Intulo: The Lost World

by JE Gurley

  “That should keep Verkhoen busy guessing,” Duchamps said. He looked at Bill, frowned, and pursed his lips. “I am sorry for the pain I have caused you.”

  Bill sighed with relief. He might make it through alive after all. “Just leave,” he said, angry with himself for cooperating, but most of his anger he directed at Duchamps. He noticed Duchamps’ eyes narrowing.

  “For your cooperation, I’ll end your pain it now.”

  Before Bill could say or do anything, Duchamps placed the barrel of the rifle to his temple and pulled the trigger.

  * * * *

  Wiping the technician’s blood from his face with a paper napkin beside the coffee pot, Duchamps turned to his men. “We go down, now. Stay together. If you see of the creatures, kill them only if they attack. The more creatures running loose in the mines, the better our escape. Come.”

  By the time they reached the lower level of the mine, the clicks and whistles of the creatures came from everywhere – mineshafts, elevator shafts, airshafts – with the screams of the miners mixed in. They had overrun the mine. How many of them were loose? Certainly, they numbered more than the few dozen he had expected. Nearly three hundred men worked the evening second shift in the mine, a lot of prey for the creatures.

  He and his men encountered only a handful of the giant insects along the way. To his astonishment, only one was a scorpion. The others were a menagerie of nightmares, ranging from huge, ugly, hairy spiders the size of large dogs, a fearless black beetle bigger than a man’s head, and cockroaches as large as his hand. After dispatching two of them with the automatic weapons, the others scurried away, as if sensing the weapons the men carried were dangerous.

  Reaching the crane, all they found of its operator were a hardhat, scraps of clothing, and a blood pool on the floor of the crane’s cabin. Bloody handprints smeared the windows. Duchamps ordered his men into the kibble, cranked the crane, and hopped aboard to join them, carrying the remote control for the crane. The remote only operated the winch, moving it up or down, but that was all he required. He shot one beetle that was climbing the ladder from the pit. It landed beneath the kibble, still wriggling. He smiled as the heavy bucket crushed it with a crunch and squishing sound.

  They encountered nothing along the Cerberus tunnel, but he entered the lava tube cautiously. The lava tube was free of the creatures just as he had planned. They were busy feeding in the mines. His companion’s eyes lit up when they saw the diamonds glittering in the walls. Now that he had delivered on his promise, they would follow him anywhere.

  Duchamps was certain there were more diamonds elsewhere in the lava tube. He regretted he didn’t have time for a proper search, but this wasn’t the time to be greedy. Greed could prove fatal. He didn’t want to become a victim of his own distraction. He would settle on a bulging knapsack full of the largest stones.

  With hand-held picks and rifle butts, they pried the raw diamonds from the walls, some as large as golf balls. Most were pure white stones. The larger ones he left for Verkhoen. They would be more difficult to dispose of. They had nearly completed their work when the first of the enormous insects charged out of the darkness with no warning. They quickly mowed down the first four or five of the beetles with their R4 automatic weapons. The remainder pulled back and watched from the safety of the rocks. They were getting smarter.

  He quickly discovered that giant beetles and scorpions weren’t the lava tube’s only denizens. Buzzing like a thousand electric shavers, a swarm of flies the size of sparrows descending on them; however, these flies had long beaks and sharp spines covering their bodies. Like giant mosquitoes, the flies dove at them, slipping between flailing arms to thrust their beaks into exposed flesh, sucking up as much blood as they could before a hand or fist connected with them. Even then, the sharp spines inflicted as much pain as their bite.

  Duchamps had had enough. Hefting his knapsack, he yelled, “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  Two of them dropped their picks and picked up their diamond-laden bags to follow him. One man, oblivious to the others fleeing, remained stubbornly at his task, attempting to free a particularly large stone from its stone cradle. Yanking it free, he held the diamond in his hand in triumph, smiling at his prize; then, realizing he was alone, picked up his knapsack and chased after them.

