The Lost Level, page 20
The guilt was overwhelming. I raised my head to the ceiling and screamed. I raged in that place where darkness met sunlight, cursing God, and the Lost Level, and the slug.
But mostly, I cursed myself.
Perhaps, if you are reading this notebook, then you are just as angry right now. I do not blame you, friend. The blame is all mine. It was my fault Bloop was killed. And as I said, although this happened a long time ago, I carry the guilt with me still. Let that be enough.
It has to be enough.
The giant slug had nearly made it to one of the large archways at the rear of the chamber. Seething with hate, I clenched my sword and stumbled to my feet. Dimly, I felt Kasheena grab my shoulder.
“What?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“There are more of them. See there!”
I looked where she was pointing. Sure enough, three more giant slugs were crawling into the chamber from the other rooms. A fourth slithered down the large stairwell. Each of the creatures paused, either sensing their companion’s caution or trepidation at the sunlight, or perhaps both. At that moment, I didn’t care. If they stood still, that would only make it easier to slaughter them.
“We cannot fight them,” Kasheena said. “It did not care about our swords, and I know my aim was true. We don’t have weapons that will kill them. We must flee while we still can.”
“But Bloop…they killed Bloop. They fucking killed Bloop, Kasheena! He was our friend, and they fucking ate him!”
“We cannot fight them,” she repeated. “The tikka–birds are gone, Aaron. If they were not, they would have swarmed inside the moment you opened the door. We must leave now. I will not die in this place, and if you love me, you will not either.”
Her words gave me pause. I turned to her, momentarily speechless. The slugs hovered, neither pressing the attack nor retreating.
“Love you…? Yes. Yes, Kasheena, I do love you.”
“And I love you, as well. Now, let us leave this place, so that those are not our last words.”
Still overcome with shock and grief, I allowed her to lead me toward the door. I stopped halfway through. She tugged at my arm.
“Aaron, please.”
“We can’t leave Bloop’s body behind. Not in here. Not with those things.”
“He is dead. There is nothing more we can do for him.”
“I know, but I’m not leaving his body behind. He deserves better than that. What if we had left your uncle behind, when the Anunnaki killed him?”
Releasing her hand, I headed back into the temple. The wounded slug had squeezed its bulk through the center archway at the rear of the chamber. The others were still holding their positions—wavering back and forth undecidedly like vast globs of gelatin. All had that same mottled coloring, and their combined stench made me gag.
“I’ll be back for you,” I growled at them. “You can bet I’ll be back.”
I grabbed Bloop’s arms, and then Kasheena was beside me, taking hold of his legs. Without speaking, we carried him out of the darkness and into the sunshine. When we reached the open plain, we laid him at our feet. His eyes were open, staring sightlessly. I knelt and closed them, holding my fingertips in place until I was sure they would stay shut. My ears began to ring.
“See, Aaron!” Kasheena pointed with excitement. “My kinsmen come. They must have heard our plight. We are saved.”
I glanced at where she was pointing and saw a dozen or so armed figures running across the plain. They shouted and called, but were too far away for us to understand them.
“I see Gronak,” she gasped. “And there is little Peto! Oh, how he has grown in such a short time!”
The ringing in my ears grew louder, and my vision began to blur. I remained at Bloop’s side, afraid to stand up because I was certain I would fall over if I did.
Shock, I remember thinking. You’re going into shock. If you had any sense of honor, you’d crawl back into that temple right now and let those fucking slugs eat you, too.
“Aaron?” Kasheena’s voice sounded far away. “What is wrong? Are you injured?”
“Your people were right, Kasheena.” I couldn’t tell if she heard me or not, because I could no longer see straight. The world was spinning too fast. “Tell them when they get here that they were right. That temple is cursed. And so am I….”
Then I found darkness again, there beneath that eternal sun.
15
HOMECOMING
I AM ALMOST OUT OF room in this notebook now, and a thorough search of the bus has turned up no more paper—at least, not enough that I can continue this memoir at any great length. So, I’ll have to keep this next part as brief as possible. My apologies in advance. Perhaps I’ll continue it again, once I’ve found the means to do so. But this process has taken a lot out of me. I have faced many hardships in my life, and overcome many obstacles, but I’ve never undertaken something as difficult as recounting all that has gone before.
After I passed out, Kasheena’s people carried me back to their village, and I slept in her family’s hut for a long time. While I was unconscious, I’m told there was much rejoicing at her return, and much sorrow over the death of her uncle, and to a lesser extent Bloop, who none of them had ever met, but of whose exploits Kasheena had told them all. There was also a great debate over my presence in the village, which caused quite a bit of consternation in some quarters. I learned later that they were grateful for all that Bloop and I had done, but there were some—mostly men (and a few women, as well)—who had fancied themselves as Kasheena’s potential suitors and who now insisted that I shouldn’t be allowed to stay. Luckily, Kasheena’s father gave an impassioned speech defending me and reminding them of all I had done for his daughter, and the majority of the village agreed that I should be allowed to become part of the tribe if I so wished.
