Primordia: In Search of the Lost World

EPILOGUE

Benjamin Cartwright ran like never before in his life. Damp green fronds slapped at him 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 was like a river of muscled flesh that pushed trees from its path, and its carnivore’s 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 hissing-roar came then, making leathery-winged avian creatures take flight from the canopy overhead, and making him shiver in his ragged, sweat-soaked clothing.

Cartwright accelerated, and immediately there was a breeze on his face as the jungle opened out. He skidded to a stop at the cliff edge. His shoulders slumped.

Where he had expected to see the plateau edge falling away to a thick jungle canopy over a thousand feet below, there was now an unrecognizable vista stretching to the horizon — it was a jungle valley, primordial, and large long-necked beasts ambled amongst the towering trunks. In the air, leathery-winged Pteranodons glided on warm thermals.

The haze, the clouds, the hurricane-like winds, the oily distortion that had been in the air were all gone.

Emma was gone, everything was gone — no, that wasn’t right; it just hadn’t happened yet.

His eyes began to water as a creeping realization sunk in. Where they’d been wasn’t a hidden plateau at all, but instead they had all stepped through a hidden doorway, reaching back millions of years. They’d stepped through, and unfortunately for him, the door had closed before he could escape.

He remembered Benjamin’s warning about being trapped here forever; now he knew what he was referring to. But he knew too late.

Primordia came only once every ten years. He stepped closer to the cliff edge, and the updraft flapped at the rags of his clothing. In his hand, he held a single knife… all he had left.

Behind him, the trees began to be pushed aside as his pursuer finally caught up to him. He grimaced and turned. The foliage burst open and the hissing-roar made him cringe back a step. The monstrous snake rose up, towering over him, all coiled muscle, glistening scales, and teeth as long as his forearm.

He would survive; he was trained to do it. In ten years, he’d damn well still be here.

The snake began its attack, flowing towards him like a reptilian train — time was up — Ben turned back to the cliff edge and jumped.