Quest to Cy-Lop

A Hollow Earth Expedition Story

by G. I. Garcia

The large, curved tooth, bloodied and odorous, had fetched a place to lay their heads and a
meal to try and digest within the wooden ramparts of Looking Glass Outpost. It was late, or at least it
felt late, and they needed to rest.
They’d entered the settlement at the fringe of the swampy jungle that surrounded it, after
having crossed the river further upstream at the ferry. That had cost some of the meat from the
dinosaur carcass they had stripped. It was still very fresh, as they’d killed the beast just a few hours
before having climbed down to the water’s edge.
After entering what could only be a small trading post for illegal goods, the four men bartered
the tooth for a room at what passed for an inn at Looking Glass and headed over to the only place
serving food.
Eager to continue his hunt, Roman Davis walked through the thick worn door. By all
appearances, he definitely needed to take a load off. A rough, unshaven chestnut-colored beard framed
what would have been a rather intelligent face if not for the hint of desperation around the eyes. The
torn clothes hung limp as if they had once filled out a more muscular body. He needed food and a drink.
Davis had been the cartographer of the first expedition. He was one of its two surviving members, and
that adjective fit him best: survivor. He was also desperately looking for the other expedition member
so that he could kill him. Vengeance drove him past being concerned about his ragged clothes and scant
gear. It did not allow him to think about being lost in the strange world the drilling machine had
deposited him in. The wonders of the supposed Hollow Earth he’d help discover were lost on him. The
man who killed his brother was out there, and he grimly considered the ways to avenge Thomas’s death.
At the moment, it was time for a drink.
Although he could count none of his companions as friends, they each had qualities that would
help Davis find the man responsible for his predicament. Two were meant to be his rescuers; the third
surely was. And yet it was this one he knew the least about, him being a native of these inhospitable
and exotic lands. Even his name was an enigma.
Bic Lighter was a young man, tall and rangy of sinew. The savage, for that is what he surely was,
had rescued him from the prison in which he had, until recently, resided. Lighter, for that is what
Roman had come to call him (finding the first portion of the name a ridiculous reference to something
the native’s mother must have clearly held in too high a regard), had pulled him out of confinement in
his own village while it was being overrun by, of all things, Chinese marauders. They had fled the
pillaging of the hut-filled clearing and, in the days that followed, had come to a mutually beneficial
understanding. Lighter was smart, however primitive his culture predetermined him to be. Plus, the
savage was strong. Taller than most, the honey-haired native looked as if he would be at home in
Amsterdam or Oslo, if only he’d cut his long hair and dress the part. With his unusual dialect, he even
sounded like a foreigner speaking English. The bow, leather quiver of arrows and painstakingly
sharpened javelins added to his foreign qualities.
 The other two men were recent arrivals to the Hollow Earth, if indeed that is what this horrible
place was. They had been sent to locate the first expedition and assist them should they require it.
Ironic that they had been the ones found and rescued. Two days ago, gunshots led Davis and Lighter to
the edge of a muddy bog. They helped kill the dinosaur the two “rescuers” were fleeing from.
The second expedition’s leader was Rutger Grimes. Not quite middle-aged and admittedly
handsome in a rugged sort of way, the man had a little more sense than Davis gave him credit for. For
one thing, he’d close-cropped his hair before embarking on the expedition, and he was arrayed with just
the right amount of tools for exploring the strange world they’d found themselves in. Davis had to
admit, for a wise guy, he knew how to use his gear and get around. As for running from the dinosaur,
well Grimes would never agree to the notion that he had been fleeing from anything. Jumping over the
enormous fallen trees and bramble thorns, his leather jacket flowing out behind him like a cape, he
would have said he was acquiring a more advantageous position or some other such nonsense—so long
as his bravado was never in question and the glory heaped upon his reputation was ever increased. He
proved good in the fight, dropping from a tree limb onto the neck of the creature, machete hacking
down violently, but his courage danced at the edge of stupidity. Out here, it would be a long fall if he
went over that edge.
Lawrence Rutherford reserved for himself all the caution his partner freely disdained. He was
surely the brains of the second expedition. He was scientist, doctor and engineer all rolled into one tall
but pudgy expedition rescuer. Rutherford knew that his navigation had erroneously caused their drilling
machine to surface too near the prowling eddies of an enormous water serpent that had subsequently
wrapped its body around and disappeared with their only means of returning to their world . At the
time of the dinosaur attack that followed shortly thereafter, he was so concerned over his failure, he
hadn’t realized he was facing what could only have been a living specimen of a Cetaceous-era
Kronosaur, with only his penknife at his disposal. The near balding, Renaissance man scratched his head
and marveled instead at the color of the creature’s hide as there had never been conclusive evidence of
dinosaur pigmentation. It had been a manure brown.
It didn’t take long for Davis to approach the pretty and buxom proprietor and ask the burning
question, “Has a Nazi bastard by the name of Dempewolf come through here recently? You’d know him
by the band of Chinese pirates he’s picked out as his personal army.”
The bar silenced immediately.
“Chinese pirates? The Chang Reds. Yes, they travelled upriver on one of their scows just two
days ago. I don’t know nothing about any Nat-See bastards, though I reckon their whole crew be
bastards at any rate, ‘ey boys?!” said the proprietor. To this, the dozen patrons let out a cheer and
returned their attention to their own devilry.
She continued, “The Reds are no friends of the Javese River Consortium. They stay out of our
business, and we surely stay out of theirs.”
“You said upriver. Where might they be heading in that direction?” asked Davis.
“Upriver can only mean Dregstown. It’s the largest settlement for miles and a den for those
cutthroats.”
Seeing his chance to impress, Grimes cut in, “Cutthroats. Perfect. How do we get there?” It was
difficult to determine how genuine his smile was.
 * * *

