Whipping her head back, she mouthed, “Run!”
Adrenaline surged through her. All three ran as fast as the sticky ground would allow. But it seemed the harder they ran the more the floor held them. Their frantic kicking only drew up more silk and allowed the webbing to creep further up their legs, tangling up their knees.
The two spiders had completed one revolution. Only one more to go. She could hear the thudda thudda thudda of their sprinting legs echoing off the walls.
Janet was practically crying now. Moyo was murmuring in fear. Gellis’ face was twisted and determined as he plowed his massive legs through the silk. He grabbed at it with his hands and ripped it off his thighs, ripped it off Moyo’s thighs as well.
The spiders were half way around the final turn. THUDDA THUDDA THUDDA!
Janet was still fifty feet from the tunnel. There was just no way. They weren’t going to make it.
“Hide. Turn off your lights.”
All three of them fell flat to the ground, their entire bodies now stuck fast to the floor, using the eggs as cover just as the two massive spiders oozed out of the overhanging hole like oil drops. Oil drops which opened themselves up into something purely evil. Janet peeked her head around an egg and saw the beasts standing in eerie silence, like hairy statues, watching their brood.
The egg pulsed, and inside the tiny beast flipped over and pressed its multi-eyed head against the lining. Four black orbs watched her, staring her down. She wanted to scream but held her voice back. Instead, she looked toward the exit, saw a path through the eggs directly towards it.
We can make it, she thought, so long as those two bastards don’t come this way. But if we make any noise at all they’ll hear us. Won’t they?
Truth was she didn’t know how they hunted, whether by sight or smell or hearing or maybe all three.
Thudda thudda. One of the spiders crawled up on top of a collection of eggs near the overhang. Janet could see its silhouette across the room. It crept slowly over its babies and came to rest not far from the vent.
The other spider crawled up the wall and situated itself next to the overhang, looking down on the room.
They know we’re in here, Janet realized. They’re looking for us. Must have seen us when they were racing down the spiral tunnel. But they lost us somehow, which means they rely more on their sight than anything else.
The egg next to her head pulsed again as the baby inside curled up and spun about. It was going to attract attention if it shook anymore.
She looked back at Gellis, who was on his belly behind her. And behind him she could see Moyo with his head covered in webbing. “We need to make a run for it,” she whispered. “They’re looking for us.”
“If you are right, they will beat us to the far wall. I am stuck fast and can barely move.”
“We need to distract them. Throw something?”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. Throw the backpack.”
“We may need what’s inside.”
“Noted, but I don’t want to die and I’m in charge. Throw the damn pack and let’s run.”
“I think this is a bad idea, Ma’am.”
“Do it now, Antoine.”
Reluctantly, Gellis took the pack off his back, doing his best to stay flat on the ground. The webbing caught his arms and made it hard to move freely. Janet peeked around the egg again and watched the two massive spiders, which were once again motionless.
Suddenly the one on the wall spun around, raced to its right. The one on the eggs twirled in a blur. They’d seen something, but what? She looked back and saw Moyo lowering his head. The sonofabitch had stuck his head up for a peek!
The two spiders were on the move. The one on the wall zipped down and joined its compatriot on the eggs. They walked forward slowly, on the hunt, waiting for their prey to move again, stalking with a deadly patience. And what was more, they were made to walk on this sticky mess.
Janet had had enough. She leapt up, tore the webbing off. “Run!”
Gellis and Moyo leapt up as well. All of them ran as fast as they could for the far wall, for the opening, which, for all they knew, led to more of the monsters. The webbing held them back, but they tore at it with frantic fingers.
The spiders raced forward. Thuddathuddathuddathudda!
At the back of the line, Moyo screamed. Janet turned and saw the tiny worker tackled by one of the giant black beasts. He fell into a collection of eggs that tore open under the impact. Tiny black legs kicked at the air like little waving spears.
