, and put his finger to his lips. Too concerned with food and too loud, Jacobson thought. Then the calls rang out. The sound was like a pack of giant angry turkeys, both humorous and terrifying. The men pointed their weapons toward the sound and held their aim. They knew not to fire until they had an actual target.

  Realizing too late that they’d made a fatal flaw by leaving their rear unguarded, all Jacobson could do was drive to the side, taking the Frenchman with him as the attack came skillfully from behind. Olive green bodies coated in maroon stripes burst from the forest, spraying a cloud of leaves and brush into the air.

  The men got off a few shots. Within ten seconds all were dead. It wasn’t until the creatures had begun consuming his teammates that Jacobson got a full view of the creatures. Of the dinosaurs. They ranged from ten to fifteen feet in length. Yellow serpentine eyes darted back and forth as the beasts snapped at each other with serrated dagger-sized teeth, each vying for a body to consume. They pinned the men to the ground with their sharp talons and tore off chunks, clothing and all, swallowing them one bite at a time. There was no squabbling, no rivalry, just a feast.

  Jacobson and the Frenchman were inching away from the carnage as inconspicuously as possible when the ground behind them shook. They spun around and faced the largest of the monsters. It was a thirty-foot behemoth and looked capable of eating a man in two bites. Its head was low, body taut. Ready to pounce.

  The men froze. The large creature leaned forward, confident its stunned prey wouldn’t move a muscle. It sniffed Jacobson first then moved its head to the Frenchman. Upon smelling the Frenchman’s blood-stained clothes, the creature reared back, let out a wild turkey call, and lunged forward. Its bite extended over the Frenchman’s head and down to his shoulders, picking him up off the ground and shaking him in the air. The Frenchman’s cries of anguish were short lived.

  Drawn by the clamor, one of the smaller dinosaurs turned its attention to Jacobson. It let out a high-pitched screech and charged. Jacobson’s speed came from fear and his action from years of dedication and training. Yanking a grenade from his chest while simultaneously pulling the pin, Jacobson hurled it at the creature’s open mouth. The dinosaur’s reflexes were like lightning. It snapped with its jaws, capturing the grenade and swallowed it down.

  “Now that,” Jacobson said, “was a bad idea.”

  Jacobson dove away from the large dinosaur and fell ten feet into the area where the savage birds had been feasting. Jacobson found it hard to move with the wind knocked out of him, but managed to drag himself close to the ledge. A muffled explosion above shook the air and sent gobs of dinosaur flesh raining around the jungle. A cacophony of shrieks rang through the jungle as some of the dinosaurs fled and others writhed, injured, on the ground. The behemoth called out, angry, sa
vage. Jacobson felt the ground vibrate as the thirty-foot dinosaur searched for him.

  Staying low, Jacobson scrambled deep into the jungle until he was sure he was out of eyeshot. Then he ran at a pace that put his original speed to shame. He knew this speed would cause him to stop more often and for longer periods of time, but his main concern was putting as much distance between himself and the dinosaurs as he could muster.

  He looked at his sleeves as he ran and saw specks of blood that had fallen from the sky after the explosion. He was covered in the creature’s blood. They’d be after him before too long. His best chance at survival was to wash the scent off somehow and continue, not stopping until he reached the rendezvous point with the U.S. team. If they were still alive.

  Chapter 41

  The going had been relatively smooth after they’d crossed the lake. The air wasn’t as humid as before, and the sun found its way more easily through the new species of tree that populated the interior of Antarktos. The trees were tall, as though grown with supernatural fertilizer, perhaps a hundred feet in height and holding needles like those on pine trees. At the end of every needle was a small red berry. The fragrance created by the looming trees held a citrus tang, mixed with the natural odors of wood and dirt.

  Ferrell had not been seen in a week, and they had given up hope of being reunited with their missing teammate. Wright grew distant and reserved. He told them that searching for her was not an option: they didn’t have the time and had covered a hundred miles since her departure. If she was alive, there was no guarantee she was traveling in the same direction. They could be two hundred miles apart. The decision obviously pained him, perhaps even more than the rest of them, but Merrill knew he was right.

  Camp was pitched early that night as the sun fell. They were ahead of schedule and exhausted. A campfire had been built and dinner—a short, furry mammal of some kind—had been caught, skinned, and cooked over the open flame. Merrill felt a tinge of guilt at the prospect of eating a creature that had only just reemerged from a twelve-thousand-year anhydrobiotic hibernation, but he knew his strength would be maintained by eating the meat, and for the first time in weeks, he’d feel satisfied. For that he was thankful, so much so that he led the group in saying grace.

  He thanked God for protecting them despite their hardships and asked for Ferrell’s safe return, and guidance in the coming weeks. When he was done, Merrill looked up and was happy to see Wright mouth an “Amen” before opening his eyes. Then he saw his daughter smile at him from across the fire.

  “You forgot the food,” she said.

  Merrill thought back through his prayer. He had, indeed forgotten to mention the food. “He knows were thankful for that,” Merrill said defensively while silently thanking God for the food.

  Wright carved the animal and served it on the small metal military plates they all carried. He handed them each a plate and they all dug in. Even Vesuvius got a large portion, though his consisted mainly of the parts no one else would eat: heart, liver, and tongue. Vesuvius didn’t mind. He ate and lay back down before Merrill had even tasted his meat.

  Merrill took a bite and was surprised by the meat’s tenderness. Wright might have been a cook before joining the military. It was flavorful and only a little gamey. But after not eating any real meat in weeks, Merrill thought it was the best thing he’d eaten in all his life.

  Apparently, so did everyone else. Not a word was spoken for ten minutes as each consumed their portion with relish. When the animal had been reduced to bones, the group lay back and enjoyed the fullness their bellies craved.

