by JE Gurley
Eve stared at him aghast at his actions.
“Come on,” he said, urging her upslope of the lava tube.
She resisted. “Where are we going?”
“The only place where we might have a chance,” he replied.
18
July 6, 2016, 6:05 a.m. Ngomo Mine, the Lava Tube –
Alan hurried Eve, Tells, and Sandersohn up the lava tube. He wished he didn’t have to risk their lives in his mad plan to destroy the ebony nightmares and seal the tunnel, but events had taken the choice from him. If he could lure the creatures into the magma chamber, the others might escape through the crack back into the mine. It was their only chance. He didn’t hold out such hope for him.
Verkhoen stumbled along behind them, assisted by the sole surviving security guard. Why the man helped the boss he despised, he didn’t know, unless Verkhoen had sweetened the pot with more money. He didn’t know how fast the ebony creatures could move, but he suspected they were faster than Tells could manage. The only reason the creatures had not overtaken them was that they were toying with them, like a cat with a mouse. The creatures could pounce on them at any moment from the darkness.
No sooner had he thought of the creatures, than he felt their dark presence in his mind, hunting them, trying to weave a spell over them. Verkhoen stiffened and shoved the guard away, clutching his precious case with one arm, and cradling his weapon with the other. The others felt it as well and stopped running.
“Keep moving,” he yelled, trying to break through the creatures’ hypnotic spell. He shoved Sandersohn in the back to get him moving.
The guard stood, pivoting his entire upper torso, as he swung his flashlight and his weapon back and forth across the width of the lava tube behind him, searching for a target. After a full minute passed, he relaxed his stance, glanced at Verkhoen, and shrugged his shoulders. He had forgotten to think in three dimensions. As one of the creatures fell on him from the roof of the tunnel, he managed one quick burst with his rifle before disappearing into the black shroud of death. He didn’t even have time to scream.
Watching the guard die, Verkhoen lost all semblance of rational thinking. He backed against the wall of the lava tube, hugging it as if the rock would absorb him and hide him from the creatures. He began jabbering in a mixture of Afrikaans, English, and Zulu, wailing, “Intulo! Intulo!”
The creature stopped consuming the guard and regarded him with its cold, dark eyes.
Alan picked up a large rock and tossed it to the opposite side of the tube, hoping to distract it. At the same time, he yelled to Verkhoen, motioning for the terrified CEO to run toward him.
“Verkhoen! Come on.”
Verkhoen stared at Alan without comprehension; then, he began running back down the lava tube toward the Cerberus.
“No, you fool,” Alan shouted. “Come with us.”
Verkhoen ignored him, disappearing into the darkness still babbling.
“Stupid son of a bitch,” he muttered.
The millipede returned to its grizzly meal. He hoped it took the creature a while to digest its human prey, giving them a chance to place some distance between the creatures and them.
* * * *
By the time they had covered the two kilometers back to the crack in the wall, Alan knew they could never escape the creatures that way. Doctor Tells was exhausted, barely able to remain on his feet. They had all pushed themselves beyond their limits, but the aged doctor had no reserve left to draw upon. He could go no farther without rest. Alan knew Eve would never abandon her colleague, not even to save her own life. It was an admirable trait in theory, but it would cost her life in practice.
Alan had changed his mind about Sandersohn. At first, he had thought him supercilious and a whiner, but he had discovered that the young, outspoken paleozoologist possessed a remarkable capacity for compassion his acerbic demeanor belied. He watched over his older companion like a mother hen.
Alan walked over to Tells to assess his condition. “Doctor Tells, how are you holding up?”
Tells was perspiring heavily, pale, and gasping for breath, but he smiled. “If I survive, this will make an interesting chapter in my new book.”
“We’ll make it,” Sandersohn said, holding onto Tells. He glanced at the narrow, twisting crack in the wall; arriving at the same conclusion Alan had pertaining to Tells. “Which way now?”
Alan didn’t respond. He was hesitant to reveal his bold, perhaps foolhardy plan. Instead, he asked, “Do you have any idea what those creatures are?
