The fire raced along the wall, up and down and side to side. There was no smoke—only flame and heat, and already, that grew unbearable. Sweat poured off me as I glanced around, finally able to see the pit in its entirety. I stood there, stunned.

  What we had mistaken for two snakes was actually one—a singular titanic monstrosity with two heads, one at each end. Its uncoiled length took up almost the entire far side of the chamber. It twisted and slithered spasmodically now, shuddering in its death throes. Its skin was black as night, and its belly was white. It occurred to me to wonder how it had been able to shit and piss, given that it seemingly had no tail end, but I wasn’t about to get closer and examine the still thrashing corpse.

  I spotted something else that filled me with dread. On the far side of the pit was a pile of broken egg shells, each one roughly five feet in circumference. All of them looked brittle and old. I wondered where the young had slithered off to. Had their parent eaten them, or had they escaped this chamber of horrors? Or worse, could they still be here, somewhere?

  Kasheena climbed down from her perch, placed one foot against the snake’s head, and yanked the sword free. She wiped the blade on the creature’s hide, flicked her hair from her face, and glared at us.

  “She is impressive,” Patamoose muttered.

  “Buddy,” I whispered, “believe me. I thank my stars each and every night.”

  “As well you should, Aaron Pace.”

  “What now?” Kasheena yelled.

  I scanned the pit, looking for a way out, but there was nothing. No tunnels or caverns leading into the mountain, no stairwells or ladders. The stones sparked and smoldered, bringing more flame and heat. The glare made it impossible to stare at the sides for too long. My lungs began to ache, and my pulse raced. It was getting hard to breathe. I realized that the fire was quickly depleting all of the oxygen in the pit.

  “There,” Patamoose shouted, pointing. “That fissure! Can we fit through it?”

  Kasheena and I followed his gesture and saw a jagged crack in the limestone floor, about twenty feet away from us. The three of us hurried over to it. The fissure was about five feet long and maybe two feet wide. We couldn’t see how deep it went or what was at the bottom.

  “Should we try it?” I asked.

  “We have no choice,” Kasheena answered. “We will die if we stay here.”

  Nodding, I eased myself over the side, dangling my legs into the crevice. Then I slowly started to climb down, using whatever handholds and footholds I could find. Luckily, the fissure widened as it went deeper. I descended about fifteen feet, and found myself standing in a dark tunnel. I looked up at the others. I could see them, but they couldn’t see me.

  I cupped my hands around my mouth. “All clear!”

  Patamoose climbed down next. When he’d regained his footing, I glanced up for Kasheena, but she was nowhere in sight.

  “Where is she?” I asked, panicked.

  “She said she had to get something.”

  “What?”

  Before he could respond, the top of the fissure darkened. We looked up and, to my relief, saw Kasheena peering down at us. She held the sword in one hand. Her other hand had the torch, which she had recovered and reignited.

  “Get out of the way,” she shouted.

  We moved back, and she dropped the torch down to us. I snatched it up and held it aloft, illuminating the tunnel. We were inside a natural cavern. It wasn’t very wide or tall, but it was big enough that the three of us should be able to traverse it single file with some ease. Half-formed stalactites and stalagmites dotted the path, but I saw no signs of bats or other creatures—including the possible offspring of the two-headed monster above.

  Kasheena quickly descended through the crack, and joined us at the bottom.

  “Did you guys see those eggs up there?” I asked.

  They both nodded. Patamoose shuddered.

  “I pray we do not encounter any more like that,” he said. “I nearly died from fright.”

  Above us, the pit began to rumble and shake. I glanced up, half expecting to see the snake burrowing toward us. Instead, I had to turn away, shielding my eyes from a sudden bright flare.

  “The walls,” Kasheena exclaimed. “I think they might be collapsing from the fire.”

  “Come on,” I shouted. “This way!”

