Intulo: The Lost World

by JE Gurley

  Duchamps stumbled as he stepped out of the elevator. His legs were growing numb, and a gray mist filled his vision. Almost as thick as the fog in my brain, he thought, joking at his sardonic joke. The millipede venom, poisonous or not, was affecting him in peculiar ways. He could barely lift his arms much less carry the diamonds. He glanced back at the elevator and his four knapsacks of stolen riches. They were useless to him now. Verkhoen had gotten his revenge by locking down the elevators, trapping him with the creatures he had allowed to escape. The irony was not lost on him.

  He shambled to an emergency station beside the elevator and fumbled with the catch to open a first-aid kit attached to a wall. He rifled its contents, shoving most of them to the floor, until he located a single-dose hypo of adrenaline. He jammed it against his arm and pressed it home. The adrenaline hit his system quickly, forcing back part of the gray mist. If the millipede venom was poisonous, the adrenaline wouldn’t save his life, but it might keep him functioning long enough for rescuers to find him and transport him to medical treatment. Survival had now become more important to him than riches.

  He had no doubt the SADF or the SAPS would come eventually. He had been instrumental in setting up the protocols for the army and police in case of a mine catastrophe. He had planned to use the confusion of their arrival to mask his escape. Now, he needed them.

  He poured hydrogen peroxide over the gash in his chest, fighting to keep from screaming at the pain and attracting unwanted attention from insects. Once the burning subsided, he placed a gauze pad over the wound and taped it in place. With shaking hands, he did a poor job at it, but it would have to do for now.

  He needed to get his bearings. He was back on 60 Level, two-hundred meters deeper in the mine. He laughed at the irony. He was back where he had started. He couldn’t use the elevators to escape the mine. That left one of the airshafts. The climb would be impossible hauling sixty kilos of diamonds, especially in his weakened condition. He could barely walk. He would have to stash them some place safe and devise a way to return for them later. He chose several of the more valuable stones and stuffed them in his pockets for traveling money to get him out of South Africa.

  He tried dragging the knapsacks, but his hands couldn’t maintain their grip. He connected the bags end-to-end by their straps and looped one of the straps over his chest. He leaned into his makeshift harness like a lead dog in a dogsled team. It took all his strength, but he dragged the knapsacks a short way down the corridor to a caged area used to store used pumps and lengths of pipe. He came close to passing out from the effort. His hands were growing number and each breath hurt his chest.

  He fell to his knees in front of the chicken-wire enclosure, fighting the lethargy draining his willpower to continue, as he gasped for air. He surveyed the enclosure, searching for a safe hiding place for his diamonds. Most of the pumps were rusty and beyond repair. Like the stack of used pipes removed during water line refits, they awaited pickup for the recycling plant. He wasn’t worried about discovery. Most of the junk had lain there since he started working at the mine fifteen years earlier.

  Choosing a pump farthest from the door partially stripped for parts, he removed the diamonds from the knapsacks, and shoveled them with his hands into the empty impeller housing, filling it to the level of the intake pipe. He stuffed the empty knapsacks on top of them and piled rusted metal parts against intake opening. Satisfied they would avoid a cursory search, he left.

  The nearest airshaft with an emergency ladder was almost a kilometer away. The mine was crawling with killer giant insects, and he had only a single magazine of ammunition left. If he couldn’t find a discarded weapon along the way, he would never make it. He kept one hand on the shaft wall as he walked to keep from falling. The shaft was strangely silent. A few times, he heard small sounds farther down side tunnels and stopped moving to avoid making a sound, but he met no survivors or insects. Evidence of their carnage abounded: human bones but no whole skeletons; a few obscenely shrunken, silk-wrapped mummies; pools of dried blood. His curiosity at the alarming number of pieces of chitinous insect carapaces passed quickly. Whatever had killed them didn’t concern him. Dead bugs were good bugs.

  He reached the airshaft without incident. He stared into the darkness above his head and cringed. When he reached inside, his hand slipped off the first rung. He tried again, but his hands wouldn’t cooperate. The millipede toxin was coursing through his body. He knew he would never be able to climb up the shaft. He sat down in front of the airshaft vent with his back to the wall.

