Primordia 3: The Lost World—Re-Evolution

by Greig Beck

  He had heard the legends of the monsters from the Amazon jungle that came down to claim the souls of the people once every half generation. He didn’t believe any of them, but he did believe something strange was going on in there. His suspicion was that somehow the phenomena of the wettest season and the comet Primordia approaching were linked. He didn’t know how, but right now, he believed in that more than it being something supernatural rising from the jungle.

  He was only a day out now, and the ground was becoming mushy beneath his feet. There would be a waterway close by. He also knew that water and jungles meant insects, parasites, and in most cases, predators who came to drink or lie in ambush, waiting for prey animals to drink.

  The only weapons he had brought with him were his hunting knives and his wits. He suddenly regretted not taking his father’s old rifle.

  Nicolás plodded on, and though the raucous sounds of the jungle masked his movements, he doubted they were hidden from any predators because his sounds were unnatural—two-legged creatures like him just didn’t belong here.

  After a moment, the buzzing, clicking, and humming of bugs, the scream of birds, plus the rustling of leaf litter all fell away. He stood in near silence in an open space about 10 feet square. It was only noon, but the heavy jungle canopy overhead made it seem like twilight.

  Sweat streamed down his face, and the salty residue was attractive to all manner of flying things even though he had lathered repellent on himself and continued to do so every few hours. He knew it usually worked to keep the insects at bay, but it also advertised him blundering through the jungle inside a chemical cloud, probably 100 feet wide.

  Nicolás stood quietly, turning his head slowly. He even made his breathing shallow and strained to hear anything approaching. He sensed danger, and the other creatures of the jungle did too. It could be anything—a jaguar, anaconda, or something else entirely. He eased in close to a tree trunk, keeping it at his back, that way he only had to worry about three sides, and if something did attack, he might have a chance of repelling it.

  He had the urge to run but stood his ground. One thing was for sure: predators in a jungle were much better at chasing something down than he would be at fleeing.

  Come on, he breathed. Show yourself.

  The hairs on his body lifted and his scalp tingled from tension. He was being watched, he knew it, and he could feel his heart beating in his chest.

  He was first grabbed around the neck. Whatever it was, it was fast and very quickly also wrapped around his forehead, and then he felt it sliding around his waist. The pressure was enormous, and with it came a stink that enveloped him and made his eyes water.

  Nicolás yelled in surprise and fear and grabbed at the thing, feeling what seemed to be a thick snake, but instead of the dry scale feeling he expected, it was slick, slimy, and his hands slid away and were coated in a jelly-like mucus.

  His eyes streamed from the chemicals, and then the pressure increased on his head and waist, and he felt himself begin to be lifted off his feet. He panicked then, punching at it, tearing and scrabbling, but he couldn’t get a grip on the revolting thing.

  “Help.”

  He thrashed some more, kicking his legs as he began to be lifted higher into the tree canopy.

  “Help!”

  He tried to grip the tree trunk with his legs to stop being lifted, but the thing that held him was far more powerful than he was.

  Nicolás began to panic, becoming scared out of his wits at the thought of what would happen when the thing or things finally had him up and into the dense tree.

  His eyes streamed and his breath was beginning to be cut off. He had seconds left.

  “He-eeelp!”

  *****

  “Did you hear that?” Drake frowned and turned to Ben, but kept his head tilted, listening.

  “Yeah, yeah, I did.” Ben held up a hand, stopping the group.

  “What is it?” Helen asked.

  Chess and Francis hefted their guns; Shawna and Buster turned their backs on them, covering their rear.

  “That was a voice,” Chess said. “Up ahead; sounds like trouble.”

  “Yup.” Ben nodded. “Let’s go; low and quiet.”

  He and Drake led them out, Chess and Francis right behind, and then Helen, Shawna, and Buster.

  Ben burrowed through the wall-thick jungle, making too much noise but not being able to help it. He’d been in far too many jungles now to know the signs of a predator—all around them the rest of the jungle held its breath and just watched.

