Primordia 3: The Lost World—Re-Evolution

by Greig Beck

  Ben cursed and ran both hands up through his hair. Helen leaned across to him. “It’s starting on us now: erasure.”

  Ben looked up at her. “Let’s hope we’re in time.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Western Interior Sea shore, 100 Million Years Ago

  Andy finally made it down onto the debris-strewn beach and he stood on the silty shoreline, flexing his aching fingers from the climb, and looked back up; the cliff top was far above him, and he had no doubt if he had fallen when the edge broke off, he’d have been killed. Or even if he had survived, and only ended up with one or more broken limbs, in this place, it would have been a death sentence anyway.

  His first order of business was to grab up several of the flattened helmet crabs that meandered along the sand making wide tracks. They were slow and in no time, he had several large ones stacked like plates under his arm.

  Andy quickly turned to the ocean, always mindful of being in an open space. It was shallow at first but darkened quickly to deeper water. The amazing thing about it was that it surged sideways along the rocks and sand as if it was a monstrous river.

  The surge moved rapidly, far faster than walking pace, and he guessed it traveled for miles; hundreds even, on the turn of the tide. Given there was around six hours for a full change of tide, he bet if he was in his boat, he could travel for miles.

  Right now, it was heading north, but sooner or later it would stop, then become calm for a while as the tide had reached its zenith or nadir depending if it had been on the run in or out, and then it would turn to begin its southern run. Maybe all the way down south where the inland sea reached the open ocean. It might even join up with one of the continental currents and travel all the way to where he pulled his little boat up at the estuary mouth all those months back.

  “Need a boat.” He looked up and saw the stand of trees at the cliff line. He thought about it for a brief moment but then gave up. “Too hard, too long.” He sighed and turned back to watch the surge for a little longer.

  A thought crossed his mind: he could actually use it to travel further up inside the continent, at least along the coast of Appalachia. There were places he was still desperate to see in the lands that would one day merge to become North America.

  He turned southward: or should he try and head back down to South America again to watch the effects of Primordia? After all, Appalachia and Laramidia would be here tomorrow and every day for millions more years. But the comet Primordia only ever came once every decade.

  What a sight it would be to watch as that plateau became shrouded in its curtain of rain and that tiny section of Amazon jungle was somehow thrown forward, or them backward, so the two time zones briefly overlapped.

  Truth was, a small part of him was calling him home. He held up his hand that was missing the fingers. He smiled at it and flexed it—the damned thing still hurt. His body was all skin and bones, covered with a hundred different scars. Added to that, his back teeth were loose and he often suffered from chronic diarrhea from eating things that he obviously shouldn’t.

  Andy knew in his heart that this was no place to be an old man and alone. He exhaled and watched the water barreling north. Maybe I can just head back down and when I see the portal open, I can decide then.

  He flexed his hand again—it ached, and there was even a tiny nub of bone showing. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get some supplies, medicine, knives, and whatever.

  “If they even come,” he whispered, but then: “Nah, Helen will.”

  He smiled at the mental images of his sister forming in his mind. First there came the ones of a little girl falling off a swing, and then her standing in the water with a beaming grin, her Sammy the Seal pool float around her waist. Next came her in a prom dress and being taken to the dance by the college meathead called Jack Harding, who probably had the IQ of a tree stump.

  His vision blurred as his eyes watered as his mind took him home—then came university, and he and she had graduated together as the first brother and sister paleontologists in the state.

  Andy suddenly realized he missed her terribly. In reality, he missed everybody and anybody. He peeked into his bag. “Sometimes your conversation skills just don’t cut it, my little friend.”

  “And yours do?” The tiny thing tilted its head. “Gluck.”

  “Exactly.” He looked back at the surging sea and watched as a massive tree trunk, hundreds of feet long and probably twenty feet wide, passed him by on its way up the coast. Its branches and roots acted like stabilizers so it didn’t roll or bob.

  His mouth dropped open as it continued on by, fast, and traveling at about 10 knots in the surge—that was a good running speed.

  “I need a boat,” he repeated, and his mouth curled up at the corners as a plan began to take shape in his mind. Andy turned to look down the coastline and then back up. The tree was still in sight, but now already about 1,000 feet further up the coast.

  From where he stood, there was nothing but cliffs, rubble and little else down the coast. But just further up from where he stood, there was a small spit of sand and stone. The tree must have passed so close to it; it would almost have been leaping distance.

  “Maybe,” he whispered.

  He started to walk up along the beach, picking up more crabs and other things that could be edible as he went. Supplies, he now thought.

  He needed a boat, and Mother Nature provided one for him. If things went to plan, he’d be on that damned log for hours, and if things really went to plan, maybe even days.

  As he watched, the surge began to slow. “Here we go.” It was the change of tide, and soon the opposite surge would start and keep up for hours. He had to be at the spit waiting for the tree trunk or he’d miss his ride.

  Andy started to run alongside the now glass-calm sea, his feet slapping in puddles that sprayed his legs with warm water. But then from the corner of his eye, he detected a flicker of movement.

  “Shit.” He leapt to the side as the long shining body launched itself from the water.

