“Okay, here’s how it’s gonna work. Gellis, you’re in front again. Moyo, you stay behind me, watch the rear. Anything comes, yell like hell. And believe me when I say we’re not stopping anymore.”
Gellis translated this to the man. He nodded that he understood.
Janet waved toward the tunnel for what felt like the millionth time. “Good. Let’s go for real now.”
The three of them moved into the darkness again, the headlight beams on Janet’s hat carving a lighted path before them. About one hundred yards in, the water got deeper, running over their ankles and up their shins. They were forced to kneel down to crawl through a low overhang. Janet had no idea if this direction would lead to freedom, just knew that following the water would get them somewhere.
“Ma’am,” Gellis started, “I cannot see much with your light behind me.”
“What’s your point.”
“I think…I know that it is your hat, but if I am to be in front, it would be better for me to see what is before us.”
Of course, she thought. He wants to leave me blind. No way. “I’m keeping the hat,” she said.
“If I may…I believe that the spiders will likely attack that which they can see the best. If I had to guess, they will attack the light first before either myself or Moyo.”
Well shit, she thought, he does have a point. Moyo and Gellis were both African, and in the dark cave were much more easily hidden. With the light on her head she probably stuck out like a sore thumb. She hated to relinquish it after having made her point about taking it, but death by spider was not worth it in the end. “Fine. Here. But if I want it back you give it right back.”
“I will do that, ma’am. I promise.” Gellis took the hat back and fastened it once again to his head, resumed leading them through the cave.
Janet followed and prayed she’d made a good decision. There was no telling what things were in this place with them, and how many fangs those things might have.
***
It was nearing midday and the sun was getting hotter. As a result, the mosquitoes were out in higher numbers, swarming in the dark shade of the trees. Shumba stopped his trek back to the village and knelt down beside a small bush with orange cup blossoms. The cups held the remainder of the morning’s dew. He tipped each one over, spilling the small amount of water onto the forest floor. He took this mud and wiped it on his neck and chest, around his ears and on his cheeks. This would keep the mosquitoes from biting until he could get back to the village. That it felt cool and kept the occasional hot ray of sun from burning him was a bonus.
He dipped his finger into the pouch on his belt and scooped out a dollop of honey, sucked it down with a smile. It was sweet and warm and lined his stomach with a sugary thickness.
What was he going to tell his father and mother? They would not believe that giant spiders were jumping down from the Old Man into the lower jungle. They’d think he’d eaten some bad berries (as was the joke they often told the White Men to get a laugh). His mother and father knew him to be honest, but even a history of truthfulness would not allow them to trust such a wild story.
He resumed his walk, occasionally swinging his machete to clear fronds that had fallen over his tracks. Eventually he found the signs of the footpath that led to his village. It was a path invisible to the untrained eye, but Shumba’s father had taught him what to look for.
All around him the jungle sang its familiar song. Trees swaying, bugs clicking, branches creaking, and always the distant cries of monkeys and birds. These were the sounds he liked to fall asleep to at night.
Something shuffled in the trees behind him. He looked back, saw nothing. Perhaps another rodent, looking for some food. He waited, watching.
There!
A hundred meters away. The bushes shaking. Something big rustling in them. Immediately he thought of the spiders. But it could also be a cat. Both thoughts scared him to death and he wanted to run, to burst through the trees back to his village, but he was sure this would only encourage the creature to attack. This he’d learned at an early age: you do not run, for the man-eating predator’s instinct is to give chase. If you stay still you have a better chance of survival. The big cat will sit on its haunches waiting for movement. As it sits, you take aim with your weapon and kill it.
Unfortunately, all he had to fight with was his machete, and it would be no match for a jaguar let alone some giant demon arachnid. If he could find some big rocks he might scare it away, but there were none around him now. Nothing but tree trunks, vines and flowers.
The bushes shook again. Whatever it was drew closer.
Shumba felt a shiver race up his spine. He made a decision. Better to run in this instance than try to fight with the machete.
