Salticidae

by Ryan C. Thomas

  “It’s travel, not politics. But I hear you, man.” Derek studied the image on the tiny screen of his camera. “This looks like troll shit. Aren’t there supposed to be, like, super giant mushrooms here? Isn’t that the point of this trip? I’ve seen ones this big before in Washington.”

  “Point is to find them. Barring that, we shoot these and I make some shit up about medicinal benefits and food sources and whatever. We could always just lie and say a monsoon hit, hop a plane down south, grab some African kine bud and have our way with some blonde surfers.”

  “Okay, I’m in.”

  Jack turned to their local guide, a tall ebony man whose fluency in English made him an asset to the local tourism board. He was dressed in khakis and a white button down, wore a blank blue baseball cap and sandals, and had a rifle slung over his shoulder. “Hey, Banga, I thought you said you knew where the big mushrooms were?”

  Banga stopped humming to himself. “They are all big, friend. There are others. We will find them. Much bigger than this. You like these mushrooms?”

  “I dunno. They like cow mushrooms? If I eat it will I see God?”

  “You may see many gods.”

  “Naked women gods?” Derek asked.

  Banga laughed. “I take you to women if you want. Forty American dollars.”

  Jack took out his pad and started making notes about the mushroom. He’d already seen the waves of street whores in the larger villages, each one like a corpse reanimated in a necrophilia porn film. Prostitution was rampant in this country, but not out of greed or drug addiction like in the states. The women here were starving and dying, and the sex trade was just a way of life for them. They were born into it or forced into it and it disgusted him. “No thanks. Forty bucks is too steep for Congolese herpes. So tell me about this fucking mushroom. You use it for healing or what? I have to write something to make my editor, Bill the Shill, happy.”

  “These we eat. Sometimes. Other times we sell to the markets. The restaurants use them in sauces.”

  “There’re restaurants in the jungle?”

  “Of course not. The tribes carry them to the cities on a truck. Or sometimes trade to the Toleka. You can eat it now if you like. It won’t hurt you. Not this one. Others will kill you.”

  “I’d rather not,” Derek said, snapping more pictures. “Tell me again about the forty-dollar whores.”

  “They used to be hairy but now they shave. Like Americans like.”

  Jack had to laugh at this. “They wouldn’t like your mustache, Derek.”

  “Fuck you. My wife loves this thing. Tickles her in all the right spots.”

  “Wife? Thought you were divorced.”

  “Yeah, but we still hate fuck each other occasionally.”

  “And they say love is dead.”

  Jack took a couple of more notes, mostly describing the fungi’s color and texture. He asked Banga to explain the sauces that the restaurants made out of it. Then he put the pad away, bored. “So, Banga, are you married? Kids?”

  The guide took out a wallet and handed it to Jack. It contained the American dollars they’d paid him to escort them through the jungle, and a single photo of a woman and preteen boy. “My family,” Banga said.

  “Cute,” Jack replied, noting the woman’s yellow teeth. Dentistry was not a luxury found among the indigenous people. “What does she do?”

  “She is a farmer. She work in the mais field.”

  “And how old is your son?”

  “He is ten in that photo. He would be fifteen now.”

  Jack and Derek exchanged a glance, looked at Banga.

  “I’m sorry. Did he pass away?” Derek asked.

  “I do not know. He was taken from me shortly after that photo. When we were living in Duru. I come up in these jungles to look for him, to find the men that took him. But I have not found them yet. They hide their camps. Always moving.”

  Jack felt uncomfortable. He knew the type of kidnappers Banga was referring to, and his journalistic instinct made him press for details. This was the kind of story he wanted to write about. “The Lord’s Resistance Army?”

  Banga spat in the dirt. “LRA have ruined my family. But I know my boy is alive and I will find him. I will take him back and make him mine again. The government is on our side now. They search the jungles for them. I have hope.”

  Derek snapped a couple more pictures of the mushroom and then began breaking down his equipment.

