by WW Mortensen
Rebecca shrugged. “What about you? You haven’t changed a bit.” As always, Owen was dressed in board shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, curls of wild, blond-streaked hair protruding from under a Miami Marlins baseball cap turned backwards.
Still hasn’t grown up, she thought fondly.
Equally unchanged were the boyish good looks that had made Owen a hit with the girls at university. He’d always been cute—but his tendency to nerdy eccentricity was an awkward distraction. Rebecca found this paradox endearing.
“Have you been getting any tube action lately?” she asked. Owen was a fanatic surfer.
“Unfortunately, no. I had hoped to get over to Sao Domingos do Capim this year, you know, and ride the pororoca.”
Rebecca stared at him blankly.
“You haven’t heard of it? The giant swell that sweeps up the Amazon River each year from the Atlantic?”
“No.”
“I hear it’s a wild ride. The Tupi called it the ‘great roar’ and used to surf it in their canoes.”
Rebecca smiled. “Sounds like fun.”
“What wave isn’t? Still, you’ve got to watch yourself—along the way, it picks up big logs and debris. It’s dangerous.”
“Not to mention the piranhas!” Rebecca said, half-jokingly.
“Piranhas!” Owen said, rolling his eyes. “They’re so overrated. There’re a hundred things in these waters that inspire more fear.”
Rebecca laughed and gave him another hug. “I’ve missed you, Owen. You really should get a phone.”
“Bah,” Owen said. “Who needs one of those?”
Rebecca shook her head. Owen’s disdain for technology—and his even deeper dislike of social media—made keeping in touch near impossible. His aversion to both perplexed her. How could an anthropologist—specialising in linguistics, no less—ignore, if not embrace, evolving trends in human communication? While he understood the irony, Owen couldn’t be swayed, and unsurprisingly, contact between them grew infrequent when, after university, he returned to the US, his birthplace, to accept an academic placement and finish his PhD. Years later, when Rebecca relocated to New York, she’d tracked him down. He’d introduced her to Ed soon after that.
“Okay, you two,” Ed said. “Bec, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
Rebecca turned and caught a figure darting through the rain with a small sheet of plastic held high for protection. The woman—slim and long-limbed and dressed in a tank-top and cargo shorts—was tall, maybe six feet. She leapt a puddle of water to land lightly beneath the tarpaulin.
“Hi, I’m Jess,” she puffed, smiling and holding out her hand.
Rebecca shook it and introduced herself. She was at once struck by Jess’s pretty, deep blue eyes and the impossibly perfect bone structure of her face. Her smooth, tanned skin was equally flawless.
Rebecca figured the woman had to be older, but she looked all of eighteen.
“Jessy’s in IT,” Ed said. “She’s also halfway through her masters in archaeology.”
“Kind of,” Jessy corrected, twirling a short ponytail of white-blond hair. “It’s temporarily on hold.”
“What area?” Rebecca asked.
“Meso-America, mainly the rise of towns and urbanism. Rebecca, I’ve heard so much about you.”
Standing before Jessy, Rebecca sensed the physical contrast: herself noticeably shorter, fairer, and a brunette to boot. She leant forward conspiratorially. “Let me offer some advice—Ed never lets the truth get in the way of a good story.”
Jessy smiled and tossed her a wink. “I’ll have to remember that.” She turned to Ed. “I hate to interrupt you guys, but Robert has asked for a hand unloading the Zodiac.”
“I’ll go,” Owen volunteered. “I’ll catch up with you, later,” he said to Rebecca, and disappeared into the rain.
Jessy turned to follow. As she did, she tossed Ed a furtive glance, running her fingertips across his shoulder-blades before heading into the rain.
“Cute,” Rebecca said when they were gone. “A little young, isn’t she?”
“She’s twenty-four,” Ed said. “It’s nothing serious.”
“And she knows that? I don’t remember candour being your forte.”
“Don’t hold back,” Ed said with a smile. “Just as soon as they’re finished with the supplies, you can get started. I know they’ll want to see this.”
