Intulo: The Lost World

by JE Gurley

  The climb was difficult and his progress was slow. He tested each rusty, two-decades-old rung before placing his full weight on it. His shoulders and his arms burned, but he reached one hand over the other and lifted each foot as high as he could, ignoring his aches and pains.

  When he neared the halfway point, a shudder jarred the ladder. Dirt and rock sloughed from the walls and showered his head. He lifted his case to protect his bare head from falling debris. He clung to the rungs of the ladder as a blast of cool moist air swept up the shaft, bringing with it a myriad of smells. His explosives had detonated. He smiled, imaging the utter chaos he had created. He hoped Duchamps had managed to stay alive long enough to watch the flood racing toward him, washing him away like trash in the gutter.

  His hands, already blistered from carrying the heavy case, burned from gripping the rough, rusty rungs. Slivers of metal dug into his fingers and the palms of his hands. He paused for a moment to wipe them on his shirt, but it only drove the splinters deeper into his raw, bleeding flesh. He spied a small niche in the wall of the shaft barely wide enough to curl up in, but he managed to squeeze himself and the diamonds into the shallow shelf to rest his muscles. He had taken far longer than he had anticipated. Daylight was fading quickly. He didn’t want to roam the desert alone at night if any of the insects had found a way out of the mine.

  He especially didn’t want to meet one of the horrible black monstrosities that had devoured his men. He had seen a pride lions stalking a herd of wildebeest and had sensed that same determination and certainty of purpose in the creatures. Whatever hell had spawned them, they felt no more kinship with humans than the lion did the wildebeest.

  He knew he couldn’t it make out hampered by his heavy load, but he wouldn’t give up the diamonds. They were now his Holy Grail, his raison d’être. He unhooked the MP5 and dropped it back down the shaft. It was nearly out of ammunition anyway. It only weighed three kilos, but every kilo counted. He hoped his decision didn’t come back to bite him in the ass. Using the sling from the MP5, he draped the case over his neck and shoulder and continued climbing.

  His motions became repetitive, requiring no conscious thought. Each rung conquered brought him closer to freedom. He reached for another rung, surprised there was none. He had reached the top. He dragged himself over the edge of the shaft and lay prostrate on the floor of the elevator, basking in the patch of sunlight filtering in through the gaps between the wooden planks sealing the shaft. He absorbed the sun’s rays like a plant, allowing it to flush the darkness of the mine from his body. All that stood between him and freedom was a flimsy wooden barricade; and yet, he didn’t have the strength to breach it.

  He lay there until the path of the setting sun moved it from his face. His raging thirst forced him to his feet. He threw himself against the wall repeatedly until the boards snapped, feeling nothing with his numb shoulder. He pushed the boards aside and stepped out into daylight.

  I’m free, he thought.

  He walked along the perimeter of the fence surrounding Van Gotts’ property until he came upon a water tank for cattle. A herd of multi-colored Nguni cattle lounged around the tank, resting in the late day sun. He pushed through them, heedless of their long, sharp horns and bellows of protest, and plunged his face into the water, submerging it until breathing necessitated lifting it out again. He set the case of diamonds by his feet, rolled over the rim of the metal tank, and fell into the water, splashing and laughing like a schoolboy. His body was a sponge, absorbing the water to replenish what he had lost. He stopped when he noticed a Bantu herder staring at him.

  “I need food,” he said in Afrikaans.

  The herder said nothing.

  He searched his memory for the Xhosa word for food. “Ukutya.” To emphasize his need, he mimed eating.

  Without a change in his deadpan expression, the herder pulled a bundle from his pocket and handed it to Verkhoen. Whatever it was, the aroma made his mouth water. He hurriedly tore off the wrapper and saw the bundle contained a ball of citrus-flavored rice and a piece of dried fish. He wolfed them down, barely bothering to chew, enjoying the sensation of food in his empty stomach. He stared at the reticent herder.

  “I need to get to the mine.”