  He also knew from experience there was the pause during the stalking, and then the attack, and just like now, the sounds of the final death struggle. Often it attracted other predators and scavengers. If it was someone in trouble, Ben needed to be quick.

  Ben was first into the small clearing and the group piled in fast, spreading left and right. Ben saw the pack on the ground and breathed in the stink.

  “What the…?”

  “Holy shit.” Drake pointed the muzzle of his gun. “Look!”

  About 10 feet up from the ground, someone struggled furiously. They were held aloft by something wrapped around his neck and waist, but it was what the things were attached to that made the hair on Ben’s neck stand on end.

  “Oh my God.”

  “Monktopus; bad news.” Chess lifted his gun but couldn’t fire. “No shot, no shot.”

  The thing was holding the man in front of it, but Ben could sort of make it out. It was a huge greenish-gray bag, five feet across and sprouting short, muscular tentacles. At the end of each limb, they formed a type of fork, like a two-fingered hand or two-toed foot. The worst thing was the large lidless eyes that were way too intelligent.

  “A what?” Drake said, trying to angle his gun.

  The snared man’s face was turning purple and his tongue began to protrude. Even though the eyes bulged, they were panicked, and he was well on his way to being suffocated.

  Ben lifted his gun and aimed—the thing seemed to know to use the guy’s body as a shield, and it waved the choking man back and forth in front of it.

  And then it moved him a few inches too far one way and Ben fired. The shot took a fist-sized chunk of meat from the bag-like head, and blue blood splashed the surrounding foliage.

  It screamed.

  “Shit.” Drake took a step back.

  It was an unnatural hellish sound like nails on a blackboard that made Ben grit his teeth. It threw the man at them and raised its tentacles, opening them like a flower and revealing a parrot-like beak underneath that was as long as his forearm. It snapped at him, angrily, and Ben fired three more times, hitting it again but only once.

  Bizarrely, it swung away, as nimbly as an arboreal creature, and in seconds, it was gone. Monktopus, Chess had called it—a monkey-octopus.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” Drake said, and his mouth stayed hung open. “What the hell was that?”

  Ben turned. “Helen, could that have come from…?”

  “The plateau?” She shook her head. “No way. Besides, the doorway isn’t even open yet. Nothing like that ever existed in the fossil record, or on any branch of evolution.” She snorted. “It was an octopus, for God’s sake.”

  “Like I said, a Monktopus,” Chess said casually. “I thought you said you’d been in the Amazon before.”

  “Many times,” said Ben.

  “Me too,” Drake added. “And never seen anything like that.”

  “They’re rare, but inhabit the darker areas of the jungle, and usually close to a water source. That’s where they lay their eggs,” Francis said and shrugged huge shoulders. “That looked to be an 8 to10-footer, but they can get even bigger.”

  Ben turned to Helen. “They left the water.”

  She nodded slowly, but her eyes were now scanning the treetops. “Theorists always speculated they would. They’re intelligent, strong, and adaptive.” She turned. “The theorists also speculated that if mankind didn’t exist, then cephalopods might one d
ay rule the world.”

  “All hail our new multi-armed overlords.” Chess turned and guffawed at Shawna.

  A cough from the brush brought their heads around, and Shawna crossed to the Monktopus victim and stood over him. “Hey, whatta you know, he’s still alive.”

  He coughed again and sat up rubbing his neck, but with his eyes screwed shut. He grimaced. “My eyes.”

  “Yep, that’d be the ammonia; stings like a bitch, dunnit?” Chess said. “The damn monks are covered in it. Stops them drying out when they’re on land.” Chess clicked his fingers at Shawna. “Flush it out or he’ll be blind for days.”

  Shawna tilted his head back and lifted her canteen over his face. “Shut your eyes, honey.” She first used her sweat rag to wipe his face off. “Now open them.” She then let water trickle over his eyes. She wiped them again. “Better?”

