Reggie had told the truth the first time, but it was obviously not an answer that would satisfy Wurmhausen. Blinking the stars out of his vision, his mind scrambled for what to say, but the blow to his head seemed to have knocked all his clever responses right out of him.

“Don’t tell him!” Clem shouted. “Scrumtumbler swore us to secrecy—” the soldier behind him slammed his machinegun butt into Clem’s back, cutting off his words.

Reggie stared in confusion at the engineer. Why had Clem brought up Scrumtumbler? He was trying to tell Reggie something, but the director couldn’t seem to work it out.

Dr. Wurmhausen’s eyes first widened in amazement and then narrowed in rage. “So, that pompous fool Scrumtumbler sent you. He sent you here to steal my portal to the Hollow Earth, didn’t he? Tell me what I want to know!”

Reggie bowed his head so that only Clem and Dr. Scott could see his wink.

“Okay,” Reggie said. “Okay, you win: Scrumtumbler sent us.”

“So, you are here for that insufferable Professor Scrumtumbler,” Dr. Wurmhausen emitted a laugh that was somehow triumphant and furious at the same time. “As I suspected. I suppose you were supposed to take footage of the key and the portal with this motion-picture camera of yours? I suppose you were going to film me using my Reverse Bio-mimetic Key so that Scrumtumbler could attempt to reverse engineer my technology and use it with another gate?”

Reggie gathered from Wurmhausen’s gestures that “the gate” was somehow related to the two Egyptian-looking pillars, but Reggie had no idea how a pair of old columns could be a gate, and he certainly had no idea what a Reverse Bio-mimetic Key was. Still, he was ready to roll with it.

“No, we weren’t sent to film you,” he said. “The truth is, that’s not really a camera.” Reggie gestured with his chin towards his Mitchell 35mm cinema camera, now set up on the floor next to them almost as if it, too, were considered a prisoner.

“This?” Wurmhausen eyed the camera suspiciously. “My guards checked it. It contains no weapons or explosives.”

“Oh, it’s not a weapon. We’re not here to blow up the gate… we’re here to use it.”

Dr. Wurmhausen’s head snapped around, those beady black eyes drilling into Reggie. “Impossible,” he concluded, but his voice lacked the edge of conviction.

“No, really. Scrumtumbler said he didn’t need your reverse-bio-kahoosit. He said he’d stake his reputation that his doohickey would work better than yours on the first try, even in the hands of an idiot like me. That’s what he said.”

If the molemen understood Scrumtumbler, then they ignored him. Instead, those clawed fingers forced him forward into the open chamber. It was brighter in here, with the bio-luminescent moss growing much more thickly along the cavern’s ceiling and walls.

Among the stalactites and stalagmites, the molemen went about their various chores. Some were digging new burrows, their arms blurring in the half-light. Others traveled the winding paths, seemingly indifferent to whether they walked on all fours or on their hind legs. A few lead trails of young ones behind them and a few more drove a flock of fat white grubs the size of wild turkeys. Most grouped together in twos and threes, standing so close that they almost touched snouts. It made them look as if they were sharing secrets.

His captors hauled him deeper into this cavern. The rough ceiling rose, first enough so that he could walk without stooping and then eventually high enough that he might have driven a double-decker bus through it, were it not for the stalagmites that blocked the way. The sounds of the moleman language were higher here, too, and the voices fell together now so that instead of a babble of different conversations, now they were unified in some kind of song or chant.

In the deepest part of this cavern, the stalactites and stalagmites had been cleared away, allowing Scrumtumbler to see what the chanting was about. Dozens of molemen bowed down around a huge, steel vehicle with a sharp cone for a nose.

“Hey, that’s my drilling machine!” Scrumtumbler shouted. The molemen’s chant faltered, and many of the worshippers shot fierce glares in the scientist’s direction.

“What are you fellows doing—worshipping it?” Scrumtumbler’s voice echoed off the walls. “I made that thing, you know. You should be worshipping me! I created your god, and my name is Scrumtumbler. It’s spelled S-C-R—oh, here, let me etch it on this stone altar—”

Scrumtumbler tried to pull away from his captors, but the clawed fingers clamped tightly around his arms. The chanting continued, though with a little more dissonance than there had been before the interruption.