He turned and fled just as something burst out of the bushes behind him, the sound of rushing feet slapping dirt. As much as he wanted to look back he knew his only hope was to keep his head forward and sprint as fast as he could. Familiar landmarks passed by him—-the rock like a chair, the dip in the ground. He was getting closer to the village. Now the trees were stripped of bark from where the tribesmen had shorn them for rope. The beast behind him drew closer! He could hear it just behind him, could hear its ragged, hungry breathing.
Shumba turned and swung his machete, crying out in panic.
A hand caught his wrist in mid swing, brought his arm down to his side with delicate strength.
“Shumba! Why are you trying to kill me!”
It was his father, carrying a large, dead snake over his shoulder. Shumba began to shake, and buried his face into his father’s belly.
“So why did you and your wife get divorced?” Jack hopped over a small sinkhole of mud. The waterfall was drawing closer, but the top of the mountain still seemed a hell of a long way off. It was going to be a workout getting up there.
Ahead of him, Derek huffed as he cradled his camera bag and ducked low vines. “Dunno. Pretty sure just because everyone else was doing it. I don’t think they should call it marriage anymore.”
“What should they call it?”
“Leasing pussy.”
Jack laughed. This Derek guy wasn’t so bad. Not that photographers generally were, but he’d been on enough travel assignments to know you rolled the dice and hoped you didn’t wind up with the snooty artist you wanted to punch in the mouth.
“So it just got boring then? Or is there something you’re not telling me.”
“She wanted to fuck other guys.”
“And you couldn’t swing that into a mutually beneficial situation?”
“Yeah well, not in a swingers way. I mean she wanted to move on but was afraid to go through the divorce. I dunno. I heard rumors that she was cheating on me. I found out through the grapevine. And by grapevine I mean by a local journalist who I’m pretty sure was banging her.”
“Ah. I see. Us writers do love to break up marriages. We’ll fuck anything with tits. I’m working on the Brangelina situation myself right now.”
“Cool. I’ll take pictures if you need ‘em.”
Jack brushed insects from his face. “Deal.” They walked for another minute, the shade growing cooler. “You realize I’m joking, right? I wouldn’t mess up anyone’s marriage.”
“Jack, I really wouldn’t be angry if you did. I don’t know if I blame that journalist or not. Not even sure who to blame.”
“And you’re still sleeping with her?”
“Well, yeah, I love her. And she’s a good girl deep down.
“When she’s not sleeping with other men.”
“It’s duplicitous, I grant you that.”
“That’s a big word. You’re talking like a writer. You’re not gonna bang me are you?”
“Only if Koko passes you up. But no, truth is we’re trying to work things out. We were young, I think we hadn’t sown our wild oats yet. One pussy, one dick, for the rest of your life…I see where some people can’t have that.”
“But isn’t that the point of love and
commitment?”
“Look, Jack, I divorced her and went and had my fun too. Truth be told I was a shitty husband and said a lot of things I regret and I did a lot of things I hate thinking about. I were her, I would have left too. Maybe not done it in such a mean way, but yeah, I was not Prince Charming. Of course what did I know? I was in my twenties, typical egomaniac, definitely uncaring. I think we both married capriciously simply because we liked the romantic idea of marriage. We weren’t ready for the actual lifelong commitment. I mean, you have to stay with this person forever. At least that’s the vow you take. Think about that. Fucking forever is a long time. But maybe we’re ready now, if not out of love, out of fear. We’re discussing it, anyway. Christ I feel like I’m in therapy all of a sudden. Why are you so interested in my failed marriage?”
“I’m not. But Banga is a bad conversationalist and I’m sick of talking about mushrooms and trees.”
Derek stopped, took a breath, waited for Jack to draw up next to him. Together they watched Banga ahead of them hacking away low branches with his machete.
“Banga,” Derek yelled.
Banga stopped and looked back at them. The man was covered in sweat.