“You haven’t shown it to them?”
“I waited for you.”
Before long, Owen and Jessy returned, this time with Sanchez. They joined Ed and Rebecca beneath the tarpaulin. At Ed’s urging, Sanchez opened the refrigerator and retrieved a Ziploc bag the size of a pillow case. Its contents were dark, and condensation coated the inside. He placed it carefully on the table in front of Rebecca, then, with Owen and Jessy, moved behind her to peer over her shoulder.
Rebecca stared at the bag before pulling on some latex gloves she’d brought with her. Hands shaking, she took a deep breath and looked inside.
She was aware of what she’d find, but for a moment, her capacity to speak was lost.
6
“Wow,” Rebecca sputtered eventually, hissing air through her teeth.
“That about sums it up,” Ed said. “Impressive, isn’t it?”
Rebecca carefully upended the bag, sliding the contents onto the table in front of her. “That’s the understatement of the century,” she said, as behind her Owen and Jessy gasped in unison.
“Oh my…” Jessy stammered.
It was huge.
The spider was the size of an elongated melon, the body perhaps a good foot in length. It was almost wholly black, though faint vertical stripes, flame-orange in colour, ran the course of its dorsal surface, across the carapace and abdomen. Rough, reddish grey hairs covered the body. In death, its chitinous legs had folded up beneath it, ball-like. On top of its head, directly behind the eyes, a neat hole marked the point where a single bullet had passed cleanly through its brain.
Rebecca shook her head. “This is staggering, Ed. The pictures you emailed… they don’t do it justice.”
Gently, she eased out a leg on either side of the spider’s body, holding them apart. Extended to their full length, she estimated the span of the legs from tip to tip at more than half a metre.
Incredible.
Behind her, more murmurs of shock and disbelief, although Rebecca hardly heard them. “I’ve never seen a species like this… Hell, there isn’t a species like this! This is a major find.”
Her reaction seemed to please Ed. “So, what is it?” he asked. “Some kind of tarantula?”
Rebecca’s heart had accelerated to an uncomfortable pace and she exhaled slowly, trying to regain her composure. “Yes and no,” she said eventually. “It depends on your definition, really. I mean, these days, the word ‘tarantula’ tends to imply any big, hairy spider, generally your tropical variety—you know, a fist-sized body and legs spanning a dinner plate.”
“I’d say this stretches the definition,” Owen said breathlessly.
“Me too,” Rebecca said. She’d had days to prepare for this moment and fought now to shelve her excitement, sharpen her focus. It worked, and slowly, her professional insight kicked in. With greater clarity she said, “I’ll start by telling you what I know.” Gently, she flipped the spider to its underside before rolling it back. “Given there’s no epigynum and judging by the shape of the pedipalps—those two hooked appendages on either side of the mouth—this is a male.” She turned to Sanchez. “You say this thing attacked you?”
Sanchez nodded. “We had set up camp at Site 1, a day’s hike from here. I heard a noise above me, and as I looked up, it dropped from the branches.”
“Leapt, more likely,” Rebecca said.
“Sorry?”
Carefully, Rebecca rotated the arthropod so that it faced the group with its dark, lifeless stare. “See this? Like most spiders, our friend has eight eyes—four on the top of the head, on the carapace, and four on the �
�face’ at the front. The grouping of the eyes is consistent with a certain kind of spider. I’d suggest this is a member of the Salticidae family—a jumping spider.”
“That’s beyond creepy,” Jessy said. “It jumped at Robert?”
“I believe so,” Rebecca said. “Salticids are ambush predators. Six of their eight eyes—the two posterior lateral, the two posterior median, and the two anterior lateral—have a wide field of vision ideal for detecting movement. Once prey is identified, the large central front pair of eyes—the anterior median—lock on to the target and line up the leap.”
“It saw Robert as prey.”
“Seemingly. Unlike conventional tarantulas, which have poor eyesight, jumping spiders see very well—in fact, among the best in the invertebrate world. And they see in colour. This wasn’t a case of mistaken identity.”