“Moyo!” Gellis shouted. He turned to help his friend but quickly saw it was a lost cause.
The other spider leapt at him, but he ducked, hit it with his backpack as it went over his head.
Janet was almost at the exit now, ripping the webbing off of her, listening to Moyo’s screams echo off the rocky walls. She could hear the clicking of tiny mandibles now free from their sacs.
Gellis plowed into her, shoved her forward. “Go! Go!”
She looked back and saw the second spider racing up the wall, preparing to jump down on them.
“Go!”
They jumped through the opening, rolled into balls. Gellis was fumbling with the backpack, reaching inside for something. Janet was up again now, turning her light on again, heading for a tight couloir between two large rock formations, jamming herself into the space and watching the scene behind her.
Back in the nest, Moyo was being dragged up the wall, his body impaled on the fangs of the spider, his face mere inches away from the four black bubbles that were the creature’s anterior eyes. The beast held him tightly in its two front legs, and beat its palps against his chest as if he were a drum. He was screaming and beating back, and even in the dark Janet could see the welt spreading up through his neck as the poison was pumped into his body.
Just on this side of the exit, Gellis was pulling something from the pack. The second spider suddenly landed in the door, began folding its legs in to get through. Dear God don’t come in here, Janet prayed.
Then there was an incredible bright red light before her eyes, so brilliant Janet had to squint. It passed into the nest, and Janet now realized Gellis had shot a flare at the spider. The nest glowed bright pink, like it was some kind of nightclub. The beast jumped back for a moment, but didn’t bother chasing the flare. It wasn’t like the one from before, the one who’d jumped away from the flare back at the top of the mountain. This one was focused, intent on chasing its prey. It came back to the door, resumed folding itself through the opening.
Gellis ran to Janet’s hiding spot and wedged himself in beside her.
“Nice shot, Einstein,” she said. “Now it’s going to come here!”
“Just wait.”
“Get out get out get out!” She tried pushing him back out. This was her spot and she wasn’t going to die because he couldn’t find his own safety.
“Please, ma’am, make some room. It can see me like this.”
The spider got its legs through the door once again, lowered itself to squeeze through, all but its abdomen free now.
Gellis shoved in closer, used his weight to crush her in. His tone was stern, his voice deeper. “I was not aiming for the spider. I was aiming for the web. Just wait.”
And suddenly the spider stopped moving, backed up into the nest yet again and spun itself about like it was in a cyclone. An orange glow accompanied the pink lighting from inside, and a second later the first lick of flame arced into view like a javelin thrown by the Devil.
Only then did Janet realize what Gellis had done. He’d lit the webbing on fire, and now the highly flammable nest was going up in a rush of flame. As she ducked further down in between the rocks, she could hear the eggs popping, and caught sight of a collection of hatchlings running around on fire. They scurried up the walls and fell like confetti, legs kicking and curling like black seaweed in an orange current.
“Look. This passage keeps going,” Gellis said, inching his way furt
her into the crevice. “Let us get out of here while we still can.” The last thing Janet saw before Gellis pulled her further into the depths of the mountain was one of the giant spiders, now covered in flame, racing up a pile of dead baby arachnids, where it slumped to its abdomen and curled its legs into its belly. Dying.
***
If Winston was still alive, and figured out that Mathew had run from the battle, there wouldn’t even be an exit review. Mathew would be fired and his name spread through the proper channels to ensure he was never hired as muscle again. All Mathew knew was how to shoot guns and break bones, it was why he’d been born, but Winston knew everyone in the hired gun business, and no doubt Mathew would have to find a job at a 7-Eleven or something. He sure as shit couldn’t take on his own clients, at least not in South Africa. Winston wouldn’t hesitate to exert his authority and influence…with a round of hot lead.
But Winston was dead. Mathew was sure he’d seen his employer ripped from the fissure in the mouth of one of those giant bugs.
