Salticidae

by Ryan C. Thomas

  ***

  Shumba wrapped his legs around the tree trunk and shimmied up with ease. The bees zoomed around his head but he was careful not to make any sudden movements, just as his father had shown him. He slid his hand inside the nest, ignoring the thousands of little legs walking on his skin, tickling him like static electricity, and extracted a clump of honey. He put this in the liana-woven pouch hanging off his belt loop and reached back in for more.

  When the pouch was full, he slid back down the trunk, respectful and cautious of the now agitated bees, and found his bearings. He stopped once more at the edge of the cliff and looked out toward where he’d seen the red flare. He should go back to the village now and tell what he’d seen. But he wasn’t sure exactly what had jumped out from the cliff. It had been big and black and looked like some sort of animal, but he was sure it hadn’t been a panther or one of the mountain gorillas. From this high up, the jump would kill both of them. And what of the human parts that had been hanging under it? Was he even sure he’d seen a human?

  His father would know. Or the village elder. Someone would be able to make sense of it.

  He swung back out over the ravine again and landed back on the other side, near the tree with the monkey face.

  He looked back once, to memorize where he’d seen the red star falling. He had it now. Near the waterfall on the tall mountain they called the Old Man.

  Then he felt a scream rising in his throat. Because a dozen more giant black creatures suddenly leapt out over the cliff, eight legs splayed outward as they fell through the canopy below. Then they were all gone. This time he knew what he’d seen, impossible as it may be.

  Flat-faced and familiar, it was a type of arachnid he saw every day in the jungle. Only these were many times larger than they should be. Giant jumping spiders.

  He had only a poor boy’s education about such arachnids from playing with them in his home, but he was aware of their tenacity. They were hunters, predators. They did not run away from humans, but rather approached them with a curious nature. They were fast, and could follow a prey’s movement from some distance.

  How could they be so big? It was impossible. But he’d seen it, and he needed to tell his father immediately. Because if those spiders were out there, people were going to be in big trouble. And here in the wild, there was a code among the tribes.

  ***

  The caterpillar cocoon came out of nowhere and engulfed Jack’s face. He screamed like a little girl and ripped the silken shroud off with flailing arms.

  “You could have told me about that!”

  Derek doubled over in laughter. “Honestly, I didn’t see it. Keep your head up as you walk, idiot. We’re in the jungle.”

  Jack felt like thousands of insects were now crawling around inside his shirt. “Oh my God, are they on me? Am I covered in bugs? Get ‘em off!”

  “You know, you’re right, you should have gone to Europe.”

  “I should have gone to Cancun and done a story on fish tacos and fucked the maids at the resorts.”

  Ahead of them, Banga was climbing over a collection of roots so thick and tall they may as well have been a schoolyard jungle gym. He slowed and regarded his clients with a hint of paternal admonishment. “We should be quiet. Sometimes gorillas come down here.”

  “What? Gorillas? Seriously?” Jack asked, no longer concerned with the webbing on his face. “As in big muscular apes that can tear us limb from limb? Those gorillas? Down here?”

  “Yes. Sometimes. But not often. They no like humans and most of time stay hidden. But if you are loud they may think you are a threat.”

  Derek stopped laughing, pointed at Jack. “I don’t care if you walk into a web or catch on fire, dude, keep your distress silent. I don’t need an anal raping from Koko.”

  Jack pushed past Derek, climbed the roots and followed Banga deeper into the wet jungle. “Koko was a female, dumbass.”

  They continued over the roots, past trees wound together in helixes. Jack checked his cellphone again for good measure but still got no signal. “Nothing,” he said.

  Derek shook his head. “Der. Ya think? Put that thing away, man, there’re no towers out here.”

  They emerged into a small clearing where the canopy opened overhead. Here, they could see the mountain with the falls getting closer.

  Derek took out his camera and snapped a picture of a green tree snake coiled in the branches above their heads. Jack watched it with caution. It was a tiny snake, thank God.

