EDITOR’S NOTE
Before the Pulps grabbed hold of Advenutre, Victorian era authors were paving the way with similar concepts, ideas, and themes. While H. Rider Haggard is often credited with pioneering Adventure proper, Jules Verne was penning early Science-Fiction grounded in the scientific concepts of the time. Classics like 20,000 LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA and JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH no doubt had elements of Adventure that would both inform and inspire later Pulp authors.
Author Kay Hanifen’s short story is told through a series of vaguely dated journal entries as an intrepid Victorian woman defies period cultural norms and seeks a way home from a Verne-ian lost world. The driving force behind behind the story is not only pure survival, but an undying love for a fellow adventurer.
THE REUNION OF LILLIAN VANCE AND EMMA HARROW AS TOLD THROUGH VANCE’S DIARY
By Kay Hanifen
SUMMER SOLSTICE?
It’s difficult keeping track of the days, but I’ve been here long enough to know how many hours of sunlight exist on the longest day of the year, and I do believe that the solstice is today, though it is difficult to tell. I’ve endeavored to track time by the seasons. I was wrecked on this Godforsaken island in mid-summer, so I know it has been nearly five years alone with only ruins and megafauna to keep me company. The clouds are heavy and dark with a coming storm. I’ve weathered winds that threatened to knock me over and floods that tried to drag me out to sea. Each darkening cloud fills me with a creeping dread for what wrath Mother Nature will thrust upon me. The worst is the lightning. It strikes the great tower on the edge of town with a blinding light and deafening crack with alarming regularity. It’s by providence alone that I have not yet been struck.
The first terrifying flash has illuminated my home. I counted the seconds between it and the earth-shaking rumble of thunder. One minute, meaning the storm is twelve miles away. There’s something else in the air, though, between the cracks of lightning and roar of thunder. A strange buzzing unlike anything I’ve heard before. It reminds me a bit of the industrial fans in factories combined with an automobile engine. I’m staring out the window trying to catch a glimpse of it.
There.
When the lightning illuminated the sky, I saw this strange shape, almost like a bird with an impossibly long wingspan. In the darkness, it’s difficult to make out the details. Perhaps I have truly gone mad, because if I didn’t know better, I’d call it a dragon.
My God.
Another lightning strike and it hit the wing of this strange device. It’s going down, and I can only watch in helpless horror as it spirals out of control and crashes. I got a better look, and it’s definitely mechanical. I can only pray that its occupants survived. The storm is picking up, but I shall endeavor to reach it and hopefully find someone alive to rescue.
LATER
Of all the millions of people on the planet, I never once imagined that it would be her face that I saw when I tore open the door of that flying machine. I still cannot believe it. I find myself touching her just to prove that this is real, and she is truly here. I’ve not stopped crying. Emma Harrow, the woman I loved and left behind. She was unconscious at the controls, bleeding from a head wound and right leg twisted unnaturally, but even so, I nearly wept at her beauty.
When I set forth on my voyage to hunt for Atlantis, I left her at home to look after the Women’s Geographical Society we began together and waiting for me to return triumphant. I was the only survivor when the ship crashed on this island’s shore. Years ago, I had sent out a message in a bottle, praying that it would find its way to a friendly shore. It seems as though it did, because my Emma has found her way to me.
Fearful of the beasts that lurked in the jungle surrounding us, I lifted her from her seat. She did not awaken, but still gave a wrenching cry as I bundled her in my arms. The rain was coming down like the vengeance of Poseidon himself as I made the arduous trek back to the place that I call home among the ruins of Atlantis. I tried not to jostle her as I trudged through the mud. My years of hunting and creating a homestead have granted me with some strength, but with the driving wind and rain pelting me to near blindness, my muscles ached as I staggered and slipped. Every movement elicited a moan from Emma which I hushed as I forged onward.
The storms are deadly, but they awaken even deadlier creatures. Massive snakes nearly forty feet in length battle with crocodiles of near equal size in the muck while smaller mammals take shelter. Nothing on earth quite matches the pure animal terror of watching two reptiles battle while knowing that all it takes is a wrong move to become their next meal. And yes, that includes the terror of your ship breaking apart below you as you are plunged into the dark Sargasso Sea.