One of the molemen broke away from the ritual to approach Scrumtumbler. Evidently, this was a shaman or a chieftain, because he wore an ungainly headdress made of bat wings and shiny stones, all cemented together with what appeared to be dried mud. Scrumtumbler made a desperate attempt to explain himself and his relationship to their new-found god, but the chieftain and his guards ignored him as they grunted and clicked to each other. A moment later, he was hauled forcibly away and thrown—quite unceremoniously—down a hole.

He crumpled as he landed and lay on the ground for a time, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. They never did. There was simply no light by which to see. So, instead, he listened. Here, the sounds of the molemen were nothing more than a distant echo. Closer by, there was a trickling of water which signified some underground stream. And there was another sound, which at first he could not identify. It was a scraping, clawing sound—not rhythmic, but persistent, like an animal chewing on a bone. No, he thought as he listened more closely, not like one animal—like dozens of animals. Or hundreds. Maybe thousands of things gnawing all around him.

He was not alone.

Furry hands dragged Scrumtumbler down a lightless tunnel. He tried to resist, but he could not see his captors well enough even to understand what kind of creatures had seized him. But he could feel their long, curving claws clamped around his arms and his legs, holding him with a not-so-subtle threat of doing far worse if he got away.

Their path twisted and turned in the darkness. Scrumtumbler began to feel more than disoriented: he became positively dizzy, and began to lose even the notion of which way was up. The closed spaces around him made the sounds of their feet echo back at them from all directions, and underlying all that sound was an ever-present clicking and creaking that conjured images of bats and centipedes and nightmare things following him in the dark.

Suddenly, Scrumtumbler saw a blue-green splotch of light ahead. At first, he assumed that he must be hallucinating, yet as he drew nearer he could see that it remained fixed in its position, and even illuminated the next turn of the tunnel. As he drew nearer he realized it was the moss on the walls—it glowed with a dim, bioluminescent radiance that allowed him just enough light to make out shapes around him.

His captors were not animals, or at least not fully so. They were furry, with long, rat-like snouts, small black eyes, and rounded ears which at times pressed flat against their heads and at other times swiveled around as if nervously hunting for sounds. Yet for all their animalistic features, they walked upright, like men. Their thick arms ended in formidable claws that looked like they could rip tunnels through solid rock, yet there was also an opposable digit, a thumb, which undoubtedly indicated the ability to use tools and manipulate objects.

The clicking and the groaning increased and Scrumtumbler realized that this was not an ambient noise, but rather intentional sounds from the mouths of his captors. It was language. For the first time in his life, he wished that Professor Limefellow were nearby to translate.

They pulled him onward, past the end of the hallway where the tunnel opened into a large underground chamber braced by countless limestone pillars.

“Listen,” Scrumtumbler said breathlessly. “I doubt you fellows can understand me, but I’m still hopeful that you can pass along a very important message. If anyone else comes down here, you tell them this: I discovered you first.”

This is an ongoing story about a lost world of hungry dinosaurs, sinister villains, and non-stop action. If you’re new to Hollow Earth Expedition, I suggest starting at the beginning.

Professor Limefellow stared in amazement at the talking chimpanzee. “How is it that you can speak?” he asked

“I prefer to use my mouth and throat when forming words—is there some other way to do it?” The chimp-man’s domed lips curled up into a wry smirk. “Forgive my jest. My name is Thelonius, and I am very pleased to have discovered you.”

Thelonius performed a twisting dismount which landed him a few paces from Limefellow.  Standing on level ground, he revealed his posture to be almost as upright as that of a human being, although he stood a few inches shorter than the average man.

“But you—you’re an ape,” Limefellow stammered. “Apes cannot speak. You aren’t evolved.”

“You accuse me of being un-evolved?” The chimpanzee narrowed his mahogany eyes and pursed his brown lips. “I note, sir, that you have only two articulated thumbs. I have four.” To demonstrate this point, Theloinius snatched a small rock from the ground with his foot. He tossed it up and down repeatedly, catching it between his long, finger-like toes each time.

“Be that as it may,” the chimp-man went on. “You must tell me: do you come from the land where men speak Angle-ish?”

“Angle-ish?” Limefellow repeated. “Oh—English. Yes, it is my native tongue. But how did you came to speak this language?”