  “That poisonous?” Derek looked to Banga for some education.

  “Don’t know. If it bites you and you feel sick, then I say yes.”

  And they said the locals had no sense of humor, Jack thought.

  In the air in front of the falls, the red contrail from the flare was still dissipating. And now Jack was sure he heard the sound of gun shots coming from up there as well. It made the hairs on his arms stand up. Maybe it was rebels or poachers after all.

  “You hear that?”

  Derek nodded. “Hell yeah, man. That’s fucking gunfire and it doesn’t sound good. Fucking poachers or something. Banga, do the gorillas live up there too?”

  The guide’s face was stony, perhaps even worried. “They can be anywhere they want to be. They are in charge of their own territory.”

  “Perfect. Just want I needed to hear.”

  Am I really going after this story, Jack thought, noticing for the umpteenth time how alone they were way out in this alien realm of hungry animals and labyrinthine trees. What if we get there and find gorillas feasting on poacher remains. Would they shoot the apes if it meant escaping unharmed? He was pretty sure that was illegal.

  “I hear screaming,” Derek said. His hands balled into fists by his side. “I gotta say I don’t like this plan anymore.”

  Jack had to agree. “Yeah. Me either. Maybe we should go back to the village and call the rangers.”

  “I’d like to think you mean that, Jack. But I can tell you’re not going to, are you? Even if we start to head back, even if I try to drag you, at some point you’re gonna want to come back.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “A bit. I’ve gone on expeditions with your kind of writer before. You smell a story, and you want it. Even though we’re hearing guns and screams and Koko might be up there looking for a date. But I guess I’ll ask for the sake of making it official: do you seriously want to go back or keep going?”

  Ahead of them, Banga sat on a root and checked the safety on his rifle. He wasn’t humming anymore. Over the last couple of days Jack had come to take the guide’s bouts of silence as a sense of alertness; the man was always listening to the trees around them. And that was fine with Jack. That’s what he was paying the man for. His familiarity with the unfamiliar.

  “Well?” Derek asked.

  Jack thought hard about his decision. He knew if he took one more step he’d be committed to this journey. It would be a step over rational logic. They’d pretty much already passed the point of no return, being closer to the mountain and waterfall than the village, but he knew that was only a minor detail. They could go back without an issue. Problem was he’d hate himself for giving into fear rather than satisfying his journalistic instinct. Bottom line was: stories on mushrooms paid the bills, but guerilla warfare and/or illegal poaching was how you got respect. “Fuck it. I’ll just wonder what we’re missing all the way back and drive you nuts.”

  “I knew it. Mr. fucking Allan Quatermain over here. What if I start back myself?”

  “I can’t stop you. But it’ll be just you. Banga seems to have a curiosity as well.”

  “You guys are idiots. I mean really. Godammit. Okay, well if we’re doing this then we should check our supplies before going up there. I want to know where I stand with everything that could save my life.” Derek withdrew a water purification tablet from his pack. “Banga, is there a place we can fill our canteens?”

  The guide slung his rifle back over his shoulder and stoo
d up. “The water from the mountain empties into a small river. It should wind somewhere close by. I will do my best to find it.”

  “How will you do that?”

  “Simple. Follow the sounds of the animals. They are always thirsty.”

  With a shrug, Derek resumed walking. “Fuckin-A, let’s go join the tea party, gang.”

  ***

  The local tribes had many names for the large hippopotamus. In their native languages, they referred to him as The Chief, The King, The Beast, and even The Gray Warrior, but almost everyone knew him as Big Death. The massive bull weighed nearly three tons, was over forty years old and ruled a harem of over thirty cows. Over the years he’d been attributed to some fifteen human deaths, the most recent a village boy who’d strayed too close to the river just four months ago. But of the other fourteen, his murders solely involved poachers and illegal fishers. He would tip their riverboats over with his mammoth head, spilling the occupants into the water, and charge along the river floor, engulfing the humans in his massive jaws and breaking them in half. The natives, aware of the illegalities these victims were engaged in, did not see it necessary to bother trying to remove the bull. They knew this was his section of the river, and they let him have it.

