by Nora Penn
“Oh, and here’s the best thing. There’s a new breed of spider. It’s not dangerous at all. It must be some kind of mutation as they call it. It’s a lot smaller than the other spiders – cuz you know those Black Hermit Spiders can be as big as dogs – no, these new ones are a lot smaller. And they’re real pretty too. They’re dark blue and they got black crosses on their backs. Over.”
James had trouble picturing a ‘real pretty’ spider, but he was happy to hear that this new type wasn’t dangerous.
“Glad to hear it. Over.”
“And not only that,” Bigsby added. “They’re good eating too. Yeah, you can cook em right up on a grill or in a skillet. Real good source of protein. And the skin is a good source of fiber. Some pizzerias around here are even serving spider pizza. I swear since I’ve been eating these blue spiders I’ve been more regular. I used to get real bad constipation but now it’s smooth sailing. Over!”
James wasn’t sure what to say about that. Before he could form a response, Bigsby came back on.
“Hey, here’s a joke for you: why is shit tapered at the ends? Over!”
James winced as he prepared for the punchline. “I don’t know. Why is shit tapered at the ends? Over.”
“Cuz if shit was square, your butthole would slam shut!”
Here Bigsby laughed a hearty laugh. James chuckled too, although he was laughing more at the sound of Bigsby’s laughter than at his crummy joke.
“That was a good one, wasn’t it?” Bigsby asked, coming back on. “Don’tcha think? Over.”
“It was pretty good. Over.”
“I still got it!” Bigsby laughed again. “Over!”
“You should try for a career in stand-up comedy. Over.”
“Anyway, these spiders – these blue ones – are real healthy eating. Lots of protein. Lots of fiber. And they even taste pretty good. Over.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Over.”
“And there’s tons of em, so there’s enough for everybody. Which is important, especially as seeing how all the grocery stores and bodegas have been pretty much looted and picked over. People are starting to eat pigeons and squirrels. These blue spiders are a lot better than either one of those things. Over!”
James was mildly amused by the direction of the conversation. Well, if New Yorkers could actually eat the new spiders, good for them. In this day and age people couldn’t be too picky. Even so, he would probably keep grilled spider off the menu, or at least treat it as an absolute last resort.
“Maybe you could open up a spider restaurant down there,” James joked. “I know you New Yorkers are always figuring out new ways to make a buck. Over.”
Bigsby let out a big stupid laugh. “Ha ha. You got that right. Hey, look at it this way: it’s our revenge. They ate us. Now we’re eating them. Ha ha. The tables are turned! Right? Ha ha. Over.”
“You’ll have to eat them for the both of us. The only spiders I see up here are the Black Hermit kind. And they’re still in pretty good numbers. Over!”
“Well come on down here to New York. I’ll make sure you eat good. I might start doing a barbeque night. Bigsby’s Barbecue. Ha ha. How’s that float your boat? Huh? Get yourselves some barbecue spider! I bet those blue spiders would go real good with some spicy barbeque sauce on them. Hell, I gotta stop talking about this stuff! It’s starting to make me hungry! Over!”
“Good idea, Bigsby. Over.”
“Oh, but there’s one other thing I forgot to mention. The blue spiders are supposedly an even better cure for cancer than the Black Hermits. Some doctors in Manhattan figured this out and they’re working on synthesizing it. I suppose they think this whole apocalypse is going to blow over someday and they want to have the cure ready for whoever survives. Over.”
Hearing this made James’ heart do a somersault in his chest. He had to exert effort to downplay his reaction.
“That’s very interesting. Over.”
“Yeah, and I just happen to have one of them that I’ve captured. I don’t know anybody who has cancer though. Or I’d like them go ahead and use it for a cure. Over.”
James had to swallow the lump of hope that was rising in his throat.
“Yeah, well, I hope you find somebody who needs it. That would really be a big help. I mean, to that person, whoever that person is…”
He realized that he was rambling, but he couldn’t help it. His thoughts were just too scattered at the moment to think straight.
“Say there Boston, what’s your real name? Over.”
James considered giving a fake name but decided against it. For some reason – perhaps because he realized that there was benefit in gaining this man’s trust – he opted for honesty.
“Dresden. James Dresden. Over!”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. James Dresden. Who knows, maybe one day we’ll meet in person. Stranger things have happened. Over!”
“True,” James admitted. In this crazy time anything seemed possible. “Well listen Bigsby, I gotta hit the sack. It’s been real nice talking with you. Over.”
“You too, Jimmy James. And remember, I come on every night at midnight. Kind of like Wolfman Jack back in the old days. Over.”
James only had a vague memory of Wolfman Jack but he understood the reference. “You got it, Bigsby. Take care. Over.”
Before he turned off the URH he decided to light another cigarette. As much as he enjoyed chatting with this guy Bigsby, he wanted to savor at least one cigarette in silence. As he puffed away in the moonlight, James reflected for the second time that day that there were still some good people in the world. And even if this guy Bigsby wasn’t a “good person” by the textbook definition of the term, there was no denying the fact that he was a character.
