Greig Beck - Mysterious Island: Book 1 - Lemuria

The Mysterious Island

LEMURIA

Book 1

www.severedpress.com

Copyright 2022 by Greig Beck

100,000 years ago, woolly mammoths were widespread in the northern hemisphere from Spain to Alaska. But then a global warming starting 15,000 years ago began to shrink their habitat in Northern Siberia and Alaska.

The ice and snow retreated, the sea level rose, and waterways that were once miles of ice became rivers and seas. Highlands became islands, and one such remote island in the Arctic Ocean became the last outpost for the giant woolly mammoth.

While the mighty mammoths died out everywhere else in the world, on Wrangel Island, they survived up until just 4,000 years ago. That means when the Egyptians were building their pyramids, the mammoths were still striding their last outpost. And these creatures were not the stunted pygmies that ended their existence as being little bigger than ponies but were the 12-foot at the shoulder and 6-ton giants of the distant past.

Sadly, inbreeding and the spread of prehistoric humans finally sealed the mammoths fate. But it shows us that in our impenetrable jungles, deep caves, remote mountain tops and lost islands, there are places we havent found yet. And perhaps when we do, creatures even more bizarre or wonderful than mammoths will be there waiting for us to find them.

In a vanished land of promises in a sea of frozen tears.

It is lost, but it is there.

Lemuria the Mysterious Island

PROLOGUE

1864 Confederate Army Observation balloon, somewhere over the North Atlantic

Its freezing. Jack Pencroft hugged himself. And I cant tell whether were over land or water anymore.

The four Union escapees tried to balance the balloons basket by spreading themselves to each corner, and all looked over the side now. Pencroft was right, the mist was so thick it was impossible to make out land or sea below them.

The small group had escaped a Northern prison as the civil war was reaching its climax and had then hijacked a hydrogen-filled observation balloon. It seemed a brilliant plan at the outset. That was until the storm hit.

Then, the hurricane-like winds had blown them for days with their balloon reaching unimaginable heights and speed. At first, they thought they might end up over the Pacific, but the wild wind had instead sling-shotted them north. Far north. And just before they lost sight of anything and everything, they had spotted an iceberg.

Cyrus Smith, a railroad engineer, probably the smartest amongst them, peered over the side gripping the baskets edge with his two huge hands. Somewhere over the North Atlantic, Ill wager. Or maybe even further north than that.

Pencroft cursed. Were not clothed for that sort of cold. Well freeze.

Cyrus looked upwards. It gets worse; the bag is sagging.

Gideon Spilett, the journalist, scoffed. Forget about your woollens, Pencroft. If the balloon loses height and we drop into the water, well be dead in minutes.

Pencrofts adopted son, Herbert, made a small whimpering sound in his throat, while Cyrus dog, Top, yapped once and tried to get in behind his masters boots. Cyrus looked down and patted the tiny animals head. Dont worry, boy, I promise we wont be swimming for long.

In the next moment they were able to glimpse something through the heavy fog. And it wasnt what they wanted to see a huge wall of ice suddenly loomed before them out of the billowing mist and the balloons bag crashed into it first, then swung the basket into it next. All five men and the tiny dog were thrown to the floor.

Luckily the balloon didnt immediately hit the water and broken ice below them, and instead a stiff breeze dragged them along the edifice for another half hour.

Whats happening? Are we picking up speed? Herbert asked.

Pencroft turned, his brow knitted. Do you feel that? He turned back. Warm air.

In the next instant they came to a huge rip in the wall of ice, and as if a giant inhaled, their balloon was quickly sucked into it.

Hold on, everyone, Cyrus called, as the balloon was buffeted along the narrow corridor of dark blue ice.

The light dimmed and then was lost completely as they were then dragged inside some enormous cave, and in moments more the balloon was ripped by the jagged roof and their basket splashed into a large body of water.

I can see now up ahead, theres light, Herbert observed. And land.

Paddle, everyone, before the basket sinks, Cyrus urged.

The four men managed to manoeuvre the basket to the beach, and then jumped out to drag it a few feet up onto the sand but couldnt get it any further with the balloon full of water and acting as a sea anchor.

Top, Cyrus dog, bolted up the beach and into the foliage, yapping like a mad thing while the men collapsed on the sand.

What is this place? Spilett asked. Its like a tropical island. He looked up. And are we inside or out?

Still lying flat, Pencroft turned his head. Not so warm for a tropical island.

First things first. We need food and water. Once we are replenished then we can think clearly and find out where we are, Cyrus announced. And what we need to do to get home.

Pencroft and Spilett sat up and turned to investigate the dense tangle of the forest behind them.

I think it might be one of the islands of New Zealand. Pencroft raised his eyebrows.

Just then from the depths of the jungle a deep roar reverberated that made the hair on the mens scalps rise.

Pencroft shook his head slowly. On second thoughts, I dont think this is New Zealand at all.

***

Three months later, Gideon Spilett dipped the twig into the cut he had made on his forearm and used it as ink to write another sentence on the tattered shred of parchment he held open with his other hand.

His clothing was ragged, his feet bare, and his only companion was Cyrus Smiths tiny dog, Top, itself showing ribs.

He stared at the animal. It was still pining for its master, Cyrus. They both had seen the man torn to shreds, and then eaten. Spilett had turned to run, but had stopped to scoop the dog up, to stop it from heroically but suicidally throwing itself into battle against the monster.

He continued to stare, and his mouth began to water. He was starving, and the dog would feed him for several days if he portioned it sparingly. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Out of respect for Cyrus and the others, he could never do it.

Top whined and Spilett opened his eyes and scratched at one of the numerous insect bites covering his body. The dog also lifted a hind leg to scratch itself.

Yes, those swamp flies were bad. He half smiled and then began to nod. So were the vines. His eyes opened wider. And the giant crab that nearly killed us all. Lucky your master used science, his spear as a lever, a rock as a fulcrum, and tipped it over.

He patted the dogs head. We ate well that day, didnt we?

His mouth watered at the memory, and he lowered the makeshift quill and parchment to sit back for a moment they had survived for several months, fighting, running, hiding, but in the end the beasts that lived on this mysterious island were beyond anything he, a man who made a living from working with words, could describe, or even imagine. And eventually the beasts got them, picking them off one by one.

Spilett sighed; he had to try and tell someone, anyone, what happened to this brave and fateful balloon crew. He lifted his parchment once more.

Spilett finished his note knowing that if he didnt do it now, it would never be done as his lifes candle had just about burned down to the wick. He then rolled the parchment tight, pulled the bottle close and uncorked it. He stuffed the pages in and recorked the bottle tight, and then stood.