The Ruins of the Lost World

by C K Burch

  Gunfire halted and muscular arms reached upward to climb. Seven hells. Dust quickly looked around for a trick to utilize, and he saw that the truck was about to drive beneath another streetpole. In for a penny, he surmised. As the first of the crewmen pulled himself through the access, Dust leaped upward, stretching his arms as far as they could go, and he caught the pole as they passed by. Shoulders ached and protested the action, but he held tight and the truck drove on. Now he realized that he was about twenty feet in the air, and did not fancy a drop of that size.

  Close by was a window into a temple, so he pulled himself up to scurry along the pole and leap through the window. As he did, he heard the truck clamp on the brakes some hundred feet down the way. They'd come back, and he would have to be prepared for them.

  Dust briefly considered taking a position near the windows, but thus far that had given no advantages. Reloading on the go, he ran towards steps leading down to the first floor. Were he fast enough, he could make the landing and out the opposite side of the building before the truck could reverse course and attempt another idiotic destructive strategy. Between crashing through walls and shooting missiles every which way, Dust was convinced that Ryder's new hiring tactic was to choose anyone who could fire a weapon and not care about their own safety in the process.

  As he lightly hopped down the steps, new magazine slapped in, he heard the distant echoes of gunfire now closing in on his position. The caravan was coincidentally reconvening with itself; absolutely fantastic. His decision to try and split up the caravan as a distraction had been ill-advised at best, and now he longed to either sit behind the wheel of a jeep or in the passenger seat with an automatic rifle. All this running and climbing and exploding was taking the wind out of him.

  Dust stopped short of exiting the building and snuck a peek down the lane both ways. No traffic; the near-constant gunfire was coming from his left, and the returning strain of the battered truck's engine came from the right, but neither were in sight as of yet. Perhaps a moment to plan, then. All he had was his gun and his bullwhip, and no tactical advantage aside from the element of surprise; clearly, thus far this had not given him much in the way of advantage. So to this he felt he must operate under the auspice of stubborn stupidity. Might as well fight fire with fire.

  Off to the right, three jeeps came around the corner at top speed. Dust turned to see Ryder and Thomas in the lead vehicle, with Jack rounding the bend right behind them. Behind her was the final jeep in the Venture crew's caravan. Gunshots flared from Jack as she attempted to steady her Tommy gun in Ryder's direction, but neither Ryder nor the crew behind Jack were firing at her. It would be a crossfire if they did, and it would do neither of them any benefit to essentially fire at each other.

  Behind him, Dust heard the strain of another engine and turned to see the truck as it fishtailed in a drifting, uneasy turn around into the lane. Bloody hell, not them again. He was quite finished with their shenanigans, and wished for no more. But now both sections of the caravan were coming together again, head-on, and he was in the middle. For once, Dust had no idea which way to turn or to go. He quickly decided that his attention on the truck would service best, and he turned to face them. Fortune smiled on this choice, for as he turned he saw a new gunner quickly man the turret and load a chain into the firing mechanism.

  Dust danced to the right as a hail of white-hot bullets blasted apart the street where he had once stood. An idea emerged in Dust's head, and he knelt down – a large piece of debris rested at his feet, weighing somewhere close to fifty pounds. He steadied himself as he lifted, then gave a mighty swing and let the heavy weapon fly – it broke through the windshield of the truck as it passed and struck the driver. Blood erupted from where it had landed and the truck swerved wildly off to the left, dead stick. It crashed into the closest wall and stuck, leaving the rear wheels to spin helplessly. Dust raised his eyebrows in approval. After all of the nonsense before, that had been surprisingly easy.

  He rolled to his right as Ryder's jeep passed by – he caught sight of Cairn's pleading face for an instant as the villains passed. No time to think of the lad: Dust drew his gun and aimed it down the way, beyond Jack as she came towards him, and he gently squeezed the trigger in the direction of the jeep behind her. The Venture boys swerved out of the way and the bullets caromed off of the vehicle's frame; they turned their Tommies onto Dust, but Jack pulled up just as they did and she placed her jeep between the guns and the target. A few rounds were let loose, but the driver focused more on speed, and so they drove on, leaving Dust and Jack to themselves. They disappeared around the next intersection, following Ryder and Thomas.

