Primordia: In Search of the Lost World

PROLOGUE

Benjamin Cartwright ran like never before in his life. Damp green fronds slapped at his face, thorns ripped his skin, and elastic vines tried to lasso every part of his body. But he barged, burrowed, and sprinted as if the devil was after him.

Because it was.

The thing that followed him pushed trees from its path, and its carnivore breath was like a steam train huffing and hissing as it bore down on him. He whimpered, pivoting at a boulder and changing direction. The roar came then, making leathery-winged avian creatures take flight from the canopy overhead, and causing his testicles to shrink in his sweat-soaked trousers.

Cartwright accelerated, and immediately an explosive breeze hit his face as the jungle opened out. He skidded to a stop, squinting against it. He was at the cliff edge that dropped away to a green carpet over a thousand feet below.

He stared for a split moment; the strange low cloud swirled all around him, and he knew he only had hours before he’d be trapped forever. He grimaced and turned. Already the trees were being pushed aside as his pursuer caught up to him. He’d seen what it did to Baxter, and the thought of it happening to him liquefied his bowels.

Arm-thick creeper vines ran across the clearing and hung down over the edge of the cliff face but didn’t reach anywhere near safety. In the few seconds he had left, Benjamin Cartwright realised his choices were to be eaten, or suicide — death either way.

The foliage burst open behind him, and the hissing-roar made him cringe back with fear. He couldn’t help but turn — the creature rose up, towering over him, all coiled muscle, glistening scales, and teeth as long as his arm. The remains of Baxter still hung ragged between those tusk-like fangs.

Cartwright fired his last bullet from the gun he had almost forgotten in his hand — it had no effect, and he threw the Colt revolver to the ground. He turned back to the cliff edge, grabbed up one of the vines, said a silent prayer, and leapt.