  We darted down the tunnel, making our way around the obstacles, and hurrying to get clear. The path twisted and turned, sloping deeper into the underground. Soon enough, the rumbling sound increased behind us, becoming deafening. The cavern trembled, and we each grabbed on to the natural limestone pillars and columns to support ourselves and remain standing.

  The pit collapsed, raining tons of burning stones down upon what was now the roof over our heads, and sealing the fissure.

  “Well, we can’t get out that way,” I said. “And we can’t stay here.”

  “We should rest,” Patamoose argued.

  “Not here.” I shook my head. “With that opening sealed off, we don’t know if there’s another source of air down here. We could suffocate to death. We’ve got to keep moving.”

  “You have the torch,” Kasheena murmured. “Lead on.”

  Chapter 14

  Beneath the Lost Level

  I don’t know how long we journeyed, with only the light from our flickering torch. Eventually, it started to fade and weaken, and we quickly fashioned another one using my frayed pants legs. I had come to the Lost Level wearing a pair of denim jeans. Now, they were nothing more than a pair of dirty, threadbare cutoff shorts. Soon, I would have no choice but to wear the same garments as the rest of our tribe.

  Patamoose was terrified of the dark. He fought hard to conceal it from us, but I knew just the same. Like most of the Lost Level’s denizens, he had known perpetual sunlight his entire life and was unaccustomed to this all-encompassing darkness. He walked between Kasheena and me. I let him carry the torch, and that seemed to alleviate his fears somewhat. When he spoke, it was only in whispers, and his hands trembled.

  The passageway didn’t widen, and there were no offshoots or other tunnels—at least, none that were big enough for us to fit through. The cave continued to slope steadily downward, taking us deeper and deeper. Eventually, the tunnel opened into a wide alcove. It was there that we decided to rest. We found a small, shallow pool of water in the center of the chamber. After examining it to verify the liquid was safe—there is an amoeba-like creature in the Lost Level that looks like a pool of water—all three of us drank greedily.

  Kasheena and I climbed up onto a ledge about ten feet off the ground. It jutted from the wall, wide enough that we could lay down side-by-side without fear of rolling off in our sleep.

  “I will stand first watch,” Patamoose called up from below.

  I leaned out over the ledge. “Are you sure?”

  He smiled, his features lit by the torchlight. “I am certain, Aaron. The two of you should have time to do as all lovers do. I will stand guard and make sure the flame does not die. I wish we could start a campfire, but we have no fuel.”

  Nodding, I tossed down my other pants leg. “Use that if the torch starts to go out.”

  He nodded back at me, and then turned away, hunkered over the torch. I felt a surge of pity for him, this new friend, born here in the Lost Level, and yet, still so far from home and those he loved. He reminded me of Bloop in a way. My spirits fell.

  “What are you thinking about, Aaron?” Kasheena asked.

  I shrugged. “Home. Not my home, but our home. The village. I’m thinking about all the people we lost.”

  “The Anunnaki will not bother us again. This was the last time. They have been defeated.”

  “Have they? I’m not so sure. Their city is in ruins, but what if they have more? Or what if it extended underground? What if this tunnel is leading us directly to them?”

  “If so, then we will face them together, my love.”

  “And what? Kill each and every last one of them?”

  “Aye.” She nodded. “That is exactly what we will do.”

  “Those are some long odds.”

  “We have faced all sorts of dangers together, Aaron. I care not, as long as you are with me.”

  I nodded, but remained silent. After a moment, she nudged me with her elbow.

  “What troubles you, my love?”

  “I don’t want to lose you again, Kasheena.”

  “Nor I you.”

  Then Kasheena reached out to me, and pulled me into the darkness, and we made some light of our own.

  * * *

  Even now, all these years later, I think back on that moment and I smile.

  I weep and I smile.

  I would write more, but I have reached the end of this accounting ledger. The next part of the story—what we found there, beneath the Lost Level, and how it tied in with the map and the giant sword—will have to wait for another time. Outside this office building, the desert winds have begun to blow and howl, whipping up the sand. The tiny grains scrape against the building, and the sound reminds me of that two-headed snake in the pit.

