The Hatching

by Ezekiel Boone

  Outside, the light looked weaker. Clouds papered the sky, and the water had started to whip up a bit. Nothing to be worried about yet, but it hinted at a coming storm.

  Since his grandfather and girlfriend had done all the cooking, Aonghas found himself exiled to the kitchen to wash the dinner dishes while his grandfather and Thuy relaxed in the living room, the radio on in the background. Aonghas was humming to himself, pleased at how well things were going, occasionally stopping to sneak the ring out of his pocket and take a look at it, when he realized Thuy was calling his name.

  The urgency in her voice scared him. She said his name again, and instead of grabbing the towel, he just wiped his hands on his jeans. He hurried into the living room and came to a stop. They were just sitting there. Nothing was wrong. There had been a part of him that was sure he was going to come in and find the old man facedown on the floor, dead before he could see his grandson engaged and married, before he had a chance to see a great-granddaughter or great-grandson, the Càidh line carried on.

  But both his grandfather and Thuy were up and alert. In fact, they were smiling.

  Thuy stood up and walked over to him. “Is it true?” she said.

  “What?”

  Thuy looked at Padruig, so Aonghas looked at his grandfather as well. “Is what true?” he asked.

  Padruig offered up something between a grimace and a smile. “I’m sorry, boy. It just slipped out.”

  “Yes,” Thuy said to Aonghas. “Go ahead and ask me, because the answer is yes.”

  Desperation, California

  “Well,” Gordo said. “Waiting for the world to go boom is kind of boring.” He tried changing the television station, but it was the same news everywhere: no news. China had set off a nuke and . . . and that was it.

  “Fred called.” Amy sat on his lap and put her arm around his shoulder. “He said if the world isn’t ending today, we should go over and have dinner and drinks with him and Shotgun. We can play hearts.”

  Gordo sighed. “Sure.”

  “What’s with the grumpy pants?” Amy tapped her finger on his lips. “You’re all pouty.”

  Gordo kissed her finger. “Eh. You know. A nuke goes off and I’m thinking, okay, this is it. We’re ready. I’m ready. Let’s do it. I’m not saying I really want it to happen, but come on. I thought this was it.” He wrapped his arms around his wife and pulled her tight against him. “Yeah, fuck it. Let’s go over and play some cards. Beats just sitting around waiting for the bombs to start falling.”

  American University,

  Washington, DC

  Oh, that private bathroom. Of all the things Melanie was glad that she negotiated for—lab space, funding, administrative support, reduced teaching—a private bathroom and shower in her office was what made her most thankful. There was the obvious plus of not having to use the public restrooms, but it was the shower that was the best. She could go out for a quick run and shower off without having to head to the Jacobs Fitness Center, or, on days like today, when she hadn’t left the lab in nearly seventy hours, it meant she could take a shower and put on one of the changes of clothes she kept in her office. She could feel human again.

  She tugged on her brown motorcycle boots and pulled her jeans down over them. She’d bought the boots at the same time she bought her first motorcycle, when she was eighteen, and even though she hadn’t had a bike in a decade, she kept resoling the boots. They were scarred and had a deep patina of wear. She always felt like a badass when she wore them. She buttoned up her dark-blue blouse, gave her hair a quick brush, put her diamond stud earrings back in, opened the door of her bathroom, and crashed right into a big black man in a suit.

  The man was rooted like a tree. Melanie bounced back a few steps, and he reached out and caught her arm.

  “Sorry about that, ma’am,” he said.

  He didn’t have to say anything more for Melanie to know he was Secret Service. She sighed.

  “Where is he?”

  “Ma’am?”

  She straightened her blouse and slipped past him into her office. There was no one else in the office, though she could hear voices in the lab. “Manny. My ex-husband. Where is he?”

  “He’s in the lab, ma’am, with the others.”