Sometime later, and after having bartered the rest of their meat and large, reptilian dental
records, they shoved off of the small pier at the end of Looking Glass Outpost aboard a seemingly
oversized canoe with one sail. Rutherford had insisted the design was similar to some variety of
Egyptian felucca, but these details didn’t seem to matter much. None of them could sail such a vessel
anyway, so the task fell upon a half dozen Javese River privateers to man the boat on their journey
toward Dregstown.
Gradually, the sky darkened in what seemed like an eclipse. It was what passed for the end of
the very long blazing noon days in this accursed land. Even time scorned cooperation. As far as Davis
could tell, the darkness marked the end of a day, but nothing marked the hour. He may have been here
days or months as far as he could tell. He’d lost his watch to the Cargo Cultist tribe Lighter was from.
The same tribe who was even now suffering at the hands of the Chinese pirates allied to Dempewolf.
The enemy of my enemy, thought Davis.
He was telling the others he knew the Nazi bastard was after one thing: the power cell for the
drilling machine they’d traveled on. After having surfaced in this Hollow Curse, their one time engineer,
Dempewolf, had shot everyone aboard. Just like that. The moment the machine stopped moving, the
Kraut had pulled out his pistol and began to systematically kill, first the pilot, then his brother. When he
came for Davis, the cartographer had already emerged from the vehicle and had hidden when he’d
heard the shots. Like thunder, they’d echo in his mind for some time. Dempewolf had found him and
leveled the gun at his midsection. He took aim and squeezed the trigger. It was all Davis could recall.
His next recollection was in a straw hut. Days seemed to pass as his strength returned. Strange
people were seeing to his recuperation. He seemed to remember a woman. She was beautiful, or at
least, he wished her to be. Three brown curls hung over alluring eyes in his memory. After some time,
he was better.
“So I still don’t get how the power cell is clear across the jungle. Typical for the Kraut to go
losing something mildly important like that,” said Grimes, elbows propped up, leaning against the railing
of the sailboat.
Davis continued, “The locals told me the story in bits and pieces in that pidgin English of theirs.
You think Lighter over there sounds weird, he’s a regular Shakespeare compared with his buddies at
home.” Turning to the native who was standing near the bow, peering toward the upcoming bend in
the river, he called out, “Hey, Lighter, come and tell the story you told me.”
Lighter came over and spoke softly.
“The day came when the hurt man that is you was brought-carried by Our Father to domicilia.”
The men suppressed their smiles at the strange dialect from the native. Seemingly without noticing,
Lighter continued, his voice low but commanding attention. “Our Father brought more too. The heart
of the machine was beating in his hands. It quested to be brought carried to sun-at-bridge, so he says
alright did Our Father. So he took it. Then the day came when the Red Chin kill many in the name of the
new villain, Dempe. He quested for the heart and left with one of we in chains. He quested for Our
Father and knows his destiny. It is where we go now too to warn My Father who left. We quest the
bridge at fabled city of Cy Lop.”
 The men were not smiling anymore. However poor his English, Lighter managed to
communicate what this whole little adventure meant to him. According to Davis, the Chinese pirates’
attack on the Lighter’s village was nothing short of barbaric. Rutherford patted the native’s shoulder
while Grimes turned over to Davis.
“The heart of the machine? I gather that’s the fuel cell?” he asked.
“They seem to worship technology. They believe machinery has powers or connections to the
spirit world or something. It’s all I’ve been able to figure out as to why they took it.”
“And what’s at this city? I thought we were going to Dregstown. Where is this place? ” asked
Grimes, looking over at Lighter who had walked off and resumed his gazing toward the waters ahead.
Davis shrugged, he never could get much more details out of Lighter. “Wherever the Chinese pirates go,
Dempewolf goes … and so do I.”

* * *

It was when they spotted the Chinese ship at anchor in the wilderness well before Dregstown
that plans changed. Their crew kept their vessel at some distance. It seemed the Consortium wanted
nothing to do with the Chinese. At the closest point at which they passed, Davis stared at the larger
ship. It was most similar to an Indian Ocean dhow the Arabs used centuries ago. He was no sailor, but
he read history books enough to know it surely didn’t belong in the here and now. The pirates paid
them no attention, their vessel apparently innocuous among the other fishing boats heading to
Dregstown.
Lighter came up alongside him and, gazing at the ship as well, spoke, “My Father is not. The one
Dempe is not.” His face showed concern and no small amount of frustration.
“You’re right, Lighter. But I’ll tell you what is there,” said Davis, squinting his eyes to try and
make out the details. “It looks like they left behind the Driller.”
On the deck of the Chinese dhow a tarp covered a bulky freight. Though it could have been
anything, the importance of it was evident—there were a tight group of Chinese pirates armed and
watchful near what Davis felt could only be the Driller he had traveled in.
“Well it won’t do us any good without the power cell,” observed Grimes who had come to the
railing.
“You’re right,” said Davis, curling his upper lip with vehemence. “We’re gunna have to find the
Nazi first.”