  Cruz was the first to speak. “So you believe all that Bible-God stuff, huh?” He was looking at Merrill.

  “‘Bible-God stuff’?”

  “Adam and Eve. The flood.”

  Merrill nodded. “I do.”

  Cruz sat forward. “Why? I mean, is there any physical evidence for that stuff? If the whole world was flooded, wouldn’t there be some—I don’t know . . . something? I’ve never seen anything scientific to support a world-wide flood.”

  “Well, then, you’re in luck.”

  Merrill caught a glimpse of Mira’s growing smile. She knew he loved this topic.

  “Why’s that?” Cruz asked.

  “Because,” Merrill said, “I’m a scientist.”

  Cruz smiled wide, his well-groomed teeth gleaming in the firelight. He seemed to enjoy the topic as well. “Well, if you’ve got some proof on you, show me, Mr. Scientist.”

  “Doctor Scientist, thank you.” Merrill straightened and took a deep breath. He hadn’t lectured in some time and found himself eager to test his abilities of remembering the material and addressing skeptical students. “Let’s talk about the Flood, then. It’s a hotly-debated subject and one that most people either believe or discount.”

  Cruz nodded. “Sounds good.” He pointed at his chin, as if to say, “hit me” and said, “Let me have it.”

  “Some of the more common arguments against the Flood are what? Anyone know?” Merrill was trying to gauge the knowledge of his audience. He knew where Mirabelle stood, but he wasn’t sure about the others.

  “Not enough water,” Wright said.

  “Correct,” Merrill said. “But the opinion is wrong. As you know, and now have firsthand experience with, ice caps can certainly melt. This alone raises water levels dramatically. During the last shift, the ice caps could have remained thawed for quite some time. Second, there are vast stores of water under the earth’s surface. This water, under the right circumstances—say, a more violent crust displacement—could have been brought to the surface, further deluging the planet. On top of all that are geographic possibilities that are rarely considered. The Mariana Trench in the Pacific Ocean is 11,000 meters deep; that’s 36,000 feet below sea level. We assume the trench existed during the time of the flood, but what if it was created by the flood?”

  “Water pressure and a weakened crust,” Wright added.

  “Precisely.” Merrill wasn’t in a classroom anymore, but their current setting was more appropriate, anyway. The others would learn that soon enough as well. “The water levels would have fallen as the ocean’s trenches opened up, the ice caps refroze, and the land water eventually filtered back underground.”

  “What about Gilgamesh?” Whitney said.

  Merrill knew she’d pipe up eventually and go straight for the kill. She knew her ancient history as well as some of the best minds on earth, but history had been taught to her by people with little vision and a narrow view of the universe. Science and religion had traded places, in Merrill’s opinion. Science was now afraid to really search for the truth, clinging instead to a few comfortable theories. Most of his colleagues believed the Big Bang and evolution removed the need for God. In truth, the mystery of the Big Bang—everything from nothing—supplied enough evidence for God that some were becoming uncomfortable with the theory. As for evolution, it wasn’t the idea of humanity emerging from a simpler species that bothered Merrill—he had no desire to claim perfect understanding of God’s methods—it was the statistical impossibility of life emerging at random. The initial formation of a single protein, the basic building block of all life, had been proven a mathematical impossibility.

  The theories did little to offend him. They had never hindered his faith. It was the misguided belief that the Big Bang and evolution disproved the existence of God that irked him. He was beginning to believe that some of his fellow scientists were conforming to a new religion of their own making; like many recognized religions, it was comfortable because they could always change it to fit their needs.

  New age science.

  Belief without indisputable evidence proven by scientific method.

  Faith.

  Science held to fictions conjured by men with multiple degrees who molded their results and theories to fit their personal views. It was a travesty against real science not committed since Copernicus's De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium was placed on the Index of Forbidden Bo
oks by the Roman Catholic Church in 1616. Modern science was becoming the new church, and they could ban unbiased science just as efficiently but with less objection. Real science was being silently strangled by the men and women who claimed to support the institution, but feared investigating every possibility. It was a topic that angered Merrill, but he felt his current audience would be glad if he kept silent on it for now.

  Whitney continued, “. . . and how do you account for all the other cultures on earth that have a flood myth? The story of Gilgamesh isn’t the only one. You know that. Isn’t it likely that the ancient Hebrews simply adapted the mythology of other cultures?”

  “The fact that so many other cultures have flood myths supports the biblical account. All over the world there is a universal account of a flood. This could only happen if the story had been passed down orally through the generations, starting with the original flood survivors: Noah and his family.”

  “That’s it?” Whitney said. “That’s your answer?”

  “You expected more?” Merrill smirked inwardly. He was sure Whitney expected to trip him up, to get him stuck in a corner, but it was a simple question with a simple answer. He decided to expound for the group’s benefit. “Ninety-five percent of the world’s flood myths state that the whole earth was covered with water. In the ancient world, that was accepted as fact. Seventy percent say that the world’s survival depended on a boat. Sixty-seven percent say that animals were saved as well. Eighty-eight percent say that a favored family had been saved. Need I go on?”

  Whitney sat back, deflated. “Okay, okay, move on, please.”

  “That’s all interesting,” Cruz said, “but where is the physical evidence? You can say that the trenches were created after the flood, but there is no proof. I want physical evidence, man.”

  “Sediment,” Merrill said. “Sedimentary rock is formed underwater when pieces of rock are dissolved and deposited in a new location. The point is this: Seventy percent of the planet’s surface is covered by sedimentary rock, which could only have been formed underwater.” Merrill raised a finger in the air. “Now before you say anything, the rest of the earth’s surface is composed of volcanic, igneous, and metamorphic rock, which is constantly being produced by earth’s geologic activity. This means that it is entirely possible that the entire planet was at one time completely covered in water.”