“When I was a pup,” Thelonius explained. “I met a hairless monkey from Angle-land. He taught me many things, and I have been searching for another like him ever since. Today, it seems, I have finally found one.”

As strange as the chimp-man appeared, Limefellow began to sense that he meant no harm. The professor had been clutching his briefcase defensively to his chest, but now he lowered his guard and wondered whether this primitive-looking fellow might be of some assistance.

“I came with a group,” Limefellow said. “Can you help me find them?”

“Others from the outer-world?” The chimp’s eyes lit up with very human excitement. “Of course I will help you find your group. The presence of others from the outer world would firmly establish my theories.”

“Your… theories?” Limefellow repeated cautiously.

“Indeed!” Thelonius exclaimed. “I have a theory that the world is a hollow stone sphere, and that a vibrant and technologically advanced society of ape-men lives upon its surface.”

Limefellow groaned. “You and your ‘theories’ remind me of a man named Scrumtumbler.”

“If I remind you of him,” Thelonius winked. “Then he must be a particularly handsome member of your species. Come—there was a recent commotion not far from here. Perhaps we will find the other members of your group in that direction.”

Don’t miss any of the pulse pounding action! Get all the episodes of this story delivered to your inbox each month by subscribing to my free ezine!

Hollow Earth Expedition was created by Jeff Combos and is property of Exile Game Studio. For more Hollow Earth Expedition action, check out ExileGames.com

This is an ongoing story about a lost world of hungry dinosaurs, sinister villains, and non-stop action. If you are new to Hollow Earth Expedition, I suggest starting at the beginning of the story.

Scrumtumbler rolled over and yanked helplessly at the ropes binding his legs, but his hunters had already caught up to him, fingering their stone knives and hatchets. They smiled cruelly down at him, revealing teeth that had been ground down into triangular points, a clear sign that their tribe had adopted a diet that consisted only of flesh.

One of them raised his hatchet high in the air and Scrumtumbler shut his eyes, convinced that the finest scientific brain of his generation was about to be spilled onto the jungle floor. But the cannibal paused.

Scrumtumbler opened one eye to see his hunters listening to something in the forest. Then he heard it, too: a screaming and a thrashing coming their way.

Before any of them knew what to do, Celeste crashed out of the underbrush and right past them. She was a blur in her red dress, not stopping to question the cannibals or investigate their decorative scars. Her screams demonstrated a perfect Doppler effect, declining from its peak frequency and volume as she rushed down the game trail.

The cannibal, still holding his hatchet in the air, exchanged confused looks with his peers.

Then the velociraptors burst out of the foliage. They had been chasing Celeste, but they did not hesitate to set their sights on the cannibals, who scattered into the underbrush like frightened rabbits. In a moment of shrieks and confused footfalls, the predators and the prey disappeared, leaving Professor Scrumtumbler alone and blinking in amazement.

“Deus ex machina!” he declared, holding his fists over his head as though he had just won at the dog races. As he worked to free his legs from the entangling ropes, he muttered to himself, “maybe soon I’ll have to invent a Scrumtumbler ex machina. Yes, a Scrumtumbler ex machina would come in handy.”

Don’t miss any of the pulse pounding action! Get all the episodes of this story delivered to your inbox each month by subscribing to my free ezine!

Hollow Earth Expedition was created by Jeff Combos and is property of Exile Game Studio. For more Hollow Earth Expedition action, check out ExileGames.com

This is an ongoing story about a lost world of hungry dinosaurs, sinister villains, and non-stop action. If you are new to Hollow Earth Expedition, I suggest starting at the beginning of the story.

The cannibal whipped his weighted bolas around until it hummed through the air menacingly. The nearest of them, a shorter man with rotting teeth and a ragged pink scar in the shape of a fanged human skull on his chest, stepped closer and pointed to the professor’s machetes and spoke rapid words.

“Given some time,” Limefellow said, dropping his machete and raising his hands. “I might be able to decipher their dialect. Until then, I think it best to retreat like Hector behind the walls of Troy. ”

Scrumtumbler dropped his machete and drew forth his customized rifle. It had once been a Winchester, but now steel pipes adorned its side, gauges and vacuum tubes protruding at odd angles from the stock, and a curving dish encircled its barrel.

“Behold!” Scrumtumbler boomed, holding the weapon over his head. “Worship my name as if I were one of your heathen gods, for I am Scrumtumbler, and I bring the power of lighting from the heavens!”

