by WW Mortensen
Ed glanced again at the tent flap, as though concerned the guards would overhear.
Rebecca lowered her voice. “Picture this: we’ve got that great depression in the ground out there, and sitting inside it is the pyramid, a portion of which is sticking above the bowl’s rim. Entwined about it is the web. At first glance, the web seems random, unstructured. But it’s not. Rising from the lip of the bowl and high into the canopy is a dome-like ‘lid’ of silk.”
“A lid?”
Rebecca nodded. “This lid runs through the canopy and down the other side, encapsulating the pyramid. Hundreds of silken support lines—scaffolding, essentially—run horizontally from the dome and extend into the forest above and beyond the bowl.”
“Like the threads attached to the two giant moai,” Ed reasoned.
“Exactly,” Rebecca said. “They’re not there to capture anything, they’re simply a means of support. You’ve also got these very same threads running towards the centre as well, attached to the pyramid, and others running vertically into the canopy. The dome itself is the catching-surface, the place where prey gets stuck. The scaffolding suspends it in place. Flying prey might hit the support threads and get knocked onto the catching-surface, but they need to hit that—the dome—to become properly entangled.”
Rebecca made sure she still had him before clearing her throat to continue. “The dome is a network of interconnected ‘sheet webs’, woven together like patchwork. They’re extremely sticky. Simply put, anything that hits them gets stuck. Running a few feet beneath this outer layer—think of the different layers of an onion—is an internal dome called a ‘barrier web’. This is constructed much the same as the outer sheets, but it’s dry.”
“Dry?”
“Non-adhesive,” Rebecca said. “Ever wondered why spiders don’t get stuck in their own webs? Partly, it’s because they have these areas of dry, non-sticky silk. The barrier web is a communal layer through which all the spiders in the colony can move, grabbing prey entangled on the outer catching-surface and dragging it through.”
“Uh-huh,” Ed said.
“Where the plane is entangled—a third of the way down the pyramid’s northern face—is an area I suspect was once the dome’s former ceiling. It’s a horizontal, trampoline-like sheet web. The spiders have built over the top of this sheet to form the current ceiling. Maybe they did this because the plane caused irreparable damage when it crashed into the original sheet.” Rebecca shrugged. “In any case, you’re confronted by this: moving down from the canopy, you have the top sheet of the dome—the current roof or ceiling—then a few feet beneath that, the communal barrier web. A few feet beneath that, is the old ceiling—the old capture-sheet which was once the top of the dome, where the plane is entangled. Then, beneath that, is most likely another barrier web extending to the ground and the base of the pyramid.”
Ed wiped at his brow. Rebecca realised she was also sweating. It was warm in the tent with all of them crowded in there.
“I can guess where you’re going with this,” Ed said. “To get to the plane, I’ve got to get past the outer adhesive layer and into the inner non-adhesive layer, the barrier web, so I can move around like the spiders, right? But that’s the problem, isn’t it? How do I do that? How exactly do I get in there, past the outer layer? Burn it with the flamethrower?”
Rebecca shook her head. “You might be able to burn through the catching-sheet, but you’d attract a lot of attention.”
Ed frowned. “So, you’re telling me I can’t go through it, and I can’t go over the top of it. What exactly, am I to do?”
Rebecca looked at him. “Simple,” she said. “You go underneath it.”
46
“Underneath it?”
Rebecca nodded. “I said to you earlier I thought the colony’s central communal area is likely located within the pyramid itself. It makes sense: they’ll have built themselves ‘retreats’—sheltered chambers, galleries, places to rest and hide—and I can’t see any of that in the visible regions of the web.”
“Sounds like an ant nest,” Jessy said.
Rebecca nodded. “Ant colonies have numerous chambers—nurseries, places where food is stored, even gathering places for workers, all connected by passageways. Many of the non-territorial species of social spider build large-scale nests with similar traits.” Rebecca eyed Ed. “I know how to access the nest and avoid the web entirely. I can get you underneath it.”
“The trapdoor,” Ed said slowly.