  It was a pattern that was too familiar to her from their marriage: Manny wanted to spend time with her, she’d say she was busy, he’d show up anyway saying he hoped just to steal a few minutes, they’d fight about whether their marriage was failing because of how little time they spent together or because what little time they did spend together they spent fighting. It had been exhausting when they were married, and she didn’t want to spend any part of the day doing a postmortem on a body that had long gone cold. She’d already taken the blame, already said it was her fault, even though there was a small part of her that thought Manny could have done more. No phone could be slammed hard enough, no door closed firmly enough to keep him out when it came to garnering support for a bill or getting money for Steph’s campaigns, but he had never fought as hard for her as he had on Steph’s behalf.

  “All right, Manny,” she said, pushing through the door to the lab, “I don’t have the patience for . . .”

  But it wasn’t Manny.

  Or, rather, it was Manny, but it was also Steph. The president of the United States. She was leaning over the insectarium with Julie, staring at the spiders.

  At the sound of Melanie’s voice, everybody in the room turned. And there were a lot of people in the lab besides her and Julie and Manny and Steph: Bark and Patrick, fussing over the computer and recording equipment, nearly a dozen Secret Service agents, and Billy Cannon, the secretary of defense.

  “Madam President,” Melanie said. She started to put out her hand and then nodded her head before turning it into a sort of half bow. It was embarrassing. She stood up straight and looked around the room. “Traveling sort of heavy today?”

  The president waved her hand at the suited men. “Comes with the territory. It’s hard to casually pop in anywhere.” She stepped over and gave Melanie a hug.

  Melanie hugged her back, reluctantly. She was never really sure how to feel about the president. She knew how she felt about Steph, but Steph, as the president, was a different matter. She’d known Steph for as long as she’d known Manny. Close to eighteen years now. She’d known Steph when she was still just Steph, before it was Governor Pilgrim or Senator Pilgrim, let alone President Pilgrim. Melanie had been one of the bridesmaids at Steph’s wedding to George Hitchens, and one of the few people to really see what it was like behind the scenes during Steph’s run for president. And she also knew that, since she and Manny had gotten divorced, her ex-husband and the president of the United States were fucking a couple of times a week.

  She didn’t begrudge it exactly. It was kind of hard to be pissed off at Manny for having a casual thing with Steph when Melanie was sleeping with Bark. At least Steph was the president and not a goddamned graduate student. The truth was they were divorced, and if Manny was going to be sleeping with anybody, Steph was probably the best bet as far as Melanie was concerned. It’s not that she was still in love with Manny, but rather that there was a part of her that thought they might get back together. Someday. When they were older. Okay. Maybe she was still in love with Manny a little bit. They hadn’t gotten divorced because they hated spending time with each other, but because Melanie hadn’t loved Manny more than she did her work. At least if he was having an affair with Steph, Melanie knew that meant he might still be available to her. If she wanted. She wasn’t sure what she wanted. Seeing Manny standing there, next to Bark, should have made it easy: Bark, tall and solid and muscular, looking even better with three days’ stubble and his T-shirt wrinkled from camping out in the lab with her and Julie and Patrick; Manny, sporting ten more pounds than the last time she’d seen him, wearing a suit that was indistinguishable from every other suit he wore. Physically, there was no comparison. But just looking at Bark annoyed her, while seeing Manny, even
though she wasn’t happy to have him and half the White House intruding on her lab, brought a smile to her face.

  She stepped out of the president’s arms. “Good to see you. It’s been a while.”

  Steph cocked her head at Manny, who offered a sheepish smile. “You know how it is,” Steph said. “You don’t mean to pick sides, but that’s always how it works.”

  “I’m sorry,” Manny said. He stepped forward and took her hand. He hesitated and then leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. He had to get on his toes. Very quietly, so quietly that she almost missed it, he whispered in her ear, “You smell good.”

  Melanie touched her wet hair. She could feel herself blushing a little, and she took a quick glance at Bark. The oaf had a small sulk starting on his face. Ugh. Tonight. Tonight, she promised herself, no matter what else was going on, it was over. She’d meant to drop his ass the day before, but they’d spent the entire day working with the spiders, and there had never been a good time to bring him into her office and tell him she was done with it.

