The Lost Level, page 5
The jungle came alive around me. The trees and bushes echoed with the chorus of a multitude of insects and birds. Some sounded identical to ones that I’d heard all of my life. Others were entirely alien to me. Their cries reminded me again of how alone I was in this place. I considered shooting a few birds, but I was reluctant to waste my limited supply of ammunition, and most of them were small enough that by the time I field–dressed them, there wouldn’t be more than a mouthful—if the .45 left even that much behind. Feeling helpless, I plodded on, pushing through the undergrowth, and I swear it sounded like the birds were laughing at me.
At one point, a noise like thunder rumbled overhead. It seemed to go on for a long time, yet when I looked up at the sky, it was still clear and cloudless. I considered the possibility that it was an earthquake or an explosion, but saw no signs of either. The ground wasn’t shaking and the trees weren’t swaying, nor did I see any disturbances around me. Perhaps more telling, the sound didn’t seem to disturb the wildlife. After a few minutes, the roaring faded.
A little while later, I discovered a patch of what looked like watermelons growing wild across the jungle floor. They were of the same size as the ones back home and had the same green and white rind, but I remained suspicious. I wrapped my knuckles on one and found it solid. More so, it sounded ripe. Cautious, I cut the melon open with my sword. It was pink and red on the inside, and the black, teardrop–shaped seeds were certainly familiar. Most convincing was the smell. My mouth watered at the prospect, and so, I tried one. My first tentative taste confirmed that they were indeed watermelons. How they’d come to be here on this level I had no idea, nor did I very much care at that point. I grunted and sighed happily as I gorged myself on an entire melon, gnawing it down to the white of the rind, enjoying a taste of home. My stomach cramped a few times, but I kept it all down. I sliced open a second melon and devoured it at a more leisurely pace. When I was finished, my fingers and face were sticky with watermelon juice, my stomach was full, and my thirst had been slaked. Even better, I could no longer taste the grubs I’d eaten earlier. The sugary fruit had banished the taste from my mouth.
Satisfied that I wouldn’t starve to death for a while, I decided to find or build a shelter close to this known source of food. While the cave had suited my purposes the night before, I didn’t savor the thought of having to trek back and forth every day for nourishment. Intending to explore the immediate vicinity a bit more, I notched the bark of a few trees with my sword so that I could find the location again, and then I untied my plastic bag of belongings and hid it safely inside a hollowed out stump. Then, armed with only the sword, handgun, and my binoculars, I ventured farther into the jungle in a pattern of concentric circles. I marked several more trees as my search widened, ensuring I wouldn’t get lost. I saw a few other fruits, but none of them were as easily identifiable as the watermelons had been. Growing on several trees was something that looked like a cross between a pineapple and a carrot. A few birds pecked at them, so I assumed they were safe to eat. All of the strange, tubular fruits grew high up in the branches, far out of my reach. Tying the sword behind my back again, I shimmied up the nearest tree to pick one and try it.
Doing so saved my life.
I was just about to pull the nearest fruit free of its branch when I smelled something odd. The odor reminded me of cucumbers mixed with moth balls. As a boy, that same peculiar musk had always accompanied the appearance of copperheads, black racers, and other snakes, and I had always known to steer clear of an area when I smelled it. Just like it had in my youth, the smell filled me with dread.
As the stench grew stronger, I noticed a group of ferns swaying back and forth down below. I clung to the tree, trying to remain still, as the ferns parted and a group of figures plunged into the watermelon patch. It was the same group of serpent men I’d spotted the day before. I knew this because they wore the same mismatched armor and carried the same variety of weapons as the group I’d previously spied upon—swords, crossbows, and those strange rifles like something out of a science fiction movie. This close, the flayed human leather armor was particularly horrific. The dried, stretched faces looked as if they were screaming. I was close enough to even make out one of the tattoos on the tanned skin—a cartoonish, Big Daddy Roth–style four–wheel drive truck with four demonic looking characters behind the wheel.
The snake men had an additional member of their species with them, also dressed in leather armor and equipped with an olive–colored canvas backpack. They also had three captives in tow. I suspected that perhaps the four new additions had been left behind at a campsite the day before, which would explain why I hadn’t seen them. All three prisoners had their hands bound at the wrists and behind their backs with some sort of durable vine. The same had been done to their ankles, giving them only enough slack to walk with a shuffling sort of gait. Each captive was flanked by two of the creatures. All three captives were naked. The first was a human male, approximately my height, but a lot older than me and much thinner. That’s not to say he was skinny. He wasn’t. He just lacked any discernable body fat. His chest, abdomen, arms, and legs were lean and sinewy and corded with muscles. His brown hair fell to his shoulders and was peppered with silver strands. His long beard had the same coloration.
