by WW Mortensen
Owen continued to moan. Sanchez wished he had water to give him. Standing, he thought about how he’d get the two of them out of there. As he did, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
Sanchez turned to find the young Yuguruppun had disappeared.
• • •
Spinning, Sanchez searched for his adversary.
A gaping hole had appeared in the web where the Yuguruppun had been just moments ago. Beyond it was a deep blackness.
The young man was nowhere to be seen.
Without taking his eyes from the silken rent, Sanchez stooped to retrieve the spear and once more scanned the pit. Nothing.
Cautiously, spear in both hands, its tip forward, he stepped towards the hole. Braced and alert, he listened for his opponent’s footsteps, assuming he was trying to outmanoeuvre him. He heard nothing.
Sanchez crept forward. Three feet to the hole.
Ahead, something stirred. He sensed it shifting in the darkness beyond the hole in the silk. He froze and heard a shuffling sound, then more silence. Stepping closer, Sanchez strained through the gloom. He stepped up to the silk, drawing level with it.
Sanchez stuck his head through the hole and peered into the darkness beyond.
• • •
All along, he’d presumed the Yuguruppun had regained consciousness, freeing himself from the silk and retreating into the shadows. He’d been wrong. The young man hadn’t done that at all.
He’d been removed from the web.
The barking noise—low, almost a growl—came as the attack burst from the blackness.
Sanchez brought the spear up as glistening fangs filled his vision. Leaping through the hole, the jumper hit him in the chest with stunning force. Sanchez tumbled backwards as its forelegs gripped him by the shoulders, the huge arachnid firmly atop him as he struck the ground.
The spear was all that separated them. Sanchez held the shaft horizontally across himself like the Yuguruppun had earlier. The creature locked its dark, curved fangs around the stick, clicking and hissing only inches away, venom spraying from their tips. On either side of the animal’s mouth, its two hand-like pedipalps waved in the air, clawing, brushing at his face. Long, spindly legs pummelled him. The thing tried to press down, using its weight to overpower him. Sanchez didn’t dare strike back for fear of losing his grip on the spear. It was all he could do to keep the creature at bay.
A second jumper appeared beside him, landing with a padded thud a couple of feet to his left.
Sanchez met its gaze. Eight glassy black orbs peered back at him, sizing him up.
The second jumper reared, lifting its body off the ground to expose the stiff shield of its sternum in a menacing threat-pose. Raised skyward, its legs were not unlike the arms of the shaman when he had beseeched the crowd.
The creature struck swiftly with its fangs.
Pain seared through Sanchez’s left shoulder, arcing through his arm as if he’d been stabbed by red-hot pokers. He cried out, unable to prevent the scream as the frenzied jumper removed the grooved teeth and reared again.
Somehow, he still had the spear, which held the first jumper at bay. He instinctively heaved upwards, rolling left in the one motion.
The first jumper, still stubbornly attached, rolled with him… right into the path of the second.
It was enough to unbalance the rearing, second jumper and cause it to scamper backwards. Momentarily, the two spiders became entwined, legs flailing. Attempting to disentangle itself, the first jumper released its hold on Sanchez. It was all he needed. He was on his feet in a flash, spear in hand. He spun to face them, his back now to the web.
Both creatures were already in the air.
Reflexively, Sanchez jerked his body sideways and ducked.
The first of the spiders clipped him with two of its legs as it passed, attempting to change its trajectory mid-leap to match the movement of its target. Sanchez felt it whoosh past his face, its velvety soft hairs caressing his cheek as it slipped by.
The second jumper had taken a lower angle to that of its companion, aiming for his torso while the other had aimed for his head. Because Sanchez had ducked, it now came directly at his face, legs spread in a starburst, its soft underbelly rushing into his vision.
The spider leapt onto the tip of Sanchez’s spear, impaling itself in the centre of its plate-like chest. Momentum sent the creature coursing down the spear, the shaft passing effortlessly through the soft, yielding flesh.