* * *

They disembarked after nearing the shore in a hidden cove just past the Chinese dhow. They
waded alongside a couple of the crewmen who pulled the small boat higher up onto the sloped riverside
using heavy rope they tied to nearby vegetation.
The trees were dense. They presented a nearly impassable wall of foliage that loomed high
above and dark within. They were alive with birdcall and other noises of the denizens lurking beneath
their heavy green leaves. The explorers looked nervously at the jungle.
Grimes drew his machete and lumbered in.
 The greenery parted before his savage swings as the blade rang, hitting the bark and the
branches. The three of them followed him along the trail he was creating, leaving the superstitious crew
behind. Quietly, they crept through the jungle, deeper into its thick boughs and twisted roots.

* * *

They had been going deeper into the forest but in a direction parallel with the shoreline and
toward the anchored Chinese ship. Grimes soon slowed and put up a restraining hand backward at
them. He seemed to think it was best to quiet their approach. He indicated so with a finger to pursed
lips.
Bellied up on the ledge of a small escarpment they looked through the tangle of trees and
toward the water’s edge where moored the ship. They saw movement on its deck and on the shore
near them. From their vantage they counted several dozen Chinese pirates. The cargo on the foredeck
was partially visible as the tarp was not fully covering it from this angle.
“It’s the Driller alright,” said Rutger.
“There’s too many of them. Besides, Dempewolf isn’t there,” whispered Davis.
“And neither is the fuel cell,” added Rutherford. Just as the big man said this, he was reaching
over the ledge for a better view or more likely a more comfortable view, when the edge gave way and
he slid right along with it.
Davis and Grimes both reached for him, but Rutherford went from a slide to a head over heels
tumble as the dirt and mud ran down and around him. The big man let out a hoarse yelp as he hit the
bottom a short distance below. It would have been comical had it been out of sight and earshot of
murderous Chinese river pirates. Loud shots nearby alerted them they’d been discovered.
Grimes pulled out his Colt 1911 and scanned the trees ahead. Davis scrambled to get up into a
crouch and find cover beside a small gully that went down to where Rutherford was. Behind them,
Lighter had already stood behind a thick trunk and knocked an arrow to his bow.
Some of the Chinese ran back to their ship. Shouts rang out from the deck. Others, carrying
rifles, fanned out through the jungle and approached. Silently, they came closer.
Jus t as he was about to spring into action, Grimes felt a whisper of wind zip passed his ear and
saw an arrow spring from the chest of the nearest pirate. Unsure of precisely what was going on, he
paused for a moment before hearing another arrow whine passed and imbed itself on the shoulder of
another pirate. This one yelled out in pain before dropping. The rest began shouting, some pointing,
and they converged on them.
In moments, two were practically on top of Rutherford. He had gotten up to a kneeling position
in the mud, concerned over his appearance, when the two pirates stopped abruptly, surprised the
enemy was so close. That’s when Davis came out of the gully and fired his Springfield. He downed one
of the Chinese but the other aimed his rifle down at Rutherford who was just getting up and fired.
The impact of the bullet spun the burly professor in a near pirouette, blood spilling in an arc
from his wounded shoulder. With a steadying hand, he managed to lean onto a boulder, staying on his
feet unsteadily.
Davis jumped the lower gully toward him, closing the distance to the pirate. The smell of
burning powder hung in the dank air. The Chinese looked up, grimacing meanly with teeth bared.
Switching his handle on the rifle, Davis grabbed its end and swung in a wide baseball bat roundhouse.
The butt of the weapon wacked the side of pirate’s head knocking him senseless or dead. He only knew
there was a lot of blood.
Downhill, the rest of the pirates were gathering closer to one another, looking about and yelling.
Davis glanced back and could not see Lighter where the savage had been. He noticed to his right that
Grimes was working his way through some denser cover.
In the brief respite, Davis brought Rutherford down behind the boulder he’d been leaning
against and took a look at his shoulder. It was bleeding quite freely and the man looked gauntly pale
already. Davis ripped into Rutherford’s bloody shirt and used the cloth, applying pressure directly onto
the wound as the big man, eyes alternating between squeezed shut and shocked wide, grimaced as the
pain stabbed at him.
Suddenly, more Chinese pirates were struck by arrows and gunfire erupted in various places
from behind the dense underbrush on his right. It was only Lighter and Grimes, but the Chinese were
backing away, seemingly panicked they had been ambushed. With a sharp command, they began
walking backward toward the shore, firing indiscriminately at the hidden attackers.
Arrows continued to fly out at them, seeming to come from different angles and directions.
Davis added to the gunfire from his position as he heard Grimes firing his Colt from the right, hidden
even from his vantage. The guy was good, hiding in those trees just like a native.
Moments later, the Chinese pirates were out of sight. He could hear them in the distance
sloshing onto their ship. He looked down at Rutherford and realized there was more blood emerging
from the exit wound just above his shoulder blade. It was a mess, and he was losing ground.
Near panic, Davis looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps in the brush. It was Lighter,
bounding down on them like some sort of Indian in his natural state. He quickly knelt down beside them
and looked at the bloody, torn skin and the splintered collarbone Davis had just noticed. Without a
word, the savage scooped up mud and leaves with his left hand while covering the material with his
right. He muttered a phrase in his own tongue and slapped the dirt onto the wounded shoulder,
simultaneously covering Rutherford’s mouth with his free hand.
The near delirious man screamed silently into Lighter’s palm. He struggled under the pressure
being applied to his ruined shoulder. Davis was at a loss of words. He was confused. And then he saw
visions of himself undergoing the same pain, the same treatment. He was under a straw roof, on a
palette, being cared for, but in pain. He shook his head and cleared his thoughts—he needed to be in
the here and now.
Rutherford had calmed. Grimes was beside them now, ever vigilant for the Chinese they’d
apparently frightened away. He said, “They’ll be back. As much as I’d like the fight, I think our professor
isn’t up for it at the moment.” Looking back toward the jungle, away from the river, he said, “Besides,
like he said, they don’t have the fuel cell so we can get out of this cheerful place.”
“Or the People’s Father,” said Lighter, standing up, and walking further inland. He stopped,
turned his head sidelong to the rest and said simply, “Quest to Cy Lop.” The native pushed himself up a
small incline and headed deeper into the trees.
Davis and Grimes both looked down at Rutherford. The big man was testing his shoulder,
moving his arms in broad swings and circular motions. He rubbed off a bit of the mud from his new
bright pink skin at his shoulder and smelled it curiously. With a bewildered smile, he stood, and chased
after Lighter with as lively a spring as either of them had seen the professor step.
Moving to follow, Grimes shrugged as he passed by Davis and said, “Quest to Cy Lop it is then.”
Quietly, Davis and the rest crept through the jungle, deeper into its thick boughs and twisted
roots. If the crew of their small fishing boat were smart they’d have shoved off when they heard the
gunfire. Heck, if they were really smart, he thought, they wouldn’t even come back. Of course, that
would leave them stranded in a prehistoric jungle within the Hollow Earth, but why dwell on the details.