  Park rangers rarely made an effort to report these murders to the park committee, the government, or the Associated Press. They were well aware of the aggression of Big Death, and had clocked him at a running speed of twenty-seven miles per hour. They’d witnessed him chase down and ram into the trucks of murderous poachers on several occasions. As far as the rangers were concerned, Big Death was doing them a favor.

  To punctuate his reign as judge and jury of this part of the river, Big Death was covered in a lifetime of scars. Each jagged raised ridge was testament to a battle he’d won over other bulls encroaching on his territory. Many had tried to fight for leadership of the harem over the years, but Big Death was not yet ready to give up what was his. And though to observers he merely appeared to spend his days lazing in the shallows of the river, he was in fact constantly aware of all the nearby young males who watched him with a false sense of ambivalence.

  Like right now.

  Big Death remained half submerged in the cool water, eyeing the approaching bull some hundred yards away. He recognized this particular bull as a former member of his own pod. It still had the slight limp from when Big Death had bit its hind leg when it was a baby, a preemptive attack to ensure it knew its proper place in the family. Despite the leg wound, the bull had grown large over time. Weeks ago it had been meandering on the outskirts of the pod before finally disappearing, probably to join another family. But now it was back, spying. And Big Death knew it had plans.

  Big Death ducked his head under the water and watched the numerous legs of his females all around him. He lifted his head up again and saw that his aggressor had drawn even closer. It was in the water now, swimming with its eyes focused on him.

  But Big Death was still calm, reserving his strength. This rogue bull would get what it deserved as soon as it drew close. This was Big Death’s harem, and would remain so until he could no longer fight.

  Cool eddies swirled around his shoulders, lowering his body temperature. He made a note of the cows surrounding him; he needed them to move before he could attack. To do this he sprayed a wave of fecal matter into the water and swished it with his tail. The water turned dark brown and the scent of it alerted the other members of the pod to the impending danger.

  With low moans the cows circling Big Death began to clear away. Mothers nudged their babies further into the water to keep them hidden; it was not uncommon for other bulls to attack young ones in a move for dominance. Such was Big Death’s own M.O.

  With the cows out of the way, it was just Big Death and the rogue bull. The latter swam closer, head above water. Big Death waited a few seconds, letting this new enemy close the distance, gauging the hippo’s size. It had indeed grown into a formidable contender.

  The rogue bull stopped, opened its mouth, revealing massive stalagmite incisors.

  Big Death charged. Water sprayed up around his massive frame as he torpedoed forward. He opened his mouth with the intent of biting off this trespasser’s head.

  The rogue bull charged as well, coming on with a bellow.

  With a sound like two tanks colliding they smashed into each other. Big Death snapped his jaws and caught the rogue bull on its snout, thrashing at its face. The bull jerked back in agonizing pain, made for the shallow water near the river’s edge, its face bleeding. It was hurt, but it was also stubborn and wanted this harem. Now half out of the water it roared and charged again. Big Death opened wide to meet him.

  But the bull was swept sideways out of view as something large and black came out of the trees along the riverbank.

  Eight legs covered in bristles as long as native spears engulfed the rogue bull in a strangle hold. The two beasts rolled side over side further into the water. The bull sang out in fear and pain as the spider’s fangs pierced the tough flesh of the hippo and injected its deadly poison.

  All around Big Death his harem of cows began to cry in alarm. Something was making the treetops shake along the river bank. Here and there the occasional giant black leg poked out of the fronds before disappearing again.

  This was Big Death’s harem and he was going to protect it no matter what. He moved into the water, spraying fecal matter all around him once again. Back at the river’s edge, the giant black spider was pulling the rogue bull onto the sandy river bank, feasting on it.

  And then there were more.