He shook his head. “No, there has never been any fossil record of it, but there wouldn’t be, would there? They resemble millipedes, but I suspect the similarity ends there.” He shook his head. “The others – the mandibulates, the arthropleura millipedes, the meganeura dragonflies, even the mollusks and snails you saw – are evident in the Pennsylvania Epoch sedimentary layers of the Late Carboniferous Period, about three-hundred million years ago. Whether this creature, this meta-millipede, is from that period or much older, I cannot say. I do know, from what I’ve seen that this creature could have been responsible for the disappearance of whole orders of species, such as the Permian-Triassic extinction.”
“If this creature has survived the changing of the continents,” Doctor Tells broke in, “it could be responsible for the mass elimination of many species. There have been five major extinction events through history – the Ordovician-Silurian, in which over fifty percent of all life forms vanished. Before the Ordovician, there were no creatures with skeletons or hard shells, so there would be no fossil record. Next, the Devonian, in which most fish and many species of trilobites and reef-building organisms vanished. The Permian-Triassic two-hundred-fifty million years ago, of which Doctor Sandersohn spoke, saw the elimination of seventy percent of all terrestrial vertebrates and ninety-six percent of all marine species. Most insect species did not survive it. The Triassic-Jurassic extinction saw the end of the large amphibians and archosaurs. The last, the Cretaceous-Tertiary, heralded the end of the dinosaurs and the advance of mammals.”
Alan marveled that Tells, moments earlier on his last legs, seemed to perk up as he spoke, putting his misery and fatigue aside for scientific debate. “I thought an asteroid killed the dinosaurs.”
“Asteroid, disease, severe climate change, or our ebony friends – who knows? Considering what we have witnessed, I suggest our meta-millipedes are quite capable.”
Sandersohn interrupted. “You still haven’t said what your plan is.”
Alan sighed. He couldn’t postpone it any longer. “I intend to draw the creatures into the swamp and blow them up with dynamite.”
Eve was aghast. “You only have a few minutes of fuse left. You could never …” Then, as the implication hit her, she stared at him. “You were going to sacrifice yourself.”
He didn’t want her to think him heroic or foolish. “We can’t let these things get out of here, no matter the cost. However dangerous the insects are, these creatures are infinitely worse.”
“My good man,” Tells said. “I am an old man and unlikely to make it out of here under any circumstances. Show me what you intended to do and lead these people to safety. If I learn one new thing at the moment of my death, I will consider dying a small price to pay.”
“My idea, my responsibility,” he answered.
“No,” Eve said. “I’m not going back into that hole again. I’m going with you. I want to see the swamp. I am a biologist.”
“I’m not going back alone,” Sandersohn said. “I guess I’m playing tourist as well.”
“Damn it all!” Alan snapped, frustrated by their obstinacy. “Is everyone here crazy? If my idea doesn’t work, and in all likelihood it won’t, we’ll all die a horrible death.”
“One for all,” Tells said, chuckling slightly.
Alan shook his head. “We’re not Musketeers. I can’t make you leave, but I had hoped you, Eve, were intelligent enough to at least make the attempt.”
She
squeezed Alan’s hand. “I lost one man four years ago and wished every minute since that I had been with him at the end. I won’t go through that again.”
Looking into her eyes, he allowed her to persuade him, though he knew he would regret it. “You win. We don’t have much time.”
“You cannot kill Intulo. It is a god.”
Startled by the strange voice, Alan turned so quickly he almost fell. He didn’t understand the language, but he recognized Intulo as the word Verkhoen had repeated when he saw the ebony creature. The speaker stood in the shadows of a small alcove in the tunnel wall. He stepped out, revealing a tall, thin black man wearing a tattered, white t-shirt and blue pants. Long gashes streaked his left arm, which he held limp at his side. His curly black hair lay melted against his scalp on one side of his head, and a livid burn marked his right cheek and neck.
“Who are you?” Alan asked.
The man stared at him.
“He’s speaking Zulu,” Sandersohn said. “I’ll try to find out who he is, although my Zulu is a bit rusty.” He faced the stranger. “Sabuwona.”
The man nodded.