* * *

“Do you know where you’re going?” asked Grimes after sometime of following Lighter.
The native had stopped yet again to pick up a small amount of twigs and dirt. As he had done
three times already, he mumbled some unintelligible words as he rubbed the compost between his
fingers and let the ground up debris slip off his hand and into the breeze. Rutherford had suggested it
was perhaps a ritual petitioning the spirits of the land surrounding them.
Lighter did not offer an explanation. As he watched the dust fall, his eyes caught a detail in a
nearby branch. He reached out, held the broken limb and showed the others, “They came this way. We
catch Cy Lop soon.”
Lighter moved on.
Reaching the broken limb, Grimes grabbed it, turned to Rutherford and smirked, “Some magic,
professor.”

* * *

Sometime later, they paused to rest. They were tired and running themselves ragged. They ate
some of the few rations they’d brought along from Looking Glass Outpost. Davis approached Lighter
who was standing as always further ahead, eager to continue.
“Hey Lighter, what kind of city is Cy Lop? Who lived there?” he asked.
It took a moment for the savage to answer. He stood a while, as if considering what to say. In
the end, he shrugged and said, “It was People’s Home. Later, in time of Father’s Father, in ago, Draco
Maledic came questing fear for People. Draco Maledic power and might. People quest new Home and
Cy Lop emptied.”
Davis struggled to understand, but Grimes strutted over and simply asked, “So your people
abandoned Cy Lop in the time of your grandfather because of a guy named Drako Ma-le Dick? Who was
this guy?”
Rutherford, who had been listening from a small distance, approached with a look of panic in his
now ruggedly bearded face. Beads of perspiration running down his forehead, he said, “It’s not a
person. Draco Maledic is in a broken Latin. It means … cursed demon.”
“Ya, Draco Maledic is power and might, quest fear for you and me, ya,” said Lighter, nodding
slowly, and then, as if testing the new word he’d learned, repeated slowly, “D-e-m-o-n.”
“Wonderful,” said Davis.
 “This just keeps getting better,” said a smiling Grimes as he moved off to pick up his machete
and head back onto the trail.
Rutherford wiped his balding head with the sleeve of his torn shirt, adding almost as an
afterthought, “And I’m sure we’ll meet some more dinosaurs. Of that, there’s simply no doubt.” And as
he climbed on up the trail and a faint roar was heard in the distance ahead, he muttered, “No, no doubt
at all.”