It’s not slowing down…
Alarmed, Sanchez watched as the spider, legs spread, continued down the spear towards him. The shaft disappeared before his eyes. His left hand, gripping the weapon, disappeared with it… right into the creature’s abdomen.
Still, it slid. An inch from Sanchez’s face, it stopped—and all eight legs closed around his head and shoulders.
Impossibly, the creature tried to draw him nearer. Its strength was immense. With his left hand still trapped inside its body, the right pinned by the smothering hug of its enclosed legs, Sanchez strained to pull his head backwards and away. The creature’s jaw-like mouthparts moved feverishly, the two unsheathed fangs clicking, spraying venom an inch from the tip of his nose. Still, it pulled, the stench overpowering, faintly fishy and sweet. He gagged.
Sanchez released the spear from his left hand. Ignoring the wound to his shoulder, he thrust up his arm, fingers outstretched. The creature’s insides parted to allow him passage, wet and foul and acrid, and his eyes stung.
Whether or not the organ he finally located was its heart, or its brain, Sanchez couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was, it was large enough to grab. It felt warm. Gripping it fiercely, Sanchez tore his hand out.
The spider shuddered violently, its legs releasing him and twitching madly as though gripped by an electric current. A geyser of foul-smelling liquid sprayed across Sanchez’s chest and face.
The creature was dead.
He flung the whole oozing mess—spear and skewered prize included—to the floor, spinning to face the other jumper…
…and almost smiled.
When it had leapt for him, clipping him on the way, it had continued into the remains of the web. It was now stuck in the silk, its efforts to free itself serving only to trap it further.
Relief washed over Sanchez. He was lucky the creature hadn’t leapt straight through the hole and had instead struck the surrounding strands. But he didn’t hesitate. The jumper was still alive, and if it managed to escape…
He rushed back to where he’d tossed the spear. With his boot on the carcass of the first spider, he slid the weapon free and spun back to the trapped jumper. The creature continued to struggle, unable to get leverage, although two of its legs had indeed writhed free.
Raising the spear, Sanchez stepped up to his defeated adversary. The jumper, sensing him, stopped moving.
Sanchez peered at the creature, trapped helplessly in the web, and shivered with revulsion. He raised the spear.
Without warning, the spider brushed its free rear legs over the back of its abdomen. It was quick. A stream of fine hairs puffed out like the spores of a fungus, hitting Sanchez square in the face. The pain was immediate and intense, as though he’d been set afire. In reflex, he jerked the spear tip upwards, into the spider’s brain, killing it instantly. It fell limp in the web, dark ichor spilling to the ground.
Dropping the spear, Sanchez stumbled backwards, his vision blurring. Clawing at his face, he pulled at the stinging hairs and flung them away. The burning endured, however, and it was some time before it eased. With it, his vision improved, but remained watery.
He was processing this turn of events when the sharp throb in his left shoulder intensified. He looked at the bite—the two neat puncture holes with their spreading pools of crimson—and bandaged it with what was left of his shirt. He ensured the injury was tightly compressed—if he’d been injected with venom, it was vital he slow the flow of toxins to his heart.
He returned to Owen, who w
as semiconscious, and checked his abdominal wound. The bandage seemed to be working, but he required urgent medical attention.
Through tear-filled eyes, Sanchez looked up. The pit-cover was still in place. Beyond it he could hear the tribe chanting and whooping, in the throes of some sort of victory ceremony. Even if his vision improved and he managed to climb the pit wall with his injured shoulder, somehow dragging Owen up with him, they’d never escape the throng.
Sanchez pulled Owen to his feet, each man grunting in pain. With his companion draped over his good shoulder, he decided upon the only available course of action.
Eyes stinging, Sanchez headed through the hole, into the darkness.
Into the nest.
51
Rebecca was in the blind, alone. Behind the netting, two guards stood quietly.
She glanced at her watch. Forty minutes had passed since Ed had entered the burrow, thirty since he’d last reported in. She was getting worried. Where was he?