Ed hesitated. “It watched me through the trees. Why didn’t it attack me?”
Rebecca turned to him. “Going by what you told me earlier of the encounter, it likely switched its attention when Robert appeared. Salticids are slow, patient hunters—if necessary, they’ll take an indirect route to the target, maybe lose sight of their quarry altogether. Perhaps, in stalking you, it became better positioned to attack Robert.”
Jessy tensed. “So how far could something like this jump?”
“Typically, anywhere up to twenty times the spider’s length,” Rebecca mused. “Maybe more.”
“This thing could leap thirty feet?”
“Theoretically? Perhaps.”
“Shit.”
Rebecca placed the spider on the table and leant back in her chair. Rain drummed loudly on the tarpaulin. “At this point, I don’t have all the answers. A few things bother me—like the fact you were attacked at night. Because of their acute vision, jumping spiders are daytime hunters. On top of that, even considering the enormity of this specimen, a human is incredibly large prey. Make no mistake, salticids are recognized for their strength and ability to overcome much larger prey—but to attack such a potentially dangerous target… It doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense is where the hell this thing came from,” Jessy said. While clearly anxious, her voice was laced with professional curiosity. “I mean, we’re all wondering it, right? This thing seems so… out of place. Like something from another era.”
Owen agreed. “It makes me think of those giant scorpions and dragonflies, you know, from way back when gigantic body size was widespread. Maybe this is one of them—an ancient species that’s somehow survived to the present.”
Rebecca shook her head. “Those arthropods lived 300 million years ago, during the Carboniferous period. This thing isn’t on the record.”
“It could have been missed—some sort of previously undiscovered superspider.”
Doubtful, but indulging him, Rebecca said, “It’s conceivable, I guess. Spiders were among the few life forms to survive the Permian extinction 250 million years ago, when 95 percent of life on Earth was wiped out.”
“Yes, but how could it have survived?” Jessy said. “There must be a reason why modern arthropods are so much smaller.”
“There is,” Rebecca said. “Atmospheric conditions in the Carboniferous were different. Higher levels of oxygen allowed arthropods to more efficiently oxygenate their tissues, enabling them to grow bigger. They couldn’t live in our atmosphere.”
Owen frowned. “We’ve got hard evidence here of a species that exists. Maybe over time, this thing’s respiratory system has evolved, enabling it to live in an environment with decreased oxygen levels.”
“Then why haven’t other giant arthropods done the same?” Jessy asked. “Why only this species? And why only here, so isolated?”
“That’s just it,” Owen said. “Let’s assume it is the only giant arthropod to have adapted. Isolation probably explains why.”
Rebecca could see where he was heading. She’d done background reading on evolution in isolation and recalled that during the most recent ice age, the glacial advance had fragmented Amazonia from the vast expanse it is today into small, scattered pockets that had remained warm and moist while the rest of the world had turned cold. There was ample evidence to suggest that plants and animals had thrived in these isolated refuges, locked into a kind of lost world where they were free to evolve.
She turned to Owen. “You’re suggesting isolation is the reason this specimen is found only here, and why it’s stayed hidden from science.”
Owen nodded, adding, “And like other species with a history of isolation, it evolved—uniquely.”
“Its respiratory system—”
“Thus maintaining its size,” Owen said.
Rebecca pondered this. “It’s interesting speculation, but I’m still unsure. New species of spider are discovered every year and considering that much of this basin has never been explored, it’s a certainty there are hundreds of species out here awaiting discovery. I’m not surprised we’ve found a new one—just one this big.”
“I hear you,” Jessy said. “This is straight out of a horror movie.”
Owen agreed. “Well, whatever it is, we’ve certainly found the new titleholder of World’s Biggest Spider. Anyone got the number for The Guinness Book of Records?”
His comment almost went unheard as something caught Rebecca’s eye. She peered closely at the specimen, squinting at the legs curled beneath the body.
