Worlds of Edgar Rice Burroughs (45 page)

Caprona is the deadliest of all of Burroughs’s fantastic worlds, an island where creatures from throughout time are trapped by the sheer cliff walls that surround it. From south to north on the island, one moves as if travelling in time from dinosaur-occupied lands to the homes of the Golden People. And within its walls live all the predators that the world has ever known—and as bestselling author Joe R. Lansdale sees it, it’s the perfect setting for one of Tarzan’s fastest and most furious adventures.

—Bob

Tarzan and the
Land That Time Forgot

Joe R. Lansdale

The great cigar-shaped zeppelin, the O-220, rose up from the great depths of Pellucidar, the underground world with its constant daylight and stationary sun, rose up and through a gap at the roof of the world. It floated high in the sky above the arctic waste and set a course straight for England, where Tarzan, one of its passengers, was to meet up with his wife, Jane; a trip promised him by Captain Zuppner, the commandant of the ship. Tarzan had made several trips to Pellucidar in the last year or so to aid his friend David Innes in numerous endeavors in the world inside the world, but now he was too long without Jane and wanted to be with her.

Two days out, the wind changed and the heavens went dark with tumbling clouds and jags of lightning. The zeppelin, its crew, and its famous passenger, were blown way out and lost over the sea. The wind didn’t stop, and the sky was so dark they were unsure of the change from night to day.

The ape man, standing in the wheel house of the zeppelin, clutching the railing, remembered once in Africa riding out a great storm like this in the top of a tree; the sky dumping rain, the wind as wild and ferocious as the rush of a lion. Tarzan was philosophical then as he was now. Had he fallen from the tree and hit the ground, he would have died. This was a higher fall, and there was nothing but blackness before and above, around and below, but if they were to strike land or water from this height, he would be no less dead than if he had fallen from that tree. He had been in many scrapes and learned long ago that some things were beyond his or anyone’s power. You only had to remain alert and look for opportunities. If none presented themselves, then so be it. That was fate.

“We’ve lost our bearings,” said Captain Zuppner, trying to look out the view glass of the control room, but seeing only dark.

“This is not news to me,” said Tarzan.

“I can’t tell if we’re high up, or near the sea,” said the captain. “The controls aren’t working. Nothing is working. Turning the wheel is a chore; it fights back. The compass is spinning.”

The others in the wheelhouse were clinging to the railing that traveled the wheelhouse completely around, watching the dark skies, hoping for some miracle, like a split of light or a glimpse of land below. Then came the lightning again, ragged as a can opener. It struck the balloon and leaked out the helium with a sound like a mad child blowing water out of its mouth. The expelling of the gas shot the O-220 across the darkness, throwing everyone against the walls, banging into rails, slamming the floor, knocking them up to meet the ceiling. Everything was coming apart. Fragments of the craft were awhirl on the wind, along with men and the one woman who had been on board, a beautiful and former savage of Pellucidar in modern aerial crew dress. Zamona was her name, a woman trained by Zuppner to crew the ship. She had been flung out of the craft by the blast of the storm, a white face and dark hair in blue clothing, looking like nothing more in the flash of lightning than a flying scarecrow. Then the lightning ended and she was gone from view.

What was left of the zeppelin hit the sea with a loud smack, a groan of metal, a split of wood, and screams from the remaining crew. The black waters raged over them. The residue of the O-220, containing Tarzan, went down into the wet, dark deeps. Tarzan eased out of a jagged gap in the broken wheel house, swam fiercely upward. When he broke free, a wave, like a father lifting a child on its shoulders, brought him up high, and during a flash of lightning he saw the nearly unconscious captain clinging to a fragment of fraying wood. Tarzan swam hard, snatched Zuppner by the back of his coat collar as the lumber broke apart. He swam away from the clashing, sea-rolling debris, and after a few minutes stopped and floated, riding the pitching waves up and down.

