Return to the Lost Level, page 14
Karenk began to hyperventilate.
“Stay with us,” I urged. “It’s okay.”
“The floor,” he whispered. “The texture is so strange. It feels as if we are walking on snakes.”
“We’re not,” I promised. “Just focus on putting one foot in front of the other.”
Karenk took several deep, shuddering breaths. I led them forward, step by step. Slowly, he ceased hyperventilating.
Eventually, we saw the flashing red light from Colonel McKinnon’s storage locker. Upon spotting it, both of my companions stopped so suddenly that I stumbled. I tried to push forward, but they yanked me backward.
“What is that?” Flik gasped.
“It’s okay,” I answered. “It’s just a light.”
“But it is red! You see? It is unnatural. Light is not red.”
“This one is. Just try not to stare directly into it. The flashes will make your head hurt.”
“I do not know if I can look away,” Karenk mumbled.
I urged them onward. When we reached the astronaut’s corpse I called for another halt, thinking that a few moments spent in the dim glow might help them both further acclimate. It did. Both men sat there, huddled together. Unfortunately, we couldn’t linger long. I reminded them that people were counting on us, and time was of the essence. Reluctantly, they joined hands again and we continued on our way.
After a while, sunlight began to filter down into the tunnel, and I knew that we must be nearing the other side. Flik and Karenk began to slowly relax as things got brighter. Karenk even began to experiment with the echoes of his voice. Soon, he and Flik both laughed nervously. I let them go, glad they were distracted. It wasn’t until we neared the end that I cautioned them to whisper again.
When we reached the curved opening, I nodded at Flik. “Think you can scale that?”
“I have climbed much more difficult slopes, Aaron. It will be easy.”
“I hope you’re right. Otherwise, this entire trek was pointless.” I handed him the ropes. “Secure one of these when you reach the top. Remember, the nest is directly above the tunnel entrance, so be careful the birds don’t spot you.”
“Spot me?”
“See you.”
“I understand.”
He slung the rope coils around his neck and then bounded up the rocky slope, eagerly heading toward the sunlight. Karenk and I watched his ascent with some amazement. When he reached the top of the slope, Flik studied the curvature for a moment. Then, he leaped into the air and caught hold of the ledge with his fingertips. He dangled there for a moment, and then swung his legs up. My heart hammered in my throat, expecting him to slip and fall, but he didn’t. Indeed, he seemed to cling to the roof like a spider, defying gravity, working his fingertips into unseen cracks and crevices, before scurrying upward and out of our sight. Dust and pebbles tumbled down out of the opening as he crawled further upward. For a while, we could still hear him. Then all went silent.
Karenk glanced at me, wide-eyed. “You were right to bring him along. Neither of us could have done that.”
“I couldn’t have,” I admitted. “But you might have had a chance.”
“No, I am strong, but with that strength comes clumsiness. My mother used to say I was as graceful as a thunder lizard in a fern grove.”
“We had a similar saying where I came from—like a bull in a china shop.”
“What is a china shop?”
Before I could explain, something rustled above us, echoing oddly through the chamber. Then a length of rope plummeted down. The other end was affixed beyond our field of vision.
“Son of a bitch,” I whispered. “He did it.”
Because of my injuries, I knew that I would climb slower than Karenk, so I opted to go first. By the time I reached the top, and felt the wind and sun on my face again, my muscles were shaking and I’d nearly lost all my strength. Stinging sweat ran into my eyes, blinding me. Noticing my distress, Flik grabbed my wrists and helped me out of the hole. I blinked the sweat away, and the world swam before me, tilting and listing like a boat at sea. It took a moment to get my footing and balance. While I did, Karenk made the climb and joined us.
I held a finger to my lips, cautioning them both, and then pointed upward, indicating the direction of the pterodactyl nest. We stood there, listening, and soon enough, heard what I was both dreading and hoping for—a deep, grating croak indicating that at least one of the parents were home.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Remember, we can’t just get eggs. We need live babies, too, so that the mother will hear their cries. If we can’t get the parents to follow us, then this has all been for nothing.”