  Jack didn’t know what to say to Banga. He himself was unmarried and had no kids, so it was hard to understand the pain Banga was harboring inside. Jack’s dog had run away when he was a kid and he’d cried for days. The dog came back a week later, no worse for wear, but it had been not knowing the dog’s fate that had made a young Jack a nervous wreck. He knew that didn’t compare to losing a son. He debated pressing Banga further, going for the bigger story here, but he liked the guide and didn’t want to exploit him. Not now anyway. All he could say was, “I’m sorry. If there’s anything we can do, anything the magazine can do, let us know.”

  Banga merely nodded, resumed humming. Song was a major way to pass time for the people in these parts. That and sitting silent and listening to the trees. But it was hard to tell when they were happy or just singing to hide their pain. Jack hoped it was the former, but he had his doubts.

  No man is that strong inside, he thought. But I’m not about to break down this guy’s walls.

  Derek, obviously feeling the weight in the atmosphere, decided to change the topic. “Okay, I’m done. Let’s find some bigger ones. I need a mushroom so big I can sleep on it for the money shot. Banga?”

  The guide stood up. “Yes, this way, up higher. Big big ones grow near the top.”

  They packed up, donned their gear, and moved higher into the mountains. The roots seemed to get larger and grow farther out of the ground the higher they went, reaching for what little sunlight penetrated the jungle canopy. Bright green epiphytes drooped down from the upper branches. Patches of mist began to float before their eyes.

  Out of nowhere there was a low boom.

  “The hell was that?” Jack asked.

  It was followed by a slight rumble in the ground. “Earthquake?” asked Derek.

  Banga listened to the air. “Rare. But maybe.”

  The next minute passed without incident. Banga motioned them to keep moving, pushing farther into the overgrowth.

  “Look, a waterfall,” Derek said. “I want to get a shot of that.”

  Jack huffed. “Why, is it waterfalling mushrooms?”

  Derek stopped short. “Waterfalling? What the fuck kind of word is that. I thought you were a writer.”

  “It worked better for my joke.”

  “That was joke?” Banga said, head cocked like a confused puppy.

  “No it wasn’t,” Derek said, pushing out into a clearing on the side of a hill. Across the jungle a thin waterfall ran out of the middle of a high mountain, throwing mist and rainbows up above some tree tops.

  Jack had to admit, it was pretty beautiful.

  Derek adjusted his lens.

  That’s when the red flare shot out over the side of the mountain top.

  “What the… You see that?” Jack pointed to the flare.

  “Yeah.” Derek instinctively took a shot of it as it fell.

  Jack turned to Banga. “Where is that? Up there, what’s that place?”

  “Not sure. Not many people go that high,” the guide said. “Maybe rangers or miners. Maybe someone worse.”

  “It’s a distress flare. Somebody’s in trouble.”

  “Should we call someone?” Derek said.

  Jack took out his cell phone. There was no service. He’d asked the magazine to supply a SATphone but they said they didn’t have the budget. He knew he should have paid for his own. “I have no service. Who would I call anyway?”

  “I dunno. Isn’t this a national reserve? Banga, can you contact the rangers?”

  Banga nodded. “Yes. But we have
to go back to the camp to get them.”

  “That’s two days back,” Jack said. “How long would it take to get to that mountain top?”

  The guide tilted his head, studied the terrain. “Maybe a day. Maybe less if we find a good path.”

  “Faster than going back to call in for help,” Jack said.

  “Whoa whoa, there, buddy.” Derek put his camera back in its bag. “I came up here to shoot mushrooms, not play Tarzan. I know what you’re thinking and I’m not going to do it. Let’s go back and call the rangers.”

  Jack knew Derek was right, they should go back and leave any rescue missions to the professionals. But there was that journalistic devil sitting on his shoulder, convincing him otherwise. It’s not like they’d be deviating from their mushroom agenda. If he came back with a heroic story of saving some hikers in the African rainforest, he could write it under a pen name and sell it to a more reputable rag than International Traveler. Then maybe he’d get assigned some decent stories.