By providence, we reached my home soaked to the bone but unmolested by giant prehistoric creatures. It’s a small building which I have restored to the best of my meager abilities. The door is made from lodestone that closes tight without a lock and opens with a repellent magnet. Inside, I have my bed of hay, spinning wheel, and kitchen consisting of a hearth and sink with running water.
I laid her down on the bed I’d made of hay and stripped her of her wet clothes. I was the sole survivor, but wasn’t the only crew member to wash ashore. I had kept the clothes of the dead, hating myself for stealing, but knowing that they would prefer that I do what I must to stay alive. I feared I would be forced to eat them but found the island plentiful in safe plants and animals. I have found a forest of olive trees that I suspect was once harvested by the civilization that lived here before, as well as grapes, apple trees, cotton, and sugar cane.
I’ve harvested enough cotton to turn into a knit tunic, which I dressed Emma in. Once dry, I tended to her wounds and set her broken leg. Again, she did not awaken, but still screamed as I pushed bone back into place. I have accumulated a decent amount of willow bark for myself a long time ago, so I had something to give for the pain and fever. She is sleeping fitfully, mumbling moaning and calling my name. I hold her hand and reassure her, saying, “I’m here, darling. I’m not leaving you ever again.” Her fever burns, but not as hot after I gave her bark to chew on.
When searching her clothes, I found the note I sent out in a wine bottle all those years ago.
Lillian Vance lives. 25 degrees north, -71 degrees west. Find me. I am eager to be reunited with Argus.
LV
Before my first voyage, Emma and I came up with a code so that she would know if the letters she received were truly from me or forgeries. If all was well, I’d mention how I could not wait to see her again in Paris. If I was being held against my will, I would recommend she read a poem by Rudyard Kipling, a private joke stemming from the time he cornered me at a party to ramble some nonsense about how he could make me the jewel of India if I were to become his wife. Ridiculous. But Emma, my knight in shining armor, rescued me by pretending that something urgent had come up in the geographical society. Finally, if I was stranded but alone and in need of rescue, I would mention Argus, Odysseus’s faithful old dog who lived long enough to see his master return from his twenty year journey. No other living soul knew of our system, so when the letter returned to her, she must have made haste to find me.
Now found, I wait and pray that God is not so cruel that he would return my Emma to me only for us to be separated by death.
MORNING.
I’ve scarcely slept for fear that I’ll wake to discover last night was a dream, or worse, that my Emma slipped once again from my grasp. Her condition is much the same—not improved but not any worse. She has not yet awoken, and every passing minute fills me with more and more fear. What if she never wakes? What if she never knows that she found me? I’ve held the message close to my heart, taking it out periodically to study the water stains. It has mostly stayed dry, but I see smudges where I believe she shed tears over the possibility of my survival.
Emma is stirring. I pray she can forgive me for those five years of time lost to my hubris.
23, JUNE 1905
I must get every detail of this adventure down while it is still fresh in my mind.
When Emma’s eyes fluttered open, I wept with joy, pulling her close. We sobbed in each other’s arms, overcome by a love that has not faded over time and distance.
“I knew you were still alive,” Emma said, her voice still thick with tears and rough from the night’s trauma, “They had all given up on you, but I still felt you in the very core of my soul. You were out there, calling to me even if no one else could hear it.”
“I never thought I’d see you again,” I sobbed, “that this was punishment for all my sins.”
She pulled back, cupping my cheek. “Darling, nothing could keep me from you forever. Your Penelope will always find her Odysseus, even if it takes the rest of her days.” I studied her face. Her brown eyes, full lips, and aquiline nose was the same, but the wild black hair was now streaked with grey from the stress. Her eyes held a sadness to them that aged her beyond her thirty-six years.
I pressed my forehead to hers, savoring that the first person I’d come into physical contact with in years was the woman I love. My heart was full to bursting and my head buzzed with the unlikeliness of it all. “I suppose I should have had more faith.” It was only when I heard her breath catch that I realized how tightly I’d been holding the wounded woman. I gently laid her back down and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. Her eyes drooped closed, though she fought to keep them open. “Rest now, my love. We’ll have more time later.”
“The plane,” she mumbled, “the radio. We can call for help.”