  “Where have you been?” Jack admonished, waving for Dust to hop in.

  As he climbed over into the passenger seat, Dust looked over at the truck: the former gunner was pulling the dead driver out of the cab, whilst another was quickly climbing up to the turret to take his place. They would again be mobile far too soon.

  “Took a bad detour!” Dust shouted, and he aimed for the gunner. Two shots landed perfectly on target, sending the crewman spinning to the ground.

  Jack hit the gas and as the jeep pulled forward, Dust gave a moderate sigh of relief at the notion of no longer having to run or swing, at least for the time being. His body ached.

  A hundred yards or so up ahead, Ryder was pulling away fast, followed by his fellows. Too far for gunfire, which explained why they were not shooting back at them. A long straightaway greeted them: on the right was one of the canals, not a single bridge in sight. On the left, lane after lane passed by, with neither of the vehicles before them turning into one. Dust wondered at this, curious as to why Ryder wouldn't duck out of sight.

  Some hundred yards ahead, Ryder's jeep cornered sharply to the left at last, disappearing into one of the lanes. The other jeep continued forward, but quickly screeched to a halt, a plume of smoke expelling upwards from their tires dragging across the pavement. It appeared as though they hadn't been expecting Ryder to make such a maneuver, and as if to confirm this, the jeep began to reverse swiftly in order to follow Ryder once more.

  Dust's intuition spiked. This felt very wrong.

  Jack pressed on harder, spurred by losing sight of Ryder's jeep. “Hold on!” she shouted, slowing to take the same corner that Ryder had.

  “Wait!” Dust warned. “Take a different lane!”

  She ignored him. Instead, she released a volley of bullets from the Tommy in her grasp, peppering the street and causing the second jeep to come to a halt just before the lane. Dust suddenly saw the play: Ryder's men had boxed them in. If they came to that turn, they would only be able to turn left. The canal was to the right.

  “Turn!” Dust shouted. He reached for the wheel. “Turn now!”

  Jack pushed him aside and slowed their jeep down harshly, so as to avoid crashing into Ryder's men. As she did, their vehicle approached the lane, and the sound of tires squealing could be heard around the bend.

  Dust meant to stand in his seat, his pistol ready, but it was too late: as Jack attempted to come around, Ryder's jeep now came barreling down the lane headfirst towards them, crashing at full speed into the side of their ride. Metal rent and tore, glass shattered and flew; Dust was nearly thrown from the seat, leaning onto the windshield for support, and Jack dropped the Tommy. Something flew past Dust's face and cut him. A terrifying moment passed as they slid, skipping, almost over the edge of the lane and into the canal, but Ryder had not built up enough speed to throw them all the way over. In the second jeep, Ryder's men stood up as Ryder backed up, guns drawn, but Dust was faster; his pistol popped twice, and the two men in the jeep were caught in the fire, bodies limply crumbling to the street. He turned, as a dazed Jack reached down to shift gears to back up, but Ryder came once more in the moment and this time succeeded. Remaining glass broke and framework argued once more as Dust felt the balance of his world tilt all the way to his right, and he heard the splash before he felt it. The jeep, as it slipped over th
e side, turned completely over and landed upside down on top of them as they went into the canal.

  ***

  VIII

  All was quiet.

  Muted, below the surface of the water, Dust immediately reached out in an attempt to slow his drift along with the current. It fiercely tugged him along and he nearly missed his handhold on the bent door of the jeep, but he grasped it and held tight. Jack was somewhere, possibly already gone away in the water, and as he fished his free arm about where she ought to be, he discovered nothing, and he cursed himself. He should have reached for her first.

