To The Center Of The Earth

by Greig Beck

  At the water’s edge, she saw Michael reach behind Georgy and set the timer. Then they waded into the water, and Michael began to yell and thrash. He backed up, and from a distance, it looked to her like it was two people standing on the shoreline. And she hoped it looked that way to the creature as well.

  Michael began to back up, leaving the rigid corpse propped on its stand on the shoreline. From the water, a long tentacle shot out and took hold of the corpse. Another thick tendril lifted from the water and went after Michael.

  The creature lifted higher in the water to get a better look at the fleeing man, and now with more revealed, the size of the thing made the breath catch in Jane’s throat.

  It was a spider, as big as a house, but the legs weren’t stiff like a normal arachnid but more rubbery like tentacles. The eyes were crowded forward at the front and were all hubcap-sized as they fixed on the fleeing man.

  Jane was amazed at the speed of the thing. Michael was 20 feet from the water now, and the tentacle still pursued him. And in a couple of seconds, it had him.

  Jane screamed and went to run from the trees, but Wenton grabbed her.

  “Wait.”

  Michael turned and pulled his knife to stab down on the long, rubbery limb. He didn’t have a hope of cutting the thing, but he undoubtedly hoped to irritate it enough to make it let go.

  The limb unfurled maybe to get a better grip elsewhere, but Michael immediately rolled over and turned to sprint in a zigzag up the beach. The creature watched him go for a second or two and must have decided it could catch him again later.

  It sunk below the surface of the water, taking its prize, Georgy, with it.

  “Get down,” Michael yelled.

  The explosion blew water in a giant spout into the air, and they felt the shock wave from the beach to where they sheltered behind the trees. After another moment, Michael jumped to his feet and ran back to the waterline, searching for any evidence of a kill.

  “Did we get it?” Jane yelled.

  The water was still all froth and chop in the area, but there was nothing else—no chunks of flesh, and with the water already blood red, it was impossible to tell if there was anything of the monster in there among it.

  “I don’t know.” Michael walked along the shore, hand shielding his eyes.

  “Do you think it found out that the thing it grabbed wasn’t alive and tossed it?” Andy had joined them.

  “Let’s hope not. We haven’t got any more corpses, so we’ve just played all our cards.” Maggie pushed greasy hair back off her face.

  “I’m sure we got it. The plan worked.” Wenton half-smiled.

  “What makes you say that?” Andy cocked an eyebrow.

  “The boat, of course. Look,” he said confidently.

  They turned—their boat was now drifting parallel to the shore.

  “There’s nothing holding onto it. I think our beast is now safely in Davey Jones’ locker.” He turned. “Jamison, be a good chap and retrieve our boat.”

  “Say what?” The young man’s brows shot up so high they threatened to escape into his hairline. “There’s no way I’m swimming out there.”

  “Yeah, Mr. All-talk. Why don’t you swim out there and get it?” Andy glared.

  Wenton continued to smile. “You want me to swim out to the only boat we all have? The one with the last of our supplies, the last sticks of dynamite, and the only means of escape we, you, have?”

  “Let me guess, and in a moment of madness, you decide you want to go home…by yourself,” Michael chuckled. “We draw straws, and quick. Before our boat is further away from the shore and in even deeper water.”

  “Good call,” Wenton replied. “After all, we don’t know if our explosion will attract even more ferocious denizens of the deep.”

  Jane found a reed of even thickness that she broke into six pieces. She held them in her fist, and then held them out.

  “Who’s first?”

  Michael took one—it was a long stick.

  Andy, then Jamison, also drew long sticks.

  Maggie closed her eyes and took another, drawing a long stick. She exhaled with relief.

  There were now two sticks left.

  “That leaves just you and me, Harry,” Jane said.

  Wenton drew a stick—the last long one. He smiled at her with mock sadness.

  “Ah shit.” She held up her short stick.

  From behind the group came the splash of water, and Jane spun.