“Right,” Rebecca said. “Most trapdoor spiders have a burrow—a tunnel—leading down from their door, and several other tunnels or escape routes branching off it. It stands to reason that the individual we saw yesterday would have access to the nest.”
Ed smiled. “A tunnel that leads under the web and into the communal area.”
“I’m guessing right into the pyramid itself.”
Jessy’s face drained of colour. “And you’re suggesting he goes in there—through the trapdoor and into the pyramid—via that tunnel? Into the nest? That’s worse than going over the top! The heart of the nest?!”
“I’m hoping he’ll find another tunnel, one that circumvents the heart and leads up into the area at the base of the pyramid. If he can get there, he’ll find himself in the lower barrier web—the one beneath the plane.”
“The non-adhesive web…” Ed said.
“Non-adhesive, and not as dense. The outer capture-sheets are built to absorb a lot of energy: big, fast prey. Their radii are more numerous, far thicker and stronger. But the barrier web isn’t designed to catch prey, so you should be able to move through it. Mind you, when I say move, you won’t be able to climb up through the strands.”
“Let me guess—no leverage.”
Rebecca nodded. “That’s why prey can’t free themselves once ensnared. You’ll be able to pass through the web at ground level, but you’ll have to use the surrounding trees and vegetation to climb up higher. I’m guessing you can use the steps on the pyramid’s northern face to position yourself across from the plane and fire the grappling hook from there.”
“Right,” Ed said. “But didn’t you say the plane is entangled in the old capture-sheet? That’ll stop me from getting inside, right?”
“Technically, yes,” Rebecca said, “but here’s the thing: unlike most orb webs, which are rebuilt every day, the space web is a permanent structure and rarely requires renewal. While this is convenient, there’s a downside. Sticky silk eventually loses its adhesiveness. I suspect the stickiness of the old capture-sheet will be minimal, due to its age. The spiders won’t have renewed that layer of silk, because they simply built a new layer of sticky silk above it.”
Ed smiled. “And the silk the plane’s wrapped in? What about that?”
“A different variety again,” Rebecca said. “Spiders cocoon their catch with swathing-silk. For whatever reason, these spiders swathed the plane. It won’t be a problem, though. You’ll be able to penetrate the swathing-silk easily enough. It’s non-sticky. Try slicing it with the machete but burn it if you have to.”
Jessy shook her head vehemently, visibly distressed by the whole scenario. “No. No! That sounds okay in theory, but he’ll draw too much attention. They’ll be attracted to his movements. They’ll sense him and converge long before he can get near the plane.”
Rebecca disagreed. “Not necessarily,” she said. She looked at Jessy, bit her lip. “Not if he goes while they’re asleep.”
• • •
Jessy frowned.
“You’ve heard of ‘circadian rhythm’?” Rebecca said.
“The twenty-four-hour biological cycle of activity and inactivity,” Jessy said. “Most organisms obey it to some degree.”
Rebecca nodded. “Spiders are no exception. While we’re not sure if they ‘sleep’ in the true sense, they certainly go through a daily interval of rest marked by a drop in metabolic rate. Having seen this species in action, I believe they’re nocturnal.”
Je
ssy shook her head. “What about the attack on Enrique? That was during the day.”
“It might merely have been an attack of opportunity,” Rebecca mused. “Or they could be crepuscular: active during twilight. It was late afternoon when they attacked. Every other encounter has been at night. I’m not saying they don’t have the capacity to be active during the day—after all, most spiders with good vision are—but the evidence points more to daylight hours being the time they shut down. There wasn’t much activity in the web yesterday; a skeleton crew was on call, but even those members stayed huddled and unmoving for much of the time. Meanwhile, the rest of the colony was nowhere to be seen. Logic suggests they’d retreated into the heart of the nest. It also suggests that if Ed can get in while it’s still light, while most of the colony is inside the nest resting, his chance of success will be improved.”
Ed straightened. “That’s good enough. I go in today—underneath, through the trapdoor.” He moved to leave but made it no farther than the tent’s entrance. “One problem, though. What about the spider that’s guarding it?”
47
Rebecca crouched in the low-lying fernery a few dozen feet from where Enrique had been attacked. Flanked by four of Oliveira’s men, she lowered her binoculars and glanced at Ed.
