by WW Mortensen
Owen read his thoughts. “No, don’t.”
“I can reach it,” Sanchez said.
“No. Leave it.” Owen nodded at the treeline. Several shapes emerged from the gloom, other tribesmen stepping quietly from the trees into the clearing. There were five or six of them—all males, and all with arrows drawn back in their bows.
The young man pointed at Sanchez and Owen and waved them towards the treeline.
“He wants us to go with them,” Owen said.
“We’re not going anywhere.”
Agitated, the young man whooped and waved again.
“We don’t have a choice,” Owen murmured as another man approached and shoved each of them in the back.
Sanchez bristled.
“Best we cooperate,” Owen said.
Sanchez glanced at the men, and then the rifle.
You’ll never make it. Not now.
He relented, and let Owen lead them across the clearing. The tribesmen fell in beside them, nudging each other excitedly.
Numb with disbelief, Sanchez thought of their companions at S2, and Jessy in particular. Elson, and presumably Martins, were dead. The sat-phone was lost to the floodwaters. There was no way of contacting the chopper, no way of mounting a rescue. And now they’d lost the rifle, too.
The young man jabbed him hard in the ribs, back the way they’d come.
Not good.
Together, he and Owen followed their captors into the dense undergrowth, disappearing as night and the storm proper swept in to swallow them all.
38
Back in camp, Rebecca adjusted the hood of her poncho as another streaking flash scorched the clearing. A moment ago, the sky had opened, disgorging torrential rain. Overhead, thunder boomed. Rebecca wondered if the heavens were being torn asunder.
“What about the boys?” she said to Ed above the din. “What happened to the chopper?”
Ed ignored her and dashed across the clearing, double-checking the motion detectors and the X40s, which they’d set in a triangle with the cave at its centre. Running back to the tarpaulin, he tightened the corner ropes.
Rebecca repeated her question. “Ed? What about the chopper?”
“It’ll be here,” he called above the rain.
Rebecca shook the water from her poncho. Priscilla, who’d been hiding under the table, leapt into her arms. Rebecca hugged her, at the same time frowning at Ed. He obviously harboured the same doubts as her.
Rain pelted down. Rebecca decided she wasn’t finished. “I was thinking—”
The sound rose in the distance, sudden and jarring, and Rebecca jumped. Reflexively, she cocked her head, listening, but knew instantly it was the same terrible noise from two nights ago at S1. She froze.
Selenocosmia crassipes.
The words swam up from her subconscious and into focus. She’d drawn the initial comparison yesterday morning, but uncertain, had kept it to herself. Its common name was the Whistling Spider, a large, ferocious-looking species of Australian tarantula, so named because it would scrape its pedipalps—the two hand-like appendages on either side of its mouth—across its fangs and mouthparts, producing a loud and menacing whistling, or barking, sound. It was used as a warning. This sound—and that of two nights ago—was similar.
Not similar. The same.
They’re coming again…
“Ed!?” Jessy called from her tent.
Ed bolted for the cave, snatching up the rifle as he went. “Bec, come on!”
Rebecca moved to follow, but for some reason, couldn’t lift her feet.
No. Not now.
The barking intensified, rising from all directions, clearer now than the waves of thunder pounding overhead. Rain poured down. Lightning flashed.
Please no…
Rebecca’s heart thumped, and a shot of adrenaline flooded her veins.
Was it possible?
It had to be. She’d felt the first stirrings yesterday, then again in the dream last night. There could be no other explanation. After all these years, after all her treatment, even despite what had become her career, her life’s work.
Once more, she was the helpless child staring in the mirror with her brothers standing there laughing at her.
No… please, no…
Then something tripped the motion detectors and blacklight flooded the clearing.
• • •
Somehow, Rebecca tore herself away, or so she thought. In fact, halfway to the cave, Ed had turned back and seized her by the arm, and suddenly she was inside the huge hollow tree with Priscilla grasped terrified to her chest and Ed and Jessy beside her.
