Extinction Level Event

It seems long ago since my uncle, Rear Admiral Jonty Price Williams, came bounding into his study where my step-aunt and myself were trying to cool down. The summer of '21 was utterly oppressive. The windows were flung open, but that only allowed the hot sticky air to sidle in and ooze down our necks. My uncle, who was a portly man, was perspiring tremendously.
"I say, you two," he said, bustling over to the chaise lounges and looking down at the pair of us. My aunt, Lady Fairweather, waved her fan at him desultorily and sniffed. "How would you like to escape out of this torpor and have a jolly old adventure?"
Though the heat was almost stupefying, I found myself interested immediately. You see, my uncle was renowned for undertaking the most marvelous, altogether spiffing adventures and I'd been begging to join him forever.
While Lady Fairweather tutted, Uncle Jonty sat on the edge of the divan. He began regaling me with visions of soaring dunes, craggy mountains, dangerous animals, and really everything a girl of thirteen could dream of.
We would be gathering species for the National Museum, he told me. In light of our planet's rapid warming, and subsequent mass extinction, they had charged my uncle with the important task of saving those unlucky species whose time had run out.
My head filled with fantastic visions and soon my trunks were packed, along with my nets and traps and other accouterments of the exploring trade. After saying goodbye to my aunt, we jumbled down to the quay where uncle's old steamer, the Albatross, awaited.
I had a whale of a time, throughout our journey, spotting belugas and bluefin and mighty Balaenoptera musculus. We watched stingrays swim through luminescent blue algae, and electric-blue krill glowed at night.
As soon as we touched land, we bundled into a procession of old Land Rovers fully kitted out for adventuring along with a dozen or so hired men and drove our way across the entire continent in thirteen days to the base of some mountains on the northern edge of a desert.
We approached the mountains from the west, Uncle Jonty and I in the foremost Land Rover. He drove, and I leaned forward in my seat, craning to look up the sheer-sided cliffs that jutted ahead out of the desert.
A few hundred feet up, the cliffs disappeared in thick clouds. Their underbellies were dark and heavy, and the air was dry and electric. Uncle Jonty called a halt, declaring that we'd make camp before ascending the mountains the following day.
While the hired hands set about fixing up tents and campfires, I wandered away, following the wall for a few hundred yards. A few scrub bushes, like the gorse of back home, grew wildly out of the rock.
I thought I heard something and approached the cliff. Yes, I could, in fact, hear a certain rhythm, as if pounding. I put my cheek against the rock and jumped back. It was hot! I leaned in again and heard unmistakable pounding as if of a heartbeat.
The rhythm was quick, far faster than my own heart. As I listened, the beating grew quicker and quicker until all of a sudden, it stopped. Silence returned so quickly that I couldn't be sure if I hadn't imagined the whole thing.
When I told my uncle after dinner, sitting alone by our fire, he took a drink from his hip flask and looked into the fire a long while before answering.
“There's something in there,” he said.
And he proceeded to tell me the real reason for our journey. This mountain was part of a chain of mountains stretching around in an enormous, and altogether complete, circle. An impenetrable wall of rock enclosed sixty thousand hectares of untouched wilderness.
Jungles, rivers, lakes, and forests lay just on the other side of these peaks, representing the last untouched piece of land on the planet. Not only that but our government, using observation balloons and low-flying planes under the guise of the National Museum had ascertained that an entire race of people, previously undiscovered and uncontacted existed peacefully in this walled garden.
It was this fact which spurred them to contact my uncle. This land, which we were about to discover, represented one of the most valuable finds of the century. Who knew how many new species of flora and fauna existed within reach? Our country's government was not ready to let such a precious discovery go unexploited.
And so, early the next morning, my uncle and his men unloaded crates from the Land Rovers. Soon, huge silk sacks were slowly inflating in the cool morning air, and half a dozen hot air balloons stood to attention.
I climbed into one of the baskets with my uncle. It was filled with stores, equipment, and traps. A few rifle muzzles protruded from a canvas roll. I could feel myself trembling with excitement as the gas jets flared. I felt the basket lift off the desert, and we rose into the air.
Soon we were in the glowering clouds and visibility reduced to practically nothing. It grew cold and I started to shiver and my uncle wrapped me in a thick blanket. He had to keep working to stop the ice building up on the controls. He waved a flaming blowtorch back and forth over the control panel.
Suddenly there was a bright flash of lightning. Thunder cracked. I heard my uncle yell and he pointed and we watched a balloon careen through the sky to our left, misshapen, deflating, and smash into the wall. I heard men's cries as the basket turned over and a couple of human figures fell reluctantly out.
Lightning flashed again. Thunder deafened us. It was continuous and the balloon rocked wildly, crazily tilting to where my stomach lurched and I was sure that I too would fall to my death.
And then, as suddenly as it all began, we lifted out of the storm. There was golden sunshine and a bright blue sky and a cool, gentle breeze as the balloon lifted peacefully above the top of the mountains. Below, you could see the land we were about to exploit: emerald forests, aquamarine rivers, and turquoise lakes. A giant flock of birds, the color of rubies, flew beneath us.