Bugs? Insects? What were spiders, exactly? He tried to remember his schooling, but he’d never paid much attention to science. Or biology or history or economics or most any other class he was forced to endure before joining the Army. Oh, he knew math well, because when you were firing a gun at a moving target you had to be able to calculate for velocity and angle. You had to be able to multiply the number of bullets you had by the number of clips they were housed in. If you were really good at geometry you could calculate a good ricochet shot. But science…nah, fuck that shit.
Arachnids! Now he remembered. They were technically not insects for some reason. Something about the legs, right? Eight legs instead of six. Ugly animals no matter how you sliced it. He didn’t care how many Green Thumbs swore spiders were beneficial for the Earth’s ecosystem and friends to humans, he could do without the little fuckers.
In this case, he could sure as shit do without them.
He’d been up in the tree for a few hours now, sub machine gun in his sweaty hands. He barely remembered climbing up here. He’d turned and fled as soon as his brain had processed what it was seeing. His legs had taken him on a journey of their own, through bushes and around hills and into oceans of green and purple fronds that folded around his body like mummy wrappings. Then out of the frond and down a steep grade and into more jungle flora. Out of his mind, he’d hurried up the tree and sat silent, listening to the battle in the distance. The screams, the pleas for help, the gunfire. The…thumping…of spider legs on the ground like a football team practicing nearby.
“Where are you nobs?” he whispered now. He traced the muzzle of the gun around the jungle for the umpteenth time, sure that the beasts were surrounding him, their hairy bodies blended into the scenery, playing a game of Who Moves First.
The sun was going down fast, it was getting dark. In a few minutes he wouldn’t be able to see them if they did show up. They could slink out of the mist, start up the tree, be on him before he knew what was happening.
Damnit, they’d had night vision goggles in the packs at the camp site. What he wouldn’t give for one now. To have those two massive lenses on his face, like some bug himself.
Not for the first time he felt shame at having run away, but it had been so involuntary, an inherent response. Sometimes you just know when things shouldn’t be, and you chose flight instead of fight. Besides, there had been so many of them, too many to take on with such a small cadre.
Or, maybe the truth was he was just a ponce, a wimp.
Fuck it. Doesn’t matter.
Trace the gun again. They’re out there, watching, waiting, preparing to strike. He just knew it.
He stretched his leg over a crooked branch and took a piss, let the warm waste leak out through his pants and drip down onto the grounds below. He hadn’t pissed his pants since his time in Iraq, when one of his squad mates had brewed up the most potent hard cider he’d ever imbibed, so strong he’d passed out in an hour and woken up only when he’d felt his bladder let loose all over his bed.
It was an uncomfortable feeling now, to be pissing his pants, but it was better than unzipping and holding his dick out and trying to spray it away from him. He needed to be prepared in case something came at him. Last thing he wanted was to suddenly have to fuss with a zipper when he should be firing his weapon.
“Come on. I know you’re out there, you bastards. Quit fucking with me.”
There! Something moved in the bushes about two hundred yards away. He pointed his gun at it. Waited. Steadied his breathing. Waited some more.
Nothing happened. Maybe it was just a breeze. But could he take that chance? Could he afford to ignore it?
“Alright, bloke, let’s get a better looksie.”
Slowly, he stood up on the tree limb, the last of his urine running down his leg, and grabbed the branches above him. He climbed slowly, keeping his eyes on that one spot. The other trees grew up around him, so many of them he felt like a bug himself, like some kind of aphid in a garden. The trees were huge in this damn rainforest, tall and thin and a covered in goopy moss that stained his hands.
But they were sturdy, and this particular tree held his weight. He pushed into the top, positioned himself against the trunk in such a way to watch the spot in question.
He had a much better view now, could actually see over the canopy around him. A dark blue was spreading over everything, a preamble to night’s pitch black. Christ, he was going to have to spend the night in this tree. He sure as hell didn’t plan to venture out into this jungle alone in the dark, gun or no gun. Even if the damn spiders didn’t get him, he’d probably fall into a pit or sit on a poisonous snake or run into a gorilla or God knows what.
