Eight

by WW Mortensen

  107

  An hour later, Rebecca was still in the wheelhouse, sitting in a chair by the window and staring across the bow. Behind her, at the table, Chad and Kriedemann spoke quietly, again poring over the map. Ed and Jessy—both exhausted—were asleep below deck. They’d taken Priscilla with them.

  Only now had Rebecca begun to relax, despite the news they’d be anchored for the night. She felt safe here—safe with Chad, safe with Ed and the soldiers, safe on the water. Even so, her head was abuzz, and she had a lot to process. Not now, though—there’d be plenty of time for that later. Right now, she didn’t want to think about anything.

  She wished Ed was up here with her.

  She stared out the window. There wasn’t much to see, other than her reflection in the glass, lashed by rain and lightning. It was hypnotic. She realised she’d nodded off when a sound jarred her awake. She listened, and once more heard the muffled banging outside, like something being blown around by the wind.

  Chad came over and squinted out the window. “Damn, not again.”

  Rebecca straightened. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, just the forward cargo hatch. Latch is loose, must have blown open. I’ll go up and secure it. It won’t take a second, if you’ll both excuse me.”

  Rebecca got up from her seat. “No, you stay here. I’ll go. You two keep at it.”

  “You sure? It’s a simple lever catch. Gets a bit temperamental in the wind, is all.”

  “Leave it with me,” Rebecca said.

  And with that, she grabbed her poncho and left.

  • • •

  Kriedemann watched her disappear, glancing at Chad as he came back to the table. Together the two of them returned to the map just as McGinley burst through the door. He seemed on edge.

  “Hey,” he said, panting, “I think you better come see this.”

  • • •

  Hood low, Rebecca edged her way to the bow, hand on the portside rail for support. Her powerful flashlight cut a swathe before her, but even so it was hard to discern detail through the slashing rain. She heard the banging above the downpour, and as she came around the front, she saw the square-shaped hatch set into the deck, flapping back and forth in the wind. She made a beeline for it, fingers reaching through the deluge. Just shy of the latch, her hand stopped. She crouched down.

  Beside the hatch were a couple of dark spots, smudges on the deck. She shone her flashlight on them. Small splotches of… mud? But they were dissolving quickly in the rain and in moments were gone altogether. She noticed the remnants of others, leading from the portside rail, all washing away in the downpour. She frowned.

  They looked like… footprints.

  Rebecca moved to stand at the same moment she sensed a presence behind her. She heard a loud crack as something struck her on the head and suddenly, she knew no more.

  • • •

  With Chad in tow, Kriedemann trailed the ginger-haired McGinley to the stern. They found Heng and Chavarre at the rail, peering into the storm. Bull and Tag flanked them. At the group’s approach, all four soldiers turned, and Chavarre lifted his hand. In it was the frayed end of the rope that had been used to secure the Zodiac to the Tempestade.

  The Zodiac was gone.

  “What happened?” Kriedemann asked as thunder growled.

  “We don’t know,” Chavarre said. “We heard a groaning noise, followed by a loud snap. We came out here to investigate and found this.”

  Kriedemann examined the rope, but found no sign of wear, or anything to indicate it had been cut. He turned from Chavarre to Chad and then back again. “Snapped? How?”

  Chavarre seemed at a loss. “You think maybe the boat got snagged on a submerged log, or some rocks or—”

  Dark against the sky, it soared through the rain, coming right for them.

  The soldiers scattered like pigeons as the object—an indefinable blob several feet long and wide—flew in over the top of the stern rail and crashed onto the boards beneath their feet, bouncing and skidding wetly across the deck before slamming up hard against the portside rail.

  What the hell?

  For an instant, no-one spoke, probably, like Kriedemann, too stunned for words. As a group they stared at the deflated, crumpled mess pressed against the side of the boat.

  The Zodiac.

  The vessel had been ripped to shreds. Its motor was missing.

  “Holeeey fuuuck…” McGinley said.

  Cautiously, Bull approached the mangled remains and knelt before them. “What could have done this?” With his right thumb and forefinger, he lifted a ragged, rain-soaked wedge of rubber.

