Eight

by WW Mortensen

  Rebecca pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. Regaining control, she inspected the corpse more closely, noting there were more than just the one or two wounds she would have expected: Enrique was covered in hundreds of tiny puncture marks…

  A sudden crash beside her cut through the stillness. Turning, she saw Oliveira’s boot stamping down upon a hard-plastic object the size of a GPS receiver.

  A personal locator beacon—that was what had been beeping! Concerned only with Enrique, Rebecca hadn’t noticed it sitting on the ground beside her, framed by the square of light from the crack above. Enrique must have activated the device sometime prior to his death.

  Now, it had been deactivated.

  Rebecca said nothing. Why Oliveira had destroyed the PLB was obvious, and hardly surprising. He didn’t want attention.

  “We should get out of here,” she said, standing.

  But suddenly Oliveira was holding firm. Rebecca followed his gaze—

  —and understood why.

  Throughout the room, immersed in the sea of silk and only now brought into stark, hideous contrast by the artificial glow of their combined chemlights, were the corpses of a host of other victims, all in varying states of decay, many, like Enrique, covered in maggots.

  Rebecca’s stomach rolled at the gruesome sight. As far as she could tell, they were all animal corpses, but even so, a chill swept through her. She and Oliveira were surrounded by death, a blunt reminder of the inherent threat of this place.

  It seemed to spark Oliveira into action, and he seized her. “Let us chat, eh?” His eyes flared with that dangerous look that had manifested in their confrontation just prior to entering the burrow. His tone was equally intimidating. “Time for answers, okay?”

  Rebecca squirmed in his grip. “Sorry?”

  Oliveira pulled her close. “I want to know everything: about them, about that object buried in the cavern below. You know more than you let on, and I want to know what it is. Compreender?”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “You know something,” Oliveira hissed, tightening his grip.

  Whimpering, Rebecca said, “I’ve got a theory.”

  “Tell me!”

  Rebecca was confused. Now that Oliveira had what he’d come for—the package, whatever the hell it was—why wasn’t his sole focus on getting out? Escaping? Why was he delaying his exit? And why was he keeping her so close? With the package in hand, her position was at best precarious, maybe even redundant. But Oliveira’s manner, though alarming, was intriguing. He had wanted Ed conscious. Why?

  Whatever the reason, time was an issue; outside, night was fast approaching, and they needed to get moving. But she knew Oliveira wouldn’t relent, not until he had his answers.

  “All right,” she said. “But not here… this smell…”

  Oliveira pulled her to the doorway. As they went, Rebecca stooped and seized a hard-rubber case of aerial mini-flares from the ground beside Enrique’s spilled pack. Somewhat surprisingly, Oliveira didn’t stop her.

  As she was ushered from the room, Rebecca stole a final glance at Enrique, the young man she’d known all too briefly, then crossed herself and pocketed the tiny gold crucifix she’d snatched at the same time she’d picked up the flares. She muttered a quick prayer for him, then ducked through the doorway.

  74

  They returned to the first room to find Luis hunched over Ed. “He is waking,” he said, beckoning them over.

  Rebecca squirmed from Oliveira’s grip and rushed to Ed’s side. He was indeed rousing: soft murmurs escaped his lips and his head lolled about. Rebecca steadied it in her hands. “Ed!”

  Ed’s eyes cracked open, struggling to focus. “B… Bec?” he moaned, his head as floppy as that of a new-born baby. “Man… do I… feel like shit… or what?”

  Once again, Rebecca felt a sting of tears, but this time she was beaming. She threw her arms around him. “Take it from me, you look a damn sight worse.” She kissed him, almost laughing as relief coursed through her.

  Free of his silken bonds, Ed tried to return the hug and force a half-smile of his own, but the effort was too great and again, his eyes fell shut as he faded from consciousness.

  “Ed!”

  Oliveira crouched beside her. He shook Ed, who didn’t respond. “Wake him again,” he said to Luis. He stood and once more lifted Rebecca by the arm. “Let us talk.”