Wait, he wondered, were spiders nocturnal as well? “Fuck if I know.”
Oh man, he was talking to himself. He was going stir crazy.
Finally, he lowered the gun, relaxed. The spot hadn’t moved in several minutes. Could have just been a small boar or something.
He looked out over the treetops, saw a few mountain peaks not far away. Was one of them where he’d run from? If so he would just head in the opposite direction in the morning. Yes, that was a plan at least.
He rubbed his neck, let the gun rest on his leg, wondered if he could sleep here without falling off and breaking his bones on the ground below.
Fuck it, he had no choice.
The treetop directly behind him swayed. He watched it, mesmerized, actually getting tired now. A mosquito bit him but he didn’t care. He’d taken his pills, applied repellent, knew that a few would get him. If you worried about it you’d go nuts.
The treetop swayed back, the susurration of its leaves like ghosts whispering. Now, some type of black shadow swam up out of that treetop, sat with eight giant legs on the very top, looking out over the land.
No, Mathew realized, looking at me.
It inched closer, then went still again. Watching.
Mathew couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t fathom it. It was just so damn big, like a Volkswagen Bug. He almost wanted to laugh at that comparison, but instead bit his lip, an attempt to stay sane.
Slowly, he lifted his gun, threaded his finger into the trigger guard, continued bringing it up as slowly as he could muster, past his stomach, then his chest.
Let’s finish our game. Who Moves First.
I do.
Now!
Mathew yanked the gun up and jammed the scope to his eye, saw nothing but magnified hair, legs, eyes and fangs racing toward him like a train.
The spider’s leap was precise, calculated, mathematical. Its legs opened to engulf him like a giant claw. It tore into the tree, exploding through the branches, smothering Matthew just as he fired the first round. Its legs snapped closed, catching him, immobilizing him. The beast drove him from the boughs, out into the open air, falling into the jungle, its legs squeezing his breath out of him. It seemed an eternity before man and beast hit the ground. When they did, Matthew felt his back and
ribs shatter, turn to piecemeal. His vision streaked like bad television reception. His gun flew away. His femur burst through his thigh like a spring-loaded switchblade.
Should have stayed with my mates, he thought. At least I wouldn’t’ have died alone with piss-stained pants.
The beast’s wiry hairs stabbed through his clothing and pricked his skin as if he were being shut in an Iron Maiden. A fiery itching overtook his whole body and he began to convulse.
He braced himself for the fangs and the poison. When they came just a second later, he wailed, for no amount of training could have ever prepared him for how intense this pain was. The last image he saw was two mucus-covered, clicking mandibles, coming for his face.
***
Night in the jungle. The darkness forced your pupils open so wide that the shadows fell in, got into your brain, made you see things in your mind’s eye. Ghosts, wraiths, things that grew out of a void, undulated at arm’s length, swaying to the creaking of branches, moving to the laughter of a mild breeze. You reached out to touch them, passed your hand through them and lost it in the nothingness. If you concentrated on your periphery you could make out jet black spires and the bars of a universal cage, or maybe they were just trees, outcroppings, ferns. There was something spiritual in it. Ultimate insignificance in a world that could swallow you whole.
We are all just single raindrops in a planetary tempest lasting for all eternity. We fall, our beads of water catch the moonlight for a mere second, and we sparkle for all we’re worth before disappearing forever in an ocean of cold nothingness.
And then, thank God, there is light.
Jack shook his head, let the nonsense thoughts snap away, looked toward the new glow.
Derek was emerging from the tent with his lantern, a yellow beacon for an armada of insects lost in time. Big ones. Black ones. Yellow ones. Their legs long enough reach up your nostrils and pull your brains out before they wrapped you in webbing and laid you to rest in some eternal tomb, awaiting Anubis.
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