  A dozen massive, black spiders leapt out of the treetops, strands of silk tethered to their abdomens, legs splayed as they dive-bombed the hippos in the water. The first ones to get picked off where the younglings, wrapped up in the spiders’ curled legs. Their mothers tried to fight for their lives but other spiders came zooming out over the water, latching onto their backs and frantically jamming their mandibles through their tough hides. It didn’t matter that the hippos were some fifty yards into the middle of the river, the spiders made the jumps with ease.

  Big Death quickly dove to the river floor, a giant brown spider just missing him. The spider hauled itself back up its web and disappeared into the trees again in seconds.

  Big Death raised his head out of the water, watched as his harem was flipped over and engulfed in the legs of these creatures that were so incredibly fast and agile. He raced to defend one of his cows now struggling under the fangs of this new threat. He was mere feet away from the fight when he saw the flash of black to his left, and then suddenly felt the sharp hairs of the black beast land on his back. His legs were wrapped up under the creature’s own. And then there was another. Two of the jumping beasts were on him. Wrestling him, holding him. It was all he could do to snap at them. He might have even broken free were it not for the third spider that joined in the ambush.

  With three of the enemy on him it was no use. He felt their fangs stab into him, cried as his insides grew hot and seared. His breathing ceased and his eyes blurred. He gave one last futile kick as his insides were sucked out. The king of the river had finally met his match.

  ***

  Gellis hefted the dead man’s pack over his free shoulder. It contained a rope and several sticks of dynamite. Likewise, Janet took the supply pack off one of the other dead workers who’d fallen to his demise. They had three packs, but whether any of their contents, beyond the rope, would help them in these caves was questionable.

  She nodded toward the tunnel in front of her. “The water is running down there so my guess is it—”

  “Before we go, I’d like to say a prayer for my friends.”

  Cockroaches were still scuttling around Janet’s feet and she just wanted to get out of here before those giant spiders came back. “Hurry it up.”

  Antoinne Gellis leaned low to his friends and murmured, Janet’s mining light creating a halo around their silent faces. He closed their eyes and whispered to the
m in a language Janet did not understand. Then he stood up. “Ok, I am ready. I will follow you.”

  “Negative. You go first.” Janet knew these types of mountain veins were full of pitfalls and dangerous speleothems. If anyone was going to get hurt here, it was going to be the help.

  “As you wish,” Gellis said. He entered the tunnel and moved slowly, inching his way down.

  Janet followed behind him, her footsteps echoing off the rock walls. Even in here, where the water trickled, she could hear the scuttle of insects. She glanced down once and saw a large white bug swim past her boot. She picked up her leg and mashed it under her sole. Water kicked up onto Gellis. “Bug,” she said, motioning him to keep going. She glanced back and saw they were only a few feet into the tunnel. The occasional scream from high above still reached her ears.

  Then she heard a moan.

  Close by.

  “Gellis? That you?” He was right in front of her. She knew it wasn’t him.

  Gellis stooped and turned. “My god.” He raced around her back toward his friends, sliding to the ground in front of the bodies. “Come quick,” he yelled to her.

  Janet drew up beside him, saw him lifting one of the dead workers into his lap. Correction; the man wasn’t dead. His eyes fluttered opened and looked up at them. He spoke something in his native language. Gellis responded in kind. They talked for a moment while Janet stood by. Finally she lost her patience.

  “We have to go, Gellis. What the hell is he saying? I don’t want to be here with those things just above our heads.

  “He says the floor broke open and released the mountain’s demons. He said there were too many to count. When he hit the ground they ran over him. He thinks his ribs are broken now. I asked him if he could walk and he said he will try.”

  “Perfect. Just what we need, an invalid slowing us down.”

  “His name is Moyo.”

  “I don’t give a shit what his name is. I want to get out of here fast and I don’t need him using me as a crutch.”

  Gellis helped the man to his feet, who in turn teetered for a moment before getting his footing. With his arm holding his own ribcage, the tiny worker nodded that he was ready to walk.