  Duchamps turned at the sound of a bloodcurdling scream. The man had been too slow. He went down with three of the beetles swarming over him, driving mandibles into his back. Duchamps stopped to fire a short burst at them, but it didn’t stop them from ripping the man to shreds. The others panicked. Duchamps saw his chance and rushed back to grab the man’s bag of diamonds, which had spilled on the ground. It broke his heart to abandon the loose stones, but the beetles had noticed him. He snatched up the knapsack, shot one of the creatures, and ran.

  “Keep together,” he yelled at the others. “Keep your weapons ready.”

  A swarm of creatures pursued them – beetles, giant flies, cockroaches, and a second flying insect resembling an armored wasp. Their speed surprised him. The beetles and cockroaches scurried nimbly over the piles of loose rocks, while the flying insects darted around them, weaving through the stalactites like aerial combat fighters. He and his remaining men reached the tunnel safely ahead of their pursuers, but he knew the creatures would easily overtake them. He tapped one man on the shoulder.

  “You, stay here and hold them while we get the kibble ready. Then, we’ll cover you as you run to us.”

  The man nodded, dropped his pack, and knelt with his weapon pointed toward the creatures rapidly approaching.

  “I’ll carry this for you,” Duchamps said, as he lifted the man’s diamonds onto his shoulder, “so it won’t slow you down.”

  The man stared at Duchamps for a moment but handed him his knapsack. Duchamps passed the partially filled bag to his companion and raced down the tunnel, as a rapid succession of shots rang out behind them. The fool, he thought. He has his rifle set on full auto. He’ll empty the magazine in seconds.

  “Do we stop for Bowers?” the other guard asked.

  “You can if you wish to,” Duchamps replied and continued running. The guard took only a second to make his choice and followed Duchamps as quickly as he could. Another half minute passed with rapid shooting; then, a loud scream reached them as the creatures overpowered Bowers.

  “Thank you, Bowers,” Duchamps whispered.

  Laden with his two heavy packs, he fell behind his companion, who had learned from Bowers’ example and did not intend to risk his life. When Duchamps reached the shaft, the guard had elected to climb the ladder rather than wait for him with the remote control. While he hauled himself up the ladder bearing his two cumbersome knapsacks of diamonds, Duchamp rode the kibble. Unlike the guard, whose two bags kept swinging wildly, throwing him off balance, he had anticipated the difficulty in climbing a one-hundred-ten-meter ladder burdened with a heavy load. As he passed the guard, Duchamps pointed below him. When the guard glanced back down the ladder, his face contorted with fear at the sight of several giant spiders in hot pursuit. He began clawing at the rungs at a frantic pace, but the spiders were faster. Still, he did not abandon his diamonds.

  Reaching the top of the pit, Duchamps stopped the wench and leaped from the kibble. He stopped to wait on the guard, not because he felt any comradeship with him, but because the guard carried a fortune in diamonds in his two knapsacks. However, when he determined that the race between man and creature would be down to the wire, living became more important than wealth. He abandoned his co-conspirator and sprinted down a narrow side tunnel leading to elevator number three.

  The guard climbed out of the pit half a minute later and bounded after him. Three spiders rushed out of the pit on his heels. Duchamps knew the guard would never make it. Each of the spiders’ hops covered two meters. The guard saw the direction of Duchamp’s gaze and turned to look over his shoulder. He didn’t have time to fire his weapon. Two of the spiders bore him to the ground and mad
e quick work of him, pumping him full of poison, and ripping their dagger-like fangs into his liquefying flesh. The latecomer spider joined in the bloody feast.

  Duchamps stopped and watched with morbid fascination as the creatures fed. He waited until the spiders were engrossed with their meal, and then killed them with short controlled bursts from his rifle. He recovered the pair of knapsacks, dragged all four bags a short way down the tunnel, and loaded them onto the back on an electric maintenance cart. Keeping a close eye behind him in case the spiders decided on a new victim, he unplugged the cart from the charging station, hit the starter button, and headed for the elevator as fast as the cart would go.