“What’s happening?!” Jessy cried.
Rebecca gazed through the cave mouth and into the clearing. Every UV lamp had triggered, throwing waves of dark violet, and overhead, lightning sparked and flashed like a strobe. With each burst of illumination, she saw more spiders—they clung to the trees, perched in branches, crouched like springs upon the ground, all washed in blacklight and fluorescing like so many ghosts in the darkness. They didn’t move so much as swell with every flash, appearing out of nowhere, barking.
How could we be so stupid? We were never safe here. Why didn’t we get out when we had the chance?
At least a dozen of the creatures, each the size of a large dog, circled them like a pack. More crept out of the ‘moat’ that ringed the clearing, up and over the rise, gripping the trunks of the trees with their glowing, pale blue legs, watching, then disappearing with the next flash only to reappear elsewhere. They were positioning themselves, swarming, increasing their numbers…
Why weren’t they being driven off by the X40s?
More now, and with each flash of lightning, more again, surrounding them. Two dozen, maybe three.
What were they waiting for?
Jessy was hysterical. Ed raised the rifle—not that it would be enough.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rebecca saw the first creature leap in their direction, sailing across the clearing. It was joined instantly by another, and then a third. They were airborne quickly—together, as a group, their horrible shapes soaring through a flash of lightning.
Ed didn’t get to squeeze the trigger.
39
An explosion of automatic gunfire ripped Rebecca from her stupor. In the leafy confines of the clearing, the sound was deafening.
She dived for cover and Ed and Jessy hit the ground with her. Protecting her ears from the onslaught, Rebecca looked up to glimpse spiders being torn apart, legs and bodies shredded—brief images starkly illuminated by strobe-like bursts of lightning and multiple muzzle flashes.
What the hell?
Lightning flashed again. An instant of darkness followed. Four, five… no, six muzzle flashes erupted out of it, maybe more, coming from all sides now.
Rebecca kept her hands pressed against her ears, and so did Ed and Jessy, all of them splayed low, away from the withering assault.
It was over quickly, and an eerie hush fell. Even the thunder seemed to hesitate. For a moment, there was only the rain.
Rebecca’s ears rang.
“What just happened?” Jessy whispered, terrified.
Cautiously, they raised their heads…
• • •
The clearing was empty of spiders and gunmen alike.
Not fully empty.
All about, the still-fluorescing body parts of what must have been two dozen megarachnids lay scattered and sprawled—legs, carapaces, chelicerae—all oozing dark, gooey fluid. Rebecca scanned for movement and noticed several legs retracting into shattered bodies, but nothing else.
No living creatures.
Not one.
She could hardly believe her eyes. The devastating assault had shred and splintered the surrounding vegetation. Some of the smaller trees had split down the centre and crashed to the earth, others had been severed in half. Most had limbs amputated. Leaves and branches lay ripped and strewn across the forest floor.
As she was taking thi
s in, mouth agape, a group of shadowy figures came slowly into view.
“Okay,” a heavily accented voice boomed in English. Its owner, one of the figures and presumably the leader, held aloft and at arm’s length the ruined body of a superspider. “Who will tell me what in God’s name this is?”
40
He was draped in a poncho, hood drawn low in the pummelling rain, face obscured by shadow. For all the disgust he showed the oozing carcass held out in front of him, it might well have been a severed human head. He flung it to the muddy earth and wiped his hand as two more figures, similarly dressed and guns up, drew in like wraiths from the trees on either side. They flanked him, joining the three already in his company.
Rebecca’s mind reeled. In total, six figures—all with raised weapons, all in silhouette.
“Come out, please. Do not be afraid.”
Ed and Rebecca held their ground. Jessy had crawled to the entrance of her tent, craning to see.
“We’ve got an injured person in here,” Ed said. “Her leg is broken.”
A pause, then, “Come out, so we can talk. This rain is too loud.”