  “Sorry to barge in,” Manny said. “We need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  Manny looked around. “Can we clear the students out? It’s important, Melanie.”

  There was a part of Melanie that wanted to say no. It was that same impulse that had torpedoed their marriage: there was just too much to do in the lab, too many things to study. It was hard to do to his face, always had been, and it was impossible to kick him out while the president of the United States, the secretary of defense, and a gaggle of Secret Service agents were wandering around the lab. It didn’t take somebody with a PhD to figure out this was something serious. So she found her purse, dug some cash out and handed it to Julie, telling her to take Bark and Patrick to Tara Thai on Massachusetts and get them some lunch.

  As her students left the lab, Manny hustled the Secret Service guys out as well. He shut the door and attempted to smile at her. It was weak. “Sorry,” he said. “I tried calling but you didn’t answer your phone.”

  She couldn’t stop herself. The words came out sharply: “I was busy.”

  It just felt too close to every argument they’d had about their marriage. When he wanted to talk to her, she wasn’t available. Except this time, Manny did something different. He apologized.

  “I’m sorry, and I know, but this isn’t personal. It’s official.” He motioned to Steph. “We needed to talk to you. I was going to send somebody to get you and bring you to the White House, but Steph thought you wouldn’t come unless they arrested you. Seemed counterproductive if we wanted your cooperation.”

  Melanie leaned against one of the lab tables. She looked at Manny and then at Steph. She didn’t say anything. She liked watching Manny fidget.

  “Look, the truth is that I, that we, me and Steph and Billy . . . I can’t remember. Have you met Billy before? Billy Cannon. Secretary of defense.”

  Billy’s handshake was firm, but before he let go of her hand, he nodded at the insectarium that was behind her. “Ma’am, if I can ask, what the hell is that spider behind you?”

  “That one?” Melanie turned and gently touched the glass wall. She was so used to the spiders in the lab that she forgot how much they freaked people out. Particularly the bigger, hairy ones like the one Billy was looking at. “Theraphosa blondi. Or, more commonly, a Goliath birdeater, though they don’t really eat birds. Usually.”

  “Jesus.” Billy leaned forward and tapped at the glass.

  Melanie grabbed his wrist. “Don’t do that.”

  Billy stood up straight again. “Why not? Is the thing going to kill me?”

  “They don’t like it. That’s why. You wouldn’t like it if somebody sat outside your house banging on the window. They’re sensitive to vibrations. And no, it won’t kill you, though it hurts like a fucker if it bites you. Like getting stung by a wasp. And they have urticating hair. It gets on your skin and stings and itches, and if you inhale it, you’ll be coughing and unhappy. It’s obnoxious. But they’re like most spiders. You leave them alone and they’ll leave you alone.”

  “Most spiders?”

  “They hunt,” she said. “Bugs. That sort of stuff.” She turned to Manny. “Okay. What’s the deal?”

  Manny ran his fingers through his hair. It was a familiar gesture, something he did when he hadn’t had a lot of sleep and when he was feeling overwhelmed, and the sight of it made Melanie smile a little. But only a little.

  “This might sound crazy,” Manny said, “but are there spiders that eat people? I mean, giant swarms of spiders? Does even asking the question make me sound like I’m out of my fucking mind? If there are, it seems like the sort of thing you would have brought up at a dinner party.” Melanie smiled for real this time. She’d been to so many boring political dinners, and her one solace had been scaring the shit out of whoever was sitting next to her with stories about all the dangerous creepy crawlies out there. “Are there?” Manny said. “Are there spiders like that?”

  To Melanie’s right, Billy had drifted over to a shadow box on the wall that held a mounted spider. For a second he looked as though he was going to tap on that glass too, but then he saw Melanie watching. She glared at him and he lowered his hand. Melanie looked back at Manny. “You know how many phone calls and e-mails we get a month from people who think they’ve gotten bitten by a spider and are going to die?” she said. She stepped over to the smaller dorm fridge that was next to the larger lab fridges. She opened the door and pulled herself out a can of soda. She held one up to Steph and then Billy, both of whom shook their heads. Without asking, she handed one to Manny. She didn’t have to ask. He never turned down a Diet Coke. She cracked open the can and took a swig. The bitter sweetness felt like an extra hour of sleep under her belt.