  The cart carried him two kilometers to Elevator #3, a secondary elevator shaft used mainly for moving freight. The elevator went only as high as 20 Level, but when the excitement died down, he could make his escape through the main elevator. Worst-case scenario, he would find an airshaft and climb out, hauling his load up the shaft one bag at a time. He knew the placement of every motion sensor and every camera. The sensors would be useless as evening fell and the bats emerged from the shaft for their nightly feeding. He could slip out the airshaft while the authorities were cleaning up the little bug infestation problem he had left them.

  He chuckled at the audacity of his plan. The fool Verkhoen could have the mine. He would wind up rich, and Verkhoen would wind up with dozens of deaths to explain to the Board of Directors and the police. He would be lucky if he didn’t wind up in prison with some big hairy bruiser drilling him like a boy toy just because he looked so damn pretty.

  The #3 elevator was clear of creatures. He rode it to 30 Level and got off. A nearby drill bit room would provide him the perfect place to hide out until things quieted. The occasional scream still echoed up the shaft over the blare of the evacuation alarm. Duchamps smiled. His plan was working perfectly.

  12

  July 5, 2016, 8:20 p.m. Protea Hotel, Klerksdorp, South Africa –

  After leaving the Shack, Alan retreated to the solitude of his hotel room. He turned off his cell phone and took the hotel phone off the hook. He didn’t want to see or speak to anyone. He was exhausted, angry, and racked by guilt. He wanted to hold a private self-pity party, and he didn’t need witnesses. What should have been a successful live trial of the Cerberus AT10 had turned into a horror story. Vince was dead, as well as seven security guards and two electricians, killed by giant, prehistoric insects. He had been so eager for a sale that he had allowed Verkhoen to use him. Events were spiraling out of his control, and the only solution he could think of was to run away, as he had his failed marriage. Father will be proud of me.

  He was disgusted with himself. He looked around for the wine bottle from the night before, hoping there might be a few dregs left to drown his sorrows, but the maid had taken it when she cleaned the room. He could always order another bottle, but that wouldn’t make things any clearer.

  A knock at the door drew a silent curse from him. “Go away,” he yelled.

  After a second knock, a voice said, “It is Klaus Verkhoen, Mister Hoffman. May I come in?”

  “Perfect timing,” Alan muttered, irritated at being disturbed.

  He got up and opened the door. Verkhoen, dressed as if going to a board meeting, stepped inside. Without waiting for an invitation, he sat down in a wingback chair by the window and threw his leg over the arm. Alan sat on the edge of the bed, placing as much distance between as possible in the confines of the room. He frowned when Verkhoen pulled a monogrammed, gold cigarette case from his breast pocket. He wondered what the M in the initials KMV stood for.

  “Do you mind if I have a skyf?” he asked.

  Alan had insisted on a non-smoking room. Going cold turkey was difficult enough without smelling someone else’s old smoke in the pillows and the carpet. Verkhoen didn’t wait for his answer. He fished out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. Lighting it with a gold cigarette lighter that matched his case, he inhaled, and then exhaled a cloud of smoke, which drifted tantalizingly near Alan. The aroma of burning tobacco corroded his willpower. He almost waved the smoke toward him to take in a lungful.

  “Go ahead,” he said. Verkhoen ignored him. “You didn’t waste much time getting down here. I suppose Duchamps has kept you informed.”

  At the mention of Duchamps’ name, he noticed a slight twitch in the corner of Verkhoen’s mouth, but Verkhoen said nothing. Instead, he opened his cigarette case and offered Alan a cigarette. As much as he wanted one, he declined. If it had been anyone but Verkhoen offering, he might have accepted.

  “Yes, Duchamps has contacted me about the incident,” Verkhoen replied. “That is why I came down from Pretoria.”

  “Incident? You call enough corpses to start a baseball team an incident?”

  “The deaths are regrettable, of course, but entirely beyond our control. In a way, it was like a freak of nature. Now, about your machine. The Cerberus performed beyond my expectations. I am well pleased.”

  Alan tried not to grin at Verkhoen’s rapid switch of topics. The deaths did not interest him, only the success of the Cerberus. “Thank you.”

  Verkhoen waved his hand to dismiss Alan’s gratitude. “It is a fact. I will submit an order for three of the machines to your headquarters, as I promised. They will substantially reduce mining costs. I believe the mine can once again become profitable. On my recommendation, other companies will follow suit. You will soon be a rich man.”