  Michael was already in the water and swimming out to the boat.

  “Hey,” she called. “Don’t you damn be a hero, you big, dumb…” She jogged down to the waterline, “…magnificent man,” she finished softly.

  *****

  Michael breaststroked out to the boat. He’d lost two friends because he dragged everyone down here on his personal quest to find out if an ancient legend was true. So he’d be dammed if he let anyone else die doing something he could do himself.

  Especially not Jane, he thought.

  The water was warm, but he felt himself shriveling regardless. The island must have been some sort of volcanic peak, because just a dozen feet from shore, the clear, but red-tinged water fell away to an unimaginable blackness. It meant he couldn’t see down, and frankly, he didn’t want to.

  Every stroke he took seemed to bring the boat no closer, and he had a terrible thought that the many-armed spider-thing might still be beneath the boat, but instead of holding it in place, it was this time gently taking it away, inch by inch, to lure him ever further from safety.

  He finally closed in on the boat. Now six feet, now five feet—his heart was galloping in his chest—four feet, three feet—if the thing was underneath the boat, it would take him now.

  Then he reached up to grab the gunwale, and with almost superhuman strength brought on by absolute fear, he leaped up and into the boat and lay there, eyes closed for several moments, letting the heat from above warm his fear-chilled body as he shivered.

  Michael finally opened his eyes, blew a breath out hard, and sat up. He waved to the group on the shore. They all waved back except for Jane who looked like she was shaking a fist at him.

  Michael grinned and then picked up two of the oars and began to row back to the beach. In a few minutes, he felt the bow being grabbed and slid forward.

  “You dumb bastard,” Jane said, leaning on the rail. “I coulda done that myself. I’m no damsel in distress, you know.”

  He nodded. “I know you would have and could have done it. That’s why I wouldn’t let you.” He gave her a crooked smile. “I’m not ready to lose you.”

  “Hey!” Andy mock scowled.

  Michael chuckled. “Okay, not you either.”

  “Well done, Monroe.” Wenton slapped his shoulder. He turned to Jane. “Don’t be too hard on him. After all, this mad world needs more volunteers like this guy.” He snorted.

  “Well, am I the only one that wants to get off this island?” Andy asked.

  “Yeah, let’s move out. We now have a compass, a direction, and no reason to hang around for another minute,” Michael replied.

  It took them a little longer as Jane suggested they gather more of the eggs and also some of the fleshy plants that stored water—after all, they had no idea how long they’d be onboard this time.

  Still, within half an hour, they were all back onboard. Michael had unfurled the sail. Even though the breeze was near non-existent, he decided that for now the splash of oars should be kept to a minimum.

  Michael tightened the sail made of rags, the remains of tattered sleeping mats, woven through with tough reeds. He checked the small compass one last time and then pointed.

  “North, and to home.”

  EPISODE 04

  “There are no impossible obstacles; there are just stronger and weaker wills.” Jules Verne

  CHAPTER 20

  Days.

  Many days.

  And they were hot and listless days.

  No one spoke now, and th
e food had run out even though they had rationed the last of the glutinous eggs. The broad and fleshy leaves of the water-bearing plants were as dry now as the tongues in their mouths, and their lips felt like flaking paper.

  There was not a breath of wind so they’d turned the sail into a canopy that shielded them from the fierce heat of the red ceiling, as Jane was insistent they not receive further radiation burns. But even under the canopy, the heat still found them.

  The boat seemed far more spacious now that they were down two friends. Michael missed Angela, and oddly, also the big taciturn Russian. He’d take the more crowded boat any day if it meant he could have them back.

  Some splashing out on the surface made Michael lift the brim of his sagging reed hat an inch and open one eye to squint out in its direction.

  Silver torpedoes broke the surface, dove, and then surged back again. He smiled; they looked exactly like dolphins, but he knew that more than likely they were some form of arthropod that had evolved to keep pace with the fastest creatures in the inland sea.

