by Rina Heisel
A hint of a smile played on Wiley’s muzzle, his whiskers curling just a touch. “Yeah, well, it’s nice to know all those years of sneaking into places just may come in handy.”
“And we’ll keep a close lookout,” Talia said, scrambling atop Hess’s head. She flattened herself to the back of the snake’s skull, her chin resting on the crown of his head, making Hess look like he’d sprouted a second set of tiny brown eyes. Tobin nodded. Talia was in the safest spot around.
“See you both soon.” Tobin turned and took a steadying breath. “Here we go.” He slipped his nose beneath an exoskeleton, and with a flick of his head created enough space to wriggle beneath the dried-out husk. The carcass scratched against his back, but it was lighter than he anticipated. Tobin wriggled his shoulders until the skeleton was arranged perfectly, draped over his body and sitting just atop his head enough that he could peek out from beneath.
He looked to Wiley, who’d also slid into his disguise.
“This isn’t as horrible as I thought it’d be,” Wiley said.
Tobin gave a quick nod. Nerves were beginning to fizz in his stomach, and he needed to be calm.
He needed a Rule. He took a steadying breath and looked at the path ahead.
Rule #3: When exploring new terrain—walk softly and keep to the shadows.
Right. It was time.
He crouched low, letting the bony spider legs drag on the ground, and saw Wiley do the same. Tobin nodded to Wiley and slunk away from the ferns, adding a little bounce to his step so the Arakni legs could jostle and shake, like a scuttle. He skirted toward a crabgrass patch sprouting just outside the tunnel entrance. He could hear Wiley scuttle up next to him, and then he heard something else.
He looked up to see a hunter spider exit the log, its long legs scraping the pebbly ground as it crawled up.
Tobin’s first instinct was to freeze, but no—if they looked dead, the hunter just might try to pitch them over the ledge, back in the pile.
Tobin turned to face the Wiley-spider. He jerked his body left and right, trying to recreate the Arakni gestures they’d seen along the way. Wiley caught on, and rocked his spider shell back and forth and up and down.
Tobin dared a glance over to the hunter. The spider had paused only a frog-leap away and regarded them for a moment. With a great heave of his shoulder, Tobin attempted to flop a front leg on top of Wiley’s shell, like the spider inspections he’d seen them perform earlier. Hopefully, worker spiders performed this ritual, too. The appendage landed, briefly, before sliding off most ungracefully.
Wiley stopped his bouncing and breathed a great sigh. “It turned, Tobin, it’s leaving.”
Tobin spun around quickly, spider legs flailing around him like a veil of dried twigs. This danger had passed, but there was more to come. It was time to enter the log.
Think of the pinkling.
Think of Mom.
Tobin took a shaky step forward.
He could feel Wiley tensing next to him.
Go.
Tobin marched ahead, forcing himself to be confident in his spider-skin camouflage. In just a few steps they’d reached the opening of the toppled tree trunk, and they peered down into the long, rotted tunnel it had become.
Tobin blinked, trying to get his eyes fine-tuned to the dimness, as his ears picked up the sounds of the captured that floated toward him. Chirps. Buzzes. Squeaks. Soft hisses. If despair had a smell, this place was filthy with it. Mildew and animal waste permeated the sodden bark shell, and Tobin choked on the odor.
When his eyes adjusted, visions, like they were pulled from his own nightmares, hit him from every angle. The whole interior of the log squirmed. Websacks lined the inside of the tree husk from ground to ceiling, their captives writhing in misery. The floor was a mush of droppings, insect secretions, and animal parts—tiny jawbones, cricket legs, and even a beak. There was no place to look without observing a new horror, so Tobin turned his head and stared at Wiley. Wiley stared back.
“Cripes, Tobin,” Wiley whispered.
The Arakni odor outside seemed mild after exposing his nose to the log filth. “Did you see any spiders in there?”
Wiley shook his head. “Nope. No Arakni, anyway. But I might have seen a wolf spider wrapped up in a websack.”
“Cannibals, too, huh? Not really surprised.” Tobin shuddered, and he lifted his nose, longing for a breath of the clean air that washed through the treetops above. “Let’s get this over with.”