  He scrabbled backward as the jaws snapped shut and kept snapping as the thing moved seal-like up onto the beach after him.

  It was a mosasaur, a small one at about 25 feet long. The calm water had created a window-like surface, and coupled with Andy jogging along the sand, he had attracted a predator whose eyes were adapted to focus on moving prey.

  However, the water was its kingdom, and on land it was well out of its element. The mosasaur gave up and flipped itself back into the water, but Andy could still see it gliding along under the surface beside him.

  “Dumb, dumb, and dumber,” he berated himself. He walked even further from the water and sat down. “Now what?” he wondered.

  He had to get to the tree stump, which meant even if it came real close to the spit, he would still need to cross some of the water by swimming. If he dragged this thing up the coast with him, he wouldn’t make two feet of open water, let alone a few dozen.

  He picked up a stone from the sand and threw it out into the water.

  “Fuck you!” he yelled.

  There was a surge toward where the rock landed, and he watched for a moment with narrowed eyes.

  “Okay, you find that interesting, huh?” He picked up some more and threw them again and again. This time, the mosasaur came to the surface, and he managed to land one smack onto its back.

  With a gout of water, it thrashed away. Andy watched for many more minutes, but there was no dark shape gliding back and forth.

  “And goodbye to you too… I hope.”

  Andy looked up at the sun—it was still only at mid-morning. Everything he owned was with him or on him, and he had miles to travel. He decided. He began to walk up the beach to the cliff wall, and then turned to head north toward the small spit that was like a natural wharf that would take him out from the coast.

  If he was going to hitch a ride, he knew he would have to cross some water—so the farther he could get out onto that spit, the better.
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  It took him 30 more minutes to reach the spit, and in the far distance, he could see the massive tree starting to make its way back down toward him. It was moving slowly, probably only a few miles per hour right now. But as soon as the tide really began to turn, it would pick up speed. He needed to be on it and settled by then.

  The rock wharf extended out like a finger for about 50 feet, and by the way the water pushed up in a small wave at its end, there must have been a sand spit as well.

  Andy turned to look up the coast again—the log was about 500 feet from him, and now picking up speed. There were plenty of leafless branches and gnarled roots for him to use as a ladder to climb up when he got there, and he mentally went through the motions he would use—swim, grab on, climb up, don’t look down, don’t look back.

  He turned and faced the water again. Just beyond the spit, the shelf would drop away to at least 50 feet in close, maybe more, otherwise the tree trunk’s branches would get snagged up on the bottom.

  Andy opened his bag and reached in for the last remnants of a shirt that was just a length of rag now. He carefully picked up Gluck and began to wrap him up like he was swaddling a tiny infant. The small reptile had felt it before and didn’t complain too much.

  “Gonna get wet real soon. Wish me luck, and you hold your breath.”

  “Good luck, Andy friend.”

  “Thank you. And I know you didn’t really say that.” He smiled. “But I don’t care.”

  Gluck never made another noise as Andy pushed him down deep into the bag and tied it closed. He then secured it over his shoulder.

  He rolled his shoulders like an Olympic swimmer getting ready for a heat and looked to one side of the rocky spit then to the other. The water was fairly shallow so the risk was minimal. But further out…

  He carefully moved along the rocks, slowly, arms out. His gaze went from the tree stump, to the rocks, and then to the water—I need eyes in the back of my head, plus a few more on the sides, he thought.

  When he reached the end of the rocks, he saw that there was a sand bar extending for another dozen feet, just about a foot below the waterline. Beyond, the water was dark blue and he could see the rip lines as it was beginning to pick up speed as it headed down south on the outgoing tide.

  Andy looked toward the massive log again that was bearing down on him and also picking up speed. He only had a few minutes more before he had to commit—he wanted, needed, more time, but any second now, it’d be at the go/no-go split.

  His heart galloped like a racehorse in his chest.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” he whispered from a cotton-dry mouth.

  Damnit, he thought. Gotta catch my ride, see Helen again. He stepped down onto the sandbar.

  CHAPTER 27

  “New things are appearing, and old things are winking out.”

  Ben waited while Drake slid the door back on the drop crate, and as soon as it was open, the heat, damp, and smells of the jungle rushed in. He inhaled the wet smell of decay, the cloying sweetness of scented blooms intermixing with the sharp tang of acidic plant resins. There was also the smell of the rich soil and corruption—life and death in equal measures was all around them.

  Walking further out into the small clearing, Ben could almost physically feel the waves of raucous sound from a million insects competing in song to attract a mate, give a warning, or just enjoying the warmth of the sun. Things flitted through the jungle canopy, some small and brightly colored and others larger shapes that caused the leaves to rain down like confetti.

  “Welcome home,” Drake said.

  “God, I missed this place,” Ben said.

  “Really?” Drake’s brows went up.

  Ben turned and grinned. “Nah, not one bit.”

  Helen joined them. “And then we were seven.”

  “Yeah.” Ben sighed. “And only we noticed her gone.” He looked at Helen. “Like you said, it’s reached us. But I don’t understand how it just took her? What happened?”