“Jack says you’re a bad talker. Tell us something funny.”
After a moment of consideration, Banga smiled and said, “Okay. This is funny. There is a monkey that doesn’t like you.”
Jack looked at Derek, who was reciprocating confusion. “The fuck does that mean, Banga?”
Then something hit Jack in the head. “Ow!” He looked up and saw a small monkey in a branch leering down at him. It was holding a nut from the tree. It hurled the nut at Jack and hit him in the shoulder before scooting up higher into the tree tops. “Ow! Little bastard!”
Laughing, Banga resumed his trailblazing, his machete slicing away at obstacles in his path.
“You know, I should have gotten a picture of that,” Derek said.
Even though they’d seen monkeys in the trees at Banga’s village, Jack was still scared of them in the wild. They weren’t the cute, cuddly animals he’d seen in zoos or on TV. In the wild, monkeys were little shits. Where the nut had hit his shoulder there was a round, beige stain. Jack rubbed at it, smelled his fingers. “Oh, sonofabitch.”
Derek started off after Banga again. “What’s wrong?”
“I think the damn monkey peed on that nut.
***
Behind Janet, Moyo was moaning, his voice echoing off the rock walls as they finally emerged out of the water and onto an elevated shelf made of slate.
“What’s he saying?” she asked Gellis.
The large man was tracing his fingers on the rock walls in front of her, testing for handholds; the ground here was still slick with moisture and it was necessary to hold on to something to avoid slipping. “He is complaining about his ribs. His breathing sounds worse. He may have hurt a lung.”
“What if we just leave him here? We can come back for him later.”
Gellis met her eyes, his headlight beam nearly blinding her. For a brief moment Janet thought he might yell at her. Again she fought down an instinctual fear of the man, stood her ground. He did not speak to her, however. He spoke over her shoulder to Moyo.
The smaller man nodded and responded through the labored breath of his native language.
“I told him to be quieter,” Gellis told Janet. “Told him he would attract danger. He says he will try not to moan anymore.”
Janet glared at the wounded worker leaning against the rocky wall. His face was pinched in pain and he still hugged his sides. “I’m saying it for the record: Shut the hell up. You don’t and I’ll make sure you’re never hired in this fucking jungle hellhole ever again. Now let’s keep moving.”
She gave Gellis a light shove to get him moving again as well. Moyo followed closely behind, maintaining their single file formation. The cave was colder here, and several times Gellis pointed out deep pits to avoid. They walked for many minutes in silence, listening to various mysterious sounds Janet assumed were trickles of water or skittering bugs. At one point there was a faint squeak that gave her the heebie jeebies, but Gellis assured her it was just a small bat and nothing to worry about. Bats suck blood, she thought. I’m gonna worry about it and don’t you tell me different.
The floor angled down for several feet, which Janet took as a good sign. The water was running down to the river below, so going down was exactly what they wanted to do.
“Hold up,” Gellis said. He raised his hand to signal them to stop.
“What’s wrong?” Janet asked.
“We’ve hit a wall, ma’am. Literally. It’s a dead end.”
“Great. So we go back the way we came and find another route?”
“Maybe not. Let me see.” Gellis’s headlamp played over the wall in front of them, moving off to the side, and finally revealing a crack in the rock, not unlike the one they’d blown open in the mountain façade outside. “I think we can squeeze through here but it will be tight.”
“Fuck that, Antoine. I’m not getting stuck in some wall in this mountain. That’s why I hire your people to come in here and blast open passageways. I’m going back.”
Janet turned to push past Moyo, but stopped dead when she heard the sounds of something moving back in the tunnel behind them.
Gellis heard it too, and swung his headlamp to illuminate the darkness back there. Moyo was nearly crying now. Janet stepped toward Gellis and the crack in the wall, keeping her eyes on the tunnel behind them.
“I fear we have company,” Gellis said.
“No no no no. Fucking Moyo, they must have heard you! I should leave you here to deal with them.”