She scratched her right arm. This morning a lesion had risen there, probably an infected mosquito bite. She was surprised and concerned her carefully maintained defences had been breached, and clearly more than once; other sores dotted her body, too. But the welt high on her forearm was the problem—the itch was maddening. Raised like a rash, it seemed to be getting worse by the minute. A pinprick of blood and pus had pooled at its head and she wiped it away.
She did her best to ignore it and lifted the binoculars to her eyes. Realistically, she didn’t think Ed would be exiting the tunnel just yet, but in the absence of radio contact, she had an overwhelming need to locate him visually.
Since he’d entered the burrow, Rebecca had been left largely to her own devices—ignored by Oliveira, though always shadowed by two of his men. Following Ed’s first report, Oliveira had disappeared. Where to, she had no idea. For the most part, she had kept her vigil here, though minutes ago she’d returned to camp to check on Jessy and bring her up to speed. Jessy had seemed distant and removed, erecting a wall, perhaps, against the inevitable threat of bad news.
Without warning, Oliveira appeared behind her and Rebecca jumped. He crouched beside her as the comm radio on the ground between them hissed to life.
A wash of static, then Ed’s voice: “You there? I’ve made it. I’m out of the burrow.”
Rebecca’s heart leapt. She snatched up the radio. Minutes ago, she’d tried to raise Ed herself, but had gotten static. She’d figured the burrow had been interfering with the signal; either that, or Ed had switched off the radio for the remainder of the journey.
“Ed, we’re here,” she said. “What do you see?”
A pause.
“Not much. Without the flares and the goggles, nothing at all. It’s pitch-black in here.” Ed carried infrared flares—virtually invisible to the human eye, but able to increase the brightness and range of the NVGs, which needed minimal light to function.
“I’m currently standing…”—static—“…cross-tunnel of some sort… a T-junction. The burrow opened straight into it. This new tunnel runs roughly north-south. And you know…”—more static—“…it might even be man-made. It seems to be lined with silk, like the burrow… stale smell.”
The signal wavered and then cut out altogether before coming back. The reception was poor. Several of Ed’s words were lost.
“…otherwise, all’s quiet.” More interference, then: “Any suggestions… direction?”
“North is where the plane is,” Rebecca said.
“North it is, then. The air seems a little fresher… I’m heading uphill…”
“Ed, I think we should maintain radio silence where possible. Just keep us informed.”
“Okay, will do. Speak to you soon, then. Out.”
The radio went dead.
Rebecca returned the handset to the ground and scratched her arm again.
“So far, so good,” Oliveira said without turning, lighting a cigarette and taking a long draw.
Staring at the pyramid, Rebecca said nothing.
After a while, Oliveira said, “You have been wondering about the people I work for. It is understandable. I imagine you have been wondering about me, too, and the kind of person I am.”
“I’ve already worked it out,” Rebecca answered coldly.
Oliveira exhaled a line of grey smoke.
“What’s so important about that package?” Rebecca said. “That you’d come all the way out here for it?”
Oliveira inhaled. “It is the property of my employer. He would like it returned.”
As always, his eyes remained hidden behind the reflective lenses of his aviators, but Rebecca noticed his jaw clench, and got the distinct impression there was a more personal reason for him being here.
They fell into a long silence. Eventually, Oliveira said, “So what brings you here?”
Rebecca opened her mouth to reply but didn’t. The sore on her arm was bleeding again, the itch intensifying. It was almost as though…
She felt herself blanch.
Something was writhing beneath her skin.
“What the hell?” she shrieked. “There’s something in there!”
Oliveira took her wrist and examined the sore. “Yes, there is.”
“What is it?” Rebecca cried, withdrawing her arm in panic.
Oliveira took it back. “Here, give me your hand.”
“Why? What are you going to do?”
Calling in Portuguese, Oliveira summoned Luis, who approached and smiled at Rebecca, revealing once more his missing front tooth. He knelt beside her as Oliveira blew a mouthful of smoke from his cigarette into the swollen, pus-filled wound.