“I shall get it then,” I replied, pressing a final kiss to her forehead, and getting to my feet. She was asleep by the time I shut the door behind me. As I walked, I took in the damage from last night’s storm. The tower, an ugly metal monument jutting out from the edge of town, was as undamaged as ever despite being struck by lightning several times. Some of the ruins had been knocked over, and I could tell which ones were caused by the wind and which ones were the dinosaurs by the tracks left in the muck. Even in ruin, Atlantis is a thing of wonder. Remains of elaborate mosaics cover the walls, depicting an unfamiliar pantheon, massive snakes and crocodiles, and the great battles they fought with technology far beyond the capabilities of the ancient Greeks. Millennia after the fall of Atlantis, these mosaics still shine in the sun as though they’d been properly maintained by an army of servants. The insides of the buildings appeared equally well maintained. Though too brittle to use, I found a loom and reverse engineered it so that I could weave my own clothing and found plenty of pottery for food. Were it not for the loneliness and giant reptiles, I would have called this island a paradise.
When I reached the ‘plane,’ it looked as though someone had already ransacked the wreck, likely a hungry animal. Apple cores and bread littered the ground inside. I found her bag of clothing intact as well as a gun and the radio which I extricated from the control panel. With some excitement, I found that whatever had gotten in hadn’t found all the food. It’s absurd to weep over a chocolate bar and loaf of bread, but after years of subsisting on what I could catch or forage, the sight was a sunrise after a night of storms. I stuffed it, along with the radio with the clothes before beginning my trek home.
When I returned, the sun was setting and dark, ominous clouds were rolling in. Damn these sudden summer storms. Perhaps more alarming than the storm on the horizon, was Emma awake and sitting up when she should have been resting. She held her compass up, tapping at the glass casing and moving it in a sweeping motion in as near a circle as she could manage while still in bed.
“What are you doing?” I asked, resisting the urge to push her back down before she overexerted herself.
“The compass is wrong,” she replied, “The sun is setting behind the tower, meaning that it’s to the west of us, but my compass says it’s to the north.”
I set down my bag and peered over her shoulder. It had been years since I used that tool. I did not have a compass on me when I was wrecked and could find none among the objects washed ashore. Instead, I’v relied on landmarks and the sun to navigate the island. “I’ve noticed that the Atlanteans used magnets for just about anything in their daily lives. Perhaps this island is rich in lodestone.”
“That would explain what happened to my navigation. It went mad right as the storm hit.” Her eyes widened in a sudden, horrible realization, and she made a heroic attempt to get to her feet.
“Oh, no you don’t,” I said, pushing her back to her prone position, “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“If I didn’t return in twenty-four hours, the Women’s Geographical Society would send a rescue party along my route. They don’t know that the island will ruin their navigation.”
I muttered a few choice curse words. “How does this radio work?”
Her eyes lit up the way they always did when she rambled to me about her latest fascination or invention. I may have had the wealth from the loss of my parents at an early age and the taste for adventure, but she was the great mind through which all my discoveries were possible. She was the one who first theorized that Atlantis was found in the infamous Bermuda Triangle. If she didn’t prefer her lab to far off lands, she would be an even greater explorer than me. “It’s of my own design,” she said, the pride bringing a warm glow to her cheeks, “a removable battery powered two-way radio so that I could still call for help should my plane crash on a desert island.” She sat up too fast, her eyes fluttering at the sudden change in elevation before reaching out for the radio.
I handed it over, shifting behind her so that she could rest against me while tinkering with the thing. It burst to life with the sound of static, making us both jump at the sudden noise. The static changed as she fiddled with the dials, searching for the right frequency. We’d catch snatches of conversations, but it was garbled and we couldn’t tell if they received our message. After several minutes of this, she set it down with a frustrated groan. “It’s useless. There’s no signal. If we were at a greater elevation, then perhaps…” Her head shot up. Were it not for my arm around her waist, she would have leapt to her feet. “Of course! I’m such a fool! The tower!”
Ice cold dread pooled in my stomach. The tower could be our salvation but could just as easily be our doom. A thousand deaths played in my mind. Eaten by the giant snake that made its home at the base, struck by lightning, the ancient structure collapsing underfoot or on top of our heads. Emma had just returned to me, and I couldn’t stand the thought of losing her again so soon.
She turned around, looking at me with concern in her gentle eyes. “Lillian, you’ve gone pale. What’s wrong?” As I explained my fears, she nodded along before asking, “Isn’t the possibility of rescue worth the danger?”