Glad to be done with the exoskeleton, Tobin slipped out from beneath the cover of the disguise, and Wiley followed suit, letting the husks drop to the forest floor. Tobin stuck his head back inside the log. Mercifully, no websacks lined the edges of the opening, so nothing squirmed beneath his paws just yet. But as he and Wiley stepped farther inside, sticky, squishy ooze gushed through their toes. Chunks of some kind poked his paw pads beneath it all, and he forced his mind to not solve that riddle.
Don’t look down, just look ahead.
He stared ahead. And gagged. His recently eaten earthworm threatened to come back up as he stared at row upon row of websacks in front of him.
Wiley crawled beside him. His friend’s lips curled in disgust. “You check the sacks on this side, and I’ll do the other?”
Tobin nodded. He took one step forward, the soppy floor belching as he pulled his paw from the goop. Three small steps later, a shadow flicked across the floor—then he saw them: long, spindly leg shadows marching in his direction.
The cries, clicks, chirps, and squeaks surrounding them fell silent.
“Wiley, hide!” Tobin hissed and pressed himself against the tunnel wall, wedging between a clump of websacks. He saw Wiley do the same.
He closed his eyes. Sludge, sludge, sludge, sludge . . .
The sacks around him began to squirm. He shut his eyes tighter. The sack inhabitants poked at him. They investigated him, feet and feelers rubbing him through their webbed cases.
The sound of slurping echoed down the tunnel, followed by a faint scraping. Then the sounds ceased. Slowly, the cacophony of chirping, crying, hissing, and squeaking captives began again. The Arakni must have done its work and scuttled on.
Tobin cracked his eyes open. Before he could stop himself, he looked to the source of the pressure against his cheek. A tiny foot.
A baby toad. Four skinny toes, all different lengths, pushed against its unnatural cocoon.
Tobin gasped and stumbled away from the wall, slime sticking to his fur. But he couldn’t tear his eyes from the tiny toad, which now pressed its head against the translucent barrier. Its jeweled eyes pleaded for help.
A voice from behind almost sent Tobin through the ceiling.
“We should free them all.”
Tobin whirled around to see Wiley. A half-starved hummingbird sat cradled in his front paws. Wiley shuffled to a crack in the log. Stretching on his hind legs, he placed the trembling creature on narrow splinter of wood. The tiny bird rolled onto its feet and flicked its wings. After a few shaky starts, it fluttered out.
A thrill of joy and a rash of fury rolled through Tobin. His mind was torn in two. He didn’t want to alert the Arakni they were here by freeing everyone. But he wanted nothing more than to pull that toad off the wall.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. There was something he wanted more.
“Fine,” he answered Wiley. “After we find the pinkling, we rip down all these websacks.”
Twenty
A PINKLING IS BLIND.
It’s completely helpless, without any fur. Totally, well, pink. Unlike the baby toad or hummingbird, the pinkling needed Tobin’s strong legs and sharp eyes to make an escape. He reminded himself of this as he passed by countless creatures staring at him for help.
“I’ll be back, I’ll be back,” he muttered as he sloshed past the forlorn faces.
Another set of shadows stretched across the tunnel floor. Again, Tobin slid alongside the wall. The websacks he wriggled between pressed back against h
im, enclosing him.
Hiding him. Like the creatures knew he was their only hope to escape.
Rule #9: Never expect a creature who still draws breath to go down without a fight, for all creatures’ first instinct is to survive.
Tobin closed his eyes and waited, letting the webbed critters pull him into their embrace. After a few moments, the usual chorus of chirps and buzzes signaled the all clear. The pressure lifted from his back, his head, and his legs. Somewhere, something unclamped his tail.
“Thanks,” Tobin whispered before slinking down the tunnel. He approached the most recent returning point of the hunting spiders. The websacks here were all shinier, the prisoners more restless than the others. Tobin pressed his nose to a silk case. It was stickier. Yes. These were fresher. This is where he’d find his pinkling.
He surveyed the captives, then plodded a few more steps. As he peered through the gray webbed prisons, he began to feel frantic. The pulsing sacks started to blur together. And the sheer stink of the place made his nose useless. He shut his eyes.
Calm down. Focus, or this is all for nothing.