  She hesitated. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to share her new spiders with anybody outside the lab yet. She’d never seen anything like them, and she knew the discovery was going to be the next big step in her career. The ten-thousand-year-old egg sac hatching, the spiders themselves, and then the way they interacted? How many papers would she get out of this? And then she looked over at Steph and remembered again that she wasn’t just Steph. She was the president of the United States. “May I ask what this is about?”

  Manny glanced at Steph. Steph gave a small shake of her head. Manny sighed and popped the top on his soda. “Take my word for it,” he said. “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

  “Honestly, Manny, you know what I always tell people about spiders: there’s really no reason to be afraid of them.” Melanie walked to the back bench. “But that was before a couple of days ago, because these things scare the shit out of me.”

  She put her Diet Coke down next to a stack of cages holding lab rats. The rats were mostly quiet, huddled against the sides of their cages, moved as far away from the insectarium—which was already nearly three meters away—as possible. She picked up one of the cages. As Melanie carried the cage closer to the insectarium, the spiders started launching themselves at the glass. The thud of their bodies was rhythmic and desperate.

  “They just came out of the egg sac yesterday, and it was something to see. Like an explosion. I haven’t pulled one out for dissection yet, but I’ve never seen a spider like this. It’s something new.”

  She held the rat cage above the insectarium.

  “Are these—”

  Melanie cut off her ex-husband. “Just watch.”

  Julie had rigged it so there was a double-chambered entrance; they could keep the spiders enclosed, add a rat to one compartment, and then close up the whole thing before dropping the rat in with the spiders. For a second, as Melanie dumped the rat in, she felt bad for it: the little thing was squeaking and clawing at the glass, trying to climb away. Below it, even though they couldn’t see the rat in the top chamber, the spiders were frantic. They could smell it.

  Melanie hit the lever, and the floor below the rat fell away, dropping it into the tank with the dozens of waiti
ng spiders.

  This was the fourth rat she’d sacrificed.

  The sound of chewing hadn’t gotten any easier to tolerate.

  Clearly, the sound bothered somebody behind her too, because she heard retching.

  “Holy crap.” It was Manny, at her elbow.

  Among other things—he was funny and smart as hell, maybe even smarter than she was—the fact that he had never been afraid of spiders was one of the things she loved about him.

  “No shit. Spiders aren’t supposed to chew. Normally they liquefy their food and sort of suck it in. I have literally never seen anything like this.”

  “Where did these spiders come from?” he said.

  “FedEx,” Melanie said.

  The president moved next to them as well, staring down and looking through the glass. The spiders had eaten half the rat, and one of them detached itself from the dead animal’s flesh and started trying to get through the glass to Steph. “What are these things?”

  “I’m serious,” Manny said. “Where did you get these spiders?”

  “I’m serious too,” Melanie said. “FedEx. From Peru. Remember the Nazca Lines? A friend of one of my graduate students was on a dig there. He found it and he shipped the egg sac to our lab. Probably ten thousand years old.”

  “Sorry?” Steph said. “Did you say the egg sac was ten thousand years old?”

  “Give or take. And you’d think there’d be no chance of anything alive in there, right? That it would be fossilized? But nope.”

  “How on earth could they still hatch if they’re that old?”

  She gave them the simplified version, the way that certain eggs could, essentially, enter a state of suspension, waiting for the right set of conditions. She told them about the evolutionary ecologist from Oklahoma who’d been getting seven-hundred-year-old water-flea eggs to hatch. “Or, maybe it’s easier to think of cicadas. Some cicada swarms are annual, but others are on thirteen- or seventeen-year cycles. Nobody really understands how it works, why they’re dormant that whole time, but our not understanding doesn’t stop the cicadas from coming out.”