“What’s that?” Derek huffed, exasperated, his finger extended toward the bush. “I mean…seriously? I thought this was the way out of here?”
Tentatively, Banga stepped in front of him, eying the mess blocking the path. “It look like a tree. Big one”
“Several trees,” Janet added. “Looks like the spiders are a little fatter than we thought. Must have knocked them down jumping through them. The whole damn trail is blocked.”
“They maybe rotted,” Banga said. “The bugs chew holes into the bark and kill the roots.”
“How do we get around it?” Derek moved forward and pushed his way into the felled treetop, now resting on its side. It was a dense barrier of branches and fronds. “We need a machete or something.”
“No. We climb,” Janet said, pushing past him and lodging her foot into a branch. She hoisted herself up and steadied herself with a handhold on a different limb. “We can get through. The path is still on the other side. We just have to get through this mess first.”
“I can find a way through the jungle,” Banga suggested. “Find the path further in.”
Janet gave up trying to climb over and stepped down. “Bloody hell. This is going to be a workout. Maybe your friend here is right, maybe we should go around and meet up with it somewhere else.”
“Wait. Hear that?” Derek cocked his head. A new sound was audible, somewhere in the distance, but getting louder and coming closer. A sound that may as well have been a trumpet blare from some mystical cavalry.
Janet heard it too, her eyes going so wide they nearly popped out of her head. “Oh my God, it’s…”
Wide a wide grin, Derek grabbed Banga and hugged him. “It’s a fucking helicopter!”
No sooner did he speak the words than the trees around them began to bend outward, caught in the whirlwind of air coming down from above. And with a sound like a thousand beating drums, a helicopter swam out over the treetops and hovered above the field. Beaudette Mining Co. was stenciled on the side.
***
Too early in the morning for this shit, Dillan Hoffmeister thought. His head pulsed with a searing hangover and the ear-cupping headphones he wore certainly did not make it feel any better. He’d downed a coffee before takeoff but he’d forgotten to swallow the aspirin he’d pulled from the medicine cabinet. The tablets were still sitting on his sink at home.
If it had been anyone else yanking him out of his sleep he would have told them to fuck off and gone back to bed. But when Stephen Beaudette had screamed at him through the phone to wake his ass up, he’d jumped up like a military cadet. Such was the life of being on retainer for one of the wealthiest men in South Africa. A little headache was worth suffering through to stay on Stephen’s good side, and more importantly—on the good side of his wallet.
The conversation had been short:
“Fly your ass into the Congo and find my damned daughter.”
“Is everything okay?”
“I hope so. Maybe she has bad reception on the SATphone, or maybe she’s being raped by those filthy pygmies.”
“She went into the Congo alone?”
“Of course not. What type of businessman do you think I am? She went with Winston and his men but I haven’t heard one bloody peep from any of them. So get your ass over there and find her. Radio back when you have some information for me.”
Stephen had given him the coordinates, hung up.
Now, however many God awful, headache-throbbing hours later, Dillan glided over the misty treetops of some remote jungle wilderness that time had forgotten, praying Janet was okay. Not just because he had no intention of bringing bad news to such a powerful man as Stephen, but because he still harbored fond memories of the two dates he’d been on with Janet a couple of years ago, and how he’d planned on someday giving it another shot.
Typical of South African royalty, Janet was a hell of a looker and way out of Dillan’s league. But true to her Daddy’s DNA, she was a workaholic and cared more about money than romance. He’d mentioned being afraid Stephen would find out they had gone out together. She’d assured him what she did after work was her business, not Daddy’s, and that she was always going to call the shots when it came to her own life.
Which made it no surprise when she’d called it quits after the second date. They’d shared one kiss and he still remembered how cold and tight her lips were. Not because she didn’t want the kiss, but because she was conditioned to be in charge, and he’d leaned in first. That was his big mistake, not letting her take charge.