Both of them nodded in understanding. Then I motioned at Flik to go ahead. He crept up the side of the cliff, once again seeming to find handholds and crannies where we could discern none. He tied the second rope off near the top, cowering against the cliff face as he did, so he wouldn’t be seen. Flik tugged on the rope, making sure it was tight, and then motioned at us to climb up. This time, Karenk went first. I followed along after him, wincing in pain. When I was halfway up, we heard a rustling commotion above us. All of the babies began to squawk, and there was a pounding noise as one of the adults took wing, rising into the air. Flik and Karenk pressed themselves against the cliff, eyes wide. I dangled from the rope, unsure of what to do. Luckily, the pterodactyl flew off in the opposite direction. Taking a deep breath, I finished my climb. Once again, I was shaking and exhausted by the time I’d reached the top.
Crawling to the nest, I peered over the edge and saw that both adults were gone. I glanced into the distance and saw the one that had just left soaring out across the plain. Spotting me, the young pterodactyls screeched and jumped, tiny wings flapping uselessly. The yellowish-brown carcasses of their brothers and sisters lay scattered around them. Some had been partially eaten since my previous departure. I turned back to my companions and pointed at the adult pterodactyl in the distance.
“Grab some babies,” I panted. “I’ll get her attention.”
I handed Karenk the reflective blanket. He and Flik stalked around inside the nest, trying to grab some of the crow-sized young. The squawking infants fought back, hopping out of reach and snapping at the kidnappers’ outstretched fingers with their tiny beaks. Karenk managed to scoop up three of them, but earned a dozen scratches along his forearms as a result. Flik captured one, and received a bloody peck on his cheek. They fashioned a makeshift sack out of the reflective blanket and quickly stuffed the chicks inside. I stood up, shoulders apart, and drew a bead on the adult pterodactyl. I squeezed off a shot, intending to miss but attract the dinosaur’s attention. Unfortunately, there was no discernable effect.
“Down the rope,” I ordered. “Hurry!”
Karenk slung the bag over his shoulder, gripping it with one hand. Then he used his legs and free hand to propel himself down to the tunnel mouth. Flik started down next, pausing only to glance back at me.
“Hey,” I shouted, cupping my hands over my mouth. “Hey, Mommy! Better come back to your nest!”
In the distance, the pterodactyl wheeled in mid-air. A terrible shriek echoed over the mountain. Then, she dropped and zoomed toward us. Her speed was incredible—much faster than I would have believed possible.
“Shit!”
Flik slid down the rope. I followed along, moving as quickly as I could. The rough texture of the rope burned my palms. When I reached the bottom, I saw that Karenk—obviously terrified—was about to climb back into the tunnel.
“No,” I warned. “Wait! She has to see what we have. Flik, you start down instead.”
A noise like a flying freight train hurtled toward us. The adult pterodactyl crashed down into the nest, splintering the twigs and branches. She perched on the edge of it, glaring at us. Although I could see no genitalia, I had no doubt this was the mother. It was something about her eyes and the fury they held. Her massive beak snapped open, revealing razor-sharp edges. Her foul breath wafted over us. She hissed, and then tilted her head, staring at the squirming bag.
“She sees it,” I yelled. “Go, go, go!”
The baby pterodactyls did their job perfectly, squawking in fright as Karenk swung down into the tunnel. I scrambled for the rope as the parent roared, and then dropped toward us. She hit the ledge, talons skittering on stone and leathery wings stirring up dust, as I gripped the rope and slid. This time my palms didn’t just burn. They were rubbed bloody. I lost my balance when I hit the bottom, landing on my butt. My teeth clamped together, and a jolt of pain shot through my already injured leg.
“Aaron?” Flik reached for me.
I waved him away. “Get back. I don’t know if that thing can fit through the entrance or not.”
