Return to the Lost Level, page 10
As I plummeted toward the hungry hordes below, the wind seemed to roar in my ears. The pain vanished, replaced by a creeping coldness that numbed both my body and mind. I caught a glimpse of my .45 tumbling away, flashing in the sunlight. Then it struck the rocks and disappeared. A second later, I crashed into the nest, and the pain returned tenfold. Scratched and battered by dozens of broken branches, I lay there on my back, struggling just to breathe. A shadow passed over me as my former captor flew overhead. Then, the beast whirled up into the sky again and headed back out over the plain.
The incessant cries of the baby pterodactyls grew shriller and more incensed. There was an immediacy to their squabbling, a primal urgency that was as bone-chilling and harrowing as the sounds their adult counterparts had made. Once again, despite my panic and fear, I found myself marveling over the dinosaur’s aim. It had managed to drop me unerringly into the center of the nest—a bare area with no eggs or hatchlings.
Groaning, I tried to move my legs and arms. Doing so was an exercise in agony, and that pain got even worse as something sliced into my thigh. I glanced down and saw a furious newborn, not much bigger than a good-sized crow, jabbing at my leg with its beak—the tip of which was red.
Something snapped inside me upon seeing my own blood. My strength and wits returned, and the pain seemed to recede. My body felt as if it were on fire. I kicked the diminutive creature aside, sending it tottering backward. The other babies crawled toward me, plodding along unsteadily on newborn feet and dragging themselves along with their stunted wings. Another one snapped at my ear, but I rolled to the side and lashed out with my fist, pulping the infant in mid-squawk. The webbed skin felt strangely hot beneath my own flesh. When I raised my hand, blood and yellow innards dripped from my fingers. I flung a handful of gore at another approaching chick and then sprang to my feet. I stomped around the nest, crushing eggs and birds beneath the soles of my leather boots, snapping bones and tree branches alike. The nest rustled with activity as the frenzied spawn swarmed in all directions—some fleeing and others lurching forward to attack. I kicked away any that got too close, while desperately glancing around, searching for a means of escape. A glint of sunlight reflecting off metal caught my eye, and I made my way toward it. I grabbed hold of a sturdy branch, and wrenched it free of the compacted nest. Doing so brought my pain back into focus again, but I ignored it and pushed ahead, swinging the club back and forth, clearing a path. Sure enough, the shiny object turned out to be my fallen pistol. I reached down, swept it up, and drew a bead on the closest bird. After a second, I considered my actions and thought better of it. It was pointless to waste ammunition on such small targets when my makeshift club would suffice. I was running on shock and panic. What I needed to do was tamp down both and find a way out of this situation.
Ahead of me, a thick cluster of young pterodactyls busied themselves with what remained of Tomkin—and it wasn’t much. In the short time since we’d been deposited here, the hatchlings had stripped the flesh and eyes from his face, as well as most of the skin on his neck, arms and legs. My throat burned as I choked down bile. I was just about to turn away when Tomkin moved. His left hand twitched, and his arm started to rise.
“Oh shit,” I moaned. “You’re still alive. Hang on, Tomkin! I’m …”
Then I realized that the movements were caused by the birds pecking away at him. My gorge rose again. Holstering my pistol, I wheeled around and charged toward the edge of the nest, mindlessly crushing anything in my path. When I reached the side, I quickly peered over it and saw a ledge about four feet wide, circling the plateau. Beyond that was a dizzying drop down to the plain far below. Remarkably, the cliff face seemed to curve inward, and I couldn’t make out any means of descent.
I bit my lip, staring at the gulf. Then, a hatchling lashed at the back of my ankle, drawing fresh blood, and I resolved to try it. Better to die plunging over that cliff than to be pecked to death here in this forsaken, filthy nest. I vaulted over the side, landed on both feet, and steadied myself. Then, ignoring every impulse to run, I inched along the ledge and slowly made my way along the lip.
A shadow passed over me again. It was followed by a deep, echoing croak.