“I—I suppose so.” It would be nice to return to the luxuries of the modern world, but this island afforded me an unexpected freedom. For the first time in my life, no one was there to judge me for wearing trousers and working with my hands, or gossip about when I would get married and the nature of my relationship to Emma. Here, if I so desired, I could walk around in the nude and no one would be there to clutch their pearls and cluck about modesty. On the other hand, if we weren’t rescued, then our fates and the fate of the Atlanteans would remain a mystery, and I always did so hate the idea of becoming one of the mysteries I’ve spent my life solving. I pressed a kiss to her lips and deepened it, savoring the fact that we could here without the fear of judgement. “We’ll do it.”
The rest of the evening was spent in a flurry of preparations while Emma supervised. I collected my dagger, fashioned a crutch, prepared what I prayed would not be our final meal. As we ate, I regaled her with all my discoveries on the island. “Most of the wooden and fabric structures are gone, but even with the remaining stone and metal, I can tell that this society was incredibly advanced. I haven’t quite figured out what caused them to abandon such a wondrous place.”
“Perhaps it’s the giant snakes, crocodiles, and powerful storms,” she replied as she nibbled on the meal of bread and fish flavored with herbs that I had cooked. “Then again, perhaps the storms are the culprits. Lightning strikes the tallest point in an area. The tower is the highest point on the island.” She chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Then again, constant hurricanes and lightning storms could force the inhabitants to flee to the corners of the earth. Perhaps you haven’t found Atlantis, and instead we’re sitting in the shadow of the Tower of Babel.”
I snorted. A blind theory, a stab in the dark, but it was as plausible as our predicament. I finished off my plate and got to my feet. “Well, I’d best be going.”
Emma struggled up. “I’m coming with you.”
I gently pushed her back down. “Darling, you fell from the sky yesterday. Let me do this.”
“I refuse to leave you alone again.”
I pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “I’m afraid you have no choice. I can make the climb. You cannot. I won’t be long.” She caught my hand as I made to stand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles before letting me go. I left the gun behind.
The clouds darkened above me as I made my journeyed to the base of the tower. Snake tracks zig zagged their way through the mud and into a hole at the base. I approached it slowly, wary of any sound or movement that would awaken the behemoth. The wind picked up, the air filled with the electric anticipation of a coming storm. When I peered into the hole, I suppressed a gasp. The snake laid curled in the center, its eyes open and moving rapidly while staring at nothing. I waved my hand, and it did not react. Praying that it was simply asleep, I skirted the edge of the cave to the stone staircase on the other side. The stairs spiraled to the top of the tower with no wall or railing. If I fell, it would spell not only my doom, but Emma’s and that of whoever came searching for us. Steeling my resolve, I reached the bottom of the staircase and began the long climb up.
Overhead, thunder rumbled, and the snake stirred; its long, forked tongue flicking in and out of its great mouth. I redoubled my efforts, hugging the wall as I took the steps two at a time. Then, as I reached the approximate halfway mark, there came another rumbling sound from below, almost like a belch. I caught a glimpse of a massive, crocodilian body slipping past the entrance, and my heart froze in my chest with ice cold terror. With stunning speed for its size, the crocodile lunged at the snake, ramming it against the wall and sending a shockwave that knocked me to my knees with a heart stopping lurch.
I’ve a reputation for being a fearless adventurer. Some of it is earned, but most of it is not. For example, I became acutely aware of my own mortality as two draconic beasts did battle below me. But this task was far more important than my fear, so I began again, this time climbing on all fours like a monkey. It wasn’t the most dignified approach, but it made me feel much safer as I traversed the steps. I made an effort to ignore the bellows and hisses of the monsters below, focusing only on breathing and taking the next step.
When I was nearing the end of the staircase, I reached into my bag and pulled out the radio. The static buzzed from the device as I skimmed through the channels, sending out my warning to whoever might be listening. “Alert! Alert! This is Lillian Vance. Do not approach 25 degrees north, -71 degrees west. Your navigation will fail. I repeat, your navigation will fail.”
There was no response, and I was about despair when the radio crackled to life. “Copy that, Miss Vance,” said a woman on the other end.
“Dolly? Dolly Branican, is that you?” I asked, elated to hear yet another familiar voice I thought I’d never encounter again.
“The one and only. Now, what seems to be the problem, Miss Vance?”
I explained above the din the dangers waiting for brave Mrs. Branican on the island.