  I’m glad I found this shelter. There is going to be one hell of a storm.

  I sit here, not afraid, but alone.

  Old and alone, and so very far from home.

  Author’s Note

  Some of the dialogue of the fictional Ambrose Bierce, who appears in this story, has been taken and repurposed from interviews with and quotes from the real-life Ambrose Bierce. This material has been repurposed under Fair Use, and no infringement or disrespect of the original work is intended.

  Afterword

  And so ends the second book in The Lost Level series. Thanks for buying it. I hope that you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  The next book to follow in this series, Hole in the World, will actually serve as a prequel of sorts. It takes place in a different part of the Lost Level, and features a different cast of characters, all of whom arrived in this lost dimension before Aaron Pace. Despite that, it ties into this novel, and the previous novel, as well. (In advance of any complaints this might incur, I’d just like to point out that Edgar Rice Burroughs did the same thing with his Pellucidar series—of which The Lost Level owes a great deal of inspiration. Early Pellucidar novels focused on main protagonist David Innes. Later novels didn’t include Innes at all, or only for a cameo, and instead were centered around cavemen, Tarzan, and other explorers).

  The fourth book in the series, Beneath the Lost Level, will pick up where we just left off, with Aaron and Kasheena and their new friend Patamoose, as they explore the underground caverns and … well, I don’t want to spoil it for you. Suffice to say, I’ll let you see it as soon as I am done writing it.

  Readers often ask me how long this series will be. The truth is, I don’t know for sure. I’ve just outlined the next two books above, and I have ideas for at least three or four more novels to follow those. So, I guess this series could keep going for a while, as long as readers keep supporting it. I do know that Aaron’s story has a definitive end, and I know what that ending is, but he has many other adventures to recall before we get to that point.

  What follows now is a special bonus—a short story called “The Chinese Beetle.” It features Aaron and Kasheena and takes place between The Lost Level and the novel you just read. It was previously published only as a rare, signed, limited edition chapbook. I offer it now for everyone to enjoy.

  I’ll see you all back here for Hole in the World and Beneath the Lost Level. Don’t get lost on the way …

  Brian Keene

  Somewhere along the Susquehanna River

  December 2016

  The Chinese Beetle

  My name is Aaron Pace, and I’m writing this by hand on some loose sheets of printer paper I found inside of a plastic storage container—one of those supposedly airtight, waterproof type that people use for moving their belongings or to store Christmas decorations in. The paper wasn’t the only thing I found inside the container, either. There was also a coffee mug emblazoned with the logo for Leatherface: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre III, a half-dozen ballpoint pens, a paperback western novel written by someone named Oliver Lowenbruck, and twelve issues of a newsletter called The Black Lagoon Bugle. The book is missing its front cover, but beggars can’t be choosers, and good reading material—or even bad reading material—is hard to come by in this place. As for the newsletters, each issue is printed on some of the ugliest paper I’ve ever seen—dark green, lime, blue, teal, and a shade I can only describe as salmon. That last is the same color of the papers I’m writing this on, and I apologize in advance for that.

  The newsletters are all dated from 1991 to 1994, and targeted at enthusiasts, fans, and memorabilia collectors of the film The Creature from the Black Lagoon. On the last page, there’s a Los Angeles address listed for correspondence and subscriptions. Despite all of that, I know these back issues aren’t from my world—my reality—because they mention that the actor playing the titular Creature was named Max Samuels. On my Earth, the Creature was played by two actors—Ben Chapman and Ricou Browning.

  That’s one of the problems with the Lost Level. You might stumble across something here that looks familiar, only to discover it’s not what you thought it was, or it’s not from where you thought it would be. It’s like getting a letter from home, only to find out it’s written by someone you don’t know and addressed to a stranger.