Ed and Rebecca traded glances.
“Please. We mean you no harm.”
Again, Ed and Rebecca exchanged an alarmed glance. “What choice do we have?” Rebecca whispered, passing Priscilla to Jessy before moving towards the cave’s exit.
A gentle peal of thunder rolled overhead. The storm was easing.
“Who are you?” Ed asked as he and Rebecca stepped warily from the cave. He still held the rifle and raised it slightly. The barrel got no higher than a few inches before a shadow fell across them.
“Please, senhor. Nothing stupid.”
Another of the gunmen had sneaked up behind them and pressed the muzzle of his weapon into Ed’s side. Rebecca sensed yet another man step in behind her. That made eight of them. “We don’t want any trouble,” she said, raising her hands as Ed relinquished the rifle.
“Good, neither do we. Where is the other?”
Ed eyed their weapons. “As I said, she’s injured. She can’t walk.”
The leader gestured to the man behind Rebecca, who peered cautiously into the cave. “There is only the three of you?”
“Yes. Who are you?” Ed said. “What do you want from us?”
The man at the mouth of the cave threw a nod to the leader, who then turned to the rest of his men and proceeded to issue instructions in Brazilian Portuguese. Four of the men fanned to opposing edges of the clearing. One remained, whispering to the leader.
“There should be eight of you,” the leader said, turning to Ed. “Where are the others?”
Ed straightened. “How the hell could you know that? Just who the hell are you—”
“They’re dead,” Rebecca interjected. “All of them. Killed by those things.” She nodded at one of the carcasses.
There was a moment of silence, the leader seeming to ponder her words. The X40s hummed in the background. Eventually, the man spoke again. His English was good. “What say we talk tomorrow, then? I’m sure your ordeal was exhausting.” He turned to walk off but then stopped and pointed distastefully at the carcass he’d hurled to the ground. “You can tell me about those in the morning.”
Dipping his head, he turned for the edge of the clearing.
Ed’s expression darkened. “Hang on a minute—”
“Senhor? Senhorita?” The man who had previously poked Ed with his gun motioned to the cave.
Ed ignored him. “Hey!” he said above the rain, calling out to the leader. “You can’t come marching in here—”
“Ed, leave it.” Rebecca took him by the arm. “Let’s go.”
The gunman poked Ed again with his weapon, an AK-74 Kalashnikov assault rifle. Ed held up his hands. “Okay, okay.”
They moved to the cave, past the table and chairs, Ed and Rebecca out in front, the two gunmen behind, herding them along. Rebecca ducked in the entrance, and Ed followed. The men took stance at the cave’s mouth.
Jessy clutched Priscilla as Rebecca and Ed clambered in beside her. “Ed?” Her voice trembled. “What’s going on?”
Rebecca closed the flap but didn’t zip it. “Who the hell are these people?” she whispered to Ed.
Ed took Jessy’s hand. “I don’t know,” he answered both women. He turned to Rebecca, his voice low. “They look and hold themselves like soldiers, but I doubt they’re regular army. Paramilitaries or guerrillas more like it. ‘Ratos de agua’, perhaps.”
“What?”
“‘Water Rats’. River pirates.”
“How did they know there were eight of us?” Rebecca asked. “And how the hell did they find us?”
Ed shook his head and frowned, leaning over to peer through the tent’s entrance. “I have no idea,” he said. “But whoever they are, if they wanted us dead, they wouldn’t have put us in here with two guards outside.” He leant back. “No doubt they want something from us.”
“What should we do?” Jessy asked. She had the bloodless, confused look of a driver whose car had just been hit unexpectedly from behind.
“I guess we sit tight,” Ed said. “It’s all we can do.”
“Sit tight?” Jessy said. “What about the chopper? What if it comes tonight, as planned?”