Which I did.
Kasheena and I courted, if you could call it that, and there were a few challengers whom I had to ultimately deal with. In two cases, this was settled through hand–to–hand combat, and I was the victor both times. A third potential suitor challenged me to a game of wits, but I bested him, as well. Soon enough, the rest seemed to make peace with the arrangement. I endeavored to make myself a valuable member of the community, and worked hard, and was kind and good–humored. Eventually, the vast majority of villagers accepted me as one of their own, rather than an outsider. In time, I developed several good friendships among the tribe and was included in everything.
I also became close with Kasheena’s father, who treated me as if I was his own son. And I also had many long discussions with Shameal, the village shaman. We exchanged mystical and occult lore the way some people might exchange recipes. I’m pleased to say that we learned a lot from each other.
And yes, he verified for me what I had already suspected—that there was no escape from the Lost Level.
But by then, I didn’t mind.
Kasheena’s people had no marital customs or legally binding ceremonies. We simply lived together in a hut of our own. In time, we began trying to have children. We practiced every chance we got.
Time passed, not measured in seasons or cycles of the sun, but in sleep and aging. I was happy, for the most part. Not merely content, but happy. I spent my days loving Kasheena, and bonding with her family and friends, and learning the customs of the village. I was always delighted to discuss magic and philosophy with Shameal, and in time he became a close friend, as well. Perhaps my closest. I did my part in helping with the hunting and farming and construction—whatever they needed of me, I gave. And I was pleased to do so. It was a good life.
But sometimes, when Kasheena lay sleeping next to me, my thoughts would wander, and a deep melancholy would gnaw at my soul. I never thought of home, or those I’d left behind. Instead, I thought of Bloop, and when I did, the guilt and sadness threatened to consume me.
Finally, after much haranguing, I convinced Kasheena’s father to allow me to lead a party into the Temple of the Slug and exterminate the threat that resided within. Convincing him was difficult, but finding enough warriors to go with me proved nearly impossible. Eventually, I set out across the plain accompanied by five stout individuals and weapons that had been coated with salt, which the villagers mined from a nearby source. Shameal went with us, as well, intent upon seeing the inside of the temple and perhaps finding hidden knowledge. The fight was gruesome and arduous, and we lost a member of our party when a slug knocked him down the stairwell, breaking his neck, but in the end, we prevailed. And Shameal did indeed find some ancient scrolls in a room on the upper floor. Unfortunately, they were written in a language that neither of us recognized, but he studied them diligently, hoping to decipher their meaning.
After that, with the threat of the slugs vanquished, the village grew and expanded, its boundaries stretching out across the plain and now encompassing the temple as well as the forest.
Weeks or perhaps months after we killed the slugs (because I still have never gotten good at marking the passage of time in this place), I led another group to the crash site of the Nazi flying saucer with the intent of burying the wreckage beneath the earth to safeguard the rest of the land. Fifteen men and women accompanied me on that journey, including Shameal once again, who was very interested in seeing the technology for himself. We worked for what must have been several days, based on the number of sleeps we had, and constructed a large earthen mound over the crash site. Indeed, by the time we were finished, our labors had changed the very landscape itself. Satisfied that nothing or no one would stumble upon the radioactive hazard unawares again, we returned to the village—
—only to find it in smoking ruins.
Our people lay scattered, dead or dying, alongside the corpses of an equal number of Anunnaki. We learned from one of the injured that a massive force of snake men had attacked the village while we were gone. They’d captured those they could restrain and slaughtered those they couldn’t. Kasheena’s father was among those who had died defending the community. The Anunnaki had been especially cruel with him, and we never did find all of his body. Many others were mutilated in the same way. And though the villagers had put up a fierce fight, in the end, they were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Over one hundred of our friends and family had been taken, including Kasheena.
I set out within a few hours, accompanied by a group of about two–dozen men and women, tracking the Anunnaki. I made Shameal remain behind to guide and lead what was left of the tribe. Our journey was one from which most of us didn’t return, and it led us into the very heart of the Anunnaki’s city and the horrors that awaited us there, in that artificial darkness.
But I’m out of room now, so that story, and our final battle with the reptilian hordes, and how I eventually parted from the village, and how I met 9, and our adventures together, and the next encounter with the Greys, and my journey beneath the Lost Level, and the truth about the sun and the moon, and everything else that has happened since, will have to wait.
I only hope that I have the means and time to write it before I die. I fear that might be sooner than later. For I do not need to mark the passage of time to know that I have grown old.
And thus, we come full circle, you who are reading this.
And I am still alone.
And it is dark in the sunlight.