“That’s all? I’ll be here to pick you up before you know it.”
“Bless you, Dolly. You’re an angel.”
“Don’t say that until after you’ve seen the trash heap I’m flying.”
I giggled, which turned into a cry of shock when a deafening crack of lightning struck the tower. “I’ll meet you on shore.”
“See you then! Dolly Branican, over and out!”
I took the stairs down two at a time, almost forgetting about the reptilian battle below. With the noise of the storm and earth-shaking thunder, I hadn’t noticed that they seemed to have taken their fight elsewhere until I neared the bottom. My momentary relief was shattered by a crash and a scream.
Emma.
Despite my exhaustion from climbing, I broke into a mad sprint driven by adrenaline alone. I skidded to a stop by my home, watching in awe as the massive snake and crocodile did battle above me. And then I saw the house—my home for the past five years—crushed with Emma inside, and something broke within me. Blinded by rage, I drove my dagger into the snake’s side. It screeched and reached around to destroy the nuisance, and the crocodile took advantage of the distraction to bite it almost in two. The massive snake flailed about, its body wrapping around its killers’ throat and squeezing. If it was going down, it would take its mortal enemy with it.
I watched in awed horror as they killed each other, both thrashing in their death throes. It was better to do that than imagine Emma crushed and alone beneath the one place that I considered safe. I was so lost in my own pain that I didn’t realize that the serpent had triumphed and turned its dying attention back onto me.
Three gunshots rang out, striking true and sending the creature to its grave. I turned around to find Emma leaning on her crutch with a smoking revolver. Overcome with joy, I ran to her, lifting and twirling her into my arms. Her joyous laughter turned into a wince as I held her battered body too tightly, terrified to let go and have her slip through my fingers once again.
“Did it work?” she asked, brushing a rain-soaked lock of hair from my face.
“Dolly should be landing shortly.” As if on cue, the buzzing of the plane alerted us to Mrs. Branican landing. I pressed a final kiss to Emma’s lips, the gravity of the night finally hitting me. I was alive with Emma in my arms. After five years alone on this dead island, it felt distant like a dream. My legs gave out under me, and we both went down, kneeling in the mud and clutching each other as we sobbed once again.
I write this now in the hotel room hotel Emma had booked for herself. She’s resting now, and Dolly is purchasing passage on the ship which will ferry us to New York City. Dolly found us filthy and sobbing and joined in on our hug. My brave, dear friend. As soon as the clouds dissipated and Helios rose in the east, she loaded us back aboard the aero plane along with a few choice relics to bring to the Natural History Museum of New York. The plane lurched to start, the propellors buzzing like a wasp’s nest, and Emma squeezed my hand as it took to the air. Many know of my journeys in blimps and hot air balloons, but the speed with which my island prison disappeared from view filled me with a profound sense of loss mixed with a feeling of elation.
As soon as we landed, Dolly ferried us to a hotel and called a doctor for Emma. I was grateful for my friend’s haste. No reporters have yet caught wind of my return, so Emma and I have a modicum of privacy before the spotlight will shine on us both.
I laid down beside her on the bed in my fresh nightgown, marveling at the softness of both. She shifted to her side, her face studying mine. My hands had grown calloused by the years of survival, but hers were soft as she cupped my cheek. “What is it?” I asked, equally enamored with her warm gaze.
“I am simply reminding myself that this is real. That I have you here in my arms, and I’ll never let you go again. I had nearly lost all hope of finding you, but—” “You did. You did the impossible and saved me, my love. And now Penelope can return to Ithaca with her Odysseus at her side.” She turned once again to lay on her back, and I pulled her in close. We fell asleep in each other’s arms, ready to face our future together when we woke.
END.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kay Hanifen was born on a Friday the 13th and once lived for three months in a haunted castle. So, obviously, she had to become a horror writer. Her work has appeared in over one hundred anthologies and magazines.
Her first anthology as an editor, Till the Yule Log Burns Out, was published in 2024. Her first novel, The Last Ballard, debuted in 2025. When she’s not consuming pop culture with the voraciousness of a vampire at a 24-hour blood bank, you can usually find her with her black cats or at kayhanifenauthor.wordpress.com.
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/katharinehanifen/
Return Friday, December 19th for murder and mayhem in the Coral Sea in “Curse of the Bone God” by L.D. Whitney!
Cliffhanger! Magazine 
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