Again, Ed shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Rebecca could hear activity outside, and voices too, but couldn’t make out what was being said; the gunmen kept their tones low and had reverted to Portuguese. Occasionally, the words were followed by footsteps sloshing busily through puddles. Those sounds faded until only the drumming of rain on the tarpaulins remained.
Eventually, Rebecca said, “There is one explanation. It makes sense, after all.”
Thunder rumbled, and even though it was distant now, Priscilla, shaken, broke free of Jessy’s embrace and darted to Rebecca, who scooped her up.
As the tiny monkey snuggled in, Ed turned to Rebecca. “What are you thinking?”
Rebecca leaned forward, shifting Priscilla’s weight like a mother juggling a small child. “I’m thinking,” she said, “that maybe we’ve just met the owners of that plane.”
41
Owen stumbled over a tree root and picked himself up.
For more than two hours he and Sanchez were forced along the trail, three tribesmen in front and three behind, their pace brisk. Weighed with fatigue, Owen barely kept up, but then Sanchez also seemed to struggle, probably as amazed as he at the speed of their barefoot captors. The men glided effortlessly, melting through the trees.
The rain had eased, and the forest was otherwise quiet. Sanchez had fallen quiet, too. Owen sensed he was angry about having walked into an ambush and was secretly planning their next course of action. What that might be, he didn’t know, but he was certain they wouldn’t simply run off impulsively. Their abductors were too fast and agile; they’d have to wait for the right moment.
He wondered where they were being taken.
At last, Sanchez broke the silence, nodding ahead. “Up there.”
Owen followed his companion’s gaze. Through breaks in the canopy, rising over the treetops, leapt orange sparks.
A fire.
On cue, the tempo of their march increased. Moments later they entered a small clearing. At its centre burned a fire that sent a single plume of smoke snaking skyward. Around the fire, set in a ring, were five or six thatched huts. Owen thought he could see the tops of half a dozen more in the dense foliage beyond.
They’d arrived at their destination.
At first, the village seemed deserted. Then, slowly, with the same curious manner displayed earlier by the leader of their captors, a young boy appeared. He emerged from behind one of the domed huts, followed quietly by an even younger girl. Men and women appeared, too, until from out of nowhere at least two dozen people had assembled in the clearing to stare back at them.
Exhausted, dirty, their clothes ripped and soaked, Owen and Sanchez could only return their gazes. As the
crowd looked on, the young leader directed them to one of the huts and forced them inside, slamming shut a rudimentary door behind him as he left. There, in the darkness, Owen slumped to the floor, drained and weak. Sanchez stayed on his feet.
“Did you see them?” Owen murmured, hearing a level of excitement in his voice that belied his fatigue. “See the way they were looking at us? They haven’t seen people like us before. This is amazing. And this settlement—it’s a large one, all things considered. I counted at least a dozen huts.”
Sanchez scanned the walls. Through thin gaps seeped faint orange firelight, and as Owen’s eyes adjusted, he saw a determined expression on his companion’s face. “I know what you’re thinking,” Owen said. “But we don’t know who killed Elson, or what happened to Martins. It might not have been them.”
Sanchez continued his search for weaknesses. “They have brought us here against our will.”
“We were trespassing. They’re defending their territory. We can’t jump to conclusions.”
“We can’t leave anything to chance, either.”
Sanchez sounded mentally drained, but his words rang true. Crossing paths with a rare Amazonian tribe was exciting, but the gravity of their predicament couldn’t be ignored. They were captives, and to look past that, to defend their detainment or seek justification for it, was naïve, even reckless.
Outside, voices rose excitedly. Owen imagined the young men were recounting tales of their recent foray.
“Should we make a run for it now, then?” Owen said. The dwelling was little more than leaves and thatching; breaking out wouldn’t be difficult.
“Are up to it?” Sanchez asked.
Owen considered this. Despite having had more sleep, he wasn’t as fit as Sanchez and was probably even more exhausted than his companion. “Maybe. But if they come after us, at the speed they move, they’ll catch us quickly. And there could be reprisals.”