Then he heard it. Somehow, between the clicks and chirps, he heard a very breathy squeak.
He opened his eyes. He tilted his head and his ears perked. He could think of only one thing to do.
He tchirred.
Loudly.
If insects could gasp, they might have. The tunnel fell silent. Hearing nothing, Tobin breathed in until he thought his chest would burst. “Tchirrrr, tchirrrr!”
Quiet. Until a moment later.
“Eep, eep.”
A sound so faint it was watery—Tobin almost missed it. Almost. His head snapped right, his gaze lingering over a half dozen sacks, until . . . there!
The websack was just the right size, but it was spun so thick its occupant was hidden.
Tobin trudged to the wall. Stretching up, he threaded his paws behind the sack, tearing the spongy binding away. Putting one paw under the bundle, he curled his other behind the sack. He tugged gently, stumbling back as the final cords of webbed binding snapped from the wall. Paws shaking, he stared. Even through the thickly wound strands of silk, warmth ebbed into Tobin’s paw pads as the tiny occupant wriggled.
Tobin buried his muzzle into the webbing and sniffed. He heard a soft sniffle inspecting him in return. A sweet scent, like milk and dandelions, flooded his nostrils, and Tobin’s head swam with emotion. His pinkling. Their pinkling. All the Arakni stench in the world couldn’t erase the smell of home.
The chant of creatures waiting to be freed buzzed in his ears, and another tchirr echoed down the tunnel. Wiley had heard him and was coming.
Tobin looked at the bundled pinkling, his paws shaking. “We’ll get you home soon,” he whispered just as Wiley approached. Tobin turned and saw Wiley wasn’t alone.
“Talia! What are you doing in here?”
She didn’t answer as her stare fixed on the webbed bundle. “Oh.” She stretched out a paw, caressing the websack. “Hi, little one, you okay in there?”
“I think the cocoon keeps the pinkling warm,” Tobin said. “As much as I hate it, we should leave the baby in there for now.”
A smile flickered across Wiley’s face, but vanished as soon as he spoke. “Hess sent Talia to find us. The owls have arrived. There’s about a dozen or so waiting on the branches outside. Hess is waiting for us back at the opening.”
Talia nodded excitedly. “The owls swooped and squished the last couple Arakni that tried coming in here. And no, Hess doesn’t think the owls are necessarily helping us, they’re just bored waiting for the snakes to get here.”
Tobin’s mind spun like a rat chasing its tail. “Then we have a little time. I say we start ripping down these websacks. Maybe we can’t fight the Arakni quite like the snakes and owls, but we can still hit ’em where it hurts.”
Wiley flicked his tail. “Yeah. Let’s free their food supply.”
Talia nuzzled the webbed bundle, and the pinkling cooed. She held out her paws. “Told you I was big enough to help. I can carry the pinkling out of here.”
Tobin handed her the newborn. “You were right. Be safe.”
“I will. You too.” She tucked the bundle under one paw and scooted through the grime with a three-legged shuffle.
Tobin and Wiley slopped through the muck till they reached the farthest end of the fallen tree, finding the very first row of sacks. “Ready?” Tobin asked.
Wiley locked his front paws together, stretching every muscle from his toes to his shoulders. “Yup. With the owls taking out any spiders near the entrance, these captives have a chance to escape.”
Tobin flipped his paw, claws curling up. “You get that side. I’ll get this one.” Then he pounced.
Like a filthy cyclone of teeth and claws, Tobin slashed and ripped at the underbellies of the sacks. He tore gashes big enough for captives to scratch, kick, and squirm their way through. Toads tumbled to the floor. Slugs slipped into the muck. Tobin barely felt the thrum of dragonfly wings against his head or centipedes winding through his legs, as he yanked row after row of sacks from the wall. Every now and then, he’d kick and scratch holes in the rotten tunnel wall, allowing the smallest captives to escape without fighting through the gloppy floor.
His legs burned as he neared where Talia waited with the pinkling. She’d done some damage herself; the sacks around her lay torn to shreds. She stood on her hind legs, letting a tiny, twig-sized snake wind its way up her back toward the opening.