The pterodactyl raged above us, blocking out the sunlight, and sending an avalanche of dirt and small stones tumbling down. The hatchlings screeched in response, further infuriating the beast. I stood slowly, testing my leg. It hurt, but luckily, I hadn’t damaged it any worse and was able to put my full weight on it. Slowly, we backed away from the shaft. The dinosaur’s fury was terrifying, but after a few minutes, I began to relax, realizing that she was too big to fit down the hole.
“Okay,” I said. “Now comes the tricky part. We have to make our way back through the dark to the other entrance, and hope that she can hear her babies through all the rock and stone above us.”
“And if she cannot?” Flik asked.
“Then we need to make these things scream when we reach the other side.”
We turned toward the darkness and plodded ahead, going faster than we had before. While Flik and Karenk were certainly scared of our pursuer, they seemed to be less uneasy about the darkness than they had been on our first trip. We paused occasionally, listening for the pterodactyl. Karenk shook the reflective blanket, eliciting cries from the chicks, which in turn got a response from above, albeit muffled through the tons of stone between her and us. A few times we lost track of her—whether because she’d grown silent or whether the mountain had muted her, I do not know.
It occurred to me there in the darkness beneath the mountain that there was something I had overlooked. Why would the pterodactyl’s hunt across the vast plain when they had this entire populace living just below their nest? Could it be that the Anunnaki were somehow poisonous to them, if eaten? Or did the snake men have some sort of defense that the pterodactyls were wary of? I fervently hoped that wasn’t the case.
We rested only once, when we came across the astronaut’s remains, and then only briefly. By the time we saw the dim sunlight ahead, signaling the tunnel exit, we were breathless and exhausted. My previous injuries ached, and the fresh wounds on my palms burned and throbbed. Even the mighty Karenk was tired. The babies, while unable to rip or tear through the heavy material of the reflective blanket, were not an easy or willing cargo, and their constant struggling had worn him down. I worried that the mother had grown tired, as well. The sounds of pursuit had faded for quite some time. Would that motherly instinct fade away? In truth, I suppose there was a part of me that hoped she had given up her chase. The unmitigated cruelty of what I was about to do was not lost on me. My stomach churned at the thought. But it had to be done. If Kasheena and our people were to be saved, then others had to be sacrificed.
I ordered the two of them to stay back, and crept toward the tunnel exit by myself, frowning at the silence. I watched the sunlight on the ledge, looking for a wheeling shadow, but saw nothing. Slowly, I poked my head out and glanced upward. The sky was empty. I glanced back at Karenk and motioned at him to come forward. He did so nervously. I took the makeshift satchel from him, struggling with the shifting bulk. Then I pointed, indicating that I wanted him to go stand with Flik. Nodding, he complied.
“Be careful, Aaron,” Flik whispered.
Shrugging, I tiptoed out into the sunlight. Tension marked my every step as I shuffled toward the edge of the ledge. I expected the mother to swoop silently down out of the sky and seize me at any second, but I think her absence disturbed me even more. When I reached the edge, I looked down on the city, half-expecting to see the occupants scurrying about, alerted to the chaos taking place far above them, but the Anunnaki seemed oblivious. I did notice that more of them seemed to be out in the courtyard than before, surrounding that giant pit. I quickly looked for our friends, but saw no sign of them. I hoped they were in place and just well-concealed, rather than delayed. Then I turned my attention back to the crowd standing around the edges of the pit. A human figure was among them, struggling. I squinted, trying to determine the person’s identity, but the distance was too great. Whoever it was, their arms appeared to be bound behind them. One end of a length of rope had been tied around their waist. A phalanx of snake men forced him or her ahead with spear tips and swords. Then, as I watched, they began to lower the thrashing prisoner into the hole.
I glanced at the ridge above me. There was still no sign of the parent. Groaning with pain and exhaustion, I let the reflective blanket sag down onto the ledge and slowly opened it. Immediately, the imprisoned chicks began to squawk and shriek. Feeling a surge of remorse and guilt, I reminded myself that this was what needed to be done. These innocent newborns had to be sacrificed so that Kasheena and the others might live. Their shrill cries echoed over the rocky landscape, and were soon answered by a deeper, guttural croak that seemed to reverberate off the mountaintop. All at once there was a sound like an onrushing train. A shadow fell over me. Karenk and Flik shouted a warning. I looked up again, and saw the mother pterodactyl zipping toward me, talons outstretched. Her size seemed to blot out the sun.
