by Alexa Dare
Oh, man. Poor kids.
Brody tightened his grip on the handle.
“Hush, little babies sleep. Close your eyes before the sandman comes around.” Tonya spoke the first few words, then lowered to her knees. Her own eyes closed, she swayed as her voice lifted into the pure sound of an Appalachian folk song. “Rest your weary head, the cold, cold ground a pillow beneath your head.”
The pureness and innocence of her song filled the cave with forlornness.
Brody longed to bury his face in his hands and weep.
The three little ones settled, and Tonya rocked, keeping time to her singing with finger taps on her lower thigh. She hummed and rocked, rocked and hummed.
“I should have paid more attention to what was happening.” Brody hung his head.
“These ain’t no ordinary spiders.” Junior rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand, relocating a caked layer of dirt.
“God, I hate spiders.” A shudder of revulsion shook Brody’s shoulders. “But they are spiders, so…”
“He’s getting one of those brain-boost moments.” Abe jogged his upper body up and down.
“No,” Brody said, “I don’t think so. Just common sense.” He knuckled his temples as if he might squeeze out a solution like popping a zit. “Can you guys safely get your hands on more of those weird earthworms?”
“With gloves.” Junior capped his nod with a frown. “I usually like worms, but the way they act like little striking snakes bothers me.”
“What about more roaches?”
“They’re nasty creepy, but sure.” Abe grinned. “Wish we had the welding gloves from the barn bunker.”
“The roaches, maybe even the worms at some point, could be dangerous. I have no right to ask this of you, but without my boosted smarts, it’s the best I can do.”
“We’re kids. We collect bugs and worms. The babies need our help. Besides, sparks are part of fire.” Abe rolled a shoulder.
“And you know fire.” Junior wagged his head. The rows of his teeth showed bright white.
“Careful guys, but hurry,” Brody called after them as they raced into the other tunnel. The two of them had caught the two mutated specimens before, but to send them back out into danger. “I suck at parenting.”
“Go back to the others,” Tonya told the little boy that had come in from playing and stood shocked. “Tell them to stay put for now.”
“I don’t want to,” the kid screeched. Hands shaking at his sides, he whirled and kicked out. “Nothing’s right anymore.”
The boy’s foot hit the boiling ham and potato stew pot.
The cooking pot turned over with a rattling clang.
Scorched potatoes and bits of ham spilled over the heated rocks in sizzling puffs of rising smoke.
On the pallet beneath the web, a toddler, a rosy cheek little fellow, sat up. He rubbed his eyes with pudgy fists.
“Git. Now.” Tonya’s gaze reflected her anger. The jut of her chin did the rest. “You tell the others to stay where they are. Quick like.”
The boy ran back into the dead-end side tunnel.
“Hush, little baby, go to sleep. Sink into the darkness, deep, deep, deep.” Tonya sang to lull the three-year-old back to sleep, but the roused toddler tilted back his head and yawned. Blue eyes widened and mouth agape, the boy gurgled, babbled, and reached for the web.
“No,” Tonya called out.
Can’t look. Have to get to work.
Brody bolted to the plank that served as a worktable. “Slingshot. No rubber. Nothing that stretchy on hand. The elastic band of his underwear? Not enough stretch. Think, dang it, think. His rolled his eyes upward.
The strand of web that had trailed from their captured spider shifted in a slight movement from whatever weather event went on above the ground.
“If you can’t beat ‘em.” Brody grinned.
“No. No. Don’t touch.” Tanya yelled. “His hand is stuck. He’s tugging the web. Spiders are heading toward him.”
“I’m going in Brody. You’d best be fixing up something that works.”
“Tonya. Wait.”
“No time.” Shuffles echoed as Tonya crawled under the sticky strands.
“Don’t look,” he told himself and set aside the shovel.
Standing atop an upturned five-gallon bucket, Brody whacked at a length of web the thickness of a strand of yarn with the bolt cutters. On the fourth snip, the cutters cut through the fiber. He hopped off the bucket and scooted one of the kettles filled with water beneath and let the loose strand drop into the water. “Step one.”