Normally, these kinds of things wouldn’t strike James as especially important. But in this strange new world they now inhabited, he had started to cherish the simple pleasure of human interaction. Underlying this thought was the memory of Steve’s transgression and the sober knowledge that he had killed a man today. Steve certainly had it coming, and James felt zero guilt for protecting his family, but he knew that something inside him had changed. As he watched the tip of his cigarette smolder, he made a silent petition to the universe, asking that he would never again have to take another man’s life.
James let the static on the URH crackle absently as he blew a thick puff of smoke across the water. As he watched the puff disperse the static began to break up and a familiar voice emerged.
“Dear Citizens of the United States…” the voice came floating out of the URH. James jumped up and turned the volume on the radio higher.
“This is President Atticus Balthazar. I am transmitting this message from a bunker deep underneath the ruins of Washington DC. As you know, our country has been the focus of a vicious attack by giant spiders. Even now, US troops are amassing to fight this sudden menace.”
James was happy to hear the president’s voice, even if he didn’t particularly like President Balthazar. He hadn’t voted for the man and felt that he was at best an effeminate gnome. But hearing the president address the citizenry meant that the country was starting to come to grips with the hellish situation it found itself in. The only thing that bothered him was that the president’s voice seemed a little ‘off,’ as if he had been drinking or had the flu.
“The citizenry will have to excuse me…” the president continued. “I have been feeling under the weather lately and have a bad cold. It’s from all of the stress, no doubt. As the country gets back in shape, I am sure that I will do the same.”
James nodded along to the president’s words, satisfied with his official explanation.
“A nationwide state of emergency has been declared…” President Balthazar continued, “…which means that every citizen is expected to do his or her duty to help get the country back on track. If anyone out there with a URH radio hears this message, I, as president, am asking you personally to take your middle fing
er and wedge it deep in your anus.”
James nearly choked when he heard this.
“Remember folks, this is a presidential order. Anyone who doesn’t obey my every command will be summarily shot in front of their families. Well, that’s all for now. Until tomorrow, this has been President Atticus Balthazar. God bless each and every one you and God Bless America.”
Chapter 13
“James! Get up!”
James awoke to the sound of Hannah’s worried voice and the feeling of her shaking him.
“Wha? Wha? What is it?” He wiped the sleep from his eyes.
“James, the boat is filling up with water! Come here and look!”
An awful feeling hit James in his gut. He knew that the Happy Clam was an old boat way back when he bought it. That’s how he had gotten it so cheap. It was meant to be a cheap “first boat,” for a professional fisherman starting off. He had expected to either sell it or merely to keep it as the start of the fleet that he expected to build. But he had never gotten as far as buying a second boat. And now his lack of action was coming back to bite them in the ass.
He pulled a shirt on over his head and followed Hannah downstairs to the boiler room. There he saw a foot and a half of water. He watched it for a minute and just in the time that he stood there he witnessed it rise an inch or so. Wherever the hole was, it was too big to fix.
Instead of bemoaning the fact, he decided to act.
“Wake up Carol,” he said to his wife. “And get her dressed. Grab everything you need off the boat and put it on the motorboat.”
“We’re sinking!?!?” Hannah asked, hardly believing this could be happening.
“Yes, dear. The boat is sinking. In a little bit the Happy Clam won’t be so happy.”
A look of despair passed over Hannah’s face. “How long do we have?” she asked.
“Judging from how fast it’s filling up, I’d say we have a half an hour, maybe less.”
“We can do this!” Hannah said, more to reassure herself than to reassure her husband.
“We’ve survived this long,” James said. “A slowly sinking ship won’t get us down.”
In the back of his mind James felt a wave of anxiety rising, but it would do him no good to reveal this to Hannah, who was very pregnant and dealing with her own fluctuating levels of hormones. The best thing he could do would be to act strong in the face of adversity. But in order to do that, he first needed some caffeine. He went back upstairs and started a pot of coffee in the ship’s small kitchen.
“James!” Hannah cried out in exasperation. “What are you doing?”
“I’m making coffee, Sweetheart. This will be the last time I use the coffee maker here, and who knows where I’ll get my next cup. So I’m going to enjoy this last cup of coffee and then help you pack the motorboat.”
Rather than argue, Hannah just stalked off, presumably to wake up Carol and get her packed.
Things went more or less as planned. James drank his coffee and then promptly helped Hannah and Carol pack the essential items, which was their clothes and toiletries, some maps, a box full of durable food items from the pantry, the water they had left, all of Carol’s medicines, all of the baby supplies they had gathered in anticipation of Ben’s birth, including several jumbo boxes of diapers pilfered from the local grocery stores, James’ pistol, his 22, his hunter’s knife, a flare gun, a few cans of fuel, Carol’s One Direction backpack, and the URH radio.
The entire time they packed, the boat filled up with more and more water. All in all, it took about 45 minutes to get to the point where the boat was a danger to be on. By that time the motorboat was fully packed and Carol and Hannah were sitting in the prow with their sun hats on, looking like they were ready for a summer outing. The odd episode made James think of how sometimes people will scramble to grab their possessions when their house is on fire. Although, he reflected, they were much better off. To state the obvious, water doesn’t burn you when you touch it. Although, in the end, the final result was the same, the loss of the place they called home.