From his position in front of the blind, Ed tossed her a discreet wink and turned to Oliveira on his other side. “There should be a trigger mechanism—silken trip-lines, sometimes a silken mat or a root or stick with a thread attached.”
He looked back at her, and Rebecca gave him an almost imperceptible nod. So far, he’d played his role to perfection, delivering the lines she’d fed him earlier with ease.
Juggling Priscilla, who had wanted to stick close, Rebecca shifted her gaze to Oliveira. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him last night, but when she’d laid eyes on him this morning—poncho discarded, fatigues tucked into military boots, sleeves ripped from a faded khaki shirt and not an ounce of fat on his muscular frame—she realised he was young, at most a year or two older than her. He wasn’t as aggressive or impulsive as she’d anticipated, either. Like Ed had said, he seemed reasonable.
He also seemed impressed by Ed’s plan. Fortunately, he’d agreed that the sooner Ed got going, the better. He’d mobilised his men and the group had moved down here, seven of them in total. Jessy, tent-bound, had stayed behind with two minders. Cartana, who was keeping well out of Ed’s sight, had stayed, too.
Looking at Oliveira now, Rebecca dared to hope that maybe Ed was right, that once they’d gotten what they wanted, these men would leave as promised and she, Ed, and Jessy would somehow get out of here. Still, she was wary. While Oliveira was calm and deliberate, his eyes were impossible to read because they were hidden always behind a pair of silver aviator sunglasses. And as willingly as he had listened, beneath the surface flowed a disquieting undercurrent that suggested it was imperative Ed uphold his end of the bargain.
Which meant getting to the plane.
So they’d amassed down here to search for the trapdoor. Oliveira had proposed his men accompany Ed, but Ed had convinced him of the importance of going alone. Fewer people, less noise. Likely aware Ed wouldn’t try anything stupid while the girls were hostage, Oliveira had agreed, but he wasn’t the type to leave anything to chance. The four guards who’d escorted them here were heavily armed.
Rebecca scanned the group. The men struck her as clones of Oliveira—of similar age, lean and fit, with dark skin and long, messy hair. Despite some rough edges, they seemed alert, disciplined. They rarely spoke and moved with military precision.
The one who strayed from the mould was Oliveira’s second-in-command, De Sousa. He had an entirely shaved head and stood at more than six feet tall. His height, barrel chest and tree-trunk arms made his companions look weak in comparison. Rebecca found his behaviour unsettling. More than once she’d felt his gaze, and when she looked, he’d be grinning.
After the first time, she kept her distance.
“The trapdoor won’t be obvious, nor the trigger,” Ed said, maintaining the subterfuge.
Rebecca turned to his voice. She had to give Ed credit. He was convincing, and Oliveira seemed to be buying it.
She’d told him earlier that the door would be disguised to blend with the forest floor. Even so, she figured their chances of finding it were high—now that the rain had passed, shafts of sunlight broke in several places upon the leaf-covered ground, and visibility was above average.
“There,” Ed said, pointing. A fine mat of silken trip-lines fanned out in a circle several feet in diameter. At its centre was a bare patch of earth.
The trapdoor.
“There’s one of them behind that door,” Ed said. “Two of its forelegs will be pressed against the lid, ready to swing it open. Other legs will be caressing the silken trip-lines, waiting for prey.” He swallowed hard. “We saw it the day before yesterday. It’s big. Damn big. And fast, too. For all intents and purposes, it’s a sentry.”
The door was more than a yard across. Judging by the look on Oliveira’s face, Rebecca guessed that had he not witnessed last night’s attack, he would have scoffed at Ed’s claims.
Eventually, Oliveira said, “So, how do we get it out? Knock?”
“We need to lure it out, and kill it,” Rebecca said.
Oliveira smirked, wiping at a line of sweat that had eased from beneath his khaki headwrap. “And what, senhorita, should we use as bait?”
A shadow fell across Rebecca and suddenly Priscilla was torn from her grasp.