  Helen shook her head. “Who knows? Maybe somewhere back in her lineage something happened to change direction—an ancestor had a son instead of a daughter, or maybe never had children at all.”

  “We could be next,” Drake added.

  “Sobering.” Ben looked over his shoulder at the mercs and then lowered his voice. “Do you think…it will affect us?”

  “Who can say?” Her mouth turned down. “But my guess is that the bigger changes will start to happen soon and become evident.” She looked up at him. “But evident only to us.” She looked down at something moving through the grasses at their feet and crouched to scoop it up.

  Helen opened her hands and let Ben and Drake crowd closer. “Like, what’s this thing?”

  In her hand was a tiny creature that just covered her palm. It was the size of a mouse, except instead of fur it had pebbly skin and a beak rather than a long whiskered snout.

  “Some sort of…” Drake just snorted, “… ugly little bastard?”

  The thing mewled like a cat as Helen turned it one way then the other. “Well, it looks like an Aquilops, a distant relative to the huge Triceratops. But it’s different—new things are appearing, and old things are winking out.” She put it down. “But one thing’s for sure, it shouldn’t be here.”

  “Neither should we,” Ben said. He turned and whistled to Chess and waved the mercs on before turning back to Helen and Drake. “Seems we’re in a race. We find Andy and bring him back before we get erased from history. We can’t afford to lose.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Swimming in the Western Interior Sea, 100 Million Years Ago

  Andy sunk down into the sand a few inches and felt the strength of the current in bath-warm water as it came to just above his knees. The sand spit was only about 10 feet wide and was like a shoulder that sloped to rocks on either side.

  He licked his lips and tore his gaze away from the water, saw the tree trunk approaching now just another 100 feet further north and, worryingly, was going to pass by a lot further out than he anticipated.

  50 feet, he thought apprehensively. He tried to do the math—a single swim stroke would drag him forward about 3 to 4 feet, so maybe 15–16 strokes, 20 tops, and he’d be there. Once he got into the shadow of the log, anything in the water wouldn’t be able to see him.

  As the tree approached, he was able to get a better look at its characteristics: leafless branches, some massive, extended 20 feet in the air and all clustered around the front end. And at the other end, the roots were like a massive 10-foot-wide tangle. But there was plenty of room in among them for one skinny paleontologist to hide—he’d be caged in, but everything else would be caged out, so that’s where he’d head for: the rear.

  Andy stood just back from the very end of the spit and waited. He mentally calculated the timing he would need—dive in, stroke hard, try and intercept the log as it passed by. If he went too early, he might be carried away in the tidal surge. If he was too late, he might never catch up to it. He needed to time it so the trunk was right in front of him when he was out there. The absolute least time he spent in the water, the better chance he had of surviving.

  He quickly crossed back to the rocky spit and picked up a piece of loose stone. He brought it back and flung it far out into the sea—nothing surged toward it, and other than the ripples from the moving water, there also seemed nothing else lurking. He counted down, flexing his hand and bending his knees that felt weak and trembling.

  10, 9, 8, 7, 6—look left and right—3, 2, 1…

  He dived. Even though the water was tropical warm, he felt a chill run right through his body. He swam hard, too hard, thrashing like a machine. Slow down! his mind screamed, but his primitive brain refused to listen, and he thrashed onward. He knew his flailing strokes would attract predators but he wanted to be out of the water more than anything else in his life.

  Andy didn’t want to, but he opened his eyes. Down below him was a flick of movement, and it caused a little bit of piss to shoot from
his groin.

  Oh fuck, he thought. The mosasaur was down there. He lifted his head—just 15 more feet.

  The long and straight trunk towered above him and he thought its size meant it might have been some sort of early species of Sequoia that had been around since the Jurassic. For something so colossally huge, it was moving fast, way too fast.

  The jig was up and he had nothing to lose but his life. His fear shot adrenaline into his system and with it came a burst of energy. He threw his arms over and kicked hard. He was no champion swimmer, but he bet he would have left Michael Phelps in his wake.

  On his back, his satchel, even though mostly closed, was acting like a water parachute and slowing him down. There came a surge from beneath him, and his stomach fluttered as it was exposed to the depths. Andy swam with his head up now, counting down—10 feet, 8, then 5.

  He didn’t want to look down or back anymore, just willing himself to thrash toward the tangle of tree roots. In another few seconds, he was jammed in among them and kept going until he was in their very heart, just as something welled up, nudged the massive tree trunk, and covered him in spray.

  “Ha!” he yelled and spun back. “Fuck you.” He turned around and hung onto some roots and puffed hard like a steam train. He felt ill and his stomach threatened to lose the precious little food it had in it. But he swallowed hard and willed it down, and also forced himself to breathe slower. He could do nothing about his heart rate that was still sprinting in his chest. He’d had close calls before, but there was something about dark water that scared the shit out of him.

  In another few minutes, he had regained enough energy to clamber up onto the top of the log. It was wide, stable as he had hoped, and he flopped down to lean his back against a stout gnarly root. Andy lifted his face to the sun. It warmed him, and he thanked whatever gods were up there for looking after him.