  “It won’t make up for Vince’s death.”

  Verkhoen crushed his cigarette into the top of the desk. Alan’s gaze followed the wisp of smoke rising from the stub, wanting badly to pick the stub up and toke it back to life.

  “Your engineer’s death, as well as the deaths of my security personnel, was unforeseeable.”

  “Really? I think you knew what we would find.”

  Verkhoen glared at him but remained calm. His supercilious attitude rubbed Alan the wrong way. He wanted very badly to leap up and slap Verkhoen silly. The svelte, muscular Boer might beat him senseless, but it would feel good to get in a couple of good licks. Instead, Verkhoen said, “Is that an accusation of some kind?”

  “You had to know about the void. You used my Cerberus because the rock was too soft for conventional mining. You tried that twice before and failed.”

  He waited for Verkhoen’s reaction, but the CEO disappointed him.

  “You’ve been listening to Doctor Means’ distorted version of history. Do not let her beauty sway you. She is a vindictive woman.” Before Alan could object, he continued, “As far as the lava tube, yes, I knew about it. We discovered it with a deep-penetrating ground scan. The chance it contained diamonds was too much to pass up. I need operating capital. If anyone learned of their existence, I could be in the courts for decades until ownership was established. I didn’t have time.”

  “Did you know about the insects?”

  Verkhoen sighed. “I swear I knew nothing about them. Who could have even conceived of such creatures?”

  As much as he wanted Verkhoen to be guilty, he believed him. Whatever else the CEO had done, he hadn’t known of the existence of the insects.

  “We’re leaving tomorrow morning. I’ll leave the Cerberus here. You can have it as your first delivery. I’ll knock off a couple of hundred thousand because the paint’s scratched.”

  Verkhoen nodded. “That is satisfactory. I will pay full price. However, before you leave, I have a proposition for you.”

  “Not interested.”

  “Not even for, say, thirty million dollars.”

  Alan caught his breath. “Thirty … million?” He stumbled over the word million.

  “Yes. I must reach the diamonds before the authorities began an inquiry into the deaths. Even with my pull, I cannot avoid that. Doctor Means is going to make things difficult. From Duchamps’ estimates, the diamonds he saw are worth over 1.75 billion ZAR. That is one-hundred-fifty-million U.S. Dollars. I will give you twenty percent of their value, in
gold bullion if you wish. That comes to just under thirty million dollars at current exchange rates. I will make it an even thirty to make conversion easier.”

  “Just what do I have to do to earn this, er, bribe?”

  “It is not a bribe. It is a fee. I must recover the diamonds. Those creatures infest the lava tube. I do not have enough manpower to do kill them with conventional weapons, and of course, explosives are out of the question. Your machine’s laser has already proved its effectiveness at eliminating them. Use your remarkable machine to protect my men while they recover the diamonds, and I will pay you thirty million dollars. It is an aboveboard transaction, not a bribe.”

  Alan shoulders slumped and he hung his head. Verkhoen was untrustworthy, but how could he refuse an offer of thirty million dollars. Hoffman Industries badly needed money to begin production of the Cerberus AT10. For the first few years, capital would be tight. The diamonds were Verkhoen’s, at least as far as he was concerned. He wouldn’t ask his father’s opinion. He was afraid his father would refuse on principle. They couldn’t afford to be so cavalier; besides, Vince’s parents needed some kind of compensation for his death.

  Before he committed himself to a bargain that he was certain he would live to regret, he tried one last tactic, a graceful way out that didn’t involve him turning down thirty million dollars.

  “You have Cerberus. Why not use your engineers and save a butt load of cash?”

  “It will take too long for them to become acquainted with its operation. I must act swiftly. I need you.”

  He wasn’t sure if he felt relieved by Verkhoen’s insistence on hiring him; or upset that the decision was back on his shoulders. He sighed. “Okay, I’ll do it, but only me. I won’t endanger any more of my men, and I won’t hunt down the insects. I’ll keep them out of your men’s hair until they finish the job, but then we seal the lava tube for good.”