  His strength was frightening, and Rebecca felt as though she’d been caught in the current of a raging river. Oliveira manhandled her to one of the room’s distant corners. Out of earshot, he spun her by the shoulders. “Talk!”

  His demeanour was unsettling. “It’s just a theory,” Rebecca blurted.

  “I want to hear it.”

  But she didn’t know where to begin. She was confused, reeling with all that had happened. What’s more—now faced with it—she couldn’t help but feel her theory was pure absurdity. Her mind raced. She didn’t want to incite Oliveira further by giving him useless, irrelevant information.

  Oliveira shook her. “Tell me what you know and start at the beginning.”

  Rebecca nodded. “All right.” She took a deep breath, running the back of her hand across her sweat-drenched forehead before clearing her throat. “When I arrived three days ago, Ed had this specimen—one of the spiders. He’d killed it in an attack on him and one of his men a few weeks back. I’d never seen anything like it and could only presume it was a survivor from another era, maybe an example of a prehistoric species unknown to science that had evolved in isolation to gigantic proportions and endured to the present. But something didn’t fit. Then, when I saw that object in that chamber, well, suddenly, it did.” Rebecca paused, steeling herself before blurting, “What if these things didn’t evolve here, as I first thought?”

  Oliveira’s eyes narrowed. “Did not evolve in this jungle?”

  “No. On this planet.”

  “What?”

  Rebecca looked at him and swallowed hard, struggling to verbalise her thoughts. “What if they aren’t indigenous to this planet at all? What if these spiders… are alien?”

  • • •

  As always, Oliveira’s expression was stern, humourless. Even so, had the circumstances been less pressing, Rebecca was sure her revelation would have caused him to laugh.

  “You are not serious,” Oliveira said.

  Rebecca nodded. “Trust me—I find this harder to stomach than you. But you wanted to know what I thought, and I’m telling you.”

  Oliveira was wary. “Continue.”

  “You saw that sphere down there with your own eyes. Where do you think it came from? How did it get there? More pressingly, what the hell is it? Seems to me it isn’t local, and that doesn’t leave many possibilities. When I was in that chamber and the cavern below, I had a thought about the boro.”

  Oliveira frowned. “What?”

  “The boro, the botfly larva,” Rebecca said. “What if that thing in the chamber below is some sort of… probe, an unmanned, extraterrestrial craft of some kind?”

  “How is that related to the boro?”

  “Hear me out. Imagine this thing’s mission is to rove indiscriminately throughout the universe, recording, amassing data, or more specifically, sent to individual planets, like we send probes to the Moon, or to Mars, in search of life, or to collect samples. What if, in doing so, it picked up something in its travels, deliberately or otherwise? A specimen or contaminant of some form. An egg.” She paused. “That’s when I thought of the boro. Remember what you told me? You said the botfly would catch a live mosquito, attach an egg to it, and release it again unharmed. The mosquito would go and feed as normal, at which point the egg would hatch and the botfly larvae would burrow into the skin of the victim, to itself feed and grow within.”

  “That sphere down there, the probe, is the egg-carrying mosquito.”

  “Exactly,” Rebecca said. “Hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years ago, the probe is redirected to Earth to co
ntinue its mission, to collect more samples. Or perhaps something happens to it—maybe it was damaged somehow—and it’s pushed off course and comes here by accident. Out of control, it plunges at tremendous speed and impacts with our planet, the force of the collision so great it causes a huge crater—the deep bowl now housing this pyramid—but also causing the probe to drill its course farther downwards, beneath the surface. Ultimately it comes to rest deep within the ground but teetering above a deep and extensive network of caves beneath. Engineered by technology beyond our comprehension, the probe survives the impact, but is damaged. Something else survives the crash too, something that had been inside the probe, protected by it. Something alive. And that living specimen, or contaminant, or whatever it is, hatches—or simply escapes the damaged probe—and is released into the caves, where it takes up residence. Years, maybe decades, pass. On the surface, the jungle reclaims the crater, while the organism retreats into its new home beneath.”

  “Like the boro larvae.”