AFTERWORD
The Lost Level is the first book in a planned multi–volume series of pulp–adventure novels. The next two books in the series are Return to the Lost Level, which will pick up right where this novel ended and tell the continuing adventures of Aaron Pace (including his assault upon the Anunnaki city in an effort to find Kasheena), and Hole in the World, which serves as a prequel and features characters who arrived in the Lost Level before Aaron did. (In fact, one of those characters owned the wheelchair that Aaron, Kasheena, and Bloop found in that pile of dinosaur shit earlier in this novel—but you’ll find that out later).
I’ve always been a big fan of lost world and man–out–of–time stories. Three of my greatest joys as a child were Sid and Marty Krofft’s Land of the Lost television program (the original version rather than the remake or the Will Ferrell film that followed), Mike Grell’s Warlord comic books (published by DC Comics), and Edgar Rice Burroughs’s Pellucidar series of novels. All three featured characters from our world and time being transported to someplace decidedly elsewhere, and it’s very easy to see how all three influenced this particular book. Sometimes, the nods are blatant (such as the presence of eternal sunlight). Other times, it’s more subtle. This is to be expected of any tribute or pastiche, and let me be clear—I firmly mean for this series of novels to serve as both. There are a number of other works that have also influenced this endeavor, including Joe R. Lansdale’s The Drive–In series and Under the Warrior Star, Robert E. Howard’s Almuric, and the ABC television series Lost, to name but a few.
At the end of the day, despite this clearly being a pastiche, and despite all the influences the series proudly wears on its sleeve, I hope to add something new to the sub–genre, and to keep you, as always, entertained. I fully intend to do both as the series progresses.
Long–time readers know that all of my novels and stories share a singular continuity—something many of them refer to as the Labyrinth mythos. I’ve known since around the year 2000 that the Lost Level existed and was a part of this mythos. Still, as much as I enjoy the sub–genre, it has taken me fourteen years to finally get around to writing this book. There are several reasons for that, but the primary reason is that it’s different from most of my other work. I’m known primarily as a horror writer, and any time I’ve ventured outside that sphere—be it a crime novel or a collection of political commentary—my efforts have been met with mixed reactions by readers and retailers alike. This happens to me in comic books, as well. I’ve pitched story ideas for characters such as Captain America or Batman, only to be told “You’re a horror writer. Those aren’t horror characters. Don’t you want to pitch something else?”
Because of this, The Lost Level languished inside my head for a decade and a half (as have many other stories that I may or may not get time to write before I die). It wasn’t until I re–read Joe R. Lansdale’s gloriously pulpy Under the Warrior Star (itself a pastiche of both Burrough’s Pellucidar and John Carter of Mars material) that I was finally inspired enough to say, “Who cares if nobody else likes it? I like it, so I’m going to write it anyway.”
So, I did.
But hopefully, you’ll like it, too. If so, I’ll see you back here for the sequel.
Brian Keene
Somewhere along the Susquehanna River bottoms
May 2014
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BRIAN KEENE is the Bram Stoker and Grand Master award–winning, bestselling author of over forty books, including Darkness on the Edge of Town, Take the Long Way Home, Urban Gothic, Castaways, Kill Whitey, Dark Hollow, Dead Sea, and The Rising trilogy. He’s also written comic books such as The Last Zombie, Doom Patrol, and Dead of Night: Devil Slayer. His work has been translated into many foreign languages. Several of his novels and stories have been developed for film, including Ghoul and The Ties That Bind. In addition to writing, Keene also oversees Maelstrom, his own small press publishing imprint specializing in collectible limited editions via Thunderstorm Books. Keene’s work has been praised in such diverse places as The New York Times, The History Channel, The Howard Stern Show, CNN.com, Publisher’s Weekly, Media Bistro, Fangoria Magazine, and Rue Morgue Magazine. Keene lives in Pennsylvania. You can communicate with him online at www.briankeene.com or on Twitter at @BrianKeene.
ABOUT THE ARTIST
KIRSI SALONEN is a 32–year–old freelancing digital artist from Finland. She’s also a professional make–up artist and a writer who’s had the passion for poetry, nature, and art ever since she’s been able to grab a pencil in her hand from the age of two.
Many of her works are (dark) fantasy art. She hopes to find that unique touch in every work she makes, to give something new to familiar subjects, but more so not so familiar ones. Blazing and rich stories and heart–breaking fates and creatures are all out there waiting to be painted and told. In other words; telling a story within one frame is her key method.
She’s worked in various fields of digital art (all except with 3D), including concept art, comics, poster art for the London Olympics 2012, several book cover illustrations, album art, character designing, card art and graphic design, and a tremendous amount of personal artworks and practice. Her latest personal project has concluded after seven years of developing a dark fantasy book saga Ordera, an epic adventure consisting of four parts she’s written and illustrated herself.
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