  Through the mist of his vision, he saw a human figure moving toward him. He didn’t care if it was a frightened miner or the SAPS come to arrest him. He called out.

  “Help me.”

  The shadowy figure answered, “Where are my diamonds, Duchamps?”

  Duchamps hung his head in defeat. Verkhoen had beaten him after all. He stared up his ex-boss, trying to focus on his face through the mist of his failing vision. Verkhoen had a R4 rifle pointed at his stomach. He noticed Verkhoen was no longer the pristine clotheshorse. Instead of the usual jumpsuit that most people wore in the mines, Verkhoen’s wrinkled, dirt-smeared suit pants and ripped, bloodstained white shirt made him look like a vagabond tramp. His tie and suit coat were missing.

  “You look like shit, Verkhoen,” Duchamps chuckled. “Are you lost?”

  “You stole my diamonds, Duchamps, and then you tried to shut down my mine. Give me my diamonds.”

  Duchamps laughed. “I’ll tell you where they are if you want them, but you’ll have to fight your way through a mess of giant, slimy insects to get to them.”

  He knew about Verkhoen’s phobia and wanted to watch the ruthless CEO squirm at the thought of insects. To his surprise, Verkhoen smiled at him.

  “There are worse things down here than the insects, Duchamps, much worse.”

  “What things?”

  “The devil himself. I know. I’ve seen him. He’s coming for you, Duchamps.”

  Verkhoen’s strange manner made him nervous. He glanced up the airshaft but saw nothing. He nodded at the case sitting at Verkhoen’s feet. “I see you brought along a few sparklers.” He patted his pocket. “I have a few more. If we join forces, we can help each other out of here. Once we’re topside, we go our separate ways. You keep the diamonds and the mine, and I don’t tell the authorities what you’ve been doing. Just let me keep these few.”

  “I could simply shoot you and take all the diamonds,” Verkhoen replied. “No one would care.”

  “If you shoot, you’ll attract a horde of insects and spiders.”

  This time, his mention of insects had the desired effect. Verkhoen glanced about furtively. His hands shook. He was on the edge. Duchamps knew if he pushed just a little harder, the former tyrant would fold like a beach umbrella in a gale.

  “Are you more afraid of this creature you mentioned or of Alan Hoffman?”

  Verkhoen’s hand steadied. His eyes narrowed and focused on Duchamps. Duchamps realized too late that he had pushed Verkhoen too far. The smile that creased his lips was more vicious than the snarl of an enraged lion.

  “Then I must give the bugs something to hold their attention,” he said, and then squeezed the trigger.

  A searing pain exploded in Duchamps’ right side. He glanced at the bright red blood staining his shirt and running down his pants leg and recognized arterial blood. “Shit,” he mumbled. He stared at Verkhoen in disbelief.

  Verkhoen cupped his hand to his ear and cocked his head to one side, grinning. “I hear them, Duchamps. They’re answering my dinner bell. They’re coming for you”

  “You bloody bastard.”

  “You can keep the diamonds in your pocket to pay for the ferry ride across the River Styx. I’ll be back for the others. You hid them somewhere. I’ll turn my mine upside if I have to find them. They belong to me. But first, I have to clean house.”

  Guessing Verkhoen’s plan, Duchamps stared at him incredulous. “You intend to fl
ood the mine.”

  “The rushing water will sweep these creatures back to hell, and erase any incriminating evidence. Don’t worry. You won’t drown. I think you’ll be dead long before the water reaches you.”

  The sound of insects echoed from down the tunnel. Duchamps panicked. “Shoot me, Verkhoen,” he pleaded. “Don’t leave me here for these monsters.”

  Verkhoen place a finger to his lips. “Hush, now, and maybe they won’t find you.” He burst into a big grin. “No, wait, they can smell blood. Maybe you should stop bleeding, Duchamps.”

  “I hope you die slowly, Verkhoen.”

  “That’s the way you’ll die, Duchamps.” He paused. All traces of rancor vanished, replaced by a deep, resonating fear that showed in his eyes. “Unless the black nightmare creatures reach you first.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t wish that on even you, Duchamps.”