“Brody, my hair’s caught. Best hurry.”
Brody used a pair of what might be gripper tongs that they’d found in the stash of mining tools. He lifted the gluey thread, then, with a pencil, wrapped each side around the metal grips.
As the strand dried, the tackiness increased.
He opened the tongs or grippers or whatever they were and placed them, tong part opened, within the clamps of the vise. He slid the vise to face the web, wedging a flat shard of stone to lift the front.
Two black widows quivered on the filaments only inches above Tonya’s head.
“Don’t move, Tonya.” A shudder jammed the length of Brody’s spine.
Tonya stretched out. One hand reaching for the now wiggling baby, while the other grabbed for the little girl’s ankle.
On her belly, Tonya extended her arms farther.
Just above her shoulder, a black widow seemed prepared to jump.
“Get. Out. Now,” yelled Brody.
Hair ripping from the web like Velcro pulled apart, Tonya dragged the toddler out from under.
The spider jumped.
Brody swung a shovel he didn’t recall picking up.
In a connect that would make his athletic big brother proud, the metal of the spade smacked the spider in mid jump. The hit sent the fist-sized body, with legs extended, flying.
The legs-splayed spider slammed into the rear upper part of the web. Like a hammock under too much weight, the strands sagged.
The rest of the spiders scurried toward the movement.
The infant opened her eyes and mouth. Her blue eyes pried amazingly wide and her mouth stretched to fit the wail that, after a long pause, blasted out.
Tonya dove back in and pulled the crying baby out. She said to the toddler, “Watch after the baby, so that we can get Jessie out.”
At the sound of his name, Jessie issued an eardrum-piercing wail. By now, both of the kid’s hands stuck to the web, and he jerked his arms to free them.
The spiders, halfway across the room, heading toward their displaced pal, stopped.
“Shh. Shh, Jessie.” Tonya grasped the girl toddler’s shoulders. “You have to take care of the baby, okay?”
“Name?” the girl asked, pointing at the pink bundle.
“You be thinking of lots of names, okay. We’ll pick one for her.”
“Pony!”
“How about Lucky?” Brody passed the shovel to Tonya. He used a dull-bladed box cutter to cut out the palm of a leather glove so he could use the leather on his beyond crude device.
Racing in from the tunnel, Junior said, “I put ‘em inside one of the gloves. Abe’s got a jar full of sparking roaches.”
“Better hurry. They’re setting one another on fire.” Abe held the glass jar with his gloved hands.
Tonya gripped the wooden shovel handle in both hands, holding the tool across her body. “We better get the younger ones out of here.”
“Junior.” Brody fitted the square leather piece onto the loop of fiber. “You take the baby and the little girl to the play tunnel.”
“You might need my help.” Junior crossed his arms.
“We need to be ready to get out of here quick. Let the older kids know so they can get the others ready.”
Brody’s hand trembled. How he’d actually swung a home run at bat, he’d never know, but he’d take it.
“When you get back, you can help Abe loa
d.”
“Whoa, a revved-up slingshot.” Junior scooped up the blanket-wrapped baby. Bending down, he took the pudgy little girl by the hand.
Brody dabbed more water drips on the piece of web. It was hard to hold the patch of leather in place with gloves. “Worm first.”
Abe shook out one of the worms into Brody’s gloved palm.
The opened tongs, held by the vise, served as the frame. Sticky, but also stretchy, attached to the grabbers of the tongs, and the leather seated on the middle of the loop.
“Not bad for not knowing halfway what I’m trying to do.” Ignoring the searing potato and charring salty ham stink, Brody, with a water-soaked glove, pulled back until the web strand vibrated with tension. Knuckles aching, he placed the two-headed worm on the square patch and aimed in the direction of the spider farthest away.
The twang of the slingshot’s release played like one of Irene’s ballads in his ears.
The worm smacked into the closest edge. An instant stick glued the worm in place, the worm wiggled against the strands and fought to free itself.
“More tension,” he mumbled.