The cannibals seemed amused rather than frightened by the scientist’s bluster, so Scrumtumbler dropped the rifle to his hip and pulled the trigger. A crackling arc of electricity lanced out of the barrel. For a split second, it formed a twisting blue line between the gun and the lead cannibal’s chest. The cannibal went rigid as all his muscles stiffened and then, with a flashing pop and a puff of smoke, he sailed backwards through the air to land at the feet of his fellows, unconscious but still breathing.

“That ought to scare them off,” Scrumtumbler said proudly, resting the butt of his stun gun on his hip.

The other cannibals looked down at their fallen leader, then back up at the professors. Without a word, they let loose their weapons. Scrumtumbler flinched as bolas whistled over his head and struck a tree just behind him, the weighted ends of the rope spinning tightly around the trunk. A second set of bolas entangled his stun rifle, knocking it out of his hands and breaking one of the vacuum tubes on the side. The blinking lights flickered and died, and the blue glow at the gun’s tip vanished.

“I don’t think I scared them off!” Scrumtumbler shouted. “Run, Limefellow, run!” When he looked over his shoulder, he saw that his colleague was already two dozen paces away, dashing up the road with one hand holding his hat onto his head.

Scrumtumbler turned to follow, but he didn’t get far before another set of bolas tangled around his legs and sent him sprawling, face-first, onto the forest floor.

Don’t miss any of the pulse pounding action! Get all the episodes of this story delivered to your inbox each month by subscribing to my free ezine!

Hollow Earth Expedition was created by Jeff Combos and is property of Exile Game Studio. For more Hollow Earth Expedition action, check out ExileGames.com

This post is part of an ongoing story set in the pulp-era world of Hollow Earth Expedition. If you are new to this series, I suggest starting at the beginning of the story.

“Surely you must admit that we have discovered the Hollow Earth,” Scrumtumbler said as he hacked down a lush fern that obscured the game trail. “How else do you explain the

Tri-Horned Scrumtumbler-saurs?”

“You mean the triceratopses?” Limefellow said as he sawed gingerly at a vine with his machete, pausing half way through to mop his forehead with his pocket kerchief. “You don’t get to name those after yourself. They were discovered back in 1889.”

“Yes, but they were thought to be extinct. Therefore, I discovered them. Also, they prove my Hollow Earth theory.”

“Many creatures are thought to be extinct when in fact their descendants are hiding in some forgotten corner of the globe. It doesn’t prove anything.” As he spoke, Limefellow held one end of his vine at arm’s length and stepped cautiously beneath it.

“The sun, then,” Scrumtumbler pointed up into the canopy where the bright yellow rays trickled through between the leaves. “How do you explain that we have been searching for Celeste for hours, but the sun has stayed at high noon the whole time? The only explanation is that there is a miniature sun hovering at the exact center of Earth’s inner space, like the burning filament inside a light bulb. Wherever we go inside this sphere, it will always high noon. I call it the Scrumtumbler Effect. I discovered that, too.”

The professors entered an open stretch of the game trail, which allowed them to move along more swiftly through the jungle. Above them, a riot of bird squawks seemed to echo their debate.

“Your theories are ridiculous,” Limefellow said, shifting his briefcase to his right hand and his machete to his left. “First, neither your wrist-watch nor my pocket watch are functioning, so we don’t know how long we have been out here. Second, we might have surfaced in Antarctica, where the sun remains high in the sky at certain times of the year.”
“Antarctica?” Scrumtumbler wiped the sweat from his forehead under his glasses. “It’s got to be eighty degrees here. Now who’s got the crazy theories?”

“Thermal vents at the poles could create tropical pockets of—”

Limefellow stopped speaking as six short, dark-skinned natives appeared around a bend in the trail about twenty yards ahead. Both groups froze and studied each other carefully. From where they stood, the professors could see that the bald heads and bare chests of the natives were covered with ritual scars in the shapes of skulls. Their ear-lobes, lips, and nostrils were pierced with bones, and their necks were adorned by strings of what appeared to be human ears. One of them drew forth a short length of rope that was weighted by rocks at the ends.

“These men display all the anthropological indicators of cannibalism,” Limefellow said in a low tone. “I fear they may intend to eat us.”