I glanced up. The adult pterodactyls had returned, enraged over the damage I’d caused inside the nest. Both of them zoomed toward me, blotting out the sun. They shrieked in unison, and then one made a sort of throaty hissing noise, the way a mother duck will do when protecting her young. The sound reverberated off the boulders.
I flung myself off the ledge, feeling the pressure of their wings behind me, hearing their talons scrape against the rock where I’d been standing just a second before.
Then I was falling so fast that not even the pterodactyls could keep up with me.
Chapter 8
The Tunnel
I spun, plummeting downward, catching pin-wheeling glimpses of brown and gray rocks and blue sky—a bewildering, spiraling kaleidoscope of shifting colors and textures and surfaces. The angry shrieks of my pursuers faded. The only sound was the wind roaring in my ears, drowning out everything else, even my screams. As terrifying as my capture and ascent in the clutches of the pterodactyl had been, this was somehow worse. Even while in the dinosaur’s claws, I’d still had hope. I’d still had the will to fight, if an opportunity presented itself—and it had. But there was no way to fight against the pull of gravity. It wasn’t a foe you could outwit or outrace. You couldn’t stab it or shoot it. The only thing you could do was surrender to its unrelenting force. Gravity always won in the end. The only mercy in it was that my descent would be much faster than my flight had been, and given the rate of speed I was falling, with any luck I’d be rendered unconscious before I struck the bottom.
You can imagine my surprise, then, when neither of those things happened. Instead of passing out, I became aware that the terrain had changed. I could no longer see the sky, but that’s about all I understood of this new predicament. I had a vague sense of tumbling through some sort of enclosed space. And instead of landing with an explosive splat at the bottom of the cliff, I careened against more rocks and stone. My ears rang. My vision went black. I pinged around like a pinball, caroming off structures I couldn’t see. Now, instead of free-falling, I rolled head over heels, battered against a hard surface, adding fresh pain to my already serious injuries. I tucked myself into a ball as best I could, trying to minimize any further damage. The agony was so overwhelming that I briefly forgot all about Kasheena and everyone else who needed my help. I wished instead for oblivion, if only to escape the pain, but stubborn consciousness persisted. It wasn’t until I smashed against a boulder and came to a sudden, jarring stop that I was finally blessed with what I’d craved.
I don’t know how long I lay there, but when I regained consciousness, I found myself exposed to one of the Lost Level’s rarest things—darkness. Well, okay. Maybe not a total darkness. But for the first time since I’d left the village and set out on this rescue mission, I couldn’t sense the sun overhead. Even in the depths of the forest, we’d known it was there, lurking above the treetops. But not now. The sun’s warmth was gone, and what little light I could see was filtered, as if coming to me from a great distance. I lay there shivering, but I wasn’t sure if it was from shock or cold. It was hard to breathe. When I tried to move, the pain was so excruciating that I passed out again.
The next time I opened my eyes, nothing had changed. I was still in shadows, still trembling, and still in pain. Instead of moving, I decided just to stay very still for a while and let my senses recover. I was still having difficulty breathing, especially through my nose. Then I lost consciousness a third time.
When I came to once more, the first thing I became aware of was that I was lying on my back, on what felt like stone. I sensed no dampness or moisture, but the surface was cool enough to explain why I felt cold—at least, I hoped. It occurred to me that I might be in a cave of some sort. I listened intently for the sound of dripping water, but all I heard were the very distant cries of the frustrated pterodactyls. They seemed muffled, and their source was odd—echoing from above me but to the right, as if the sound waves were coming from around a curve.