  Off the stern, from somewhere upriver, a loud splash sounded, followed by an explosive, geyser-like spray of water. Kriedemann spun, but the darkness and the rain obscured everything.

  “Jesus H. Christ…” McGinley said. “Man, seriously—what the fuck is going on?”

  Gripped by a sudden sense of urgency, Kriedemann turned to Chad. “You need to get this tug moving. Fast.”

  But before Chad could respond, a shadowy, rippling wave, faintly luminescent, rose off the stern.

  “What in God’s name…” Bull murmured.

  There was no time to move the boat. The wave, glowing softly, surged towards them, rolling through the dark and the rain, gaining in speed and momentum and size—

  —Christ, it’s going to hit us—

  —and subsided, just shy of the stern.

  The Tempestade bobbed in its wake, once more at the mercy of the river, which itself seemed in that moment to settle.

  Water lapped against the boat, and there was nothing but the rain.

  Kriedemann made for the rail and peered over it.

  “Fuck me… You ever seen shit like that before?” McGinley said.

  “Shh!” Chad hissed, throwing up a hand to quieten him. Slowly, he looked at Kriedemann. “You hear that? There’s something underneath us.”

  • • •

  Darkness. Something hard but spongy against her cheek, like…

  Rubber.

  Inflated rubber. She was in a Zodiac.

  Lying prone, her head throbbing, Rebecca tried to sit, but her numbed limbs were unresponsive.

  “Ah… awake, eh?”

  She recognised the voice.

  Oh my God…

  It was De Sousa.

  • • •

  Kriedemann searched the river below, but the water was too dark to penetrate.

  McGinley sounded on the verge of panic. “What the hell do you mean, ‘there’s something underneath us’?”

  The deck lurched beneath them, throwing the group towards the stern. Kriedemann almost fell and scrambled for a handhold.

  Something had hit them from below.

  Something big.

  The Tempestade steadied, and as it did, a noise resonated from under the hull: a dull but resounding thump, then… scratching.

  “What the hell is that?” Heng asked.

  Kriedemann had no idea, but the urgent, creeping dread he’d felt a moment ago intensified. It sounded as though the Tempestade had been… grasped.

  The boat groaned. Huge pressure, it seemed, was being exerted on the hull. Was something trying to pull the vessel down? Was that possible? As if in reply, metal whined, and timber creaked as the deck started to angle, the bow lifting.

  You’ve got to be kidding…

  In the pelting rain, bodies clambered about in mild panic. Lightning flashed as the bow continued to lift. At the same time, the stern rail lowered. It hit the waterline—

  —and went under.

  Water flowed onto the boards beneath Kriedemann’s feet. The boat’s engine revved—Chad must have made it back to the wheelhouse—but it was too late. The trickle became a rush, and the Tempestade started to fill with water. The soldiers sought higher ground, but Kriedemann himself didn’t move. His attention had been drawn out back, upriver.

  No way…

  From out of the gloom, through the rain, mul
tiple dark shapes emerged; more than a dozen, maybe more than two.

  Superspiders, scrambling across the river towards them.

  108

  Rebecca rolled over as adrenaline kicked in and the feeling returned to her arms and legs. De Sousa hadn’t tied her up.

  “Easy, moca, you got a bad knock, eh?”

  She sat up. A couple of feet away, next to the twin motors at the dinghy’s stern, was a black shape.

  De Sousa.

  No wonder we couldn’t find the Zodiac at the ravine. De Sousa beat us to it.

  There was no-one else in the boat. Just the two of them.

  Rebecca scuttled backwards. “What do you want from me?” she asked, spittle spraying from her lips. Despite her vehemence, her heart thrummed in terror.

  De Sousa flicked on a flashlight and shone it in her face. Calmly, he stood, rain falling around him.

  “You need to ask, moca?”

  • • •

  Half out of his bunk already, Ed leapt to his feet, having jolted awake to the sound of shouting. Immediately, he noticed the cabin floor sloping sharply away from him. Something was wrong… terribly wrong.