  He turned to Banga, “You said…someone worse. You don’t think… Like, one of those militant rebel groups? That kind of shit?”

  “I think, now, that no,” Banga replied in his best English. “They do not signal for help. And they would not let their slaves get away. Maybe, how do you say, naturalists. Many of them in these jungles, studying the animals.”

  Jack turned back to Derek. “Someone’s hurt. We have an obligation to our fellow man.”

  “Fuck you, Jack. Fuck you long, and fuck you hard.”

  “Very romantic. Can’t imagine why you got divorced.”

  “No way. Not going.”

  “Okay, we’ll let Banga decide.” Jack turned to their guide. “Banga, do you want to go back or should we help whoever is in trouble?” Jack was banking on Banga’s need to find his son to swing the decision in his favor.

  “It will not be hard,” the guide said after a moment. “We can go see. If it is too dangerous, we will turn back.”

  “There,” Jack said, his instincts having been right for once, “you heard from the expert. Let’s go look.”

  Derek shook his head. “Motherfucking stupid. If I die from a gorilla or something, I’m gonna kill you in heaven.”

  “You can hate fuck me. I’ll wear gold. Let’s go. Lead the way, Banga.”

  ***

  The three men turned and made their way through the dense foliage, deeper into the jungle, embarking on their impromptu rescue mission. What they didn’t see as they turned away from the view of the waterfall, was the giant black spider leaping over its edge into the trees below, landing right where Jack, Derek, and Banga were headed.

  ***

  Janet hit rock in the darkness of the inner mountain, Gellis’ arms still wrapped around her. She had no idea how far down they’d slid, but it was considerable. The coolness had given over to a more tepid atmosphere, the rocks slick with water, as if they were sweating.

  “Are you okay?” Gellis asked, his arms still holding her tight.

  “Yes. Let go of me. Now.” He released her. She backed away from him. “Where are we? What the hell were those spiders? I saw what you saw, right? They were spiders?”

  “I do not know. I have never seen anything like that in these jungles.”

  Gellis swept his head around, his hard hat mining light illuminating the rocky walls, which glistened as the water dripped down over millions of mineral crystals. The water plopped into small puddles on the floor. Insects of varying sizes darted out of the headlight beam.

  Janet stood up in shock. “Oh my God, are those cockroaches!”

  “Yes. But they will not hurt you.” Gellis looked back up the slope to where weak daylight revealed the crack they’d blown open moments earlier. They were at least four stories down.

  “Will those things come down here?” Janet asked, rubbing a new pain in her elbow where she’d landed on it. “Can they get us?”

  “The spiders? Maybe. I don’t know. We should get out of here.”

  “No shit. Gimme your hat. It belongs to me.”

  Reluctantly, Gellis took off his hat and handed it to Janet.

  “And don’t try to hurt me,” Janet said, adjusting the hat’s straps to her head. It was a little big, but it would do.

  “Ma’am, I have no intention of hurting you. I think we should keep our heads and try to remain quiet. We do not want to alert those creatures to our presence down here.”

  “Whatever. Listen to me. I‘ve spent my whole life in stupid mines around the world so I know a thing or two about this shit. Don’t you tell me what to do. I’m in charge here. I’m still your boss.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I understand. You have said so enough.”

  Janet could hear defiance in the man’s voice and didn’t like it. I should chew him out again, she thought, drive home the point of who’s calling the shots here. He’ll probably get pissed and try to hit me. He’s no better than the other dogs we hire.

  But she kept quiet, decided not to push it, opted instead to lay out their plan of action. “First things first. We should follow the water to where it lets out. It’s running to somewhere.”

  “I agree with you.”

  “Good for you. Here, hold my pack.”

  Gellis took the backpack, slung it over his shoulder.

  Janet looked deep into the vein of the mountain. A black tunnel sloped down slightly to her right, water running in a tiny rivulet along its bottom. We should go that way, she thought. “We’ll follow this.”

  She took four steps and tripped. “What the bloody hell!”