  Concurrent evolution, he remembered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small knife with compass—northward. He liked to think they were still headed in that direction, but without wind, they just floated, a hostage to whatever currents were working in the seeming endless body of water.

  He heard a scrape from behind and he turned, ever mindful of some weird denizen of the deep coming up to investigate them.

  Everyone was lying down or hunched over, sleeping. It was for the best, because activity burned calories and water. Best to hibernate until something broke. And hopefully, it wouldn’t be their spirits.

  He turned back and once again his eyes grew heavy, and he let his forehead rest on his arms as he had leaned forward on his knees. In another few seconds, he drifted off to join his friends.

  Scra-aaaape.

  Michael’s head jerked up.

  “What was that?” Andy muttered drowsily from behind him.

  Michael turned about but saw nothing but a haze on the horizon. Then he looked over the side, and in the crystal-clear water saw they were traveling over some sort of chasm, and at the top of the valley peaks on each side, some of the rocks and corals were only a few feet below the surface.

  “Some sort of outcrop or reef, I think.” He continued to stare down into the depths. “We better get on the oars again as it really shallows out in a few areas.”

  There were some groans, but Wenton, Andy, and Maggie joined Michael rowing. Jane kept watch over the side.

  They gently rowed across the glass-still surface, the sounds of the water dripping from their oars the only sound.

  “Getting shallower. Stop rowing,” Michael said. He quickly grabbed up his spear and used it to hold onto the rocks just below the surface and anchor the boat. He held it in place for a moment as he stared over the side.

  “Let’s get out. The reef here is only inches below the water, and there’s bound to be some sort of shellfish or sea life we can scavenge.”

  They carefully climbed over the side, unwinding limbs that had been folded for days. Together, they hoisted the boat up onto the rocky platform and they picked their way forward using their bags or shirts to scavenge anything that looked edible.

  Jane came to the edge of the reef and crouched to gaze into the deeper water of the chasm. She placed a hand over her eyes to cut down the glare. “There’s something down there.”

  “Something edible?” Andy asked.

  “Yes, there is, but that’s not it,” she replied, squinting into the depths. “Water is so clear I can’t tell if it’s 20 or 120 feet deep. But other than schools of fish things, I think, there might be a pathway—cobblestones.”

  “No way,” Maggie said.

  The group came and joined her, lining up on the edge of the reef that was like a valley wall.

  “Are you sure?” Wenton asked. “After all, there are many natural geological formations that resemble interlocking stones. In fact, on the coast of…”

  Jane rolled her eyes. “Yes, Harry, I know all about quartz bricks, shale tiles, and rhomboids, but this isn’t what I’m seeing. It actually looks like paving stones, and with something along their sides that could be a wall. Or once was a wall.”

  “Are you saying there’s a civilization down there?” Maggie’s brows knitted.

  “No… I don’t think anymore,” Jane replied. “Maybe it once was, but it looks like it sunk long ago. Maybe tens or hundreds of thousands of years.”

  “Maybe more,” Michael said. “This is fresh water, so it’s far less corrosive.”

  “So, no fish people then.” Andy half-smiled.

  Michael also cupped his eyes to see better into the deeper water. “Nice try, but I doubt it’s Atlantis, Andy.” He turned. “That’s under the snow and ice of the Antarctic. Haven’t you ever read the leaked report on the dark web from that Harvard linguistics professor? Matt Kearns I think his name was. He said he traveled there as part of a secret military mission.”

  “Yeah, he sounds sane. But I’ll look it up when I get back.” Andy also turned to stare down into the depths.

  “Oh my God—they’re columns, and some ruins.” Jane pointed. “There really was a civilization here once.”

  Michael looked around. “Maybe this was another island once that eventually sunk. Or the lake level rose.” He stood and walked along the valley peak to stare down into the deeper crystal-clear water.

