Lemuria
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LEMURIA
Matthew Bishop – Book 2
Copyright © 2021 Burt Clinchandhill
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ISBN (EPUB Version): 1622536096
ISBN-13 (EPUB Version): 978-1-62253-609-2
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Editor: Becky Stephens
Cover Artist: Kabir Shah
Interior Designer: Lane Diamond
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE:
At the end of this novel of approximately 98,104 words, you will find two Special Sneak Previews: 1) ATACAMA by Burt Clinchandhill, the next book (third) in the “Matthew Bishop” series of religious/historical thrillers, and; 2) BLOOD OR LOYALTY by Adam Miller, the first book in the thrilling “The Wayward Sons of the Empyrean” series of epic religious fantasies. We think you’ll enjoy these books, too, and provide these previews as a FREE extra service, which you should in no way consider a part of the price you paid for this book. We hope you will both appreciate and enjoy the opportunity. Thank you.
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Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.
Books by Burt Clinchandhill
MATTHEW BISHOP
Book 1: Aldaraia
Book 2: Lemuria
Book 3: Atacama
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JAMES MITCHEL
Book 1: Kursk
Book 2: 47 Hours
Book 3: The Mogadishu Encounter
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www.Clinchandhill.com
What Others Are Saying About Burt Clinchandhill’s Books
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Aldaraia
“It is fascinating how the author uses his skill to build suspense. Burt Clinchandhill is a great storyteller with a unique gift for elegant prose, great dialogues, and characters that arrest the attention of readers.”
~ Romuald Dzemo for Readers’ Favorite Book Reviews
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“Aldaraia is a riveting ‘must-read’ for anyone who likes adventure, religious mysteries, and conspiracies similar to The Da Vinci Code.”
~ Michelle Stanley for Readers’ Favorite Book Reviews
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“I give the author a true high-five for this novel, especially since he tells the tale by utilizing various timelines, which is difficult to do, even for the masters of the written word.”
~ Amy Lignor for Feathered Quill Book Reviews
<<<<<
47 Hours
“47 Hours...” is a work of immense quality, right from the very first line. The author’s grasp and narration of political history and Latin American political culture is insightful and/or incredibly well researched, and you suspect that this book was a long time in the creation—the outcome was definitely worth the investment.”
~ Matt McAvoy
<<<<<
Kursk
“A combination of politics, drama, tension, and adventure as captured in the book will keep you captivated and hooked from cover to cover.”
~ M. Festus
BONUS CONTENT
We’re pleased to offer you not one, but two Special Sneak Previews at the end of this book.
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In the first preview, you’ll enjoy the Prologue of Burt Clinchandhill’s ATACAMA, the next installment (Book 3) in this “Matthew Bishop” series of conspiracy thrillers/religious mysteries, set to release in late 2021.
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PLEASE STAY TUNED TO OUR WEBSITE HERE:
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In the second preview, you’ll enjoy the First Chapter of BLOOD OR LOYALTY, the first book in the thrilling “The Wayward Sons of the Empyrean” series of epic religious fantasies by Adam Miller.
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Table of Contents
Copyright
Books by Burt Clinchandhill
What Others Are Saying
BONUS CONTENT
Table of Contents
Dedication
Note from the Author
Lemuria
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter 1 - 10 Sachem Street
Chapter 2 – Gone Fishing
Chapter 3 – Occidium One
Chapter 4 – Stammbaum der Primaten
Chapter 5 – Specola Vaticana
Chapter 6 – Kajaq
Chapter 7 – Naegleria Fowleri
Chapter 8 – The 12 Races
Chapter 9 – The Space
Chapter 10 – Trinil
Chapter 11 – 5261
Chapter 12 – Neurogenesis
Chapter 13 – B&N’s Hideaway
Chapter 14 – The Monument
Chapter 15 – The Business Card
Chapter 16 – OostNoordOost
Chapter 17 – Chemoreception
Chapter 18 – The Theater
Chapter 19 – Number Twenty-Six
Chapter 20 – Santet Susuk Konde
Chapter 21 – The Observer Effect
Chapter 22 – The Flying Spaghetti Monster
Chapter 23 – Stars
Chapter 24 – The Wedekind Experiment
Chapter 25 – Autism, Asperger’s and ADHD
Chapter 26 – The Paperless Office
Chapter 27 – Properties
Chapter 28 – The Three Islands Dilemma
Chapter 29 – The Intron Design
Chapter 30 – Toilet Paper
Chapter 31 – Darwin Island
Chapter 32 – The Wall
Chapter 33 – The Core
Chapter 34 – Lemuria
Epilogue
Interview with the Author
Special Sneak Preview: ATACAMA by Burt Clinchandhill
Acknowledgements
About the Author
More from Evolved Publishing
Special Sneak Preview: BLOOD OR LOYALTY by Adam Miller
Dedication
For Mom and Dad, together again.
Note from the Author
All scriptures, architecture, locations, science, historical figures and (religious) organizations in this novel are real.