Moving quickly, I snatched up two of the babies, ignoring the bites and scratches they delivered all across my hands and forearms as they struggled, and tossed them over the side of the ledge. Roaring, the mother veered in mid-flight, swooping out over the valley in pursuit of her hatchlings. When she started to turn back toward me again, I threw two more of the infants, making sure they cleared the canyon walls and fell straight toward the Anunnaki city. Tiny wings beat helplessly in the air as they plummeted downward. My bile rose at the sight, but I pressed on, committed to my atrocity, and threw two more. Their mother turned once more, choosing concern for her brood over revenge toward me, as I’d hoped, and rocketed after them. Taking advantage of her distraction, I grabbed the reflective blanket, dragged it to the edge of the ledge, and shook the remaining baby birds into the chasm. The eggs followed after, dropping like tiny anvils.
For some reason, at that moment, I remembered an old television show my father used to watch when I was a child, called WKRP in Cincinnati. In one episode, a radio station had arranged to drop live turkeys from an airplane as part of a Thanksgiving promotion. When the flightless birds had smashed into the city below, the beleaguered station manager had moaned, “As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly.”
I giggled, thinking about that. Then my laughter turned to choked, remorseful sobs.
The adult pterodactyl, having forgotten all about me, descended upon the courtyard, intent upon her young. The helpless chicks hit the ground. Their mother’s alarmed screeches echoed across the valley. Leaning out farther, I let the blanket go, and watched the sun shine off the reflective silver surface as it drifted down, billowing in the air.
“Come on you fuckers,” I growled. “Come onnnnn …”
I felt a surge of relief as the pterodactyl stormed the city. Mad with rage, she swept over the crowds, knocking snake men over and seizing victims in her claws. The Anunnaki scattered, running in every direction except the pit. A few unlucky ones who had been standing at the edges of the chasm, fell into the dark depths, arms pin-wheeling helplessly. Even now, as the crazed mother dinosaur began to rend and shred, they made no sound. There were no screams or cries of alarm. The only noise was that of the pterodactyl’s fury. Then, it was answered by another cry from far above us.
I looked up and saw that the other adult—what I assumed was the father—had returned. It dived toward the city, talons flexing in anticipation of slaughter.
I turned back to my companions and motioned frantically. “Let’s go! Hurry!”
Nodding, Karenk and Flik followed me back down the mountainside. Below us, new sounds echoed as the Anunnaki began to fight back. They still weren’t screaming or crying out, but we heard gunshots and laser blasts and the clang of steel.
“Both of the parents,” Karenk observed. “That is a good stroke of fortune for us.”
Panting, I clambered over a boulder. “Let’s just hope our luck holds.”
“Aaron,” Flik said, and then paused. His face was ashen. “What we just did…”
“We did it because we had no choice, Flik. If it makes you feel any better, I’m the one who tossed the babies over the side.”
“But Karenk and I helped. We took them from their mother … from their parents. We snatched them from their nest.”
“And you did so because I told you to. This is on me, Flik. I’ll carry the guilt. You just focus on the path, because if we don’t get back down there and help our friends escape, then this was all for nothing.”
Chapter 12
Assault on the Anunnaki
We descended into chaos. The mountain seemed to vibrate. The sounds of conflict boomed up from the city as we neared the ground. Weapons rang out and the pterodactyls shrieked and roared. For a brief moment, we heard something else—something we couldn’t identify. It sounded like the hiss of a snake, but it had the tone and depth of a freight train. Unfortunately, the sound faded before we could discern what it was or where it had come from. Several explosions shook the boulders around us, dislodging smaller stones and debris. At one point, the air became thick with smoke, but that soon dissipated after we’d taken a few turns and descended further.