  “I wonder what they were like?” Maggie said.

  “Like bugs, I presume,” Wenton said. “Now that would be something to see—intelligent bugs.”

  “If they were on an island, and they were smart enough to build these structures, then I’m betting they were smart enough to leave when the water rose, or their land fell.” Jane shielded her eyes and looked into the distance. “Yeah, I’d like to know what they were like as well.”

  “Hold that thought.” Michael got to his feet and quickly rummaged in his decrepit pack.

  “Yes, and still intact.” He pulled free a small set of swim goggles he had packed on a whim. He held them to his face and leaned over, placing his face in the water.

  He sat back.

  “What is it?” Maggie asked.

  He grinned, not believing what he just saw. “Might be something interesting; just give me a minute.” Michael pulled the goggles over his head.

  “What? Are you freaking nuts?” Andy’s eyes widened. “Did you not see that thing that attacked us on the island?”

  “I give up.” Jane sat back, her lips pressed into a line. “Suicidal.”

  “I’ll be quick. This is important and may answer one of the great questions of our time,” he said.

  “How quickly can a man get himself killed?” Wenton smiled.

  Michael laughed, his lips pressed out from the goggles digging in under his nose. “No—are we alone?”

  Michael took one last look below the surface and then slipped over the edge and into the sunken reef valley.

  *****

  Jane sprung forward to lean over and watch Michael descend. His tattered clothing fluttered in streamers from his arms and legs as he stroked toward the bottom. He paused for a moment to pinch his nose and she guessed he was equalizing the pressure. It was obviously deeper than he thought and the clear water was as deceptive as she expected.

  He stroked on again, his body becoming smaller and less distinct. Fish came to check him out and what seemed like minnows from the surface, when next to Michael, were half as long as his body. For a fast moment, she wished he’d reach out and grab one and bring it back for them.

  He reached the bottom, close to one of the weed-covered columns, and tugged at something at its base. In another second, he was propelling himself back to the surface.

  The long silver fish things followed him and she wondered whether they could be like piranha and were thinking of taking a few chunks from the soft-bodied creature as it tried to escape from their domain.

  In ano
ther moment, they helped Michael back over the reef edge and he dragged off his mask, still gasping for breath.

  “Got it.” He grinned.

  He sat up and pushed hair off his face. Then he reached inside his shirt and produced what he’d found. Everyone craned forward to see.

  “Well, well, Michael, I think that answers your question,” Wenton said almost reverently.

  Jane stared at the object. It was a small broken statue, of a person, or at least the top two-thirds from the knees up—two arms, half legs, a head, but with the features worn away and pitted, and grown over with algae and weed.

  “No multiple legs, no arthropod plates, not even eyes on stalks.” Michael looked up at her. “Could it be? Could concurrent evolution produce another version of, us, down here?”

  Jane hiked her shoulders. “With enough time, anything and everything is possible.”

  “The structures could be early Roman or perhaps even Greek. They’re not, of course, but the architecture has a similar design.” Wenton continued looking over the side. “While our ancestral roots went on to found even bigger and better civilizations, this race seems to have vanished.”

  Maggie looked up at him. “If you fell from the sky and landed in the center of the Amazon jungle, the desert, or even Antarctica, you might walk for days or weeks without seeing another human being. There still could be thriving civilizations down here.” She looked back at the figurine. “We just don’t know where to look.”

  “But human or proto-human? That is the question, isn’t it?” Wenton said as he slowly straightened. “I assume your Russian girlfriend made no mention of this either?”

  Michael shook his head as he wrapped the artifact in a rag and placed it in the remains of his kit bag. “No, so maybe that means on her path home they never came across any evidence of people, human or otherwise.”

  “Should we,” Wenton raised his eyebrows, “look for them?”

  “No, our sole objective is to find a way home,” Jane said forcefully. “If someone wants to come back and mount a bigger, and better-prepared expedition, then feel free.”