Introduction
‘Man is not distinguished from the animals by a special kind of soul, or by any peculiar and exclusive psychic function, but only by a higher degree of psychic activity, a superior stage of development.�
�
Ernst Haeckel, February 16, 1834 – August 8, 1919
Prologue
Reserva Indígena Mashco Piro, Peru, One Month Ago
The treetops flanking the riverbanks of the Purus River in the Peruvian rainforest lit up all colors of green under the first rays of sunlight that day. The early morning sounds of the Red Howler Monkey and the Andean cock-of-the-rock—Peru’s national bird—gave the place a deceiving friendly atmosphere. The last time modern men set foot in this area must have been when the rubber baron Carlos Fitzcarrald, in the late 1800s, slaughtered much of the Mashco-Piro tribe with his private army. He forced the survivors to retreat from the riverbanks into the even more remote forest areas of what is now called the Mashco-Piro Indigenous Reserve.
When a soft rumbling sound filled the air in the distance, the cock-of-the-rocks and Red Howlers fled the trees at the riverbank as fast and far as possible into the thick woods. Within seconds, the sound grew to a deafening rumble.
In an instant, a gray Bell UH-1 Iroquois helicopter cleared the treetops and stopped dead in midair some thirty feet over the Purus riverbank. Its gust cleared the shore of all loose objects. The helicopter’s sliding door opened and a uniformed soldier, sitting opposite a blonde-haired woman, pointed down. The woman looked on her tablet screen for a second before nodding and shouting, “Yes.” The soldier gestured the pilot, and within seconds the helicopter descended to the riverbank and with a bouncing thump landed on the graveled shore.
The uniformed man quickly jumped out, bending his head, avoiding the now slowing helicopter rotors and shouted something toward the woman. As he stretched his arm into the open door, she grabbed onto it and jumped out. Dr. Lindsey Wilson—never shy—was a stylish, slender, straight-postured attractive woman in her early forties. Today, she wore a blue Patagonia jacket and shirt, Levi’s blue jeans and Fendi T-Rex combat boots. Her hair danced wildly under the chopper’s blades. She took a backpack from the helicopter as the soldier reached into the helicopter again as another hand, this time belonging to a man in a gray business suit, grabbed onto it. He jumped out and fell to his knees while landing on his brown Oxford style shoes. The woman chuckled.
“As if you belong here, Iggy,” she said, smiling at the short, nearly bald man, and then immediately took off for the tree line. The two men followed her quickly. At the tree line she stopped, took her Surface tablet and Iridium satellite smartphone from her backpack, and fidgeted with her screens for a minute or so. “We have connection.” She looked and pointed into the tree line. “The clearing should be a short mile in that direction.”
“Why didn’t we see a clearing from the chopper?” Ralph Ignatowski asked.
The uniformed man cocked his head. “The trees out here can reach up to two hundred feet tall and have a one hundred-foot-wide canopy. So, a clearing on the ground can be entirely overgrown from a bird’s-eye view.”
“Are you coming?” Lindsey asked, wildly gesturing her arms.
“Take it easy, Lin.” Ignatowski waved hands up and down. The waving accentuated the middle-aged man’s narrow shoulders making his slightly overweight belly dance a little up and down. “We’ve got all the time in the world.” He turned to look at the uniformed man, who glanced at his watch.
“You’ve got a little under three hours to get back here if we’re to make it back to Puerto Esperanza before dark.”
Lindsey pressed a few buttons on her watch. “We’ll make it in time.”
The soldier nodded and walked back to the helicopter.
“Shall we?” Lindsey asked and, without waiting for an answer, hiked into the woods.
The light beneath the enormous trees’ canopies was remarkably bright, and on the ground beneath their feet was little to no remains from broken branches. Lindsey, who was fit, picked up the pace while Ignatowski followed in her footsteps at a slower pace.
“Are you coming, Iggy? I don’t want to leave you behind.” She walked a short distance back toward Ignatowski, who threw his jacket over his shoulder, revealing big sweat spots under his arms.
Ignatowski looked up into the burning sun. “Why do they make these jungles so hot?”
“Well, not to correct you Iggy, but....”
Ignatowski shook his head, knowing what would follow.
“A jungle is something completely different from a rainforest. A rainforest like this one has a thick canopy from tall trees. They make it hard for light to reach the ground, so plants have a hard time flourishing. A jungle, however, has a thick undergrowth of plants and vegetation making it hard to penetrate. So you should consider yourself lucky to be in a rainforest instead of a jungle.”
“Oh, shut up and keep walking.” Ignatowski slapped his forehead.
Lindsey laughed out loud but knew when to shut up.
For some thirty minutes, they followed the heading. Lindsey read from her tablet without a sign of any recognizable markings or paths on the ground. Nothing indicated a single soul had ever been there before them, and although the typical animal sounds slowly returned, the past half hour had been tranquil. Probably because we scared all the wildlife away with our helicopter, Lindsey thought.