The storm raged through the night. Tarzan floated on his back and clung to the captain. After what seemed like a century came daylight; the first true light in days. The storm had finally passed. Tarzan watched it rush away. It was a vast dark curtain of clouds with murky strands of rain falling out of it and touching the ocean. The sea gradually became calmer. The sky turned the color of bloody honey. An hour later it was hot and bright and blue.

Zuppner was now fully awake. He looked at Tarzan supporting him in the water and said, “You saved my life. I should hold you up awhile.”

“I’m fine,” said Tarzan. “You took quite a blow to the head. You’ve lost some blood.”

The captain swung his arms at the water, kicked gently with his legs. “How can you not be tired? Let me loose. Help yourself.”

“I am still alive,” Tarzan said. “And there’s land, my friend. I can see and smell it.”

As a gentle wave lifted them, the captain looked in the direction Tarzan had indicated, but he saw nothing, nor did he smell anything but the sea. Next time the wave tossed him, he saw what he thought was a fine brown line. Down again, and another ride up, and he saw big white birds sailing above the land. It appeared to be a great tan wall rising out of the blue-green water. It went for miles. Island or continent, he couldn’t tell.

They half-swam, half-washed against the walls of the land mass. It appeared there was no way up. The walls were slick as glass. There was no beach. With the storm having passed, a mist gathered around the high walls and around them. It was as if they were insect specimens wrapped in balls of cotton.

“We will drown,” said Zuppner, the waves pushing him against the rock wall.

“While I still live,” Tarzan said, “I will assume that I will not drown, and you are not allowed to think otherwise.”

Tarzan had been clothed in normal pants, shirt, shoes, and a coat, as well as a belt that held a knife in a wood and leather sheath. The hilt of the knife was tied down tight. The belt and the knife were all that were left on his body. The raging ocean had taken everything else away. Zuppner was completely without clothes, or weapons. The ocean, unlike when they first fell into it, was warm near the great rock wall. Soon it was almost hot.

“The warm water is coming from inside the rock walls,” said Tarzan. “The water has salt in it, but it is not purely sea water. Fresh water from inside is mixing with it. You have to try and stay close to the wall until I get back. Stay in this spot as much as possible.”

“Get back,” Zuppner said. “You are expecting a taxi?”

“Look,” Tarzan said, and pointed. “There were limbs with leaves floating in the water, even a few flowers. Somehow those limbs managed to find their way out, probably by route of a freshwater river. If I can find it, swim against the flow, and inside these cliffs, we have a chance. And to my way of thinking, Captain, we always have a chance.”

“I will say this for you, Tarzan, you are not a quitter.”

“That could be my motto, Captain. Stay here, and do not give up.”

Tarzan dove beneath the waves. Time fled by. The sun rose higher. Zuppner became weaker. Just as he thought he might be pulled beneath the water, a wooden beam from the flooring of the O-220 wheel house washed up, and he grabbed it. It bounced him against the great wall of rock, but clinging to it gave him some rest. He decided Tarzan had drowned and now he had to face the ocean alone, with nothing but a plank of wood for a companion. He tried to encourage himself by remembering what Tarzan had said about there always being a chance. He wondered how long he should remain here, waiting. Perhaps he should use the board like a boat, kick his legs and start to move along, hoping for some gap in the wall, a beach. But the main reason he felt weak had nothing to do with the storm and the waves and the wound to his head. It was Zamona. He had known for some time that he was in love with her. He had met her when she was a savage in Pellucidar. He had been the one to teach her English, to teach her about the O-220, which she took to like the proverbial duck to water. Her small and delicate features and her bright blue eyes were constantly before him. He’d become infatuated with her. He only hated that he had not acted upon his infatuation and told her how much he loved her when there was time. There always seemed to be another day. Now she was gone. He had seen her blown out from the O-220 by the blasts of the storm, lost forever, pulled down into wet nothingness, gone with his heart.

At that moment, Tarzan shot up out of the water like a leaping porpoise. He swam over to Zuppner and his plank, grabbed one end of it, let it support him. What amazed Zuppner was that Tarzan didn’t even look winded.

“As I suspected, the warm water is coming from a path beneath the wall,” Tarzan said.