  The herder stared at Verkhoen for moment, and then, shifted his gaze into the distance, as if considering leaving the crazy mzungu in the water tank. Verkhoen, aware that his disheveled appearance and bizarre behavior presented a poor example of a white man to the Bantu native, fished a wad of wet rand notes from his pocket and handed them to the herder. The man’s eyes grew wide and a smile creased his lips when he recognized the large denominations of the notes. The amount was more than the herder could earn in a year. He nodded his head, pointed toward the mine, and helped Verkhoen from the water.

  Verkhoen smiled, not at the herder, but at the fact that he had made it. He had survived his encounter with the creatures from hell, a horde of giant man-eating insects, and his harrowing journey to safety. He had paid Duchamps back for his betrayal and silenced any possible accusations from Doctor Means and Alan Hoffman. Topping it all, he had brought out enough diamonds to bribe the necessary authorities to reopen the mine, allowing him to bring out the rest at his leisure.

  In hindsight, things could not have worked out any better.

  23

  July 6, 2016, 2:30 p.m. Magma chamber, Ngomo Volcano –

  Eve cleaned and wrapped Masowe’s arm, but the infection rendered it a swollen, useless appendage. A salve relieved some of the pain from his burns, but she could do little to treat them properly. They were much too serious for a simple first-aid kit. Throughout the entire painful procedure, the imperturbable Zulu security guard made no complaint.

  Alan allowed them to rest for only an hour. He was eager to leave, but everyone had pushed themselves to their limits, even him. Doctor Tells especially needed rest. His irregular breathing and ashy-grey complexion worried Alan. He was afraid to push the old man harder for fear he might suffer a heart attack or stroke. The others managed a little sleep, but his anger at Duchamps prevented him from relaxing enough for slumber. The security chief had murdered his friend and co-worker and deliberately set loose the ravenous insects to cover his theft of the diamonds.

  Verkhoen was high on his list of ruthless characters as well. While he hadn’t personally killed Eve’s husband, he had allowed Duchamps free hand to stop him. In Alan’s eyes, the CEO’s hands were just as bloody as Duchamps’ were. His first task when they were out of the mine would be to report Verkhoen’s actions to the proper authority.

  Alan checked his watch – 2:30 in the afternoon. He wondered what the day was like on the surface. For some inexplicable reason he thought it was sunny out. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. He could wait no longer.

  “Okay everybody. It’s time to leave.”

  Doctor Tells was barely able to sit up. He leaned against the edge of the rocky platform that had served as his bed looking dazed and confused. Eve, knowing what was coming, moped around the edge of the camp with a long face. He had wanted to go to her while the others rested, but her body language had made it clear she wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

  “Eve, it’s time to go,” he said.

  She nodded her head.

  “It has to be done.”

  “I know. It’s just that … Well, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “Believe me; I’m not looking forward to this. Masowe’s lifted the worst of the burden from me. He insists it’s his right to die as a warrior. I’ll admit I’m conflicted about that. It was my idea and my responsibility, but I don’t want to die.”

  “Then don’t,” she said.

  He noticed Masowe waiting impatiently at the foot at the path. “We have to go now.”

  At the crack in the wall, he bid Eve farewell. Their parting was fraught with unspoken hopes and dreams. Whatever budding romance had spawned between them during their ordeal, there had been no time to fan the flames of desir
e into passion. On his part, Alan regretted the side of him that automatically built a wall between him and any woman who threatened his defenses. It had cost him in the past and was doing so now. Both knew it might be the last time they saw one another.

  “Eve,” he said, fumbling for words, “I wish …” He shook his head. “Damn it, I think we would have been good for each other. In the past …”

  She smiled and touched a finger to his lips to stop his rambling. “I know. I feel it too. You awakened something in me I thought long dead. It felt wonderful to live again.”

  “When this is over, when I do this, I want you to come to Nevada with me.”

  “Perhaps,” she replied. “Maybe a dinner and wine first.”

  He nodded. “Oh, the hell with it.” He took her in his arms and kissed her with all the passion he could muster, which to his surprise was a lot. Startled by his sudden bold move, she at first backed away; then, she returned his embrace and kiss with equal ardor. He clung to her as long as he could, but each minute’s delay could foil their plan. He broke away.