  “Yes, exactly. Meanwhile, the new people—the city-builders—arrive here. From where, it doesn’t matter. They’re attracted to something emanating from within the crater, to the power perhaps radiating or leaking from the damaged probe. They build their city, harnessing an energy or force already known to them but in existence here to a strength never seen before. Perhaps the leaking probe is interacting with a pre-existing, geomagnetic anomaly, amplifying the effect.” She paused as a new thought came to her. “Hell, maybe the probe crashed here, or was attracted or even directed to this very spot, specifically because of its relationship to that anomaly.” She recalled Ed’s theory about the area being a convergence of energy, a vortex of some kind. Perhaps the probe’s presence was less accident than design. “Anyway, the layout of the chamber downstairs proves these people were aware of the object. Perhaps they revered it, considered it a gift from their gods. Either way, thinking this to be a sacred place, they build the pyramid on top of the sphere, all the while unaware of what has made its home in the bowels beneath. Yet ultimately, they somehow arouse the creatures, agitate them, and the species that had lived or even lain dormant for so long beneath them returns—and takes over.”

  Oliveira seemed sceptical. “But how could such an organism go unnoticed? And why were they not awakened when the city was built?”

  “Who knows how extensive the caves are?” Rebecca said. “They might be huge. I remember hearing about this cave system in the US… Mammoth Cave, I think. It has a network of passages upwards of 400 miles in length, stretching over two mountain ranges! Perhaps the organism had retreated far away, miles away, only returning, for whatever reason, decades later.” Rebecca thought about the attack on Ed and Sanchez at S1, and how, as a result, she had assumed there was a second nest nearby. Now she didn’t think so. No doubt these caves extended deep underground, maybe as far back as S1. And if that was the case—if they were talking about a single huge nest—then it might extend for tens of miles.

  The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

  She recalled the story Owen told them about the Yuguruppu’s reverence for the crater site, and that their gods lived there long before the builders of Intihuasi had arrived from across the sea. Could the spiders have been their gods?

  “Okay,” Oliveira said. “Let us assume the sphere is a probe of some kind, and these things are extraterrestrial. Why spiders?”

  “Why not? Arthropods—insects, arachnids—are the most successful life-forms to have inhabited this planet. They’re by far the most numerous and have spread into virtually every environment. They’re extremely adaptable. Jointed legs are the best means of traversing all forms of terrain, underwater included. If there is life out there, in other parts of the universe, wouldn’t it develop as arthropods have, seeing as though they’re the success story of our own planet? The formula works. It’s more plausible that an advanced form of life should develop in this manner than in any other way—”

  Rebecca paused. Oliveira seemed distracted, removing his Beretta 92F from its holster on his hip. As she watched, he ejected the magazine and checked it over.

  “So… that’s it,” she said to him slowly, eyes glued to the gun. “That’s my theory. The spiders are an accidentally introduced species, brought here from somewhere else, by that object down in the chamber.”

  She was trembling. This is it. He has the package and all the information he needs. He has no use for us anymore. Her lower lip quivered. “What now?” she stammered.

  Oliveira looked back up at her, reinserting the mag with a swift, sharp smack. “What now?” He pulled back on the slide. “Fortunately for you, senhorita, I have requirements of you yet, so now, we get your friend walking and get the hell out of here before the boro wakes up hungry.”

  75

  In the fading afternoon light, Aronsohn peered over Bull’s shoulder at the glowing screen of the laptop.

  Again, Bull shook his head. “Nup, definitely gone, and it ain’t a problem from our end.” He was referring to the distress signal they’d lost some minutes ago. “She just stopped, just like that.”

  Aronsohn frowned. “Dead battery?”

  “You’re talking forty-eight hours minimum operation time for a standard beacon, but they don’t last forever. We don’t know how long it’s been active.”

  Aronsohn paused, deep in thought. “What about the helos? How long to extraction?”

  “ETA thirty minutes.”

