The Lost Level (12 page)

“I can’t believe I slept that long,” I replied with some
embarrassment. “Time travel must have really worn me out.”

“Time travel? Is that what you call your journey from your
world to here?”

Shrugging, I moved over to join her by the fire. The heat
felt good, despite the already warm temperature of the air. “Well, some might
call it time travel, although I would guess that the term dimensional travel
might be more appropriate. The methods I used to arrive here allowed me to move
through both space and time.”

I could tell by her expression that she didn’t understand
me, so I tried to explain it. As I did, I found that talking it out helped me
come to terms with my situation, as well.

“This wise man from your tribe—”

“Shameal.”

“Yes,” I replied. “Shameal. Back home, I guess I was sort of
like him. I was interested in magic. The occult. I studied it and practiced it,
and that’s how I ended up here.”

“You were a wise man?”

“Well, I don’t know how wise I was if I ended up getting
shipwrecked in another dimension.”

“I still do not understand this word—time travel.”

“There are different worlds other than this one,” I said. “Different
places where people live.”

She nodded. “This I know.”

“Time passes in each of those worlds. You mark its passage
differently here, but your people still have a concept of time. You judge it by
sleeps or the changes a person undergoes as they grow older.”

“Yes.”

“Now, each of those worlds also has different versions of
themselves existing in parallel dimensions. Some call those dimensions levels.
Things don’t exist in them at the same time together. In my studies, I read of
your world—the Lost Level. This is a place—a dimension—where things from all
those other worlds can end up stranded at the same time. That explains all the
different flora and fauna—the plants and animals. You don’t see them as strange
because you’ve lived here all of your life, but from my perspective, it is
unusual to see them all together in one place. The rabbits we had for dinner
last night versus the thing you called a dragon yesterday. In my world, they
don’t exist at the same time. The dragons died out millions of years ago, long
before rabbits flourished. But here, in your world, they exist side by side. Or
take all the things I’ve found since my arrival. Before I rescued you and
Bloop, I came across a vehicle—something my people use for transport—embedded
in a cliff. That’s from my time. But some of those weapons the Anunnaki were
carrying must have come from the future, given how advanced they were. Or, it’s
even a possibility that they didn’t come from my world at all.”

“Like some of the things in your pack,” she said. “When I
retrieved the rocks from your bag to start the fire, I glanced at them. I do
not know what some of them are, but I know they are not magic. The things you
lent to Bloop yesterday, that allow a viewer to see far away—”

“Binoculars.”

“Yes. Ben–ock–you–larz. Some in my tribe would think them
magic, but after studying them, I can see that they were made by humans. They
are a tool. Nothing more. A wondrous tool, but a tool all the same. It would
take a long time for someone to make them, so they are from the future?”

“Sort of,” I replied. “My present, but your future, perhaps.
If your people invent a whole bunch of other things first.”

“And when you say you are a wise man, do you mean that all
of your magic is like these binoculars?”

“Not really. But there are some on my world who say that
magic is simply science we don’t yet understand, so perhaps?” I paused,
considering. “Yes, perhaps it is after all.”

Nodding, she turned her attention back to the fire for a
moment. She had suspended a large stick above the flames. Hanging from it were
three tubular roots that resembled a cross between a potato and a carrot.

“What are those?” I asked.

“My people call them squatosh. They are not from the future.
I dug them up while you and Bloop were sleeping. That means they are from the
past and have traveled through time.”

It took me a moment to realize that she was joking.
Grinning, I scratched the back of my neck and shook my head. “I guess I kind of
deserved that.”

“We should wake Bloop,” she said, still smiling. “Our meal
will be ready soon. It is a shame. I had hoped we could be together again
before he awoke.”

She bent over the fire, swaying her hips back and forth, and
I went to her, encircling her waist with my arms.

We decided to let Bloop sleep a little bit longer, after
all.