  “What’s happening?” Jessy said, gripping her bunk so as not to slip out of it.

  Ed tried to answer but was silenced by a stab of pain in his lower right side, the same lightning-spasm that had been troubling him since their escape from Intihuasi. He clutched at it, grimacing.

  “Ed? You okay? What’s going on?”

  Gritting his teeth, he straightened. “Here, put this on.” He opened a wall-cabinet marked ‘PFD’ and retrieved a bright yellow lifejacket. After helping her into it, he slipped into one himself. Again, the hull groaned, the deck angling further. Remembering that Priscilla was sleeping on the floor under the bunk, he reached for her and passed her off to Jessy.

  “I’ll be back,” he said, heading up to the wheelhouse as fast as his legs would carry him.

  • • •

  Kriedemann sloshed through knee-deep water and squinted across the river. The advancing host seemed to be growing in waves. He wondered how the creatures could have tracked them here but didn’t hesitate for long.

  His men had formed a line beside him. Raising his M16, Kriedemann turned to them and shouted above the downpour. “Light ’em up!”

  • • •

  Rebecca scrambled backwards as De Sousa—still grinning—took a step forward, the blade of the hunting-knife in his hand glinting in the beam of the flashlight. She gasped at the sight of it.

  “Get away from me!” she screamed, kicking out.

  De Sousa lunged and caught her ankle. “Do not fight it, eh?” he said, dragging her towards him.

  Rebecca flailed fiercely. De Sousa climbed on top of her, pinning her with his legs.

  “Many a woman I have pleasured,” he said as she squirmed, lightly brushing the tip of the knife across her cheek and the nape of her neck. “You should feel honoured.”

  Rebecca thrashed beneath him. De Sousa leaned closer, his foul breath warming her face. She turned away, but he seized her by the throat and forced her to him. He was too strong.

  He was reaching for her top when the Zodiac bucked behind him. He turned as the jumper sprang from its perch on the motor, leaping through the rain.

  • • •

  Shoulder to shoulder at the back of the sinking boat, Kriedemann’s team opened fire.

  Muzzle flashes erupted in the rain-lashed dark, cutting the front line of arachnids to shreds. A new wave replaced them. En masse, the spiders advanced across the river.

  There’re too many, Kriedemann thought. We can’t hold them off. Not at this rate. Not all of them…

  The first wave of creatures reached the boat, readying to break the line. At close range, Kriedemann realised the spiders leading the charge were different to those behind them. More heavily set, more heavily armoured, with a red crown or carapace on top, and hand-like appendages bordering the mouth that looked like the front legs of a praying mantis, bent and scythe-like. Almost like swords.

  As the first of them leapt up from the river, into the boat, Kriedemann understood the nature of these creatures and why they were different to the others.

  Just like he and his men, these were the soldiers of their species.

  The war had begun.

  109

  Flat on her back, Rebecca screamed as the jumper leapt through the rain and hit De Sousa in the chest. The impact sent him sprawling off her.

  Desperate not to waste the opportunity, Rebecca rolled left as De Sousa went right with the huge spider wrapped in a bear hug. How in God’s name had it found them here?

  She clawed on all fours for the edge of the boat. A hand fell on her, halting her, and she kicked out at it, but again, De Sousa was too strong. Still kicking, she flipped onto her back as De Sousa struggled to his knees—

  —and in a flash of lightning, hurled the carcass of the jumper to the floor of the Zodiac.

  He killed it… shit… he killed it… stabbed it to death.

  De Sousa roared with victory—guttural, animal-like—and lunged for her viciously.

  • • •

  Barely thinking, Rebecca reached for the dead spider. Ignoring the tar-like ichor oozing from its knife-savaged surface, she snatched at the hairs covering the posterior, tearing out a clump and throwing them at De Sousa as she would a handful of dirt.

  They struck his eyes and De Sousa howled in agony. Rebecca, too, felt a painful burn in her hand, the hairs—covered in hundreds of microscopic barbs like those deployed defensively by some species of tarantula—stinging her flesh as though she’d plunged her fingers into a nest of fire ants.