“Oh shit,” James said, forgetting his no-swearing rule. “I just remembered. I have to get my backpack…” He jumped up from his seat.
“James, please be careful!” Hannah cried out.
The Happy Clam was already starting to tilt to the side. It looked like it had just a minute or so before it would go under. James jumped back on board and ran through the boat, trying to remember where he’d stashed the backpack. He spied it underneath a counter and snatched it up with lightning speed. Then he spun on his heel and ran back. As he trotted he could feel the angle of the deck tilting. Outside the windows the horizon was suddenly askew.
“James!” he could hear Hannah shouting from the escape boat.
“I’m coming,” James shouted back and leaped to the railing. He clutched it with arm while holding his backpack with his other hand and pulled himself over it. He would have to swim to the boat.
“Here!” he shouted to Hannah. “Catch!”
He swung his arm back to throw the backpack but as he did, the Happy Clam suddenly lurched and tipped sharply. His throw was off and the bag landed on the water.
“Fuck!” he cried out as he watched the backpack slip beneath the waves.
James dove into the water and swam after the bag, but it was too heavy and sank into the darkness before he could reach it. After flailing around underwater for a minute he ran out of air and had to return to the surface.
“I lost it!” he sputtered. “I fucking lost it!”
“Lost what?” Hannah asked exasperatingly and reached out to help him into the motorboat.
“The backpack had the Algopyrin in it,” he said with a sullen tone.
“Oh…” Hannah said, echoing his desperation. Then she must have realized how disappointed she sounded because she suddenly perked up. “Don’t worry,” she said with a hopeful smile. “We can always find more.”
Once James was in the boat he squeezed the water out of the rolled up cuffs of his pants and then put his head in his hands. Then, realizing that he was being overly dramatic in front of his wife and kid, he lifted his head and stared at the Happy Clam, which was almost all underwater. Not only was he angry with himself, he was angry for how he showed his anger. Lord, give me strength, he muttered to himself. Meanwhile, the fishing boat that provided both his home and his livelihood slipped under the waves. A few fat bubbles ballooned upward from the sinking wreck and then all trace of the boat was gone.
Chapter 14
The plan at that point was to take the motorboat to the shore and tie it up in the reeds, near where James had tied it up before, so that it couldn’t be seen, and then head into town for more water and supplies. James figured they could loot a hardware store for a rain-resistant tarp to throw over the boat at night. They could get away with sleeping on the motorboat, under the tarp, at least for a few days. After all, it was safer than trying to find shelter on land, where the spiders could show up at any moment and cause trouble. And maybe they could find another pharmacy, so that James could loot it for more Algopyrin.
As they motored towards shore, James mulled over the solemn realization that to ensure their long term safety, he would need to steal another fishing boat, one that was at least as big as the Happy Clam. Although how he would manage to do that, he hadn’t a clue. It occurred to him that it wouldn’t be smart to put his life in danger. Although risking his life would certainly feel valiant and give him and others the impression that he was ready to risk his life for his family – if he did die, his wife and daughter (and unborn son) would be lost without him around to protect them. As the Massachusetts shore loomed closer he racked his brains thinking of what his next step should be.
As before, James cut the engine as he drew nearer to shore and allowed the boat to drift silently with the breeze. Then he turned the motor back on its lowest setting and quietly motored into the reedy area. Again, the idea was to hide the boat from any other survivors who might be
in the area. People didn’t need to be evil to be a threat, just desperate. The evidence of this sad truth was the thought James was currently turning over in his head regarding how he would steal someone else’s fishing vessel or house boat.
Once they got the boat anchored and well-covered, it was decided that all three of them would head into town together. As the truism goes, there is safety in numbers. Although James was concerned about the fact that his comrades were a seven year old girl and a very pregnant woman whose hormones were more in control of her decisions than her common sense.
As they walked into town, James kept his pistol in his holster, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. Hannah insisted she didn’t need the 22 and left it in the boat. Carol walked between them. Luckily, her headache wasn’t troubling her just then. In addition to her feeling better, this meant that her painful groans wouldn’t inadvertently alert predators to their presence.
“By the way,” he whispered to Hannah as they crunched along on the gravel. “I got into a discussion over the URH last night with some guy in New York City named Bigsby…”
“Yeah?”
“And he was talking about a new type of spider that they have seen there. It’s blue with a black cross on its back. Anyway, he says that this new type of spider can cure cancer…”
“Really?” Hannah’s eyebrows popped up on her forehead.
“It got my hopes up, just thinking about it. I even thought about taking a drive down there, if I can get a hold of a car that still works.”
Hannah seemed to think about this. “Let’s keep it as an option. I don’t know if I want you running off on a wild goose chase just yet.”
“Yeah,” James said and kicked a rock. “I suppose you’re right. Oh, I almost forgot to mention it, but last night the president made a public address on the URH.”
“Really?” she asked, both incredulous and hopeful. “What did he say?”
“Well,” James scratched his head. “His address was a little strange. For one thing, he sounded a little different. Like he had a bad cold. But even stranger than that was what he said…”