The second captive was a male, but I knew that only from his rather prominent genitalia. His penis and the fact that he was bipedal was where all similarities with a human being ended. For starters, he was covered in thick, blackish–blue fur, the texture and length of which resembled a shag carpet. The captive had pointed, cat–like ears and bright yellow eyes. Both his fingers and toes were tipped with black talons, several of which were broken, as if from recent conflict. Most incredible was his long, prehensile tail—a hairless, grey appendage half as thick as his arm, that reminded me of a worm. The serpent men had wrapped the tail around the unfortunate creature’s body and tied it with more vines, which led me to wonder if the prisoner could use it as a weapon. Despite being bound, the tail moved and twitched, straining to be free. One of the captors noticed the movement and angrily prodded the furry creature with the tip of its sword. The captive stumbled and tensed, flashing whitish–yellow fangs behind black lips. Then, it continued on. As they passed under my tree, I saw the creature’s nostrils flare. For a moment, its eyes flicked upward, but it gave no sign to its reptilian tormentors that it had caught my scent or seen me concealed in the branches.
Then the third captive stumbled into view, and I nearly tumbled out of the tree when I saw her. To say she was beautiful just wouldn’t do her justice. I’d heard the term breathtaking before, and until that moment, I had always dismissed it as a literary device. But when I saw her limping along between her captors, my breath literally stopped in my chest. Her luxuriant chestnut and auburn colored hair spilled around her shoulders and curled just above her full, ample breasts. Her skin was bronzed. At first, I thought it was a tan, but after a moment, I realized it was her pigmentation. The sunlight glistened off her flat stomach and the tiny beads of perspiration that dotted the thatch of soft–looking pubic hair between her golden thighs. Her legs and armpits were unshaven, something I’d never seen on the women back home. It was shocking, but also strangely alluring. Compelling, in an exotic, primal sort of fashion. When I saw her eyes, my breath hitched in my chest a second time. The irises of both her eyes were two colors—green and blue. The colors were separated by her dark pupils.
I was awestruck, still admiring her beauty when the snake men stopped simultaneously. They hadn’t spoken, or made a sound, but it was clear that they were obeying some unheard signal. One by one, they turned their heads upward, staring at me. Forked tongues flickered from their mouths, and their lips pulled back in snarls, revealing jagged fangs. I couldn’t figure out how they’d known I was there, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. The two armed with rifles hurriedly unslung their weapons, while two others fell back a few steps and readied their crossbows. I had only seconds to act.
Shouting in a desperate attempt to disorient them, I dropped from the branch and landed atop the shoulders of my closest opponent, crushing the beast to the ground. My sword slapped against my back as he buckled beneath me, and I heard the snake man’s bones snap sharply beneath his leather armor. His blood soaked into my jeans and the air filled with its musky tang. The rifle slipped from his scaly grasp. His chest rose once, but his breathing was labored and blood poured from his nostrils and slit–like ears. His eyes narrowed and grew cloudy. Then his breathing ceased. His forked tongue lolled from his mouth. I pulled my pistol, flicked the safety off, and crouched atop the bloody ruin of my opponent, facing off against the remaining five monsters. The hate in their eyes was an almost palpable thing.
But so was their fear.
Looking back on it now, what unnerved me most about that battle was the disconcerting silence in which it took place. The snake men hissed and grunted, but not once did they speak or cry out. I had no doubt they were communicating, but I wasn’t sure how they were doing it. They used no spoken words, and made no gestures or other visible signals, yet they moved and fought as a team, seemingly well aware of what their kin were doing during the battle.
Had it not been for the element of surprise and the chaos that my entrance had created, I’m certain they would have surely killed me. As it was, I pressed the attack, taking advantage of their confusion. I acted purely on some savage instinct, driven on by adrenaline and a primal revulsion of my reptilian foes. I snapped the pistol up and fired a shot at a snake man dressed in old, rusted Roman centurion armor. He was in the process of leveling a rifle at me when I shot him. I didn’t recognize his weapon. My bullet ripped into his throat, exposed above the breastplate. Blood and scales splattered against the tree trunk behind him, and he toppled backward. A soundless blast erupted from the barrel of the rifle, and the air grew wavy and distorted, like a shimmering heat mirage. I felt a rush of warmth race past me, and the hair on my right arm singed and burned. Then the creature collapsed, dropping the rifle beside him.
I wheeled around, narrowly avoiding the thrust of a sword, and leapt to my feet. Three Reptilians closed ranks around me, trying to hem me in. One was armed with a sword. The second was equipped with a crossbow. The third carried a crude but effective–looking spear whose tip was crusty with dried, brown blood. Their eyes were wide and unblinking. Still gripping my pistol, I drew my sword with my free hand and stood my ground.
“Come on,” I challenged. My voice quaked with fear and panic, and I cringed at the sound.
If the creatures understood me, they gave no sign. Instead, they approached slowly, making their way with deliberate caution, trying to force me backward. I knew we were too tightly clustered for the opponent with the crossbow to use his weapon effectively, so the sword and spear were a more immediate concern. I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and wondered where the fourth snake man had gotten to. A second later, there were the sounds of a struggle behind me, and my three opponents charged. I fired two shots at the center mass of the one who was armed with a sword. He wore police riot armor, which stopped the rounds from penetrating, but the force of the impacts knocked him backward. He kept his grip on his sword, but the mirrored–visor helmet flew off his head and rolled across the jungle floor. I side–stepped a thrust from the spear and quickly parried a strike from the third foe, who had dropped his crossbow and now wielded a sword, as well. Our weapons clanged as they crashed together, and the vibrations ran through my arm and up to my shoulder, rattling my teeth.