“I told him ‘I see you’. It’s a traditional Zulu greeting. Ngubani ijama lakho?”
“Ntulli Masowe.”
Alan’s anger rose as he recognized the name. “You were with Vince,” he growled, taking a step toward the missing security guard they had all thought dead. “Did you kill him?”
Sandersohn stepped between them, translated Alan’s question, and relayed Masowe’s reply. “No, the scorpions killed him, as they almost did me.”
Alan wasn’t sure he believed him. “How did you survive?”
“He ran faster than the creatures.”
“You left Vince there to die,” Alan accused.
At this Masowe shook his head. He seemed genuinely offended by the accusation. “No, he was already dead,” he answered in English, surprising both Alan and Sandersohn. “The explosion and sheet of flame when I fired my pistol stunned the creatures attacking me long enough to get away. They chased me, but I left false blood trails until they gave up.”
“What did you mean Intulo?” Tells asked. “According to Zulu legend, Intulo is half-man/half-reptile.”
Masowe laughed. “Intulo is a dark god, a bringer of death. As a god, it can take any form it wishes.”
Eve leaned closer to Alan. “I think he’s feverish from his wound.”
He whispered in return, “Maybe he’s just crazy. He’s been down here in the dark with these things for three days.” He turned to Masowe. “How have you managed to survive down here?”
Masowe pointed toward the magma chamber cavern. “By hiding in Uhlanga.”
“The swamp?” Alan asked.
Masowe nodded. “Unkulunkulu, the Ancient One who created the Zulu people, lives in Uhlanga. He protects me.”
“Every African culture has its creation myth,” Tells said. “The Bushongo Bantu believe in Bomba, who vomited up the sun. The Ethiopians have Wak, who lives in the clouds.”
Masowe took a menacing step toward Tells, snarling. “Unkulunkulu is God,” he said. “He is no myth.”
Sandersohn raised his rifle. Masowe glowered at him but did not retreat. Alan raised his arms in the air. “No one wants to harm you. Can you show us where you hide in the swamp?”
Masowe shuffled his feet, staring first down the tunnel toward Intulo, and then toward the swamp. He nodded. “But Unkulunkulu will not protect you. You are nomlungu, white men.”
“We’ll take our chances,” Sandersohn quipped.
Without waiting to see if they followed, Masowe set off at a fast trot toward the swamp.
Alan shrugged. “We don’t have much to lose.”
He helped Sandersohn with Tells, who was indignant at their insistence in assisting him. “I can manage,” he said in a chiding voice.
“We don’t want you to get lost,” Alan replied.
When they caught up with Masowe, he stood on the lip of the slope leading down into the swamp. Alan saw no living creatures or edible plants.
“How do you survive? What do you eat?”
“Isibankwa esincane.” He smiled and pointed to a pile of rocks. Looking more closely, Alan spotted the slight movement of small reptiles.”
“Amniotes,” Eve said with wonder in her voice, “some of the first reptiles hatched from eggs. They must have entered the cavern system hundreds of millions of years after the insects.”
Tells took a deep breath. “Taste the air. One theory for the gigantism of Carboniferous insects of the Pennsylvanian Epoch is its markedly higher oxygen content. The swamp plants might account for the increase.” He pushed away from Sandersohn and Alan. “I feel invigorated. Please allow me to enter Uhlanga alone.”
19
July 6, 2016, 6:30 a.m. Ngomo Mine, the Shack –
Trace worked feverishly, but took no shortcuts. He and Alan had designed the fiber optic cable connecting the Cerberus computer to the tether box to be both flexible and durable for the rough handling they expected the machine to endure. However, the circuitry relaying the myriad of signals from the micro-servers in the control panel to the tether box was not. They were in essence, the ganglia and axioms of the machine’s brain, serving the same function, except they controlled hydraulic pumps and micro-actuators instead of muscle. The spider web network of delicate, fragile wires would not tolerate rough handling. It was delicate work.