“Look what I’ve discovered!” Scrumtumbler declared gleefully. “It’s the Scrumtumbler Tribe!”

Don’t miss any of the pulse pounding action! Get all the episodes of this story delivered to your inbox each month by subscribing to my free ezine!

Hollow Earth Expedition was created by Jeff Combos and is property of Exile Game Studio. For more Hollow Earth Expedition action, check out ExileGames.com

This post is part of an ongoing story set in the pulp-era world of Hollow Earth Expedition. If you are new to this series, I suggest starting at the beginning of the story.  

Scrumtumbler pressed the throttle forward and locked the treads into position. The rest of the crew swung back and forth in their Farris-wheel style seats that always kept their feet pointed down regardless of the drilling machine’s orientation.

Celeste pressed her face to the porthole and watched as the line of dirt rose up to block out the sun. “We’re going to die!” she moaned. “I’m not even supposed to be here!”

“Take it easy, doll-face, I’ll take care of this,” said Jack Steele, the crew’s wilderness guide. He was a tall man, his body lean and iron-hard, and somehow his gritted teeth made the cleft in his chin even deeper. He wore khaki from head to foot, adorned only with a leather belt and a shoulder harness for his Colt automatic.

Jack unbuckled his seat’s chest strap and leapt down into the piloting compartment next to Scrumtumbler. “Turn this thing around, Doc,” he demanded. “I got a bone to pick with your engineer back there.”

“It doesn’t turn,” Scrumtumbler said, indicating a spiraling, sinking motion with his index finger. “The best it can do is angle a little as it goes.”

“Then put it into reverse,” Limefellow called from his seat above.

Scrumtumbler scooted his goggles up onto his forehead and looked up into the passenger area. “It doesn’t have a reverse. The hole fills in behind us as we go, and, in case you hadn’t noticed, the drill is only on the front end.”

“Design flaw,” Limefellow announced contentedly as he made a mark in his notebook.

Maia Parker, the crew’s translator, cleared her throat and adjusted a lapis lazuli choker that she wore around her neck. Like Jack, she wore a khaki safari suit, but her dark hair, dark eyes, and high cheekbones spoke of a Native American ancestry. “I don’t see the problem,” she said. “This just means we’re a couple of hours ahead of schedule. I was getting bored waiting around up there, anyway.”

“You broads just stay out of this,” Jack said.

“Don’t call me a broad,” she said silkily, her fingers drumming on the pistol holster at her side.

“We’re all going to die, aren’t we?” Celeste said with quiet resignation.

Scrumtumbler snorted. “There’s no danger here. The only way we could die would be if we steer into a magma flow and boil to death. Or if we surface in a lake and drown. Or if we lose power and become trapped inside the bedrock.”

“Trapped?” Celeste shuddered. “You mean we could end up starving to death inside this bucket of bolts?”

“Nonsense!” Scrumtumbler waved dismissively. “We’d suffocate long before we ran out of food.”

“May I ask,” Limefellow interrupted. “Why on Earth did you enlist a wilderness guide and a translator to explore a cave?”

“I had my reasons,” Scrumtumbler muttered, rubbing the back of his head and further mussing his unruly white hair. “I have a theory…a hunch.”

“…bases his theories on hunches…” Limefellow said to himself as he added another note to his book. Then he leaned forward in his seat and spoke to Maia, who sat below him. “Incidentally, my dear, I am a professor of linguistics, which means we will no longer be needing your translation services”

“As long as I get paid,” Maia said with a roll of her eyes.

“Everyone, everyone!” Jack’s voice boomed through the cabin. “Maybe we’re lacking a few members of the crew and maybe we have a few guests we didn’t expect, but we’re all going to make it back safely. I personally guarantee it.”

There was a moment of contemplative silence.

“Yep,” Celeste finally said. “We’re going to die.”

Hollow Earth Expedition was created by Jeff Combos and is property of Exile Game Studio. For more Hollow Earth Expedition action, check out ExileGames.com

This post is part of an ongoing story set in the pulp-era world of Hollow Earth Expedition. If you are new to this series, I suggest starting at the beginning of the story.

“Pardon me, gents,” Clem said with his slow Texan drawl. “I reckon it’s time to launch.”