  He continued to blink as he nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”

  Ben went and stood in front of him. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

  “Nicolás Manduro…” He coughed again and held out a hand. Shawna tugged him up. “Thank you again.” He turned to Ben. “I work for the Venezuelan National Institute of Meteorological Services.”

  “You’re a meteorologist? What the hell are you doing all the way out here?” Drake craned his neck forward. “Are you insane?”

  “Probably.” The young man grinned apologetically. “I forgot about the Monktopus. I don’t know why I forgot.” He sighed. “I came to investigate the source of the wettest season anomaly.”

  “Great,” Ben said and exhaled. “Just great.” He immediately knew he was going to get stuck with the guy.

  “The wettest what?” Shawna guffawed. “That sounds like one of your porn tapes, Chess.”

  Chess brayed. “Private viewings only these days, babe.” They both continued to laugh.

  “That’s enough,” Ben said. He faced Nicolás. “What are, were, you planning to do?”

  Nicolás began to grin. “You’re going there too, aren’t you?”

  “I asked you a question.” Ben gave him the ‘glare’ and the young man’s smile dropped.

  “I plan to scale as high as I can on the plateau and plant some measuring equipment.” He frowned. “We can’t see it from a distance; it shuts out all our sensors. Need to be closer, I guess.” He frowned. “I think there’s something strange going on up there.”

  “Yeah, din-o-sewers, according to these jokers.” Chess’ grin widened.

  “You shouldn’t climb the plateau,” Drake said and glanced at Helen and then back at the meteorologist. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “How do you know?” Nicolás’ eyes narrowed. “You’ve been there before, haven’t you?” He stepped forward. “I’ve seen something. Last time, 10 years ago, I saw a balloon entering, and then, I think—” He shook his head and then grabbed Ben’s arm, “—no, I know, it was attacked by something big. Like a giant bat, but as large as an airplane.”

  “Ah, fuck.” Ben looked heavenward.

  “You do know something,” Nicolás pressed.

  “Yeah, we do. That was us in that balloon,” Drake said.

  Chess, Francis, and Shawna became silent.

  Ben turned to the man. “We lost a lot of people. Only a few of us made it out alive. And three of those four are right here. Believe me when I tell you it’s dangerous up there—deadly dangerous. You don’t want to go there. There’s more than just weird weather up there.”

  Helen nodded. “He’s right, Nicolás. Maybe you can take your measurements from the base.”

  “That is not possible.” Nicolás’ expression hardened. “If you’re going up there, then I’m going up there.”

  “Nicolás,” Ben said. “The weather is not the anomaly. The weather is only a secondary effect from a magnetic comet that’s passing overhead.”

  “I knew it.” He clapped his hands together. “A magnetic astral anomaly; it makes perfect sense.” Nicolás straightened to his full height of about five feet eight inches.

  “It does?” Shawna frowned.

  “Yes,” Nicolás replied enthusiastically. “Correlation between changes in amplitude of geomagnetic variations of external origin could account for the significant but temporary, weather fluctuations.”

  “That was English, right?” Shawna looked impressed.

  Nicolás nodded. “But I need to be up there for verification.”

  Chess snorted. “Buddy, you nearly got killed down here. If only half of what these guys say is true, your life expectancy will be about five minutes from setting foot up there. Here’s some advice: fuck off home.”

  “I’m going,” Nicolás said. “With you or without you.” He paused. “But, preferably with you.” He grinned sheepishly.

  Shawna shrugged. “Aw, let the kid come with us. It’s his life.”

  “Gets my vote.” Buster’s mouth twisted. “Shit goes down, my money is on him buying it first, rather than one of us.”

  Ben went and picked up Nicolás’ pack. It was heavy. He tossed it to him. “How were you going to climb up a cliff face about 1,500 feet with that on your back?”

  Nicolás pulled the backpack on. “I’ve got a power winch.”

  Drake chuckled. “Of course he has.”

  “He’s not coming.” Chess’ eyes were half-lidded as he cradled his gun. “He’ll slow us down, ghost us, and get us all killed.”