  That’s what this dimension is called—the Lost Level. If you’ve found the other journal I left behind (in the back of a school bus), then you already know that. If not—if you’re new here—then perhaps a brief explanation is in order. I’ll have to keep it short, though, because there aren’t many of these blank sheets.

  I came to the Lost Level by accident, via something called the Labyrinth, which is best described as an interdimensional pathway of energy running through space and time. The Labyrinth touches and connects everything in our universe. Since all the planets, stars, and galaxies are connected together by the Labyrinth, those who know how can use it to travel from planet to planet and star system to star system. But they can also travel to other dimensions and alternate realities. These other-dimensional realities are often referred to as “levels.” But there is one level that is different—a dimensional reality that exists apart from the others, a place where the flotsam and jetsam of space and time washes up from across the shores of the multiverse. That place is called the Lost Level, and if you are reading this, then you are in it, and you can’t leave.

  I had been using an occult ritual to explore alternate realities. Ultimately, that led to my being trapped here. One moment I was at home in Wisconsin, and the next, I was stranded here.

  Soon after my arrival, I made friends with two other inhabitants. The first was Bloop, a strange, blue-furred cross between a cat and an ape, who was as brave and agile and loyal companion as one could ever hope to have. The other was Kasheena, the warrior princess of a local tribe, a ferocious and valiant fighter whose wits, cunning, and skill with a sword were matched only by her beauty.

  We journeyed together to Kasheena’s village. It was a long trip, made longer by the fact that it is impossible to mark the passage of time here in the Lost Level because the sun never sets. It simply hangs in the sky, providing light and illumination, the way all suns do, but it is motionless. Kasheena saved my life numerous times during that journey. Indeed, most of the survival skills I’ve learned here came from her. Eventually, we reached her people, but at a terrible cost.

  I settled in among Kasheena’s people, making a life for myself in the village. I grew close to her father, and to Shameal, the tribe’s wise-man. Some of the tribe members were distrustful of me at first, but in time, I began to win them over. One of the ways I accomplished that was through hunting. And it was during a hunting trip that Kasheena and I encountered what I came to think of as the Chinese Beetle.

  The immediate area surrounding the village is mostly farmland, which the villagers utilize with amazing proficiency. Past the tended fields are wide open plains, dotted here and there with bushes and scrub trees and occasional, thin pockets of woodland. Eventually, the plains become covered with tall grass. Beyond this are vast swaths of forest and jungle.

  Kasheena and I were in the grasslands, about a mile from the edge of a forest, hunting wild game. We had little to show for our efforts, except for two rabbits (one much like the kind back on Earth and the other with a long, curled tail and shorter ears), and a buzzard-like bird that Kasheena called a Klektick. I thought the latter looked pretty unsavory, but she promised me it would taste perfectly fine, provided we removed all of the fat from the meat before cooking it.

  “The Klektick is a scavenger,” she explained. “It tastes like whatever it eats, and it stores that taste in its fat.”

  I’d heard hunters and fishermen back home say the same thing about bears and carp, so I had no reason to doubt her, but I was still dubious, and let her carry the ugly bird in her game bag. I kept the rabbits in mine. We’d already field-dressed the animals. Both of our bags were fashioned from tanned hides. We were each armed with bows and quivers of arrows, although Kasheena’s marksmanship with a bow was far superior to mine. We also had knives sheathed at our waists. In addition, I had my sword with me. The only other thing we carried with us was water. We didn’t bring rations, as we’d planned on being back in the village before it was time to sleep. As we moved slowly through the tall grass, I lamented not bringing my pistol. I’d left it behind because ammunition was scarce, and I had no means to reload my bullets. It was better to save what little remained for a day when I might need it, rather than wasting it on a hunting trip.

  We refrained from talking, focusing instead on staying quiet, lest we scare away any potential game. But it didn’t really seem to matter, as wildlife was oddly scarce that day. The only movement was the grass itself, swaying slowly back and forth in the slight breeze.