§

The roasted squatosh was delicious, with a taste and texture
much like a sweet potato. It was also surprisingly filling. I’d anticipated
still being hungry upon finishing mine but instead found myself pleasantly
full, as if I’d just eaten a bowl of oatmeal. Bloop was indifferent about his.
I couldn’t figure out if that was because he preferred meat or if he was just
not a morning person. The thought made me crave a hot cup of coffee to wake up
with, but when I asked Kasheena if her people had such a beverage, she looked
at me strangely and explained the only hot drinks they served were for medicinal
purposes and tasted bitter.

“Here’s hoping a Starbucks gets sucked through the space–time
continuum and ends up here,” I said.

“Starbucks?”

“Never mind. Just something from back home.”

We put out the fire and packed up camp and then started on our
way. Once again, Kasheena guided us in the direction of her village, and I
marveled over her apparently uncanny sense of direction. When we came across a
wide, swift–moving stream, we stopped. After Bloop had verified that the water
was safe to drink, I filled up my travel mug. Then we waded across the stream.

The water was cold and shallow, reaching only to my ankles in
most places and up to my knees at the deepest point. The current was swift, but
not overpoweringly strong, and it would have been easy to stand if not for the
slippery rocks beneath the surface. They were covered with small, black–shelled
barnacles and different types of algae and plants—everything from fronds of
what looked like kelp to thousands of strange, translucent tubers that resembled
miniature jellyfish. There were also dozens of tiny brown fish. They looked
remarkably like brook trout, but smaller. Kasheena and Bloop did not react to
them, so I assumed they were safe as they darted around our plodding feet. I
saw no trash or foreign debris—no broken glass bottles, rusty tin cans,
discarded fishing lures, or any of the other things I might find in the streams
back on Earth. I did, however, see a rock beneath the surface that looked like
either a fossilized brain or a sponge. It was about the size of a soccer ball,
and when I picked it up, I was surprised by how light it was. Upon closer
examination, I determined that it was indeed a fossil, but I didn’t know of
what. Reluctantly, I dropped it back into the creek. It made a loud splash, and
Bloop scowled at me with gentle reproach.

After crossing the stream, we continued on our trek through the
forest, sticking to game trails when they were available and beating our way
through the underbrush when they weren’t. Time passed uneventfully. We didn’t
encounter any more dinosaurs or robots or snake men. Indeed, we didn’t
encounter much of anything at all. The trees were alive with bird songs and the
chatter of small animals, but for the most part, the wildlife itself remained
out of sight. It was uneventful enough that I almost found myself lulled into
complacency, but each time my attention wandered, I remembered some of the
dangers that lurked all around and focused again on our surroundings.

After several hours, the vegetation around us began to change. I
noticed many new species of trees and bushes, the likes of which I had never
seen before. I wondered what world they were from or if they were perhaps
native to the Lost Level. I also found myself considering the vegetation in
general. Some of the plants were undoubtedly from my world or others like it.
Others definitely weren’t. How had they come here from their individual levels?
Had they been carried by castaways such as myself? Or perhaps their seed pods
or saplings had been transported here? And how, I wondered, could I tell what
the native flora was and which were from another world? Indeed, when it came to
flora and fauna, was any of it native to this realm? Or had it all come from
elsewhere, just as I had? Sure, Kasheena had been born here, so she was
certainly native, but what of the roots of her tribe? Where had they come from
originally? Was everything in the Lost Level part of the dimensional flotsam
and jetsam?

Different worlds, different dimensions—they all occupied a
specific place in space and time. Physical locations like Earth or Mars, or
metaphysical realms such as Heaven or Hell or the Void, all of them existed in
a specific place, accessible by specific means. But what space did the Lost
Level occupy? And if it was possible to breach its space and to be transported
here, then why was the reverse not true? Why, supposedly, were we unable to
leave?

We clambered up a steep hillside that was covered with tall,
brown grass and several short, stunted bushes that jutted sideways from the
rocky soil. At the top of the hill, we found the remains of a stone wall. It
had collapsed in places, and moss and weeds jutted from between the cracks. I
wondered aloud who had built it, but Kasheena did not know.