  Nicolás shrugged. “With or without you.”

  Drake exhaled. “He’s more likely to get killed by himself, that’s for sure. At least with us we can keep him under control.”

  “No,” Chess said and lifted his chin to Ben. “Unless you throw in another hundred grand…each.”

  All eyes swung to Ben. Frankly, Ben couldn’t give a shit whether the kid came with them or not. But now that Chess had made it a chest-bumping issue, he decided to play.

  Ben’s gaze was deadpan. “He comes, and if anyone tries to screw the deal we made, you can head home. Now.” He grinned like a death’s head. “And when you get home, you’ll find your sign-on fee has been reversed out of your bank account, for being an asshole.”

  The group’s gaze now swung to Chess. The big mercenary’s jaw worked for a moment before he broke into a grin. “Who gives a fuck?”

  He turned away, but Ben caught the lethal glare he threw him. He hoped he wasn’t going to be trouble.

  “Okay?” Nicolás asked.

  “All okay,” Shawna said.

  Ben shook his head. “Well, you’ve been warned, but like she said…” He thumbed over his shoulder at Shawna. “It’s your life.” He turned to the female mercenary. “And you own him seeing as it was your idea.”

  Nicolás nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Come on.” Ben checked his watch and then looked upward. Huge drops of blood-warm rain began to fall. “We’ve got about eight hours to get to the plateau base and then climb to the top. And our one-night stand is fast approaching.”

  CHAPTER 33

  8 Hours to full Comet Apparition

  Comet P/2018-YG874, designate name Primordia, hurtled through the solar system on its approach toward the Earth. The magnetic bow wave that preceded it caused collisions between electrically charged particles in the planet’s upper atmosphere, creating an aurora borealis effect over the jungles of South America.

  In one of the most inaccessible parts of the eastern Venezuelan jungle, clouds began to darken, and in another minute or two, they started to swirl and boil like in a devil’s cauldron, throwing down a torrent of warm rain.

  Beneath the clouds, a gigantic tabletop mountain became cloaked in the dense fog, and brutal winds began to smash at its sides and surface. Thunder roared and lightning seemed to come from the sky, air, and even up from the ground itself.

  The echoes of roars from throats not heard for many millions of years began to ring out that even drowned out the crash of thunder. Soon, those few roars would become a cacophony of hissing, howls, bellows, and screams, risin
g to be like those from the dark pits of Hell.

  It had been 10 years since the last wettest season and it had arrived again, and with it came the primordial sounds of a world not seen for 100 million years.

  CHAPTER 34

  Andy rubbed his eyes. He and Gluck had been on the sea for many days now, and he was taking advantage of a breeze at his back and making good time. But a few times, he had ventured so far out that he had begun to lose sight of the land.

  His navigation skills were good, and he could get his bearings from the sun, moon, and stars, but if he lost touch with the shoreline and clouds moved in, he could be lost.

  His supplies were running low, and he blinked crusty eyes and licked flaking lips. The sea was misty, blurring his vision even more, and only after many minutes did it become clear that it really was an island in the distance.

  He had been becalmed for the last few hours and his sail hung limply so he had to rely on the tide and currents to move him along. He guessed he was getting closer to his destination, as the heat was once again tropical. So far, he had been conserving his energy, but now with a goal in sight, he began to gently paddle toward the land.

  He knew that the water he passed over here was deep and a bottomless dark blue, so he needed to make as little noise as he could manage. He dipped the makeshift oar in and dragged it all the way back along his boat. Carefully, he lifted it and did the same on the other side.

  In another hour, he was closing in on the landmass, and the sea bottom suddenly began to shallow quickly, telling him that the island might have been the tip of an extinct volcano, or even the last in line of a sunken mountain range.

  He gently pulled the boat forward and in another hour, he was close enough to see that the island was covered in vegetation, but he hoped small and far enough from the mainland to not support a population of large carnivores. Or better yet, any carnivores at all.