Behind me, a gunshot rang out and the female captive screamed. I tried to turn around and see what was happening, but the two snake men pressed me, attacking at the same time. The one to my left thrust at my ribs with his spear, while the one to my right swung the sword downward, trying to cleave my arm from my shoulder. I dropped my weapons in the mud and seized the spear with both hands. Then I yanked hard on the shaft and spun the Reptilian around. The sword blow crashed down upon his head, cleaving his skull in two and showering me with gore. I blinked blood and brains from my vision. While the swordsman struggled to free the wedged blade, I ripped the spear from the dead foe’s scaly hands and shoved the jagged point into the swordsman’s left eye. I didn’t stop until it protruded from the back of his head. Instead of falling, he stood there jittering. The snake man’s foul–smelling blood slicked the spear’s shaft, and then my hands, but I barely noticed.
Turning to face my final opponent, I found that the captives had already taken care of him. A quick glance at the situation told me the story. This snake man, armed with a handgun, had attempted to shoot me in the back, but the older male captive had stopped him. In the struggle, the Reptilian had shot my savior. Then, the third captive—the furry one with the long tail—had intervened. That same prehensile tail was now wrapped around the murderer’s throat, choking the life from him. The forked tongue protruded from the creature’s lips as it went still. Then, slowly, the furry captive unwound his tail and stared at me with something akin to respect. Slowly, he nodded in recognition.
I returned the gesture and said, “Thanks. I owe you one.”
The furry captive grunted in response.
“He does not speak our language,” the woman said, and her voice was as beautiful as the rest of her. “But he is a friend.”
“No doubt,” I replied, nudging the Reptilian with my toe and making sure it was dead. The creature didn’t move. I looked up at my furry benefactor, who made a fist and then pounded his chest once.
“Bloop,” he declared.
“Nice to meet you, Bloop. I’m Aaron. Aaron Pace.” Returning the gesture, I made a fist and pounded on my chest, repeating my name. Then I turned my attention back to the woman. “And what is your name?”
“I am Kasheena. My guardian,” she motioned at the dead man on the ground, “was called Kasham. He was my uncle.”
I wondered about this. Kasham’s skin color did not have the same bronze hue of Kasheena’s. Perhaps he’d been her adoptive uncle, or maybe uncle meant something different among her people.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said.
“Do not be.”
“Oh…you weren’t close?”
“We were very close, and I loved him much. But I do not weep for him.”
I frowned. “Why not?”
“Why would I? He died as all members of our tribe wish to die—defending those we love. There is no greater honor, Aaron Aaron Pace.”
“Just Aaron,” I corrected her, feeling stupid. My eyes kept focusing on her breasts. I hated the compulsion and struggled against it, but I just couldn’t help it. They were impossible not to admire. My face felt flushed, and I stared instead at the ground. It occurred to me that I was covered in snake blood and bits of gore. My hands felt unpleasantly sticky, and the smell was revolting. If Kasheena noticed, she said nothing. The silence seemed to hang there between us, and I struggled for something to say. Finally, I asked her, “So, how did you and Bloop meet?”
“The Anunnaki captured Kasham and I. Bloop was already their captive when we encountered them. I do not know if he has other people here in the land. I have never seen his kind before, nor had my uncle.”
“What did they want with you?”
She shrugged, and the things that simple gesture did to her body were absolutely intoxicating. “I am not sure. They have captured others from my tribe before, but none have ever returned. We have sent out warriors to find their lair, but it remains hidden. Some of my people suspect the Anunnaki live deep below the ground. Some say they capture us for breeding. Others say it is for slave labor or food.”
“Breeding.” I scowled. “That’s sick….”
“I do not know what our fate would have been had you not rescued us from the Anunnaki, but I know that I would have chosen death before I would lay with one of their kind. To even imagine such a thing….”
She trailed off, shuddering, and crossed her arms protectively over her breasts.
“Anunnaki,” I repeated. “That’s what these snake men are called?”
“That is what my people call them. I do not know what they call themselves, for they have never told us. I doubt they speak our language.”
“They didn’t seem to speak at all.”
“Oh, they have a language, but it is not verbal. They communicate with one another via their thoughts.”
I was intrigued. “Telepathy? I had suspected that was a possibility before.”
“I do not know that word.” Kasheena frowned. “Your accent and mode of dress are strange, but we speak the same language. You were not born here in the land. You are from elsewhere.”
“Yes, I’m from Minnesota. Have you heard of it?”
She shook her head.
I was quiet for a moment, thinking back on my paranormal studies. While I stood there in thought, she examined her uncle’s body, while Bloop swatted at flies with his tail.
“Where I come from,” I told her, “the Anunnaki were ancient Sumerian gods. Some people believed they might have been reptilian aliens from the Alpha Draconis star system that visited our planet. Do your people believe the same thing?”
