Jackson considered removing his shirt. He was beyond uncomfortable. And the most annoying part was he couldn't figure out why it was so unbearably hot. This was Africa. He was used to the heat. This was just plain miserable.
Still squatting at the lake's edge, he stared out across the dried bed. Steam was rising, curling into the air, where droplets of water fell from the ceiling of the cavern. He ran his hand along the silt of the lake bed. It was crusty and dusty. Dusty, he expected. The thin layer of crust though, that was unexpected. He rubbed his fingers together. Some kind of white powder coated them. It almost felt like salt, but smoother. He sniffed the powder. Lifting an eyebrow, he tilted his head. Well, that explained the scent of sulphur. Still didn't help him with what, exactly, it was.
It had to be a mineral of some sort. The matrix was too fine for something biologic. He looked up to study the surrounding the cavern's rock makeup. Too bad he was a biologist. In all honesty, he had no idea what he was looking at. Rocks were rocks. Hunching his shoulders, he gathered as much of the crust as he could and wrapped it in a scrap of fabric from an old bandana. Not the most sterile, but it would do. He stuffed the sample in his pocket.
Now, to get out of here. He studied the cavern. There were at least three connected passages across the way. One led off to the left, one to the right, and one definitely seemed to curve back around the cavern, behind where he was standing. He decided to avoid that one unless it became the only choice. He doubted that one led anywhere worthwhile. Crossing the lake bed, he peered down the right passage. It was darker than the cavern - lit as it had been by the sliver of light from the overhang he'd crawled in through - but looked uninhabited. Unused. He couldn't smell anything that remotely seemed animalistic. However, the scent of sulphur was still present way over here. Jackson glanced at the lake bed. The same crust. It appeared to be spread throughout the system.
Shrugging, he wandered over to the left passage. The odor of animal was unmistakable. He huffed and snorted. Strong musk. It almost hurt his eyes to stand close to the opening. He passed under the arched entrance. It was a better choice than the right. Either he was headed out, following a path overused by the creatures as they came and went or he was headed in deeper, toward a nursery. He was guessing it was an exit. Jackson hoped he was correct.
He blinked rapidly as the musky scent grew stronger. It stung painfully in his lungs. He breathed through his mouth, but it was no better. The lake bed he walked through wound along his path. He studied the shoreline. It was graded, quite steeply. If the water hadn't disappeared, the hybrids would have had to wade through the water to move about this passage.
The repeated switchbacks messed with him. He had no idea how far he'd walked or in what direction. The only thing he knew was the smell was getting stronger. There was also a sound, a growling or purring, perhaps a roaring, getting progressively louder the more steps he took. He struggled to make out individual noises, as if the hybrids had returned and were waiting around the next corner for him, but the sounds didn't change, didn't separate, instead they were insistent in tone. He knew of no animal that behavior fit. However, he did recognize the noise as commonplace on the savannah. It was eerily similar to the hum of an active hive of African bees.
He'd noticed some troubling behavior that first afternoon when he watched the hybrids feast on the pride of lionesses and had noted its similarity to bees, but since then he had forgotten. As the hum registered in his head, he suddenly remembered what had bothered him so much.
The hybrids had circled their kills, bowing and dancing almost solicitously toward the dead lionesses. They flitted from one kill to another, ignoring the two lionesses who had remained stunned, but not dead. They had whipped forward, then back, then side to side rapidly before rubbing noses, shoulders, and hips with one another. It was odd. At the time, and again now, he remembered the description his school teacher had taught him about bees dancing to communicate where a good source of food was in elementary school.
Tripping, Jackson squinted at his feet. The light had dimmed dramatically. It was now almost completely black. He'd run into the side of the lake bed. The shoreline was now up to his knees. Considering how tall the hybrids were, they would have had to swim through this part of the cave system. The sides of the passage were smooth, arching up and over his head. During the rainy season - except now - this tunnel was probably flooded.
He kept walking. The sound was unbearable. His clamped his hands over his ears. Sight was non-existent. Smell was gone, overwhelmed by the odor of the hybrid musk. Hearing was impossible. All he had left was touch. He moved slowly forward, one foot in front of another. When he hit the wall or bank, he turned and kept going.
The brightness of the exit looming in front of him made him curse. The last switchback had turned over on itself so quickly, he hadn't noticed the change in his vision, the lightening of his surroundings. He pulled up short, stopping. Opening before him, he saw a massive cavern at least triple the size of the first one. A humongous lake had once filled it. It, too, was now dried up. He stood on one side, his shoulders even with the bank's edge. And above him, a sinkhole. A sinkhole which now let in the full glory of the African afternoon sun. The white stalactites and stalagmites glistened in the brilliance. The same crust he'd discovered earlier coated this lake bed as well, adding to the glimmer. His eyes watered. Everything glowed.
Including the mass of wriggling cubs and nursing mothers. Each little family was cocooned in their own nest of dirt and debris, obviously dug out with love and care. The hum of activity rose higher, louder at his intrusion. Mothers rocked up onto their haunches. The cubs squirmed around, their feeding interrupted, and glared at him. Malicious. Hungry.
He felt the sudden urge to wave and say hello, but managed to hold back. This was definitely not good. He'd found the exit, but had also found the nursery. Well, damn!
And it seemed his odd observations were correct after all. He was looking at the spitting image of a ground hive turned flat sideways. Filled with hyena-like hybrids. Double shit!
Just once, he would love to be proven wrong. Just once. Was it really too much to ask? Cringing, he reconsidered this final request. He'd thought his father was dead. He'd been proven wrong there and then his father had gone and sterilized the world. Perhaps being right was better. Maybe he'd live through today and find out.
A few of the cubs placed their paws on the edge of their nest and began climbing out. They kept low, crouched on their surprisingly muscular limbs - for creatures so young- readying to pounce. He looked across the lake. They were everywhere. And they were thinking and moving as one.
He couldn't stop the panicked laugh that ripped from his chest.
Why the hell would anyone want a mammal as socially advanced and territorial as the hyena showcasing the hive-like efficiency of a bee hive? It was insane. Jackson stared at the closest of the stalking youngsters. Not just insane, deadly. He faced the perfect killing machine.