“I heard something,” I said as we hiked. “While you were sleeping
during our last camp. Bloop heard it, too.”

“What was it?”

“It sounded like machines, far beneath the ground. Do you know
what they were?”

“My people have heard them from time to time,” Kasheena replied. “As
has anyone who lives in this land. They sound like the giant metal man, yes?”

I nodded.

“I do not know what makes the sound,” Kasheena said. “When we
were little, Shameal told us that the sounds were made by the Creator.”

“The Creator…you mean some type of supreme deity?”

“The Creator is the one who made this land.”

“But when we first met, you said your tribe believes everyone in
this land came from elsewhere.”

“Yes, that is true. The Creator made the Lost Level, but not the
things that live in it. Those came from elsewhere, like you, or were born here,
like me.”

“And you worship this Creator god?”

Kasheena laughed. The sound was light and musical.

“Worship the Creator? No. No one has ever seen the Creator. How
can you pay tribute to something you cannot see? The Creator simply is.”

“Okay.” I was intrigued. “Tell me more about this Creator.”

“There is not much more to tell, Aaron. We do not think about the
Creator. We do not see the Creator. We never speak with the Creator. The
Creator simply is. When you hear the rumblings beneath the Earth? That is the
work of the Creator. Shameal says it is better not to ask questions about the
Creator and to simply let it be.”

I had more questions, but Kasheena had no answers. She patiently
rebuffed my requests until I gave up in frustration. Instead, I let her point
out edible plants and roots to me while I slapped at insects. I noticed Bloop
swishing his tail back and forth to chase the bugs away, much like a horse or
cow would do back home.

We descended the hill and entered a broad ravine with a dry creek
bed in its center. The treetops grew close together overtop the gulch, casting
a perpetual shadow. The ravine walls were covered with sprawling growths of ivy
and vines, and after Kasheena had guided us a few hundred yards, I noticed
something jutting from the undergrowth. It was a rusted section of airplane
fuselage with the numbers 45714 and FT3 painted on it. I rushed over to the
hulk and cleared the vegetation away with my sword, revealing the battered
shell of a World War II era TBM Avenger torpedo bomber. As a child, I’d often
built model airplanes with my grandfather, so I knew the aircraft well.

I glanced around the ravine and noticed more derelicts, each of
which was nearly hidden beneath the ivy. I began hacking at the vines with my
sword. Kasheena and Bloop watched me as if I’d lost my mind and then began to
help. Bloop swung both swords, making quick work of it. Soon, we stood there
panting and covered in sweat, staring at the remains of five TBM Avengers. Four
of them were TBM–1C models, and the fifth was a TBM3. The paint on their
fuselage was faded, muddy, and eaten through with rust, but the numbers were
still legible on four of the planes—FT36, FT81, FT117, and FT28. The fifth was
too faded to read. The numbers were familiar to me, but I couldn’t figure out
why. After a few moments, I realized what they were, and my skin broke out in
gooseflesh, despite the heat.

“Holy shit,” I exclaimed. “It’s Flight 19!”

“I have seen a thing like these before,” Kasheena said, “but it
was a long time ago, when I was a little girl.”

“You mentioned that once before, but you never had the chance to
finish telling me about it.”

“It flew over my village like a strange metal bird before
crashing in the jungle.”

“Was there anyone inside of it?” I asked.

She shook her head. “It burst into a ball of flame. When the men
from our tribe went to investigate, they said there was nothing left. I
remember that it burnt down a swath of the forest, and many were worried that
we might have to flee. But our people dug ditches to halt the fire’s advance,
and eventually it burned itself out.”

“Do you remember anything else?”

“No. As I said, I was very little. I always thought it was a
bird.”

Approaching the closest plane, I ran my hand across a .30 caliber
machine gun which was mounted in the nose. I doubted that the weapon was still
functional. The barrel was rusty and insects had made nests inside of it.
Obviously, it had been here for some time.