At last, the job was finished. He panned the camera but saw nothing within range of the Cerberus’ lights. He still had no audio, but that could have been a physical problem on the Cerberus end. He sat watching for half an hour. Finally, fearing to leave the Shack in case Alan needed him, he used the password Bill had given him for the mine’s security cameras. Many of the cameras weren’t working, but by switching from level to level, he discovered the mine was a ghost town. He saw no miners. Drills, mining locos, lunch pails, hard hats, and explosives carts, all hastily abandoned. He saw no security personnel. The military had met fierce resistance deeper in the mine and pulled back to the upper levels to regroup. They stood around in confused groups near elevators and ventilation tunnels waiting for orders.
He saw scores of corpses and partially dismembered human skeletons, enough to give him an idea of the bloodbath below the ground. The insects had caught the miners unaware and wreaked havoc on them. Jackhammers, picks, shovels, and bare hands proved no match for the creatures. The various species of insects had staked out individual territories. The beetles remained in the lower levels, while the spiders had taken up residence in 60 Level and above. Millipedes preferred the airshafts. The scorpion-like mandibulates haunted the first and second levels, but they were few in number. As he watched, one of the creatures dashed from an airshaft. It disintegrated beneath a hail of SADF automatic weapons’ fire. The young soldiers seemed relieved to have a target to shoot at.
At a brief flicker of movement on the Cerberus’ monitor screen, he abandoned the security cameras. A shadow fell across the screen. He panned the camera and adjusted the focus. The ebony creature slid from the shadows and undulated across his field of view before disappearing upslope of the lava tube. It moved with such speed, he had no time to start the laser array for a shot at it. He hoped it was moving away from Alan and the others.
He continued his repairs, but uncertainty about Alan’s situation plagued his mind. When he glimpsed a tall figure on the monitor screen emerging from the shadows, his pulse raced. Alan, he thought. He dropped his tools and tried the audio. The sound of heavy footsteps reached him before he was able to identify the person. He called out over the speaker, “Alan. It’s good to see …”
Verkhoen poked his face into the camera. His face and shirt were drenched with perspiration, and his chest heaved with heavy breathing, as if he had been running. His pallid complexion and wild, restless eyes spooked Trace. “Let me out!” he yelled. “It’s coming.”
“Where’s Alan?”
“Dead.”
&n
bsp; The single word, delivered so dispassionately by Verkhoen confirmed his darkest fear. A dark, sinister cloud enveloped his mind, threatening to overwhelm him. “What happened?”
“The creatures,” Verkhoen shouted, staring back up the lava tube. “Move this thing and let me out.”
Trace hesitated. Why was Verkhoen alone? “What about the others?”
Verkhoen stared directly into the camera, but his eyes remained unfocused, jerking spasmodically from side to side. They were the eyes of a man driven half-mad by fright. His voice rose in volume until it became a shrill screech. “Dead,” he moaned. “Dead. They’re all dead, all dead, all dead,” he repeated.
Trace groaned in anguish. Alan had risked his life to save Eve Means, and now they were both dead. Alan, Bill, Vince – the only people he cared about were all dead.
“Move this thing!” Verkhoen yelled. He was frantic, pounding on the camera with both fists, causing the image to shake. He was afraid Verkhoen would break the lens. As much as he despised the man, he had to let Verkhoen out. He couldn’t let the creatures kill him too. He backed the Cerberus away from the opening. It was still moving as Verkhoen squeezed through the narrow gap he created. Trace panned the camera to watch Verkhoen race down the tunnel. Then, feeling he could do no more, he resealed the opening.
He leaned back in his chair, drained of all sense of purpose. The price of success had been much too high. What would he say to Alan’s parents? He gazed at the scene of carnage that had been the control trailer. South Africa had seen too much bloodshed in its sordid past. It seemed to be a trend carrying into the future as well. Shipping the ill-fated Shack back to Nevada might introduce shades of the past. It was up to Alan’s father, of course, but if it were his call, he would burn the Shack to the ground, scatter the ashes to the wind, and leave South Africa with only his laptop and toothbrush. And a signed contract from Verkhoen for three Cerberus AT10s, he added.
20
July 6, 2016, 6:00 a.m. Ngomo Mine, 60 Level –