The amazing spring of the fiber drew out. Brody pulled farther back this go around and held as steady as his shaking hands allowed.
A worm landed only inches from the far most spider.
The black widow pounced, clamping its fangs in a deadly bite.
The other spiders heading for the screaming toddler turned toward the feeding spider.
“Good, we got their attention.” Brody worked to slow his breathing.
Three mutated worms later, the spiders occupied the web’s back half, farthest from little Jessie, who, by now, had succeeded in wrapping himself like a mummy in white clinging fibers.
“We’ll never get him out.” Tonya sank to the floor.
Junior returned. “The kids will be ready.”
“You and Tonya are the smallest in size. Abe if you can toss water on the fibers to soak the web on the way to and around Tonya and Junior, they might be able to get to Jessie.”
“Wish Hannah were here.” Abe grabbed a water-filled kettle. “We can do this. You’re doing pretty good even without your extra brain smarts.”
“Just trying to save our butts.” Brody shot another worm whose two upper parts writhed as if fighting each other.
Fixed in place upon landing, the worm squirmed.
Two spiders shoved at each other with their front legs to gain access to the easy freebie meal.
“More fast food coming up. A few more appetizers, then the main course. Heated to suit your taste. No fries included or needed.” Brody eyed the jar of roaches.
Abe threw kettles of water onto the network of webs.
With elbow and knee nudges, Junior slid beneath the sopping web.
Tonya slid under too, pushing a wooden crate before her. As if making a play fort under a droopy sheet, they worked their way to the crying toddler.
Poor little guy had worn himself out.
Tonya shoved the crate farther in to prop up the sagging strands.
Junior belly crawled to the kid.
In tandem, Abe scooted a second pot of water to the agile girl.
Tonya, in turn, scooted the water to Junior.
Amid the ruined stew fumes, of the Junior sloshed water over the kid.
Brody hurled two more worms, setting off another many-legged fight.
The spiders turning on one another would make things a heck of a lot easier.
A frantic Junior worked his fingers between threads. In ripping tugs, he parted strands and peeled the kid out of the cocoon as if the boy were a baby chick too weak to hatch from an egg.
“More water,” Tonya said.
Jessie, heaving little sobs, clawed at the web.
Spiders hurried toward the greater motion.
“Guys, they’re losing interest in the worms.”
Junior pulled the boy free, then passed him to Tonya.
Tonya shoved him toward Abe.
Abe set him aside. “Go to Mr. Brody.”
The boy wailed.
“Now,” yelled Tonya.
The kid crawled to Brody to latch on to his lower leg like a second sock.
“Human ladder,” Abe said. He splashed another dousing of water and set the pot aside.
Tonya grasped Junior’s arms.
Abe grabbed her ankles. He backward crawled and pulled Tonya, then Junior, out.
Brody forced himself to breathe as they all made it out. He used the smoking, sizzling leather glove to load the slingshot with one of the roaches.
The roach landed mid-web, and one of the spiders attacked.
“Eat hearty,” Brody yelled.
A spark flashed.
The spider burst into flame.
Fire spread along the web.
A high-pitched shrill rose as the spider things screamed.
Crackles of fire engulfed the strands.
Movement flashed in front of Brody.
A hit, then a second thump, slapped his chest.
“Oh, heck no.” Brody forced his gaze downward.
Two black forms clung to the front of Brody’s shirt. Too many legs gripped the cotton material draping his ribs. His spit went all salty lime and his bladder twinged. “Guys?”
A yip sounded from the tunnel, then a familiar white blur skidded toward the pile of blankets. Tail wagging, the puppy slid beneath the webbing and barked at the fire and the spiders over its head.
Jessie yelled and clapped, “Puppy!”
Tonya, her eyes bulged clapped to get the puppy to come.
“This ain’t good.” Junior, on all fours, gripped the ground as if seeking an answer from the earth.
“So not good.” Like a kid himself, for once not much to say, Brody ground out, “Jessie, best go to Tonya.”
The toddler, eyes clamped shut and clinging to Brody’s calf for dear life with wrapped arms and legs, bawled in howling waves of yowls.