  “Be careful.” He shook Sandersohn and Tells’ hands. “Let people know what’s down here.”

  “I will,” Tells answered. Sandersohn nodded.

  He watched them crawl into the crack, Eve first, followed by Tells. Sandersohn brought up the rear to shepherd Tells along. When they had disappeared, he turned to Masowe. “No time like the present.”

  They reached the Cerberus without running into any of the insects or Intulo. Alan connected his laptop to the outboard USB port and brought up the control functions. To his great relief the machine was fully functional, except for the telephone. He typed a message for Trace, hoping he still manned the Shack. He wouldn’t blame him for leaving. Things had to be as hellish up there as they were below.

  Trace replied immediately, typing, “Verkhoen said you were dead. Glad you made it. What can I do?”

  Verkhoen, Alan snarled. He had been hoping Intulo ate the bastard. “Give me complete control of the Cerberus,” he replied. “I need to disconnect it and move it.”

  To his credit, Trace didn’t question him. Alan watched the controls on his screen changed from the fiber optic cable connection to onboard control. They had tested the remote capabilities of the machine only a few times with as many failures as successes. He prayed this would be one of the successes. He switched the machine’s functions to remote, disconnected his laptop, and tested the remote link by switching the lights on and off. Next, he detached the exhaust hose and the fiber optic cable and started the Cerberus’ turbine. The noise of the turbine shook the walls of the lava tube, sending a shower of rocks and dust cascading from the roof.

  “If there are any bugs around, they know where to find us,” he told Masowe.

  Masowe stood rigid, his eyes closed. His clenched fists and trembling jaw revealed an inner torment raging inside as he sought out Intulo.

  Alan turned his attention back to the Cerberus. As long as he stayed within range of the Cerberus’ Wi-Fi, he could operate it as he would a radio-controlled model car. The machine began rolling forward on its treads. Released from its tether, it could travel as fast as he could walk. Leading it like the Pied Piper, the machine followed him up the lava tube, crunching rocks to powder beneath its heavy treads. Guiding the lumbering behemoth with the keyboard was tricky. The navigation arrows controlled the port tread, and the numeric pad arrows controlled the starboard tread. Turning required stopping the appropriate tread in the direction he wished to turn by holding down the left or right shift key.

  His hands were full. He had no time to explain his intention to Trace. He hoped the onboard camera would help him understand the situation.

  There was no need to pick a careful winding path along the treacherous slope of the magma chamber. The heavy drilling rig plowed a path straight down the slope, climbing over rocks and pushing aside foliage. Small lizards and insects, flushed from hiding by the Cerberus’ clattering treads, scurried away in fright. One of the ten-foot-long lizards Sandersohn had called an ophiacodon shot out of its underground den, brushing past Alan in its haste to get away.

  Not even the muck and mire of the swamp could deter the cumbersome machine. Like the famous Abrams tank whose jet turbine engine he had chosen to power it, the Cerberus forced its way across the edge of the swamp to the granite pillar Alan had chosen.

  He had shown Masowe the basics of the controls on the two-kilometer journey up the lava tube. The security guard claimed a superstitious upbringing, but his nimble mind, already familiar with the operation of most of the mine’s heavy machinery, quickly picked up the basics of the laptop control panel. Alan had reduced the functions to a bare minimum – sliders to point the lights and camera, targeting the laser array, and engaging the treads if he needed to move it again. There was no need to shut it down. If his plan worked, the fifteen-million-dollar uninsured machine would be lost. If not, there would be no one left to recover it.

  The roar of the jet turbine’s echo in the cavernous magma chamber made speaking difficult.

  “Press this and the lasers engage,” he shouted into Masowe’s ear. “It shouldn’t take more than an hour to melt enough rock to make the pillar unstable. After that, gravity will take over.”

  Masowe nodded. His badly blistered face revealed none of the emotions that must have been churning inside him. He had set his mind to the task, and his stoicism refused to allow him to regret his decision. Perhaps he saw it as the only way out of the hell inside his mind. Alan had felt only the fringes of Intulo’s mind, a dark, yawning abyss that swallowed everything it touched, and it had scarred him for life. The hive-creature had robbed him of an innocence he had not known he possessed, and its absence left a void he could never fill completely.