She was shaking in fear and anger now. When Gellis’ hand fell on her should she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Madam, this is our only option.”
The scuffling sounds grew louder, closer. It was followed by a thumpa thumpa thumpa, the clear sign of some demon creature running forward.
“Go!” Gellis shouted, and threw her into the crack. He pressed himself in after her, with Moyo struggling to get in as quickly as possible. The three of them were forced to maneuver sideways through the tight space. Janet had never felt so trapped in her life. Claustrophobia washed over her and sent her heart racing.
Behind them came the sounds of many legs running and then a sizeable vibration as the giant beast slammed into the rock wall. She was able to turn her head to look back as she squeezed herself forward. In the light of Gellis’ headlamp she saw two large, hairy black legs probe into the crack, swatting at Moyo, causing him to finally forget his vow of silence and scream in terror.
“Oh my god oh my god,” Janet chanted as she moved.
The passage began to bend, and she was sure it would simply wedge tight without any exit, leaving her stuck in here, in this rock coffin, dying where no one would ever find her. But then she saw the end of the crack, illuminated like a bolt of lightning, glowing with honest-to-goodness sunlight.
She could hear the giant spider trying to work its way into the passage after them. She could hear Moyo crying. She could hear Gellis mumbling some kind of prayer. Just a few more feet and she’d be free, out where she could see her surroundings, maybe even find a way back outside.
She shuffled as fast as she could, felt her shoulders slip beyond the end of the tight rock walls, and fell out into the light.
And then she screamed.
***
Banga swung his machete, clearing away the last of the thick fronds blocking their view of the river. Jack and Derek emerged from the jungle overgrowth and stood in amazement at the sight before them.
Towering upwards some two thousand feet was a rocky mountain that disappeared into a swirling layer of mist. Spilling outward from this mist was a river of fresh water that cascaded down through tiers of overhanging trees before crashing into the brown river cutting across the jungle floor in front of them.
They stepped out onto the muddy banks of the river. Their feet sank in, re
leasing bubbles of gas that stank of sulfur.
“There’s no way we’re getting up there,” Jack said.
Derek took out his camera and used his zoom lens to get a better view of the rock face. “It’s way too steep to climb. Shit. Is this game over?”
“Unless there’s a road up to the top. Banga?”
The guide was looking down the river, studying the terrain. “I think…we can go around. Walk up the back side. It will be steep but people have gone up this mountain often. The LRA have been spotted here before. If they can do, it we can do it. Only problem is…” The guide unshouldered his gun and pointed down the river, toward the point where it doglegged left.
“Only problem is what?” Jack pressed.
Banga’s eyes narrowed. “Hippos.”
***
It took several minutes for Shumba to stop stuttering and shaking. He was sure it had been a spider chasing him, not his father. His mother handed him a plastic cup of water and rubbed his head for support. When he was calm once more, he relayed what he had seen while collecting the honey.
“Are you sure of this, Shumba?” his father asked. “Could it have been one of the gorillas or perhaps a cat?”
“No,” Shumba replied. “They were spiders. Jumpers. Larger than you. I saw many of them jump from the trees around Old Man.”
Something crossed his father’s face, something that betrayed a secret Shumba had never been privy to. His father squeezed his shoulder and told him he’d done well, then moved off to have a conversation with the other men of the village. Shumba watched the way his father took charge of the tribe, noted the commanding tone in his voice. The other men stood around and nodded before running off to their respective houses. Finally, his father returned to him and squatted down by his side.
“Shumba, I fear a long, lost legend has returned to the mountain. Many people will die if we do not get help. I am sending some of the men to the edge of the trees to request help from the government, from the rangers. The rest of us will head to the Old Man and see if we can help the people who shot the red star. I tell you this because you are a man now, and are old enough to decide what you want to do. I would like for you to join us. We will need every available man who can swing a branch and throw a rock. Do you understand?”
Salticidae Page 5