  He crawled inside the vent and began climbing the ladder with one hand, holding onto the case with the other. He leaned over and looked back at Duchamps. “You shouldn’t have broken your leash, Duchamps. You let this mad venture of yours screw you up the ass.”

  “Fuck you, Verkhoen!” he shouted.

  The skittering grew louder, coming from both directions. He raised his rifle and laid it across his lap. He had only a handful of bullets left, not enough, but the thought of killing himself didn’t enter his mind. That was giving up. He would fight the bastards until they tore him apart.

  The lights began flickering, and then went out. The mineshaft instantly became as dark as the inside of a nun’s habit. He laughed. “Bliksem,” he said in Afrikaans. “Fuck it.”

  21

  July 6, 2016, 8:45 a.m. Magma chamber, Ngomo Volcano –

  Masowe showed them a winding path down the side of the magma chamber. Small lizards and smaller versions of the giant insects scurried between crevasses in the rocks. Partially dissolved or shattered insect carapaces lay scattered over the steep slope, discarded remnants of past meals. Late to the feast but eager to participate, tiny scavengers crawled over the husks seeking any remaining tidbits of food. The ground teemed with cockroaches, some as large as the palm of Alan’s hand. Unlike their darkness loving, beneath-the-oven-scurrying, topside counterparts, these roaches had no fear of man. They scampered around and over Alan’s boots. Disgusted by their presence, he kicked at them. They dodged his flailing boot but otherwise ignored him.

  Small pools of water connected by narrow channels formed a large lagoon. Clouds of insects the size of dust motes swirled over the water’s dark surface. Occasionally, a large flying insect or an even larger dragonfly would glide through the formation, scooping up mouthfuls of insects like a whale through a school of fish, temporarily leaving a clear wake in its path that quickly filled in. The water moved sluggishly, like molasses on a frigid day. Alan suspected the liquid was more proto-petroleum than water, heavily laden with a stew of organic compounds and dissolved gasses. Churned by the movement of unseen denizens below the surface, ripples spread in concentric circles, holding their shapes for a disconcerting length of time. Bubbles of methane gas ballooned from the surface, becoming unnaturally large before bursting and releasing their contents.

  Interspersed among the ponds, clinging to the ribbons of dark earth between them, tall trees looking remarkably like the scrub junipers and pinion pines found on the slopes of the Sierra Madres harbored a host of insects and lizards scampering among their foliage. Their noise died as Alan’s group approached.

  The air grew warmer and more humid as they descended, becoming a sweltering sauna. He had once visited Okefenokee Swamp in Georgia. There as here, the hot, humid air trapped by the dense tree canopy, or in this case the cavern roof, created an inhospitable environment. The air smelled the same as well – ripe with the heavy, earthy stench of rotting vegetation and reeking of swamp gas.

  “The swamp is a cauldron,” he said to the others, “probably heated by a second, deeper chamber filled with molten magma.”

  He noticed no one was listening. Sandersohn calmly scribbled notes on his iPad as he walked, while Eve stopped every few dozen steps to snap photographs with her cell phone. There was no sense of urgency in any of them. Bedazzled by the thrill of discovery, they had forgotten what followed them. Or what lies ahead, he reminded himself.

  The higher oxygen content of the magma chamber invigorated him, urging him to walk faster in spite of the oppressive heat. He resisted the impulse and remained with the others. Despite his weakened condition, Doctor Tells refused any assistance. He rested his weight on boulders and fallen plants to maintain his precarious balance on the steep path. His pace was excruciatingly slow, especially for Masowe, who stopped often to look back and scowl.

  “Where are we going?” Alan asked Masowe.

  The security guard pointed to a grove of trees. “There. Beyond the trees is a cave. We will be safe there.”

  Alan studied the trees more carefully. Now he could see the conifers bore only a faint resemblance to the ones with which he was familiar. Others looked more like giant ferns. Sandersohn walked up beside him.

  “The tallest plants are lepidodendrons. Some of them are thirty-meters tall. The ones that look like Christmas trees are cordaites, a primitive conifer. The giant horsetail ferns are calamites and the smaller ones are filicales. They remained relatively unchanged to the present day. The vines are phenophyllales. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” he added.