  Aronsohn checked his watch and motioned to another of his men. “Tag—get back into camp. Give Ms Baxter a hand with her stuff, then get her down here.” As Tag melted into the trees, he turned back to the web-enshrouded pyramid.

  Grasping his binoculars, Aronsohn wondered again about the signal and why it had died.

  Bull seemed to read his mind. “You think somethin’s goin’ on in there?”

  Aronsohn shook his head. “I don’t know, Bull, but I can tell you one thing: I got a feeling the show’s about to begin.”

  76

  With effort, they got Ed standing.

  Luis had woken him while Rebecca had been off with Oliveira. He’d given him some coca leaves for energy. Ed seemed dazed, but lucid enough to make sense of his surroundings.

  “Can he talk?” Oliveira asked.

  “Give him a moment,” Rebecca said. She held her canteen to Ed’s lips. Most of the water dribbled out, but he drank eagerly.

  As he did, Rebecca noted that Luis had tended Ed’s wounds, too. Inspecting them, she observed with relief—and fascination—that the three or four bites Ed had received were already healing. In fact, they looked almost as if they’d been cleaned—not by Luis, but seemingly by the swathing-silk itself. Wrapped tightly about him, the gauzy strands had acted as a pseudo-bandage. That there were no signs of infection—which, in this humidity, would occur quickly—seemed to suggest the silk possessed antiseptic properties.

  That’s how they keep the meat fresh, she thought. They had wanted to preserve him, keep him for later; he may have lasted another day or two before suffering Enrique’s fate—

  A hand pushed the canteen from Ed’s lips, sending water flying.

  “Hey!” Rebecca said.

  Oliveira lifted Ed’s chin to meet his gaze. “Inside the plane… tell me what you saw.”

  “…sorry?” Ed stammered.

  “What did you see inside the plane?”

  “…nothing… it was… empty…”

  Oliveira pulled his hand away, letting Ed’s chin fall. Turning to his men, he issued instructions in Brazilian Portuguese.

  Rebecca frowned. Again, Oliveira’s behaviour was bizarre. Why was he so intent on interrogating Ed?

  “Asensi will assist your friend,” Oliveira said to her.

  Rebecca didn’t argue as Asensi looped his arm around Ed’s waist and shifted his weight away from her. Aided so, Ed could likely stumble along. She was happy he was alive and moving, but her thoughts swung to the venom flowing through his veins. While certain the web-b
uilders’ toxin was weak, she had no way of knowing if Ed’s condition would worsen. She’d monitor him.

  Asensi shuffled forward, keen to get going. They’d spent too long in here already.

  Quietly, Luis and Costa rolled back the door. As they did, in the corner of her eye, Rebecca caught Oliveira poking through a mound of artefacts. He casually stuffed something into his pack and zipped it tight. Glancing away, she noted that plenty of treasure lay unclaimed, despite the efforts of Oliveira and his men. She wondered why it was here, and concluded it had some sort of religious significance. Jess had told her that the pyramid was probably a religious centre, and by her own reckoning the huge chamber below had been built in reference to the buried sphere. Perhaps this room had served as a priest’s quarters, or something similar, and the relics were gifts for the gods.

  She’d probably never know for sure.

  The men exited, and she hurried after them.

  • • •

  They reached the bottom of the stairs in silence.

  Costa looked back with a smile. “We made it.” He moved for the opening that led to the main chamber.

  Rebecca grasped him by the arm. “No—wait.” She pushed past him, and at the doorway turned her gaze to the ceiling. Like before, she was unable to see the high-point of the domed chamber—even with the goggles, the cloak of darkness was impenetrable.

  Before anyone could query her, Rebecca put a hand in her pocket and pulled out the heavy rubber case containing the aerial mini-flares she’d retrieved from the floor near Enrique. Fixing one of the cartridges to the tubular launcher, she fired it up to the ceiling.

  “What are you d—” Oliveira started, but cut himself off as the flare ascended, arcing with a soft trailing hiss through the domed chamber as though through a night sky. When it reached its peak dozens of feet above them it got stuck in the silk and came to an abrupt halt, throwing out a huge red glow.