I heard a hissing noise. The battered balloon was leaking from a dozen or so holes and we began losing altitude. Looking around, we ascertained to our horror that we were the only balloon in sight.
As we approached the jungle canopy, my uncle pointed. There, in a clearing, we could see three animals side by side. They were the size of ants from where we were, but I could see they were jaguars sitting back on their haunches. Then, remarkably, three humans walked into the clearing and stood next to the cats, looking up at our plummeting machine.
When we were skimming the treetops, my uncle opened the valve and the protesting motor made one final attempt and gave up the ghost. We dropped the last few meters and, with an almighty crash, smashed into the branches. I was thrown clear and that's all I remembered.
The next thing I knew, I found myself propped up in bed being tended to by three of the most remarkable women I'd ever seen. They were very tall and ethereal and they moved around me with such grace that they appeared to be floating. They spoke to each other in twittering, birdlike phrases that sounded like laughter.
I was still very much dazed and confused and I hardly knew where I was. The women served me sweet-smelling tinctures in fine wooden bowls and pungent but not unpleasant tea and I began feeling better.
I wondered where my uncle was and as soon as I could speak, I asked my guardians. The women replied in laughter and left the room. In a moment, they returned with a procession of men, similarly tall and ethereal. Two of them carried a throne, upon which sat my uncle, wearing a cast on his arm and a very bemused look upon his face.
From then on, well, what can I say? It was all very much a wonderful blur. Riding aloft in hand-carved thrones, my uncle and I were carried out of the hut and into their city. And yet, the word city hardly does their utopia justice.
The people's homes were built in and as part of the trees. Rope ladders and walkways wove through the jungle, like arteries in a vast circulatory system. Thatched huts swayed gently here and there, suspended by twisted vines. Inhabitants laughed and waved as we paraded by.
High in the branches of the biggest tree, rather like a fig tree, perched the chief's abode. There, with seemingly the whole village peering in at the windows and doorways, the chief, for lack of a better word, surrendered her village unto us.
Bowing low to the floor, the old woman took off her headdress made of colorful flowers and feathers and offered it to my uncle, who, in the ensuing silence felt inclined to place it on his head.
For the next few weeks, we were treated like kings, nay, may I say it, like gods. Every day the entire village proceeded before us as we sat on our thrones in the chieftain's hut. They surrendered all their possession, their animals, and lands. The chief served us as if we were her masters!
The most delectable infusions, the sweetest ambrosia, the finest garments were plied upon us. Neither myself nor my uncle could believe the luxurious stupor in which we found ourselves. The rich dishes and extravagant wines left us reeling in our seats for hours and days on end.
In between feasts, we were shown the village, riding in thrones atop two villager's shoulders. Never before had I seen such precision, such detail, such architectural wonders and feats of structural engineering.
The villagers jabbered in their wonderful, singsong language while showing us how they lived entirely sustainably with the earth. Amazingly, they had managed to find equilibrium. By taking no more than they needed and returning as much as they took, these benevolent, beautiful people lived alongside Mother Earth in complete symbiosis.
My uncle and I stayed up late at night, alone in the chief's hut, surrounded by gifts, discussing the world-changing discovery we'd made. My uncle was beside himself and grew impatient about our departure.
One day, after treating us to the most fabulous feast thus far, everyone around us grew silent. Something was different and I sensed a change in the air. Drummers entered the cabin and the villagers all began chanting.
From then on, this splendid paradise turned into a veritable nightmare. We were grabbed from behind. Our arms and legs were tied tight. Hoisted aloft again, this time bound and gagged, we were carried to the base of the old fig tree.
There, in the roots, a passage led down into the darkness like an opening mouth. We entered and descended for what felt like miles underground. It grew hotter and hotter and there was a rumbling sound. The drummers increased their pace and the chanting grew louder.
Up ahead, the tunnel opened and we were brought into a vast chamber. Orange and red lights danced on the walls and the heat was intense. It smelled like rotten eggs and I saw great volcanic pits boiling and erupting in the center of the chamber.
Great spurts of lava jerked through the air. Little red and gold gobbets rained down, pelting the black rock, splashing and sizzling. Smoke and sulfurous clouds billowed around us as our captors approached the fiery pits.
My uncle was ahead of me. I could see him struggling against his restraints. His eyes were wide and his face was like a mask beneath the wild headdress. The drummers drummed faster. The villagers' shrieks reverberated off the stone walls and ceiling.
In this hallucinatory scene, I found myself praying, praying to a God I didn't believe in, praying to Mother Earth and to Science; I prayed to whoever might listen. For a second, I thought my prayers were answered. All at once, our captors stopped chanting.
But no, this pause was to wait and watch my uncle as he was carried up the side of the fiery pit, hoisted aloft and, with a great shout from the villagers, thrown in. Then they turned and reached back for me.