  Clawing at his face, De Sousa fell back, the hunting-knife tumbling from his grasp.

  Rebecca seized it from the floor of the Zodiac and dived into the dark and rain-drenched river.

  • • •

  Rebecca swam hard, hoping to find the riverbank, or at the very least, put as much distance as possible between her and De Sousa. She knew he’d be hot on her tail.

  The dark was disorienting. Wind and rain chopped at the river’s surface, and waves tossed her about, causing her to swallow water in great gulps. In all the confusion, she couldn’t see much of anything—neither bank was visible—so she put her head down and quickened her pace. Within a few yards, she rounded a small bend and realised that after kidnapping her, De Sousa hadn’t retreated far. Having emerged from an adjoining creek, she was back now in the main part of the river. What she saw caused her to stop swimming.

  Ahead, the lights of the Tempestade blazed through the darkness. The vessel was maybe a hundred yards away, though it was difficult to be certain of the exact distance. What concerned her was the angle at which the boat sat upon the river. It was all wrong. The bow of the vessel was out of the water, raised about forty-five degrees. The stern was below the surface. The boat was sinking.

  That, however, wasn’t the worst of it.

  Unbelievably, the stricken vessel was surrounded by an encroaching army of megarachnids.

  Rebecca watched in horror as the horde surged across the river, many of the spiders already swarming the Tempestade like ants upon a hapless insect. Standing midship and facing aft, Kriedemann and his men fought back; strobe-like flashes of light flared relentlessly, and the popping sounds of gunfire rose above the storm. But it looked to be a lost cause—there were too many of the creatures. They were everywhere.

  Rebecca treaded water, wondering what the hell she should do… when the Zodiac roared around the bend and through the rain towards her.

  • • •

  Firing hard, Kriedemann swung his M16… but was too late to stop the rearing red-armoured spider from tracing its sword-like palp through the air—

  —and lopping Heng’s head clean from his body.

  NO!

  Heng dropped like a stone, the stump of his neck jetting blood high into the night. Tag spun, and in a flare of lightning that illuminated the
young soldier’s red-rimmed eyes, obliterated the spider with a prolonged and savage burst from his assault rifle.

  Despite the sudden gruesome loss of their comrade, the men held the line.

  Even so, Kriedemann knew that to stay put was suicide. At the top of his voice he gave the order to fall back… just as another of the spiders broke the line, thrusting forward its palp and impaling Chavarre through the sternum. The appendage speared out the man’s back, between the shoulder blades. Wide-eyed, spurting blood, Chavarre somehow managed to fire off a burst, killing the creature before tumbling into the river still attached to his adversary. A host of frenzied spiders fell upon the corpses as they floated away.

  Aghast, but keeping it together, the men fell back as ordered.

  The attack didn’t wane. More spiders pounced and were cut down, only to be replaced twofold. Fangs and legs were everywhere; scrambling, scratching.

  At the same time, the water level kept rising.

  Behind them, Chad thrust the door to the saloon wide open. “Move it!” he yelled. “COME ON!”

  Single-file, the men retreated through the angled doorway, covering their withdrawal with sustained bursts of fire. Kriedemann got there last, arriving as the spiders overwhelmed what remained of the deck above the waterline. He barely made it. As his vision filled with a blur of mirrored eyes and venomed fangs, he felt someone, probably Chad, grab him hard by the collar and haul him backwards into the saloon.

  As he went, he caught the door and slammed it shut behind him with a resounding clang.

  110

  Less than a minute earlier, Ed had hit the top of the stairs leading into the saloon, only to be frozen cold in his tracks by the sudden eruption of gunfire coming from the rear deck. He’d abandoned his original plan and about-faced to return to Jessy. With the boat sinking, they couldn’t remain below, so he’d helped her and Priscilla up to the saloon, where he’d caught a glimpse of the swarming spiders through the door Chad held wide. Jessy had screamed.

  How had the creatures tracked them here?