“There it is.” Lindsey pointed to a clearing about one hundred feet ahead. As they neared the clearing, a two hundred-foot-wide circle—made of only cane and mud—appeared, looking like one big spherical pointed rooftop. The ten-foot-high rooftop, without any walls, led all the way to the ground, where it hit the sandy bottom. At about every ten feet of circle was a small opening, like a doorway.
“It’s the shabono,” Linsey called out. Before leaving for Peru, she had read about shabonos. Usually, constructed of wood and palm leaves, built with a thatched roof surrounding a central open space. Up to fifty families would live in one shabono, each in their own unit separated by cloths. Lindsey stepped into one of the openings under the roof.
“Watch out! Wait a minute,” Ignatowski cried out after her, but it was too late. Lindsey had disappeared into the shabono. Ignatowski picked up the pace behind her as fast as he could, and after a few seconds, panting—wondering why he didn’t listen to his wife when she tried to get him back to the gym—he also cleared the door. There was Lindsey, in what looked like a room with pieces of cloth serving as walls. She was on her knees, checking out a stack of palm leaves rising from the floor on wooden logs.
“A bed?” Ignatowski asked, kneeling next to her.
“I guess so. And look here.” Lindsey picked up a primitive doll, created from twigs and straw, from a log table next to the bed.
“Amazing. It’s a kid’s bed.” Ignatowski pointed to two slightly larger beds a few feet away. “But where are they?”
“That’s why we’re here.” She approached the cloth separating this room from the next. Carefully, she pulled the fabric a bit to the side and looked behind it. She sighed deeply as she pulled the cloth all the way to the side. Another room, very much like the first one, was also empty, with the exception of a clay oven, primitive kitchenware and some wool clothing. The room seemed intact.
In three big steps, she walked to the next curtain and opened it with one big pull. Empty again. She then walked through the shabono and out to the center of the inner circle, followed by Ignatowski. She fell to her knees. With her head to the ground, she looked around the circle, peeking under the rooftops. No legs or feet, she thought.
“What are you doing?” Ignatowski asked.
“Confirming your earlier findings from the satellite images.”
Ignatowski frowned. “How?”
“I was looking for legs, but it seems that you were right. There’s no one left. The place is completely abandoned. Just as before.”
“Just like on the satellite images,” Ignatowski confirmed. “All gone, but probably still alive.”
“Alive?” Lindsey asked.
“If not alive, where are they? Where are the bodies?” Ignatowski quickly turned his head around the circle. “Not here, I’d say.”
“We need
to look outside, in a bigger circle.” Lindsey quickly walked through the shabono and some distance away from the slanted roof. She looked left and right, but everywhere she looked, the ground was bare and untouched. “No graves. If you go right, I’ll go left. Let’s circle the outside of the shabono and see if there are any clues as to where they could have gone. Look for signs of digging, footsteps, tire marks.”
“Tire marks? Out here?” Ignatowski shook his head.
“You never know, Iggy. Maybe dirt bikes or quads. Who knows? Just look for anything that stands out. I’ll meet you halfway. See you in a few minutes.” She started walking left, step by step, looking left and right, up and down, inspecting every inch of the surroundings.
Ignatowski watched her for a few seconds and then turned in the other direction and started circling the shabono.
Sand, branches, more sand, more branches, Ignatowski thought after a minute or two walking, looking at the ground and listening to the Red Howler, whose crying noise indicated its return to the location.
Suddenly, a loud sound, like a cry of fear, sounded over the shabono’s rooftop. Ignatowski instantly stopped, and instinctively turned his ear in the direction of the sound.
There it was again, this time followed by Lindsey’s voice crying his name. “Iggyyyyy.” Lindsey’s voice sounded loud again.
Ignatowski looked left and right for a second. He was over halfway around, so he rushed as fast as he could, circling the shabono. Even in his condition, it took him under ten seconds to reach Lindsey. As soon as he saw her, he stopped dead in his tracks. He froze as a darkly tanned man—dressed solely in a loincloth—wielding a wooden spear ran toward Lindsey.
“Stop,” Ignatowski cried out as loud and fiercely as he could.
Chapter 1 – 10 Sachem Street
New Haven, CT, 6 Months Ago
It had rained for almost fourteen days without interruption. Water now ran through the streets of New Haven’s Yale University campus. With darkness setting in early this afternoon underneath the black clouds, the big raindrops lit up golden from the orange streetlights. On Sachem Street, the banners used at yesterday’s demonstration were soaking wet, dripping, hanging from the facades of some of the old buildings. ‘This is an emergency,’ ‘No more delay,’ ‘Divest Harvard’ and ‘Fossil Free Yale.’ Students and climate change activists from Yale and Harvard had disrupted last night’s annual Yale-Harvard football game. They had stormed the field at halftime to call the university’s attention to divest their investments in fossil fuels. Some five hundred protesters sat midfield, chanting John Denver’s “Take me home, Country Roads.” After thirty minutes, police cleared the field again and placed forty-two demonstrators under arrest. Both universities had declined to divest on fossil fuel for years now. Yale had made some pledges over time but up until now without any significant change.