* * *

As they crested a rise in the forest, they were met by a site that took their breath. From their
elevated vantage they could see the behemoth contours of an enormous vessel laid out before them. A
flock of white long-necked birds flew up as one over its green, vine-ridden decks. The keel beneath had
cracked in several places and, like a whale with a broken back, the ship had settled into the land,
deflated and defeated, with no power of its own to stop the trees, shrubs, and vines from creeping into
its corridors, rooms, and storage facilities. It was as if a massive storm had wrecked the vessel, carrying
it deep inland and shattering it upon the earth assuring it would never take to the sea again.
It seemed to have once been a freighter, its broad center deck flat, long, and wide. It was on this deck
that the most native flora had taken root, gnarled trees and dense bushes covering the deck and clinging
to the dilapidated cranes still evident along its edges.
The sky was darkening. But it was still bright enough for Lighter to point down at the hull of the
giant grounded ship. He was indicating what looked to be the prow of the vessel. And there, despite
the twilight quickly enveloping them, making the trees stand out dark against the mauve coloring
overhead, there was writing peaking out from the foliage.
Grimes strained to see. Rutherford and Davis were already following Lighter down the slope for
a better look. Squinting to make out the covered letters, he read, “Cy lop.” There were letters hidden
by the greenery of the ivy clinging to the hull. Grimes was sure he was reading the name of the ship that
had gone missing almost twenty years before, the USS Cyclops.
He trotted down after the others.
Rutherford had come to the same conclusion and was expounding on the history of the missing
ship and how its last heading was said to be through the Devil’s Triangle. He stopped and made as if to
begin again for the benefit of Grimes.
But Grimes was intent on the ship, staring at it and interrupting when he said, “Save it professor.
I know the tale. The navy’s last contact with Cyclops occurred when the ship had docked in Barbados for
repairs. It had been overloaded with ore in Brazil and was experiencing structural difficulties. It was due
in Baltimore a few weeks later but it never arrived.” The others looked at him seemingly curious for
more. Grimes just looked thoughtful a moment and, staring down at the ground, added, “My father
sailed on ships like these. I read the article in the rags as a kid—sorta crap stays with you when you’re
ten.”

* * *
 They crowded deeper in the green surrounding the ship and found a rent in the hull. The
opening was dark and a disconcerting feeling emanating from within made it equally forbidding. Davis
thought it was the strange, Hollow Earth “night” playing tricks no doubt.
He took a breath to steady his nerves, grabbed Rutherford by the strap of his satchel, and
headed into the ship. Smiling and checking his Colt, Grimes went in after. Lighter looked around once
to be sure they hadn’t been seen by any pursuers and soundlessly ducked inside.
The fact that Grimes had brought a flashlight put him in the front. Or at least, this is what
Grimes argued. That was fine, thought Davis. If the idiot wanted to get himself killed with all his
foolery, that was his problem. The boob was good in a fight, though, he had to admit.
They walked along a tight confining corridor, old navy signs and notices evident on its walls and
doorways. Vines and dirt covered the deck, strangely out of place and at home all the same. The place
smelled of earth and moisture. Water could be heard dripping from the upper decks making echoes
jump across the bulkheads. Looking into some of the rooms, they found things eerily undisturbed—a
ship stilled in one moment, its crew vanished, but somehow still attached.
“This was People Home.” Lighter’s voice broke the silence loudly, causing Rutherford to jump.
The professor ran his hand along his forehead—it had broken into another sweat and looked to only get
worse.
“Explain yourself man, what do you mean, your village was here, aboard this ship?” he said, in
an effort to distract himself, no doubt.
Lighter continued as they crept forward toward a main stairwell, “Up. On deck. Near Bridge.”
Realization hit them all at once. But Rutherford was quickest, “The bridge. The bridge of Cy Lop is
where your father has taken the … eh … heart of the machine, isn’t it?”
“Ya. My Lifegiver said to me when small that Bridge was holy of holy,” he said solemnly.
From up ahead, Grimes let out a disgusted groan, “Sorry to interrupt you boys back there, but
would you all like to check your shoes? There’s a serious stench around here and it certainly ain’t me.”
The reek was powerful. It was excrement. Flashing the light all around them and near the base of the
stairwell ahead, there was manure all over the deck. Behind the stairs, there was a set of open double
doors that led deeper into the bowels of the ship. The smell from within made them gag greenly.
Lighter crouched down, bringing his nose closer, breathing the odor and inhaling deeply. He scooped up
some of it onto his finger, rolling into a small ball with his thumb.
“What the hell are you doing?” asked Davis disgustedly.
“Cy Lop, new home,” Lighter answered, deathly serious as he sniffed toward the opening behind
the stairs. “New home for Talonfoots.”

