An 80-foot waterfall raged somewhere to the east, sending a fine mist down upon the valley. The sound of birds chirping echoed throughout. Ancient megafauna, oversized mammals and marsupials, drank by the bank of the river.
To his left, a beam of light filtered through the subterranean vault above, shining light the hue of purple, and lighting up the image like an exhibit at a museum — on seven faces of what looked like ancient cavemen. His eyes locked on the mysterious faces of the seven sub-species of the genus Homo, for which he now knew the Phoenix Plague had been created.
His gaze turned toward the clearing in the distance where the first sign of human habitation was evident with the appearance of a small hut nestled beside the river.
Sam and Tom headed into the jungle, toward a clearing near the river some three miles away. The sun was setting and they spotted a single light coming from a nearby cottage. It seemed rudimentary, more of the sort of place where Robinson Crusoe might have lived: a single-roomed log hut, with a waterwheel fed by the nearby stream, and a garden of remarkable flowers.
A woman was whistling a gentle tune inside.
Sam glanced at Tom, who shrugged.
He knocked on the door.
A woman opened it.
She was roughly 5 foot 8 inches, with a lanky build and proportionate features. She wore a loose fitting cotton shirt, cargo pants, and leather boots. Her blonde hair, which was cut short, blew in the light breeze. She wore an impish smile, revealing a nice set of even white teeth, with a distinctive gap in the middle of her upper front incisors.
Sam took in a deep breath. “Amelia Earhart?”
The woman laughed. It was the sort of laugh Sam could get used to hearing. Full of joy and filled with life.
“No. She was my grandmother.”
Chapter Three
Sam glanced at the woman’s face.
She had a nice smile. It was big and full of teeth. Her intelligent gray eyes were filled with life. If she was startled to see two strangers approach, she didn’t show it. Her stance remained relaxed, her breathing natural and unlabored, her eyes leveling to meet them both with pleasure at their surprise at the extraordinary news.
Sam’s grin turned incredulous. “You’re Amelia Earhart’s granddaughter?”
She nodded and offered her hand. “Jessica Earhart. But you can call me Jess.”
Sam shook it. Her grip was firm and her hand strong. “Sam Reilly and this is…”
“Tom Bower,” Jess said with a teasing smile. “I know. I was expecting both of you.”
Tom said, “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
Sam said, “How did you know who we were and that we were coming today?”
Jess dropped a large aluminum dog’s bowl on the ground, before opening a bag and emptying its contents of black pellet-like mash inside. She made a piercing whistle through pursed lips and shouted. “Rex, dinner time.”
Sam glanced around the open yard toward the nearby cottage. It was the epitome of a domesticated agricultural society. A small farm with a series of exotic fruit orchards, a level field, a nearby stream — its water being captured by a large waterwheel and redistributed to the orchards of exotic fruits — and a small cottage with a domesticated dog by the looks of things. Not quite what he was expecting from the submerged prehistoric oasis.
“Rex! Dinner time.” Jess looked around. She whistled again. “Where is that mutt?”
Sam frowned. “I’m afraid we didn’t see a dog as we came in here.”
Jess turned to face him again. Her face set with surprise, as though she’d only just recalled that two strangers from the topside had approached. “I’m sorry, what were you asking?”
“How did you know we were coming today?”
“Oh, that… we’ve been watching you for a while now.”
“Really?”
Her voice softened. “Most of the inhabitants you see here are little more than a bunch of prehistoric troglodytes, but there are some who choose to live here, who are every bit as technologically advanced as you Topsiders… and we work together to ensure that our world isn’t destroyed by its discovery.”
Sam grinned. “Topsiders?”
She shrugged. “It’s what we call you down here.”
“We?” Sam asked. “How many people live down here?”
“I couldn’t say exactly.” She squinted her eyes and smiled, as though considering the question. “Somewhere in the vicinity of twenty thousand I think.”
Sam gasped. “How far does the 8th Continent go?”
“It’s nearly half the size of Australia, but its unique biosphere makes it far more fertile.”
Tom frowned. “So why aren’t there more humans down here?”
“Because it’s a more balanced biosphere than you have above ground…”
“Meaning?”
“Human’s aren’t the only ones on top of the food chain.”
Sam looked around, suddenly aware that his environment’s megafauna may be lethal. For all intents and purposes he might as well be inside Africa’s Serengeti, where more than just lions were currently in the process of stalking him. He gripped the hilt of his MP5 submachine gun as he recalled burrowing Diprotodon, a hippopotamus-sized marsupial most closely related to the wombat. It was thought to have become extinct 20,000 years ago in South Australia. He’d seen one on his last visit to the 8th Continent. The weapon’s 9mm shots would be completely ineffective against such animals.
He made a somewhat nervous smile. “What is at the top of the food chain?”
“Homo Sapiens share that title with the Bunyip.”
Sam’s smile hardened. “The Bunyip… as in the large mythical creature from Australian Aboriginal mythology, said to lurk in swamps, billabongs, creeks, riverbeds, and waterholes?”
Jess smiled. “That would be the one.”
“Seems unlikely that something out of the Aboriginal Dreamtime could keep the population numbers down in a place like this?”
“All enduring myths have a hint of truth to them,” she countered. “What do you know about the Bunyip?”
Sam recalled early stories from his childhood when he spent time in the Blue Mountains near Sydney, Australia, where his mother had grown up. “The word Bunyip is usually translated by Aboriginal Australians today as devil or evil spirit.”
“That’s right. Do you remember what it looks like?”
Sam closed his eyes for a moment, searching his memory, but finding nothing but blanks. “No. It wasn’t anything. The Bunyip was a fictional creature to frighten children.”
“And yet for the Australian Aboriginals it was very real.”
“Yes.”
“It’s actually a Diprotodon.”
There was something that Sam could remember. “But Diprotodon was the largest marsupial to ever live. If I recall correctly, it was a hippopotamus sized cross between a koala and a wombat — and a herbivore.”
“That’s right.”
“So how does a herbivore become an apex predator?”
“Through genetic anomalies.”
“Meaning?”
“While the introduction of Homo sapiens into the continent of Australia nearly 50,000 years ago caused the extinction of the Diprotodon, the oversized marsupial evolved into a carnivore.”
Sam said, “But the Diprotodon hasn’t been wiped out here. We’ve seen them in the wild, eating from the vegetation.”
“That’s right.”
“Then where does the Bunyip come from?”
“It’s a genetic anomaly.”
Sam glanced over his shoulder. “So should we be worried about a stray Bunyip?”
“Not right now. Like the Diprotodon before them, they are nocturnal, but we’ll have to find someplace high up tonight to sleep.”
“We?”
“Yes. Of course. I’m coming with you.”