“What are you doing?” Rebecca said, her alarm growing.
Ignoring her, Oliveira muttered to Luis as the second man took her arm. Oliveira blew more smoke, and Luis proceeded to massage the site of the bleeding boil, carefully manipulating the surrounding skin before squeezing his fingers together quickly and hard.
Rebecca yelped in surprise and revulsion as a tiny worm shot out of her arm, landing on the ground at least two feet away.
Oliveira lunged for it. White, and about an inch long, the thing wriggled between his fingers.
“That was in me?” Rebecca said, bile rising in her throat. “What the hell is it?”
“The boro, senhorita. Botfly larvae.”
“What?”
Oliveira smiled at her and held the larvae out for closer examination. “Days ago, this fellow’s mother, a tiny fly, caught a mosquito and laid her eggs on it. Upon release, that mosquito fed on you. At least one of the eggs fell on you and later hatched, and this fellow burrowed into your skin. Once fully grown, it would have emerged through its breathing hole—the hole in your skin we squeezed it from.” Oliveira threw it to the ground and squashed it beneath his boot. “We have all had them. Disgusting, eh? But nothing of concern.”
Rebecca swallowed a few times, trying to regain her composure. Disgusting didn’t cut it.
Luis smiled. “There will be more. You will adapt.” With that, he got up and left.
Rebecca swallowed again. “Great,” she murmured, reminded of something Chad had said to her a lifetime ago. What had he called it? The Law of Adaptation?
Rebecca glanced at the bleeding welt. It needed antiseptic cream. On the ground beside her, Priscilla rested peacefully. She gave her a pat and wondered if all mammals were prone to such violation.
Oliveira stood to leave, drawing on his cigarette. “Luis is the best at removing the boro. When you find your next, we shall call for him again.” He chuckled and flicked the cigarette stub away.
“Great,” Rebecca repeated as he left. “Just great.”
• • •
Only minutes later, a cry cut across the north-western vantage point—sudden, abrupt. It came from one of Oliveira’s men, stationed near the trapdoor. He’d been ordered there to keep watch on the web and get a visual on Ed as he emerged from the tunnel. He’d spotted something.
Rebecca
stood and raised the binoculars, thoughts of the boro mercifully forgotten. Something moved at the foot of the pyramid’s northern face and she reached for the radio as it crackled to life.
“Bec. You there? I’m out of the tunnel.”
“I’m here. We’ve got a visual on you. No trouble getting out?”
“None at all. We were right about circumventing the nest, but I didn’t think it would be this easy. The cross-tunnel brought me here—it went up in a continual straight line.”
“Nothing branched off it? No other tunnels leading elsewhere?”
“None that I noticed. The passage is definitely man-made—constructed by the people who built this city, unlike the burrow, which was obviously dug out by the spiders. Not sure of the tunnel’s exact purpose, or what might have been waiting in the other direction, but then maybe that’s best. Anyway, it’s led me to a kind of square at the front of the pyramid, which is where you can see me now. I think it’s a courtyard or a plaza or something.”
Oliveira stepped in beside Rebecca. “How’s the silk?” she asked Ed. “Can you move through it?”
“Yeah. I’m in a barrier web. There’s silk everywhere, covering everything, though it’s not sticky and I can move freely. The threads aren’t dense.”
Rebecca scanned the web. She couldn’t see any workers. “Can you see any… residents?”
“Negative. This place is Snoozeville. This is gonna be easier than we thought.”
Oliveira snatched the radio from Rebecca’s hands. “What about the plane?”
“I can see the plane above me. The northern staircase is off to my right. I’m heading for it now. I’ll have that package before you know it.”
Despite everything running perfectly to plan—or perhaps because of that—Rebecca felt a shortness of breath. Something wasn’t right. She thought about the spiders’ ability to alter their colour and match their surroundings.
Oliveira must have read her mind. “Do not be complacent, amigo,” he advised Ed. “You know those things are there somewhere, eh? You should be careful.”