* * *

They’d crept past what looked to have been the entrance to one of the vast cargo holds and
climbed up a main staircase. Rutherford had numerous questions as to the species Lighter had referred
to as Talonfoots. His best guess from the description was a man-sized dinosaur most reminiscent of
Velociraptors. It was not an encouraging conclusion.
As they climbed, they crept upward toward the upper deck, surmising it would be better than
being trapped in the confining corridors of what was not doubt a nest for whatever was making the ship
its new home. They went up several decks before noticing the dim twilight creeping in from the small
portholes on a hatchway leading out on the next level up. They heard the patter of rainfall outside and a
wind was picking up.
Before moving up to the last deck, Grimes paused with the flashlight shining down a central
hallway, leading behind them toward the stern of the ship.
“Hold on a minute,” he said as he approached the tightly confining corridor. “I want to see if this
is what I think it is.”
The others followed Grimes to a door set along the left side of the hall. Grimes used his forearm
to wipe the grime off the plate on the door as he pointed the flashlight at the sign. It read: Captain’s
Quarters. He looked at the others beside him and, before they could object, opened the door.
He had to force it as it was slightly stuck. Upon entering the tiny compartment, he scanned the light
from left to right taking in the small cot, the nearly bare closet, and the paper-strewn desk. He didn’t
have to take more than two steps to reach the table and shuffle through the old documents. Among
them, some maps of what turned out to be the Atlantic Seaboard, dating to 1918, made up the majority
of the findings. Then Grimes found the logbook.
“Here we go, straight from the horse’s mouth,” he picked it up and flipped through the
browning pages, holding the flashlight under his arm and aiming at his discovery.
Rutherford was just beside him, trying to read each and every page as they flipped by in rapid
succession. Grimes was after only one date, thought Davis, the last one. He had to admit, even he was
curious how this ship ended up where it did.
Thunder rolled above them outside.
“OK, here it is,” Grimes set the book down on what looked to be the final page. He shown the
flashlight down onto the log, “This says there was some sort of mutiny being organized and the
navigator was no longer mapping their coordinates. The skipper knew about it. There was a storm too.
He and two loyal crew members got holed up here. It says the storm got worse, it says it was unnatural
somehow. And here’s the last entry,” Grimes picked up the book one handed and read it carefully by
the glow of the flashlight.

March 21st, 1918 – 0235. Location unknown. Ship’s sinking is certain. Waters are
unnatural, glowing a strange color. It was the mutiny that led us into this storm and our
condition. It was not I. I curse them all. Whosoever finds this log, let it be made public
so my name would rise above this horrific episode and remain clear of taint or tarnish. I
am not to blame. May my spirit gain its vengeance until blame of this tragedy is removed
from doubt.
Lt. Commander George Worley

Davis whistled softly and said, brows raised, “Captain didn’t sound to sane there at the end.”

* * *
 The rain above them sounded like it was working itself into a genuine storm. As they were
about to resume their climb toward the deck above, a hissing sound that had almost been drowned out
by a thunderclap came from the corridor opposite the one they’d just walked back from, behind the
stairwell.
Lighter looked nervous. Somehow, with nary a sound, he took two steps at a time while
simultaneously drawing his javelin and turning back to look downward at them. He was as fluid as a cat,
thought Grimes. And just as scared.
Giving Davis the flashlight, he said, “Lead them out of here. I’ll watch your back. I’m sure the
lizards haven’t gone up against a Colt in their lifetime.” Hefting the heavy pistol, Grimes mimed walking
upstairs with two fingers and silently voiced, “go,” before surveying the shadowy back corner of the
stairwell.
Davis shook his head but did not argue. Holding the flashlight, he crept up the steps with
Rutherford just behind him. They reached the top deck and saw Lighter already holding the hatchway
open to the outside.
They had emerged onto the wet deck of the ship just outside the main superstructure on its
starboard side. It was raining and the storm was blowing strong gusts, picking up leaves and other
debris. The “night” was still dark but the nimbus glow around the center of the eclipsed “sun”
illuminated the main deck that stretched out before them. Sharp flashes of lightning gave stark contrast
to the shocking scene unfolding below. It left them without words.
One level down, on what had been the broad cargo-loading deck at the center of the ship, what
could only be described as a series of dilapidated huts stood amongst a dense overgrowth of shrubs and
bushes. It was like Central Park’s Hoovervilles back home, thought Davis. Looping vines swung in the
wind from the cranes leaning overhead, while some of the freight loading gear lay broken and disused
on deck. All of this they saw with but a glimpse. What caught their attention were the more than half
dozen Chinese pirates who were pouring out of a hatchway coming from the interior of the ship on the
deck below. Some stopped and fired back into the hatches they’d emerged from.
Just behind them, bursting out of several openings from cargo decks were the fastest dinosaurs
any of them had ever imagined. They were man-sized, brown and yellow-striped, as agile as cheetahs
and almost as quick. In moments, two were ripping into the flesh of screaming pirates, thunder
drowning out their deaths. At least four more, and the armed Chinese they were chasing, were moving
quickly in their general direction.
Rutherford breathed in awe, “Velociraptors.”
Lighter, pulling out his bow and a slender, deadly-looking arrow, said with equal awe,
“Talonfoots.”
Suddenly, Davis spotted the German at the head of the fleeing men. Dressed in disheveled and
dirty khakis and brandishing, of all things, a cutlass, he was dragging a native by the hair and shouting
above the gunfire and the storm. He ordered the Chinese pirates to follow him up what appeared to be
a narrow gangplank angled toward them but along the centerline of the ship. Jaw clenched with pent-
up fury, Davis followed the plank with his eyes. He realized it led to an elevated structure erected atop
what looked like the back of the bridge, just out of site and above the building they’d emerged from.
Glancing around, he found a utility ladder just behind him that would take him to the breezeway
wrapping around the bridge.
 Pointing toward the Nazi commander, Davis snarled, “I’m gunna go kill that son of a bitch.”
Never taking his eyes off the Nazi in the distance, he shouldered his rifle, handed Rutherford the
flashlight smacking it against his chest, and scrambled up the ladder to the narrow balcony above.
“Wait!” said Rutherford, reaching out to grab Davis. He was too slow, and it looked as if nothing
would stop Davis from charging blindly toward the mayhem that was about to converge above.
He turned toward Lighter and saw that the rain soaked native was firing arrows in rapid
succession. He had no lack of targets as he aimed at both the Chinese marauders who were after his
chief as well as the velociraptors that would surely kill them all indiscriminately.
Just then, they heard more gunfire coming from behind and below them. It was Grimes. They
could tell because they could hear the rising volume of his panicked yell as he came vaulting out of the
superstructure and out onto the deck beside them. He turned and slammed the hatch shut, looking
over at them with a frantic look and out of breath. With his weight thrown at the door, he panted as he
yelled over the sheets of rain that immediately drenched him, “The ambush … didn’t work out … like I
thought it might!”
The door slammed hard into his face, but held. He asked, “Any ideas?” It slammed outward
again, shoving him on the shoulder, “Any would be good!”
Lighter pulled out, of all things, the wad of dinosaur dung he’d balled up. Taking a piece, he
popped it in his mouth, mumbling something around the mouthful. Chewing loudly, he put his hand on
the door and closed his eyes. A moment passed. Then, the knocks simply stopped.
He swallowed the ball and grimaced, saying, “Maybe OK now. Maybe.” And looking at the
others with a more hopeful expression, he asked, “Quest for Father now?”
Rutherford and Grimes were momentarily left without words. Grimes put his ear against the
door with his eyes openly disbelieving. Rutherford absently answered Lighter’s question, “Yes, yes of
course. Let’s go find your Father.” And then snapping to the moment and pointing up the ladder Davis
had just gone up, he said in as authoritative a voice as he could muster, “To the bridge.”
As Rutherford and then Grimes ascended the ladder, Lighter lingered, warily eyeing the stairs
down to the main deck where he could hear the screams of pirates being mauled by reptiles. He knew
the raptors would come for them, too. He looked at the wad of remaining raptor dung in his hand and,
with a deep sigh, popped it in his mouth.