  Below him there was a tug, and through the darkening clarity of the water he was able to barely make out Jack, stuck in the driver's seat, struggling against the seat harness to free herself. Each time she pulled against it there was no give; her eyes met his with a plea for help. Seven hells. As the jeep sank lower in the canal, Dust positioned himself beneath it beside her, unsure of how deep they had to go, but there was no time to ponder on that. Fighting against his lungs, he remained calm, as did she, leaning forward to tug at her harness. Light was dimming; eyesight became limited. Dust reached forward and felt blindly, searching for where and how she was caught. He could discern little from this method, and he again cursed himself for not thinking quicker sooner.

  A bump on the front end of the jeep; they'd reached the bottom. She remained bent over as the rear came to rest at the bottom of the canal, the rollbars on the top of the vehicle left them room still to work. It was almost pitch black now, with little light able to come through. Dust gave up his blind search and instead reached down to feel for the knife strapped to her thigh, and once it was found he used it to begin sawing at the straps. He gently tried to move her so, to give her an idea of what he was doing, but she had become unresponsive. Possibly passed out. Unable to see, his lungs burning, he decided to throw it all to hell and tore at the material as harshly as he could with the blade. Around her shoulders he felt the slightest give, and with tremendous relief the harness gave way and she was free. Once he'd slipped his arms beneath her, he dragged her out and attempted to swim upwards, only for the current to take hold and rush them along, twirling end over end like dancers.

  Dust refused his grip to falter, and he pulled Jack as close as he could, all the while fighting to surface. Fingers of light streamed down through the water, illuminating giant fish swimming madly out of their path. No leviathans yet – yet. But yet would not matter if he could not receive some air into his lungs. Frantically, he pawed upwards, kicking, straining, his left arm tightly clutching Jack's limp body to his own. Stressing his body to the limit, he felt his vision falter as they struggled upwards. They weren't going to make it if he didn't let her go. And he wouldn't allow himself to do so.

  Then, at last, his head breached the water.

  Air filled his lungs; it was rough, ragged, and he almost couldn't breathe it in. Short coughing fits hit him as he tried, but the current pulled him back under with the weight of Jack's body. Come on, he told himself, just do it. With Herculean effort, he emerged once more, holding onto Jack with everything he had, flailing for the lip of the canal just barely out of reach, fingertips brushing against rough stone, maddening, his reach too short as the waters rushed them onwards. He reached again; his palm caught hold and cut his skin as he refused to let go. Jack's body made an attempt to draw away from his arm, and, straining, he hugged her close once more. An idea struck, and he went with it: with his forearm holding the two of them to the edge, he managed to get his body sideways and his right leg up and over. Using this purchase, he shimmied his body all the way onto the street, and as he lay on his stomach he renewed both arms under Jack's and pulled her over and out of the water.

  As they rolled onto the ground together, his lungs jumpstarted and he was able to breathe at last. He rolled to his elbows, but he was too lightheaded to push himself to his hands and knees. Jack. His only thoughts were on her, and how long she'd been passed out, how much water had filled her lungs, whether or not she was done for, or if there was still yet time. Pavement came up to greet his body as his shaking limbs gave way, and the street bit his cheek. This was enough to rouse him. Little time remained to save his companion.

  He gently angled her neck and pressed his mouth to hers, exhaling. Quickly, he began compressions, then returned to giving her air. Back and forth he went, checking her pulse, awaiting a response of some kind, and when none was present he returned to giving her air. Time hung in the atmosphere, frozen, unwilling to move, just as Jack's body seemed unwilling to return to life.

  “Come on,” he muttered, then louder: “Come on!”

  As if by direct response, Jack's torso convulsed, her back arched, and her cough fluttered with something caught in her throat. Dust quickly turned her to one side as she continued to battle with the blockage, and at last she retched canal water, spilling what seemed a gallon onto the street. He made sure her hair was out of her face as she continued until there was nothing but dry heaves and the sound of hoarseness in her throat as her body trembled from the act of release. She splayed her fingers out on the ground, caressing the firmament, eyes shut to the world of agony she'd just endured.