“HEY! What the hell are you doing?” Rebecca cried, standing and lunging for Priscilla as De Sousa backed away with the monkey in both hands, at arm’s length out in front of him. Priscilla shrieked and flailed in his grip.
“Stop it! You’re hurting her!” Rebecca screamed, and charged at him.
De Sousa leapt easily out of reach. “Bait,” he said, grinning.
“NO!” Rebecca yelled, pouncing again, but this time one of the other men caught her wrists and twisted them behind her back.
“Ow!” Rebecca cried.
“Hey! Take it easy!” Ed said to the man and moved towards him. A second man grasped him from behind, halting him. A third stepped in, weapon raised.
Ed turned to Oliveira. “There must be another way.”
Oliveira ignored him and jutted his chin at De Sousa, who proceeded on a path to the trapdoor.
“No!” Rebecca kicked out at her captor, connecting with a muscled leg. As she struggled, the grip tightened on her wrists until she couldn’t feel her hands. “You’re animals! A bunch of fucking animals!”
“Let her go!” Ed said, also struggling.
A short distance from the trapdoor, De Sousa moved beneath a large capirona, using it as cover. Held in front of him, Priscilla squirmed, but she was tiring.
“Please… stop him!” Rebecca said tearfully, spinning on Oliveira, who said something in Portuguese to the man holding her wrists. She felt a release and not knowing what else to do, rushed into Ed’s arms as he too was freed.
Oliveira issued further instructions to the man who had intercepted Ed, and then turned to Rebecca. “Do not fear. Luis never misses.”
Checking the mag of his weapon and punching it back in, Luis smiled crookedly. He was missing a front tooth.
“What are you doing?” Rebecca asked, and as the words left her mouth De Sousa snapped his arms outwards and launched Priscilla towards the trapdoor.
“No!”
Priscilla landed awkwardly a couple of feet beyond the silken mat. Shakily, she got to her feet and glanced about, dazed but unhurt. De Sousa had tied a thin rope around her neck.
Ed turned urgently to Oliveira. “The last time the sentry burst out other guards—other spiders—came for us.”
For a time, Priscilla seemed confused and stared blankly ahead. De Sousa jerked the rope and pulled her closer. By now, Luis had moved down the slope and had set himself against a tree, the rifle trained on the trapdoor. Sp
urred into action by De Sousa’s tugging, Priscilla started moving. Her ordeal seemingly forgotten, she picked over the ground for things to eat. She found a fallen piece of fruit, put it to her mouth, and paused. Then she took another step forward, onto the mat, and Rebecca jerked her head away, unable to look.
Nothing happened.
Rebecca turned back.
“Why does it not take the bait?” Oliveira whispered.
And then it did.
It was every bit as terrifying as two days ago. In a blur, the ground exploded upwards, the sentry—all legs and bared fangs—launching itself from the wide hole beneath.
Luis was equal to the task.
By the time Rebecca had even registered gunfire, the sentry was slumped dead at the tunnel entrance, its legs retracting into a ball.
Rebecca ran for the trapdoor. Ed went with her and grasped a leg of the shattered sentry before the carcass could slide back into the hole. At the same time Rebecca scooped Priscilla into her arms.
Somehow—thank God—Priscilla was still alive, but she screeched in pain. In the split-second before Luis’s bullets had found their mark, the spider had dug its fangs into her left haunch, leaving two nasty-looking punctures. Priscilla thrashed as though on fire. Rebecca flew into action, discarding the rope around Priscilla’s neck and tending the wound. As she wrapped the limb with a piece of her own shirt, she noted Priscilla wasn’t exhibiting the usual signs of envenomation. Not yet, anyway. Toxins had varying effects on animals; cats and dogs, for instance, were largely unaffected by the bite of the Australian funnel-web spider, a species deadly to humans and monkeys. Sometimes, too, a bite could be ‘dry’. In this case, the spider probably hadn’t had time to inject its venom. Still, she’d monitor Priscilla closely.
“Poor monkey,” De Sousa said with a cruel, taunting laugh. He loomed over Rebecca. “Too bad for her, eh?”
Rebecca leapt to her feet and slapped De Sousa’s face.