* * *

Once Davis had reached the balcony heading to the rear of the bridge structure, he’d slowed his
run and cautiously peered around the corner. He barely contained his fury as he saw Dempewolf top
the ladder onto to the breezeway. He had turned to drag the girl he had brought along, no doubt as
leverage for the fuel cell, thought Davis. The Chinese below sounded like they were being torn apart by
the Raptors.
Just then, one of the largest of the lizards leapt into view as it vaulted onto the gangplank just
below the balcony under the torrent of rain and the flashes of lightning. Dempewolf snarled and flung
the girl at the beast, turning to run up a second gangplank behind him.
Davis saw his chance, and he rounded the corner intent on killing the Nazi who’d killed his
brother. He saw the girl dragging herself back away from the edge as the raptor stalked cautiously atop
the plank, inching toward her. It took him a moment to change directions, aiming his rifle at the shin of
the dinosaur and firing at near point blank range.
A burst of blood erupted from below the raptor’s knee; it wailed in pain. Then as if in slow
motion, Davis saw the creature lose its footing with its wounded leg and topple the gangplank sideways
and off the ledge. The makeshift approach to the balcony collapsed, taking the raptor down with it.
The girl looked up at him, three brown curls framing her pretty eyes. It was the familiar face of the
healer from Lighter’s tribe. Davis nodded and swiveled his gun back and up to where he knew his
enemy was. What he saw, even then, made him pause.
A roiling mass of dark clouds had descended, swirling in a vortex around the apex of what could
only be described as a temple’s altar. From his vantage directly in front of it, Davis saw the roof of the
ship’s bridge had been decorated with tribal spears, a mound of ancient skulls and a pile of what could
only be considered junk—pieces of machinery, container barrels, winches and pulleys from the deck
gear below, all collected to form a vaguely pyramidal mound. Above this stood a gray haired, but well
built, native, wiry-strong arms holding the unattached old-fashioned ship's wheel up into the sky in
supplication to the gods. Haphazardly attached by wires to the loose wheel, the fuel cell dangled at his
knees.
Dempewolf stood at the foot of the mound, his cutlass in his right hand, rain dripping off its
menacing edge.
Davis stormed the last plank to the roof. It was an unsteady, makeshift ladder angled up to the
ledge. He steadied his balance with his left hand, crouching upward and holding his rifle with his right.
Behind him, Rutherford and Grimes rounded the corner, looking up at the mass of clouds and the men
gathered beneath them.
Dempewolf saw the commotion below. His eyes narrowed at the oncoming Davis. Seeing this,
Davis climbed with renewed vigor, eager for vengeance. But then, with one powerful shove of his leg,
Dempewolf kicked at the top of the ladder, making it skid over precariously. Davis’s weight prevented it
from completely collapsing, but it was now even more unsteady than before.
The German charged up the mound of venerated machines. The native chief glanced down,
continuing the supplications to the gods and their angry storm. Below, Grimes fired his Colt, but missed.
And just as the echo of the shot died down, Rutherford spoke out in a booming voice. Only it wasn’t his.
It was loud while still maintaining a low commanding menace. It reverberated across the ship.
Rutherford stood on the balcony, wavering in a wide but unsteady stance. His arms hung at his sides,
limp and unmoving. His eyes had rolled back, showing a dull white that quickly misted to a cloudy gray.
“Mutineers. That’s what the lot of you are. Get off my ship!” The words were mouthed by unknowing
lips and a voice Rutherford’s compatriots didn’t recognize. Spasmodically, he jerked his arm upward
and angled back behind him. His fingers were outstretched toward the stern of the ship. As if on cue, a
loud rumbling could be heard above the storm coming from the twin funnels atop the aft deck.
Suddenly, a dense swarm of creatures flew out of each stack. They were dark, roughly man-sized but
with a wingspan easily over 12 feet wide. Spreading their wings, the cloud of reptilian looking flyers
spread out beneath the low thunderheads and swooped in a choreographed turn toward the bridge.
Rutherford, seemingly possessed, swept his arm forward, fingers pointing out toward all of them.
 The chief’s eyes widened as he looked from Rutherford to what was surely their approaching
death. He stopped his mutterings and incantations to exclaim in dismay, “It is no use; Draco Maledic has