Two giant black widows crawled up the drab green T-shirt.
Chin tucked, Brody leaned his head back.
Atop his ribs, the things made a whining, mewling sound.
No, that pitiful sound came from him. No doubt, the last noise he would ever make.
Chapter 19
The walls of the stale, airless metal room closed in. Warily, Hannah cast a glance at the cracked ceiling seam.
Bugs crawled and blinked.
Her scalp tingled. A throb gouged her temples. In a sharp rush, a grapefruit hint soaked Hannah’s tongue. “Hurry, another power surge is on the way.”
“We can’t do wind and rain in here.” Darcy Lynn’s eyes popped wide in the dimming glow of the light sticks.
If Hannah made it rain, even if more slits broke the fit of the upper corners and edges of the so-called safe room, water would, no doubt, still pool.
Then there was Vincent.
Near a storage shelf, the teen, eyes shaded in shadows, stood eerily motionless. Except for his index finger. The finger jerked as if he longed to trace a sketch, yet he pointed to one of the side top shelves.
“Poop fire and save matches. Pardon my potty mouth, Miss Irene.” Uncle Merv waved toward the bugs. “A swarm.”
“Even a shelter isn’t safe.” Hannah glanced about the gloom.
Six others—two adults, a teen, and three kids—were trapped with her.
Vincent and Hannah crept to the shelving. On the top shelf around a large opened metal can of corn, dozens of blinks flew.
“Quakes must have shifted the place out of square.” Merv snorted. “Don’t make these places like they used to.”
“Are you sure they’ll hurt us?” Darcy Lynn asked.
“One of them burned through the top of a tin can,” said Hannah.
“We’ll catch them.” Merv clutched the water jar holding one of the acid bugs. “We can use them on the metal of the door.”
Bang. Wham.
Peyton, out to get even, again beat on the door’s other side.
Didn’t she ever give up?
Jarred from his zoned-out mode, Vincent rushed to a shelf. He grabbed a jar from the shelf and screwed off the lid. In a loud pop, then a hissing suck, the seal let go.
Face turned aside, Darcy Lynn held a plastic garbage bag.
In quick dumps, he emptied out the jar in chugging glugs.
The aroma of sweet garlic and vinegar burned Hannah’s dry eyes. She blinked and wrinkled her nose. “Phew. You would choose sweet garlic pickles.”
“Ickles,” said Jeremiah.
“Yay!” Isaiah clapped.
“My sincere regrets.” Vincent swished the jar out with water. “Your friend, Peyton, is right, you know. The fault lies with us.”
“She’s no friend of mine. Besides, your mother and the stupid project are to blame. We wouldn’t have messed with the weather, or hurt anyone ever, had it not been for the awful scientists and tests.”
“My mother meant well.” He offered the jar and lid. “I’d like to think she did.”
“You seem…” Hannah shrugged, “I don’t know… Different.”
“The need to draw rises greatly as we speak. For short spans, as now, I settle into what I imagine might be normal.”
“Right, normal.” Hannah grunted a snort. “You talk funny, though, for a sixteen-year-old.”
“Due to my mother’s resolve, I assure you.”
“I’m sorry.” The kind of sad that used to stir up a spring rain hefted her sighs. “You deserved better.”
He nodded. “I would grant that we all did.”
Darcy Lynn yelped. “One’s on Isaiah’ shirt. Will the bug hurt him?”
“Ow. Ow. Ow.” Isaiah smacked at his arm and let out a high-pitched shriek.
Irene skinned his little shirt over his head. She tossed the shirt aside, and in quick finger curls, urged Merv to come to her.
Darcy Lynn grabbed the man’s upper arm.
Isaiah wailed.
His brother howled in support.
Merv let the little girl think she helped him scoot across the floor. “Get the bug, Hannah, squish it against the metal door. See what happens. Be careful and don’t get the innards on you.”
Hannah toed the shirt close to the door. “Vincent, you watch the live bugs.”
“They fail to blink on a steady basis.”
“Can you knock them away from us?”