Nodding, Sanchez said, “We tried to unfurl the legs to measure the creature. One of them broke off. It’s still in the bag.”
Rebecca didn’t respond. Turning the spider, she examined the abdomen. A shiver went down her spine.
“Bec, are you okay?” Ed asked.
Rebecca turned to Owen. “You were talking about the new titleholder? Well, it gets even better.” She spun to face them all, holding the spider like it was some kind of offering. “This one’s just a baby…”
7
After easing the spider from the bag, Rebecca noticed the creature was missing two of its eight legs. One, Sanchez had explained, had broken off after he and Ed had handled the animal. That appendage had snapped off cleanly at the base, leaving the socket empty.
She guessed that neither Robert, nor Ed, had realised that diagonally opposite, a second leg was gone. This leg, Rebecca knew, had been lost prior to the attack on Sanchez, because in place of it had been growing a new one.
She kicked herself for missing the significance of this, which only dawned on her when she’d flipped the specimen and observed the faint abdominal darkening.
Owen’s voice echoed in her ears. “Bec! Did you hear me? It’s a goddamned baby?”
She looked up at him and the others in turn, and hurriedly explained. “You’re aware that spiders shed their exoskeletons to grow, right? Some species do this several times a year. With each moult, the old exoskeleton splits, the spider slips free, and a new shell forms with the soft new exuviae expanding and hardening like the last. The spider continues to feed and grow until a new moult is required, and the process repeats.”
“So?”
“So, this process, ecdysis, may, over the course of a few moults, regenerate a lost appendage. Look at this.” She gestured to the spider’s half-formed limb before gently flipping the carcass. “The missing leg was regrowing. And look here, on the underside. Note the darkening? This suggests nutrients were draining from the old exuviae to be reused by a new layer forming beneath.”
“It was about to moult?”
“Yes. But the thing is, while the females of some species moult indefinitely, for the most part, ecdysis ceases with adulthood.”
“This specimen is male,” Owen said.
Rebecca nodded. “And given its leg was regenerating—and a new moult was imminent—it can’t be a mature animal.”
“Holy shit,” Owen said. It looked as though he needed a seat, and with her foot, Rebecca slid out the chair to her left. He took it. “It’s a kid, and it was about to shed its skin—”
&nb
sp; “—so it could grow even bigger,” Jessy finished.
Rebecca set the spider down. “I said it was a baby—or a spiderling—and maybe that’s an exaggeration. But at the very least, this is a young, immature specimen, a sub-adult at most. An adolescent.”
“Christ,” Owen said. “So just how big would it have grown? How big are mom and dad?”
“I don’t know,” Rebecca said.
The group fell into an uncomfortable silence.
“This is giving me the creeps,” Jessy said, and shuddered. “I need to lie down. If anyone wants me, I’ll be in my tent.”
“I think I’ll join you,” Owen said, standing and pushing his glasses up his nose. “I mean… in my own tent, of course. A nap sounds like a good idea.”
Jessy frowned, trying to make light despite her unease. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed, Owen Faulkner. Rejected again.”
Owen rolled his eyes and the two of them stepped into the rain, dispersing in opposite directions.
Turning to Ed, Sanchez said, “We still have problems with that generator. If you don’t mind…”
“I’ll join you shortly,” Ed said.
Sanchez nodded and left.
Once he’d gone, Rebecca said, “Ed, I know you’re not telling me the full story.”
He took a seat beside her. “Sorry?”
“Come on. This is an incredible find. You know I should be getting back to the museum with this immediately, not hanging on as your guest.”
“Have you thought of a name for it? I want you to get the credit.”
“You found it, you should name it,” Rebecca said. “But that’s beside the point. I’ve been thinking as to why you got me down here.”
Ed’s brow creased. “Hang on, I didn’t ask you to come. That was your call.”
“You send me evidence of the most amazing specimen imaginable and expect me to sit tight? You know me, Ed. You enticed me. You left me no choice. I had to come.”