  She felt Gellis’ large arms lifting her up. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I said don’t touch me.”

  “My apologies.”

  “What did I trip on?” She looked down and her jaw dropped.

  Gellis knelt down beside her, his rough hand tracing the outline of a human shape. “My friends. They are dead.”

  Janet inched back from the dead bodies. She recognized them as the handful of laborers who’d entered the cave seconds before that strange earthquake.

  “They must have fallen,” Gellis said. “I think the floor opened up beneath them.”

  “Well, don’t touch them. I don’t need guts on me.”.”

  “I must, they have rope and supplies.”

  “Supplies. Good. Like what?”

  Gellis took a small pack off one of the dead workers and reached inside. He showed her the rope and tiny brushes, accompanied by a small magnifying glass. “To check the purity of the deposits.”

  “I know what a jewelers loop is. You think I don’t know you guys look for diamonds on my dime? Why do you think we hire security. Stop bullshitting me. Show me something that’s gonna make a difference right now.”

  What he drew out next made Janet both happy and nervous.

  “Dynamite.”

  ***

  Ricky Lipski was a former heavy gunner in her majesty’s army who could shoot the balls off a man doing cartwheels from a mile away. What he’d never been trained to shoot were giant monsters.

  It was all he could do not to retreat into the safety of his own mind. Spiders did not grow this big. How was this possible? It wasn’t. That was pretty clear. Only reality hadn’t gotten that message, because here they were, so fast and so relentless in their pursuit of prey, their bulbous bodies covered in thick wiry hair, their fangs clicking like castanets. Their unique color schemes were better than military grade camouflage uniforms; black and brown and gray stripes that made them look even more menacing. They looked like hairy racing decals. And their speed… They ran faster than the men could, probably faster than a car could drive. They ran so damn fast it was hard to see them before they tackled you and sank their fangs into you.

  Ricky shook with fear as he lay beneath the Jeep, looking for the rest of his security crew. He saw Winston’s dead body in the legs of one of the beasts as it drew backwards into the jungle. He saw Manny Gonzales behind a tree, firing at a giant spider, its fangs s
unken into a worker’s face, no doubt injecting its poison. The tiny miner was still alive, screaming and beating the furry beast as Manny’s bullets tore into the spider’s abdomen. It burst open with green goo but the man was now spitting up blood and something else, something yellow, as the arachnid’s poison burned away his insides.

  “Manny! Over here.” Ricky waved him toward the Jeep. “Hurry!” Manny stepped from behind the tree, running toward Ricky in combat formation with his gun up to his shoulder, knees crouched to make himself a smaller target, but was cut off as one of the massive spiders charged into his path. Manny stopped, his mouth agape. He raised his gun to fire but the spider was lightning fast, racing toward him and snaring him in a death grip before he could pull the trigger.

  Ricky aimed to fire as well, to save his squad mate, when something incredibly large landed atop the Jeep and started beating its legs against the windshield. The undercarriage of the Jeep smacked into Ricky’s head as the creature scuttled around on top. To avoid being crushed as the Jeep sank down farther, Ricky slid out into the open and rolled into a ball, coming up with his gun trained on the giant spider above him.

  It spun in a three-sixty, following the madness all around it. The way it moved struck Ricky for a moment. It looked like it was on a rotating disc. Whenever another spider or terrified miner raced by it, it twirled to follow the movement. It doesn’t move its head, Ricky noted, but rather its whole body. Spinning fast like a record.

  Now it was facing away from him, focused on a frightened miner trying desperately to climb up a tree to hide. The spider was so still, just watching, getting ready to pounce.

  Ricky raised his weapon, aimed it at the giant spider’s back.

  But then he noticed something else. The two black orbs on the back of the spider’s head.

  You’ve got to be kidding me, he thought. It can see behind it! And to prove him right, the spider spun one hundred and eighty degrees in the blink of an eye, and leapt. Ricky pulled the trigger, but it was too late. Two thick fangs burst through his ribs, piercing his lungs, filling his insides with a fiery liquid that made him pray for death.