“A path?” Zuppner said.

“It’s a long and hard swim, but it’s a way inside.”

“You made it all the way inside?”

“There’s land. A lush land. It reminds me of Pellucidar, parts of Africa.”

“I don’t know that I can make it,” Zuppner said.

“You can make a choice,” Tarzan said. “You can ride this plank, or you can swim with me. It is your choice.”

“How will I know where to go in the dark?”

“You won’t be in the dark for long. You swim a short distance, toward where it seems lighter, and then it will be much brighter. Finally there will be plenty of light above you. Swim up and break the surface. It is that simple. Oh, and watch for some very large reptiles.”

“What?”

“I am going to swim down again,” Tarzan said. “Toward the light. You may follow, or you may stay here and cling to your plank until you are too exhausted to make the swim.”

“I am already exhausted,” said Zuppner.

“Stay close to me,” Tarzan said, and without further comment, he took a deep breath and dove beneath the waves.

Taking his own deep breath of air, Zuppner followed. Down he swam. There was no light, only darkness. He could not see Tarzan, but he could feel the water churning in front of him, stirred about by the kicking of Tarzan’s feet. The water grew warmer, almost hot. He followed that unseen path, and then, as Tarzan had said, the water became lighter. He could see the ape-man’s shape ahead of him. Finally the water was much brighter above him. When he thought his lungs would burst, it seemed as if a hole of golden, heavenly light was opening above them.

He and Tarzan burst to the surface. They came up in a great pool of warm water. Behind them, tumbling down high rocks, was a waterfall.

They swam to land. Red and yellow mud made up the bank. There were great masses of underbrush and high rises of trees all around them. No sooner had they crawled onto the muddy bank than Zuppner saw a large creature, a crocodile perhaps, but, if so, the largest he had ever seen. It scooted swiftly out of the brush across the way and into the water. It made waves as it crossed the pool toward them.

“Come,” Tarzan said. “I think it is best we move away. Quickly.”

Tarzan helped Zuppner to his feet, and within a moment they were deep into the jungle, greeted by bird calls and animal cries. A warm wind rustled leaves and shook the boughs of tall trees. Above them, monkeys swung from limb to limb.

Zuppner, feeling as if he was on his last legs, saw the ape-man was moving easily ahead of him. Unlike himself, nudity did not bother Tarzan. It seemed to be his natural state. In time they came to the edge of a clearing. They stopped and stood amongst the trees, not venturing out onto the vast clearing. Tarzan said, “We should let you rest, see what we can do for that wound on your head.”

Zuppner studied Tarzan. The ape-man did not appear to need rest. He was stopping for him, to let him regain his strength. Zuppner started to protest, but put pride aside. He slid down to sit on the ground with his back against a tree. He could not go another step. Immediately, he was asleep. He dreamed of Zamona, alive.

When Zuppner awoke, without having to ask, he knew Tarzan had not slept, but had watched over him as he did. He saw too that Tarzan had broken off a large limb and stripped it, making himself a crude club. As Tarzan stood there in the leaf-dappled sunlight, leaning on the club, Zuppner thought that he was the very embodiment of Hercules with his long black hair, dark, scarred body, and brutal countenance.

“I have found foot-prints,” said Tarzan. “Here, at the beginning of the clearing.”

“Human?”

Tarzan nodded. “One foot is bare, the other wears a shoe.”

Zuppner felt confused. “A shoe? One shoe?”

“A shoe like those worn by the crew of the O-220. A small shoe. A woman’s foot.”

“Zamona?”

“She too has somehow survived the storm and found her way here, most likely the same way we did. Minus a shoe.”

“But how? She is so small and delicate.”

Tarzan’s mouth twisted into something that resembled a smile . “She may be small, but she is fierce. She is of Pellucidar, Captain. Zamona may have learned how to crew on the O-220, but she is a survivor of the first degree. She was raised a savage, like me, and at heart, no matter how much we learn about the outside world, how much we embrace it on the surface, we are always savages.”