Eventually, I experimented with moving, starting with my feet. The soles of my boots were covered in baby pterodactyl blood and tiny twigs. I wiggled my toes and discovered that they still worked. Then I tried raising my legs one at a time. I clenched my teeth, hissing at the pain this caused. It wasn’t the sharp, urgent agony that accompanies a broken bone, but it hurt all the same. Still, at least I wasn’t paralyzed. Moving on to my arms, I tried lifting each of them. Surprisingly, they stuck to the stone floor as if glued there. I pulled harder, yanking them free. Both arms were covered in blood. Some of it had dried to a rusty brown color, but overtop that layer was bright red, which meant I was still bleeding. I lowered my arms and then shifted my weight back and forth, working my body from side to side. My bloodied back and shoulders also stuck to the floor, and I winced as they tore free. I closed my eyes until the pain subsided, and then I tried raising my head. Doing so brought about the worst pain yet, but I forced myself to sit up. The blood had matted my hair, and some of it tore free at the roots, but I pushed on. When I was finally upright, I sat there, panting. It was still hard to breathe through my nose. I soon discovered that this was because both nostrils were clogged with blood. I cleared my nose, blowing red snot onto my bloodied palms. The pain and effort made my vision blur, but I could breathe again.
In the dim light, I examined my body. My left knee was swollen and covered with a prune-colored bruise. More blotches dotted my legs, along with numerous scratches and cuts, none of which looked particularly deep. There was a gash on my left forearm that was more worrisome, running from the crook of my elbow all the way down to my wrist. It needed stitches. Then there were the puncture wounds the pterodactyl had made in my shoulders and back. They ripped and tore every time I moved. I patted the back of my head and found a cut there, as well. It didn’t feel deep, but it was wide, and still bleeding. Knots and bumps had sprouted all over my scalp, and I wondered if I had a concussion. It was certainly probable.
“Not good,” I muttered. My tongue snagged on a broken tooth. “Not good at all.”
My voice echoed in the darkness.
All … all … all …
Tending to my wounds was obviously my first priority, but all of my gear was back with the rescue party. I gingerly patted my pockets, looking for any aid I might have on me that I’d forgotten about, but they were empty. Worse, so was my holster. It had come undone at some point during my fall, and my pistol was now gone again.
Injured and defenseless, I slowly tottered to my feet. My groans echoed off the walls. Every time I turned my head, spasms ran down my neck and spine, so I moved my entire body in the direction I wanted to look, studying my surroundings. It turned out I wasn’t in a cavern after all. At least, not a traditional one. Neither was I in any sort of artificial construct. During my time in the Lost Level, I had seen evidence of an underground network of artificial tunnels. This was not one of those.
Instead, I found myself standing in the center of some sort of natural conduit, similar to a lava tube. Just like those cave-like channels left behind after flowing lava drains beneath the hardened surface of a lava flow, the tunnel had a rough, cylindrical shape. The curved walls were pockmarked with step marks and ledges, left behind after lava had drained, marking the depths it had flowed—the same way lava tubes back home were known to have. The floor was a crazy quilt of bizarre shapes. Portions of the rock were smooth. Others seemed to billow, as if the rock had been frozen while undulating. Still other sections resembled ropes or tentacles. There were no stalactites, stalagmites, or other protrusions. Indeed, other than the ledges along the walls and the strange texture of the floor, the tube was smooth and barren. I judged its width to be about thirty feet wide and maybe twenty feet tall at its highest point. Its possible construction left me perplexed. Obviously, this tube was part of the cliff I had tumbled down, which meant it was part of the mesa-like spire the pterodactyl nest had perched atop of. That outcropping of rock, massive as it had been, was certainly not a volcano. Nor had I seen anything resembling a volcano during my flight. How then, to account for this sanctuary? If it was indeed a lava tube, then where had the lava come from? And if it wasn’t a lava tube, then what had created it?
In a sudden panic, I wondered if the pterodactyls could gain access to the tunnel, or if some other predator might lurk somewhere in the darkness. I stood still and listened, realizing that I could no longer hear the dinosaurs. Was it possible they had given up their search? It occurred to me that my escape, while lucky for me, might be bad news for the rest of my friends. What if the pterodactyls began hunting them next, to make up for the meal that had gotten away? I could only hope that, having seen Tomkin and me carried off into the sky, the rest of the rescue party would be on guard and ready for such an attack.