Tobin’s chest caved in and out as he caught his breath. He watched the snake crawl into the sunlight. Another victim freed. Causing trouble for the Arakni was all the fuel Tobin needed. He crouched next to his sister. “Climb up.”
Talia smiled and stepped onto his back. Reaching high, she set the pinkling on the ledge and hoisted herself out.
Tobin watched her go until the very tip of her tail was out of the log. Then he reached for the next row of sacks, sending a nearly dried-out salamander and a handful of potato bugs slipping to the ground.
As he reached to yank another row from the wall, a growl caught his attention. He peered ahead and his heart sank. Wiley, standing a little farther down the tunnel, was staring down two Arakni hunters who towered over him, as tall as cardinals.
“Wiley!” Tobin yelled. He pushed hard, sloshing toward his friend as fast as possible. Wiley’s fur spiked from his shoulders all down his backbone, and his jaws snapped as he snarled. But the hulking Arakni made it impossible to escape around them, and with the goo-covered floor, there was no outrunning them, either.
Tobin neared Wiley’s side, and the spiders rocked back and forth on their long legs. Their patches of red eyes quivered. Little creatures were doing their best to scramble around the spiders’ legs, but the spiders looked unsure which dilemma to address: the snarling, muck-covered rodents or their quickly escaping food supply. Tobin’s throat went dry as his gaze fell upon the Arakni mouths. Like pits surrounded by a hundred curling crab legs, able to seize hold of anything.
“Uh-oh. They must be on patrol duty,” said Tobin.
“Should we pounce?” asked Wiley.
Tobin tensed, blood pumping through his muscles. “Don’t think we have much choice. Go for their eyes, and use the wall.”
The floor was too sticky for jumping, so Tobin lunged to the side, his paws finding footholds in the shredded websacks. He could see Wiley doing the same. The spiders took a step forward, and Tobin scrambled along the sidewall until he was almost in reach of the Arakni. But before the Arakni could throw out a sharp-tipped leg, Tobin pounced.
He pushed off the wall, his extra adrenaline giving him more boost than he ever had before. He flew over the head of one spider, dodging the leg it threw up in defense, and raked his claws across its head. Tobin dug in hard when he felt the soft, squishy eyes beneath his paws.
The spider bucked, and its hard-shell back connected with Tobin, sending him directly into a wall. The remnants of websacks softened
the impact, but he still felt a throbbing in one leg.
The spider spun on him. He craned his neck around the approaching spider to see that Wiley was regaining his bearings after being thrown to the ground as well. They’d each landed a blow on their respective Arakni, but at what cost?
The spiders flung their long front legs outward, probing. They can’t see us, Tobin realized. Yet another wild idea popped into his head.
Without thinking too hard about what he was about to do, Tobin sprang into the air, his mouth open wide. He reached his paws up, clutching one of the spider’s waving legs. He brought it down to his mouth and bit. Hard.
A satisfying crunch sounded in his ears. Landing in the muck, Tobin squeezed the now-separated appendage in his paws.
“Atta way, Tobin,” he heard Wiley call from across the tunnel, where Wiley was keeping his spider occupied by hopping from the walls onto its back, landing blows, and repeating.
Tobin’s spider was now thoroughly enraged. It reared back, ready to stab Tobin through with all its available legs. But rearing back was a mistake.
Tobin saw an opening, a soft spot in the Arakni’s underbelly, where the spider vented air in through its abdomen. That was his target.
But the muck was thick, and Tobin couldn’t pounce. Instead he raised his spider-leg spear, holding his ground until the Arakni came down, bringing its full force directly on Tobin.
Tobin braced himself, but the momentum of the falling spider was more than he imagined. A jarring impact shook his whole body as the spider fell onto the spear, then something gave way, and the spear slid through. Everything went black as the spider’s body fell on him. It pressed Tobin down, deep into the sludge on the tunnel floor. He was pinned beneath the deadweight of the Arakni’s body. Tobin gasped for air, but the sludge was threatening to swallow him whole.
Just as he was fighting for breath, he felt a pinch on his shoulder, and then a yank. And another, until finally there were two paws grabbing and pulling on his shoulders.
“C’mon,” grunted Wiley. “I’ve . . . got . . . you!”