  “It reminds me of a photo of a northern Australian forest,” Alan replied.

  Sandersohn smiled. “You’re not far off. The Gondwana Rain Forest in Australia contains plants very similar to fossil records of plants living when Gondwana was a continent. To see them as they were is … awe inspiring.”

  “Like Daniel Boone once said, ‘I hardly ever looked at a tree except to see if there was an Indian behind it or a bear in it.’ I’m more worried about what we might find.”

  Sandersohn glanced behind him. “Yes, I see. Those … creatures confound me. They are impossible, yet they exist. One can readily imagine what other exotic wonders nature created, which did not survive the upheaval of the continents or leave a fossil record.”

  “You call it an exotic wonder. I think it’s a monster from hell.”

  “It is Intulo,” Masowe called out, “a demon.”

  “I won’t argue the point,” Alan replied. “The problem is surviving until we can deal with it.”

  Sandersohn looked at him questioningly. “How do you propose to deal with them?”

  Alan sniffed the air. “Smell that? Methane. The lagoon is full of it, as well as other flammable chemicals. A layer of combustible gas covers the entire bottom of the magma chamber. The higher oxygen content of the air will magnify the force of even a small explosion. I propose to seal the creatures in here with dynamite if not kill them outright.”

  Sandersohn shook. “You’re mad. You’ll kill us all.”

  “We’re dead anyway. Those things are toying with us. They could easily have killed us all by now. We’ll never get past them.”

  “I refuse to believe there is no hope,” Sandersohn insisted.

  “You were pretty damn certain we were dying earlier,” Alan said.

  Eve placed her hand on the distraught paleozoologist’s shoulder. “We can’t allow these monsters to escape, even at the cost of our lives. I proposed this venture thinking I was doing something noble. I should have known my personal motives would bear bitter fruit. I wanted to destroy Verkhoen in revenge for my husband’s death. Now, I’ve helped unleash creatures that could kill hundreds and another group of monsters that could eradicate all mankind. I’m prepared to pay whatever price necessary to correct my mistakes.”

  She glanced at Alan and smiled.

  “You didn’t let them out,” he said. “We can hold that bastard Duchamps accountable for that. Verkhoen’s not much better. He’s more interested in saving his company and his ass than in correcting nature’s oversight. I’m determined to cause another E.L
.E., an extinction level event that will do what evolution couldn’t.”

  Tells sat down on a boulder to rest. He glanced around the magma chamber. “What will you call your newly discovered volcano?”

  Tells’ question caught him by surprise. “What?”

  “As its discoverer, you retain the privilege of naming it.”

  “Masowe discovered it, but I guess Ngomo Volcano is as good a name as any.”

  Tells nodded. “It is an apt name worthy of placement on the maps.”

  “If we don’t get out of here, no one will know about it,” he reminded the doctor.

  “Hurry,” Masowe urged.

  This time, Tells accepted Alan’s hand to help him up and leaned against him for support as they continued down the path. The path wound around the slope of the chamber, avoiding the water, finally reaching a wide shelf of glassy obsidian. The obsidian had fractured over time, leaving shards of volcanic glass thrusting upwards like daggers. Picking a safe course through the dangerous maze took time. Beyond the shelf, an opening in the cliff proved to be a shallow cave. It was to this Masowe led them.

  Inside, a mat of dried lichen beside the ashes of a fire was Masowe’s bed. Bones of small lizards from his last meal lay scattered around the ashes. Alan helped Tells to a raised flat outcropping, where he lay on his back to catch his breath. Masowe squatted beside the entrance, staring into the distance. Alan chose a spot on the ground beside him. As he watched, a disturbance on the shore of the lagoon attracted his attention. A large lizard had strayed too close to the edge and mired in the mud. The lizard’s pathetic bleats became more frantic, as the dark sludge encased its hind legs, drawing it deeper into the bog.

  “That lizard is a hylononus,” Sandersohn said in his lecture voice. “I believe Masowe can attest to their taste. The bones of its relatives are scattered around his campfire. I noticed other lizards larger than humans as we descended the slope, ophiacodons. It is good he hasn’t tried to make a meal of them lest the tables turn and he becomes their dinner.”