  “I understand,” Masowe said. “You must go now.” He held out the dynamite and fuse Alan had given him. Alan worried he had cut the fuses too short for safety, but the Zulu had ignored his concern. “I will attack its offspring and allow Intulo to see in my mind what I am doing. It will come.”

  Alan felt guilty at leaving Masowe, but it was a one-person job. He shoved Masowe’s revolver down the front of his pants. It had only two bullets left in the cylinder, but if he needed to use the pistol, more ammunition wouldn’t make much difference. His salvation lay in the hope Intulo had already feasted on the insects in the mine and would make a beeline to the swamp to protect its young.

  He laid his hand on the Zulu’s shoulder. “You are truly a great warrior, Masowe. Your ancestors would be proud of you.”

  Masowe impatiently shrugged off Alan’s hand. “Yes, yes, I am a hero. Perhaps they will build a statue of me and place it next to Mandela’s.” He laughed. “Two black heroes in South Africa. That would be something.” He became more serious. “You must go quickly. I must call Intulo.”

  Alan took the time to write a brief message to Trace on his computer, but he didn’t wait for a reply. He followed the Cerberus’ wide path back to the edge of the magma chamber, hurrying from the cavern. As he clambered up the slope, Masowe engaged the machine’s laser array. A shrill whine rose to a tooth rattling intensity, tapering off slightly when the spinning array reached maximum rpm's. The cavern lit up when he fired up the lasers. Alan took one last look back to see Masowe leaping up and down on the obsidian shelf, enticing the baby creatures from the water. He held sticks of dynamite in each hand.

  He lit one of the fuses with the Zippo Alan had given him and lobbed it into the water. Scant seconds after leaving his hand, the dynamite exploded. Thick, oily water erupted in a geyser. Simultaneously, the oxygen-enriched methane exploded. In a flash, a sheet of flaming methane gas spread across the surface of the lagoon, igniting the heavy proto-petroleum ooze slowly bubbling to the surface. The concussion reached the entrance to the cavern and knocked Alan off his feet. The firestorm engulfed the trees. The flames crawled up the tree trunks, creating blazing torches of them. Within minutes, the entire swamp was a raging inferno with ferns a
nd the thick mossy groundcover feeding the conflagration. Dense black smoke billowed upward, obscuring the cavern’s roof.

  The Cerberus, unaffected by the flames, stood like Shadrach in Nebuchadnezzar’s fiery furnace, spewing its own intense fire onto the pillar of stone, adding more smoke and heat to the mix.

  The intense heat billowing from the mouth of the chamber forced Alan back. Coughing from the soot-laden smoke, he sought Masowe, but the Zulu security guard turned warrior remained obscured by the dense, black cloud. The smoke was so intense Alan worried Masowe would succumb to it before Intulo came. He could do nothing more. Turning his back on the inferno, he returned to the crack.

  Away from the moist air of the swamp, he noticed the air in the lava tube was much warmer, but he didn’t think it had anything to do with the Carboniferous bonfire behind him. He was sweating profusely. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, unzipped his jumpsuit, and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt.

  “They shut down the ventilators to keep any of the creatures from escaping,” he surmised aloud. That meant the trapped smoke from the burning swamp would quickly fill the entire mine. He hoped any surviving miners had already escaped.

  Crawling into the crack was like entering a silent tomb. He heard no sounds but his heavy breathing and his boots scuffing against the rock. The walls of the crack pressed in on him relentlessly, robbing him of his breath. He abandoned his hard hat but kept the flashlight clenched between his teeth as he crawled. The rock ate the light like a ravenous beast, leaving him in near total darkness, intensifying the pressure of the stone around him. Tendrils of smoke followed him through the crack. The hot air felt too heavy for his lungs to move and tasted bitter. He concentrated on the tiny patch of light in front of him, ignoring the dread feeling something other than the fire was behind him, pursuing him. That it might be Intulo behind him drove him onward even faster.