  A whisper emerged from her lips.

  Dust leaned in closer. “What? What is it?”

  “Thank you,” she whispered again, and she returned to regaining air.

  Dust sighed in response, and realized he was trembling as well. That had been too close, and he didn't want to think of how it very well could have ended. Looking around to ensure that Ryder and his men had, in fact, driven off, he was met with the welcome sight of an empty street – except that it wasn't as welcome as he first inferred. The current in the canal had pulled them backwards down the lane quite a bit away from the site where Ryder had pushed them in, and there ought to have been an empty jeep sitting solitary at that point. But instead there were two bodies lying in the street, still as death held, and nothing more. Ryder must have had someone else with him in his ride to replace the driver. And the truck was nowhere in sight, either, which meant that while Ryder's crew was down a few numbers, they still had more weapons and faster means of travel than they. Also, a head start. And a captive to use as leverage for when they met next.

  Dust allowed himself to collapse onto his back whilst Jack continued to regain her composure. If anything, he felt that he needed the break. Body ached, muscles hurt, brain confounded. Just another day in the life, one might say.

  ***

  Time passed. Once both of them felt ready to march forth into the city once more, they stood and took stock of their situation.

  Jack's knife had been swept away in the canal after Dust had used it to cut her free; two magazines remained in Dust's bandolier, and his pistol had perhaps a couple of rounds left; there was no way to restock or reload properly, and outside of the gun, there was only the bullwhip and their bare hands.

  Well. He'd done more with less.

  As they walked along the canal, searching for a way to cross, Jack shook her head. “We should have begun to move sooner.”

  Dust shook his head as well. “You needed time to recover. Both of us did.”

  “Cairn is in need. If anything happens to him – ”

  “Let's start,” Dust cut in, “with something that doesn't involve beating yourself up for something you can't control right now. Okay? First – which way do we need to go?”

  Jack closed her eyes, then pointed to their right, across the canal.

  “Yeah, that's what I thought.” Up ahead, there was no sign of a bridge or water wheel which they could enlist for crossing. “Goddammit, this is really starting to not be my day.”

  “Only just now?”

  “It takes a lot.” He bit his lip with consideration. “I mean, we've already been through the canal without being eaten, we might as well just swim across.”

  “What about the current?”

  “You strong enough to swim?”

  “I – yes, I am. You?”


  “Ready and waiting. We go one at a time, toss the pistol across to the other so one of us has a lookout for a sea serpent. Sound good?”

  Jack nodded, and without a word dove headfirst into the canal.

  Jesus Christ! Dust drew his pistol, suddenly more alert than he desired to be, looking up and down the waters for any leviathans on prowl. Jack emerged from the other side moments later, drenched but clearly okay.

  “If you could wait for us to both be ready next time, that would be great,” Dust chided.

  “You move too slow,” Jack replied.

  Dust remembered putting their jeep in drive and turning into a herd of dinosaurs at a moment's notice of danger, but now was not the time to argue. He clicked the safety on the pistol and underhanded it across the way into Jack's awaiting palms. Then he submerged and crossed the canal without incident.

  As he stood on the other side, Jack held out the gun for him to retrieve. He shook his head.

  “We don't have much to defend ourselves with.” He withdrew the remaining magazines from his harness and held them out. “You take the gun.”

  “What about you?”

  He jostled the whip dangling from his belt. “I'll manage.”

  Accepting this, she took the magazines and placed them in her satchel. Then she nodded at the direction they needed to continue, and they set off, eyes both on the road and the buildings above them. After all, there was still the matter of ancient primates they needed to consider, although why those hadn't made their presence known already was something of a mystery.

  Speaking of mysteries, Dust spoke up. “So, I'm curious about the whole gun thing. Care to enlighten me?”

  She shook her head. “It's a long story.”

  “We seem to have time.”

  “I'd rather not.”