“Now?” Scrumtumbler glanced at his watch. “The press won’t be here for two hours. What’s going on? Why are you pointing your gun at that girl?”

Clem switched his aim to cover the professors. Confused, they looked at each other and then back at Clem. The expedition’s wilderness guide swung one foot out of the hatch, but Clem pressed the gun to the back of Scrumtumbler’s head until the barrel disappeared inside the scientist’s unruly white mop of hair. The wilderness guide, unwilling to risk his employer’s life, reluctantly moved back inside.

“Why are you doing this?” Scrumtumbler asked.

“All you need to know,” Clem said as he prodded his three hostages towards the drilling machine. “Is that I work for an organization that wishes to keep secrets.”

The actress was the first to climb the ladder and enter the drilling machine, followed by Limefellow. When Scrumtumbler passed through, he paused to look back at Clem.

“You won’t get away with this,” Scrumtumbler said defiantly .

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Clem said. “When the press arrives, they won’t find a drilling machine or a professor. They’ll assume this whole operation was nothing but a fraud.”

“They don’t have to assume,” Limefellow’s voice echoed up out of the opening.

“Quiet, you!” Scrumtumbler barked at the professor. Then, to Clem he said, “we don’t have to leave. You can’t make us.”

“There’s a bundle of dynamite strapped to the launch strut,” Clem said. “If you aren’t gone in five minutes, I’ll blow this drilling machine to kingdom-come, and you with it. Bon voyage, gentlemen.”

With that, he slammed the hatch shut and sealed the crew inside the darkened hull.

This post is part of an ongoing story set in the pulp-era world of Hollow Earth Expedition. If you are new to this series, I suggest starting at the beginning of the story.  

“Behold the mechanical triumph which will reshape our understanding of the very planet upon which we stand!” Professor Scrumtumbler spread his arms wide as if he were Atlas holding the weight of the world above his head. Behind him loomed the streamlined drilling machine, held upright by its launch struts like a steel tower that glinted in the desert sun.

Professor Limefellow barely glanced up from his notebook. “Poppycock,” was all he said.

Scrumtumbler’s arms wavered slightly.  He took a moment to collect his thoughts and study his rival. Finally, he decided to push his hands higher into the air and renew his speech with all the melodramatic force he had been practicing for the press corps he expected to begin arriving soon.

“They said it couldn’t be done!” Scrumtumbler boomed. “They called me a fool and a madman! But I will show them, and history will vindicate my theories and enshrine my name for all time. Within this very vehicle, I have assembled the most daring crew of adventurers to assist me as we bore through hundreds of miles of bedrock to pierce into a vast subterranean cave complex—”

“Poppycock,” Limefellow said, closing his notebook and placing it neatly into the breast pocket of his tweed suit.

Scrumtumbler dropped his arms to his side. “You’re just jealous,” he said petulantly.

“Jealous of a fool? I think not,” Limefellow adjusted his bolo hat. “I may be an anthropologist, but even I know that the crushing weight of the earth precludes the possibility of any such cave system as the one you propose.”

Gripping the lapels of his white lab coat, Scrumtumbler rocked up on the balls of his feet and mumbled something about Galileo’s critics. “Why are you here, Limefellow?” Scrumtumbler asked. “Did you want to get one final glimpse at me before the world starts carving statues in my honor?”
“On the contrary,” Limefellow said. “I am here to accompany you.”

“You—you’re what?” Scrumtumbler choked on his own words.

“That’s right. The Royal Society has agreed to dispatch me here to ensure that your scientific methodologies are sound. In other words, my dear sir, I will not allow you to bamboozle the public with your half-baked hoaxes.”

“No,” Scrumtumbler folded his arms. “You’re not coming. I forbid it. I—”

His words were cut short by a thunderous boom which echoed out from behind the drilling machine. Both professors flinched at the noise, and the crew’s wilderness guide stuck his head out of the drilling machine’s hatch to see what had happened. One moment later, the actress Scrumtumbler had hired for the launching ceremony marched out from behind the drilling machine, her hands raised high over her head. Behind her walked Clem, the engineer’s assistant. His black hat cast a shadow across his eyes as he held a colt revolver pointed at the girl’s back.

Hollow Earth Expedition was created by Jeff Combos and is property of Exile Game Studio. For more Hollow Earth Expedition action, check out ExileGames.com