All of my research, all of my grant proposals, years of my life and most of my career hinged on this discovery. Days, maybe weeks of time spent hunched over marsupial bones, brushing them clean, cataloging that same type of teeth, counting vertebrae, and examining coprolites for traces of ancient foods. Everything pointed me towards a desolate area of the Australian outback, where it’s rumored an oasis littered with gold nuggets and opal veins hides. Legend also says that it is guarded by horrible venom spitting beasts of aboriginal legend, or dropbears if you ask any drunkard familiar with the story.
A young prospector took faith in the oasis, but disregarded the rumors. It seems he had some luck, as he came to town one day with a sack full of gold, and a large reptilian skull. He claimed to have killed the beast, but everyone called it a hoax, that he simply found a malformed and dead crocodile. When asked to explain how such a croc made it so far into that desolate wasteland, they grumbled about undiscovered rivers and streams, with one guy claiming Papier-mâché. I came across the image by accident, from a “fact” page that claimed it was a dragon skull found in china. Luckily, they failed to crop the original watermark, which sparked my curiosity. I fell down the rabbit hole of reverse searches and fruitless messages until I got a message from the man who found the skull. I explained to him that I was a paleontologist working to find more complete skeletons for megafauna endemic to Paleocene Australia.
Since I was in Australia for my work, I offered to meet with him, to which he accepted. He promised me the skull was very real, and relayed his story behind the image. He did not bring the skull with him, but did take several clear photos. He admitted that he didn’t actually kill the creature, simply found the bones sticking out of the ground. It took a lot of assurances that my only interest was fossils, and more money that I would like to admit, but he agreed to guide me to this secret oasis in the center of the bush. With the departure date set to a week, I took up the task to prepare.
With my gear packed and my truck loaded, I met up with my guide. His vehicle was slightly more damaged than a regular car, but just as loaded with gear. It seemed to run just fine, and it’s all this man apparently cared to bring. He already had a camp set up, which he had taken care of the day before. His dog was leashed up at this camp, the reasoning being that the dog needed a night to settle or else he is more likely to be aggressive. The worry on my face must’ve been obvious, as I was promised that he had trained the dog well and would listen to him. He even said he would have the dog secured with its leash just to be safe. Still anxious, I decided to push the feeling down and focus on getting to the site where I would make my mark on history.
We left under the cover of night, the reason my guide gave me was so that nobody would be awake early enough to follow him. I cared little, since I wanted as much daylight as possible to begin my digs. The drive took us out of town very quickly, and smooth-ish roads with it. I prayed none of my more fragile equipment would be damaged, and that I had packaged it properly. Admittedly, I left most of my equipment with my interns at the lab, as I wanted to establish a preliminary dig site, and hopefully make some solo discoveries. Once the week was up, I would head back to collect my colleagues, and the dig would begin in full. Of course, I made a note of the coordinates, as I believe I could petition the government to sell the dig area for cheap. While I’d technically be telling the government where a possibly large supply of gold or opal is, I’d be keeping my promise that I was only after bones.
We drove for a day before we made it to the camp. A third of the gas I brought had been used up at this point. The term oasis described this area perfectly. The loose, red sand had given way to clay mixed soil, with thick scrubland and stubborn forests that made for a decent camouflage. This would be paradise to anyone who found the place, which is why I wondered how this place stayed as such a myth. We drove up to the camp and it was in shambles. The small shack he had built, which was little more than a tin box with wooden supports, had been ripped open. His foods were strewn everywhere and spoiled. The place he had left his dog the day before was painted with blood. Something had come into his camp, and we were sure it was rival treasure hunters. Of course there’s a chance some unknown group of aborigines trashed the camp, but my guide was now out for blood. Though illegal, he produced a rifle from a shallow hole he had dug under the shack. Rubble and trash covered the spot, so if people had trashed the place, they wouldn’t have noticed the firearm.
Despite the obvious dangers, I assumed that while our attackers might be formidable, there’s a chance they don’t have any guns, making our position more powerful. At least I hoped. But I had come too far to turn around and run with my tail between my legs, and he refused to let me leave just in case I was working with whoever did this. I now had to prove I was not some criminal, but the scientist I was. So I began to dig. When my shovel entered that red dirt, it instantly hit something hard. So I dug more, tapping the tip of my shovel around until I could make out an outline. It was a skull by the feel of it, and so I sought to bring it up. I cleared away the dust, and uncovered a potch jaw. The bone had opalized, though it held no color. Still, this discovery was bound to secure my legacy for time immemorial. And I wouldn’t have to share a single ounce of credit with my peers. I dug until my guide called out to me, having repaired the shack and set up a tripod stand to keep watch for lights in the bush.
I did not rest for long, as I was awoken by the loud report of my guide’s rifle. Then another shot, and then another. Then I heard a scream, and the bush fell silent. The sound of flesh being ripped and torn apart echoed in the night. I almost convinced myself I was having a nightmare, if not for the fact that I could feel how cold the night air truly was. The light from the small fire outside leaked through the planks of the shack, illuminating the campsite. When I went to peek through the gaps in the wood, the light was blocked by something. I could hear it sniffing the air, taking in deep breaths in its search for food. I clamped my hands over my mouth and nose, taking short, shallow breaths. I couldn’t allow it to find me. When it brought its head close to the shed, I could smell the fresh blood on its jaw, mixed with the meat rotting in its mouth. It took more willpower than I believed myself to possess in order to not vomit. The creature picked up a scent and made a beeline for the cars. My guide had left some food in his vehicle, which the creature found enticing. It lumbered over to his window, and reared up onto its back legs. With a loud crash that set off the alarms, the monster fell down upon the car, tearing into it with it’s claws.
The only reason I still live is because those alarms it set off caused the creature to flee in shock. I seized the moment to leap into my truck, crank the engine, and drive out of there. In the soft light of dawn I could see something approaching my truck as I sped away. It was a dark brown or black, with four muscular legs. It had an unnaturally long tail, and the jaws of a crocodile. In my shock my foot lifted off the pedal, bringing me closer to the jaws of the thing. I snapped out of my haze and floored it, speeding away just as its maw snapped shut, barely missing my fender. The creature gave up the chase, having decided that I was not worth the chase. The sounds of the road faded as my heart pounded in my ears. I could feel my body shaking, and I thought I’d vomit at any second. I do not think the creature would have affected me so badly if not for the torn face of the guide hanging from its putrid maw, stuck by the eye in a gap between its teeth. It was frozen still in some silent horror, a fate I wouldn’t dare wish upon anyone.
That is the truth of what I saw that day. My legacy is not worth the lives of my colleagues or the people of the town that rested blissfully unaware of what wretched dangers lie seemingly so close to them. What kind of distance could a hungry predator of that size cover in a single sun scorched day in the outback? How far would a hungry, thirsty beast be willing to go in search of an easy meal? A chill runs down my back to think of the devastation it could wreck, the many lives that could be lost. I can only pray to any and every higher power I can that there is enough food to keep the creature contained. But what if it catches the scent of more foolish prospectors looking for their fortunes? How many must die before such a secret must be made known? I do not know, but I will take the knowledge of this place to my grave, and may God have mercy on whatever poor souls stumble upon that hell lost in time.