It hurt to walk, but I forced myself to do so anyway, further exploring my shelter. Moving meant that I hadn’t yet given up, and given my condition, it was important to keep a psychological advantage. My body wanted to collapse. My mind urged me on for Kasheena and the others. I kept one hand against the wall to steady myself, and stumbled toward the light. The tube sloped gently upward before beginning a much steeper incline. I craned my head upward, wincing with pain, and saw that the tube itself hooked up and around, much like the end of a clothes hanger. I remembered the strange curved aspect of the cliff that I’d noticed just before my plunge. Apparently, I’d fallen into the hole and then tumbled and rolled around the curve before falling into the tube itself. Thinking about it made me dizzy, but at least now I understood why the sunlight was so filtered, and why the pterodactyls’ cries had seemed so far away when I had first regained consciousness.
The only source of light was from the hole above. Sighing, I ascended the slope as far as I could, before it became a steep, almost vertical climb, and looked around for my pistol. I saw only splashes of blood on the rocks that I’d collided with during my fall. There was no way I could climb any further. Slumping my bleeding shoulders in defeat, I turned around and headed back down into the tube. Descending hurt worse than climbing up had and keeping my balance took all of my concentration.
When I’d reached the spot where I’d first woken up, I stood there, tottering back and forth on my aching legs, and debated what to do next. First aid had to be my primary concern, followed by rest. After that, I’d need to find water, and perhaps food. Resigned to the fact that my .45 was probably lost forever, I decided not to worry about weapons for now. If I needed to defend myself, I could make do with a rock or even my fists, although given my weakened state, it would probably be a short fight.
Who am I kidding? I thought. I’ve failed, Kasheena. I’m sorry. I’m going to die here.
Obviously, I didn’t. If I had, I wouldn’t be writing down this memoir on some accounting ledgers in the ruins of an office building—although, given some of the inexplicable things I’ve seen during my time in the Lost Level, I suppose it is possible that I could have died in that tunnel and still recounted these events. But I came close. It was one of my grimmest moments in this dimension.
I decided to head further down the tube, away from the opening. That meant going further away from the light, but the area around me was barren and offered nothing useful. If there was anything to be found, it had to be deeper in the tunnel. My progress was slow. With each step, my knee swelled and stiffened more, and my wounds kept reopening, spilling fresh blood. I still felt cold, most likely, I now decided, from a mixture of blood loss and shock. In the aftermath of my capture, escape, and fall, the adrenalin remaining in my system was making me nauseous.
The tunnel was quiet, save for the echoes of my own pained breathing and my boots scuffling against the rocks. That silence seemed to deepen the further I went into the shadows. I stumbled along, one hand against the wall for guidance. Soon, the darkness became complete. I couldn’t see anything ahead of me, and when I glanced back the way I’d come, the sunlight had vanished, as well. I moved slower now, wary of tripping over a rock or cranny and injuring myself even more. The tube seemed to slope steadily downward. It wasn’t steep, but it was certainly noticeable, even in the dark.
There was no way of knowing how far I walked, but the pain in my knee grew excruciating and the darkness grew more oppressive. I tried focusing on Kasheena, but my thoughts became a confusing jumble of show tunes, commercial jingles, television themes, and movie quotes. Since first arriving in the Lost Level, I’d rarely thought about the pop culture I’d left behind, but I did so now, at the cusp of death. Things like that had always seemed so trivial and pointless, but now they felt important. I think they helped me to feel alive and to keep my fears at bay. I was surprised by just how much I remembered. I tried whistling a sitcom theme song, but my mouth was parched, so I sang it—actually it was more like croaking it—out loud, instead, accompanied by a chorus of echoes. That kept me going for a bit, but then I descended into mumbling and babbling, interspersed with sobs and pained gasps. Fatigue and shock reduced me to a quivering mess—a bleeding, moaning, shivering wraith haunting this subterranean chamber.
That’s why, when I saw the flashing red light ahead of me, I thought it must be part of my delirium. I closed my eyes and shook my head. When I opened my eyes again, the light was still there, flickering off the walls of the tunnel. The pulsations had a steady rhythm, blinking every few seconds, lighting up the walls and floor with a disconcerting strobe effect—a dance club in Hell, except instead of music, there were only the echoes of my pained breathing. I slumped to my knees, dizzy, and then crawled forward.