returned!” He dropped his head, closing his eyes.
Grimes saw the creatures approaching, claws stretched out below them, ready to rip and slash.
He had only a suspicion about the demon haunting the ship, but it was all he had, and he went with it.
He yelled frantically right into the face of Rutherford, “Captain Worley! We are not your mutineers!”
In that instant, Rutherford’s raised arm wavered. His head, milky gray eyes seemingly seeing, turned to
Grimes.
Grimes knew he had but one chance. He yelled out above the swirling winds, “You are a good
captain. The tragedy of the Cyclops was not your fault. Let the record show Captain Worley performed
his duty as befit his good name.”
The winds abated and Rutherford’s chin drooped to his chest. The fierce pteranodons, for that
is what they were, flew on passed the temple rooftop in seemingly unending numbers.
Dempewolf, whose attention had been riveted up until now, turned back to the old man. The chief had
lowered his arms, and was no longer holding aloft the ship’s wheel. He appeared resigned, and the fuel
cell simply dangled near the floor.
The Nazi yelled out, “Now you won’t be needing ze power cell, ya, savage?!” He took the final
steps to stand beside the chief, cutlass swinging back in preparation for a fell stroke.
An arrow pierced his forearm, plunging straight through and out the other side. Dempewolf
screamed in pain, dropping his blade and turned to look back. Davis had reached the roof, but carried a
rifle. Behind all of them, Lighter, brown smears running down his mouth, eyes exhausted and face
drained of color, put down his bow and slumped against the corner of the bridge wall.
It was only then that Dempewolf realized he was alone. The Chinese pirates had either been
killed by the raptors or run off abandoning him to the demonized ship. A decision seemed to click in his
eyes. Pierced by an arrow and surrounded by enemies, the Nazi spy turned to the front ledge of the
bridge. Boldly, he leapt off the mound into the swarm of pteranodons still flying past them.
Seeing him jump, Davis rushed to the front of the bridge rooftop, bringing the rifle up to fire.
Suddenly, one of the huge reptilian flyers swooshed up and flew just passed him. Grasping at the
beast’s ankle, Dempewolf was jerked upward and taken higher into the sky with every beat of the
pteranodon’s wings.
Davis fired the rifle. He missed. He fired again and again, anger rising with every shot as he
realized none of them were hitting the mark. As the Nazi clung to the pteranodon, the winged reptile
soared high and far over the jungle below. They were all dispersing. None were returning to the ship.
Then, in the growing light of the new “day”, Davis, still sighting over his rifle barrel, noticed one of the
creatures had swung toward the distant figure of Dempewolf. Lowering his gun, he witnessed with grim
satisfaction as it lunged its long, sharp beak at the flailing figure of the German. The attacking flyer
clamped onto his body and yanked hard, ripping the German away from the first pteranodon. In the
struggle, Dempewolf fell. His body, small in the distance, plummeted a short drop to the jungle below,
disappearing in its canopy.

* * *
 Rutherford had returned to his senses and to his usual self—explaining to any who would listen
the fascinating experience of having been possessed. He assured Grimes it was his internal conversation
with the very educated spirit of Lt. Commander Worley that convinced the entity to leave the ship in
peace. Through Lighter, he conveyed to the chief that the spirit was at rest and the People could return
to Cy Lop as a place of worship.
The chief surprised them all when he spoke with very little difficulty, saying, “The heart of the
machine did not appease the demon. You did. Thank you. This belongs to you.” He uncoiled the cables
attached to the wheel and handed the rectangular power cell to Davis. He went down the stairs to
embrace Lighter and the young girl who had come to stand by him.
Lighter, for his part, had recovered his strength. Whatever he had done to keep the raptors
away and what dinosaur dung had to do with it, Grimes would never care to ask. As for going home, he
thought, the Chinese river pirates still had their Driller, and likely still occupied Lighter’s village. He
owed that man his life and both their interests lay along the same path.
As if reading his thoughts, the young native turned to him, flashing a savage smile, and said,
“New Questing, new Hunt?”
Grimes turned toward Rutherford beside him, and then to Davis above on the rooftop. He
asked, “What do you say, boss?”
Davis looked back out to the treetops, and then turned to them below, “We still have a Nazi to
kill.”