Through the curved glass of the helicopter’s windscreen, he watched the jungle swoop by in a blur beneath him. He was getting close to his destination, could now see the waterfall he’d marked on the map before leaving. The GPS in front of him blipped as his target grew closer. Just another minute.
Then, from a grassy area near the river blow him, something blew up. Suddenly alert, his headache no longer a concern, he banked toward the smoke, circled wide over the trees to come in at a lower angle.
He saw people down there. Two men and a woman.
It was Janet. She looked like she’d been run over, thrown in mud, hosed down with a firehose, punched in the stomach. The two men with her looked no better. What the hell was going on?
He steadied the ‘copter, started lowering it toward what looked like an overturned pickup truck. Something large and black lay motionless near it. Scratch that, lots of large, black motionless things lay near it.
I am really hungover, he thought. Because those things are as big as bears, but they’re not bears. Bears don’t have eight legs and shiny black eyes on tops of their heads. Those fucking things are…spiders.
***
“My father sent Dillan,” Janet screamed. She never thought she’d be so happy to see that drunk again. Every time she’d run into him over the last year he’d acted like such a fool, alluding to how special their couple dates had been. The man was a washed up alcoholic going nowhere in life. It was a wonder he still had his pilot’s license. But he did what her father told him to do and he didn’t ask questions. And when he was sober, he was admittedly one of the best helicopter pilots in Africa.
Right now he was like a gift from the gods.
“You know him?” Derek held his arms in front of his face to keep broken grass blades and dirt from tearing his skin off as he moved toward the descending helicopter.
“Unfortunately yes, but I’m not going to complain about it right now. Let’s just get the hell out of here.”
“Way ahead of you.”
With Banga close behind, all three raced back to the ruined pickup truck as the ‘copter came closer to the ground. She could see Dillan’s salt and pepper hair through the side door window now, his microphone wrapped around in front of his mouth. As usual he was disheveled, no doubt roused from a bender. Still, she relished the idea that she would be out of this hell hole in another few seconds.
She raced by a dead spider, glanced at the hairy corpse. I beat you, she thought. Then, for good measure, she yelled at it. “I bloody beat you!”
And that’s when the man with the beret stepped out from behind it and pointed his twin gold pistols at her. “Hold still, bitch.”
She stopped, Derek and Banga beside her. “Goddamit!” The expletive came out before she could stop it. After all this, she had forgotten about the rebel psycho in the Jeep.
The man waved his guns at all of them. “Step back, all of you, now. I didn’t say you could leave. This is my land, my rules. And I see, my new helicopter. So God has chosen to give to me, so that I wipe the face off the dogs that stand in my way.”
***
With this aircraft I will certainly rule this kingdom, thought the Skeleton Man. No more driving through the jungle to root out infidels from hidden villages. No more ruptured tires from thick roots or broken windows from snapping branches. With the helicopter he would lord over the Congo like a true deity. Once he mounted a machine gun to the outside, not a soul in this land wo
uld oppose him.
It was so obviously written in the winds of fate for him. The spiders had been sent to test him and he had vanquished them. Now this helicopter had descended from the sky as an award.
Before him, the American, the Congolese, and the South African stared at the pistols. He’d meant to let them go, at least the two white ones, to avoid the conflict that came with killing citizens from such powerful governments. But that was not an option now. Not if he wanted the helicopter. If he simply took it and let them go, they’d come back for it in force. No, he had to kill them now. Had to hack the bodies up and make it look like the spiders had fed on them. It would be easy enough, and truth be told, he would enjoy doing it. He would add their bones to his necklace, and rub it to harness the power of their souls.
He moved carefully under the helicopter’s spinning rotors. He kept the guns in front of his chest so the pilot could not see what he was doing, put himself between the landing skids and his targets.
“Do not worry,” he laughed. “I will take good care of this machine for you. And when I have wiped out every last lowly monkey in this country—” he leered at Banga “—and turned their children into my own loyal army, I will thank you.”
With his thumbs, he pulled the hammers back on the guns, cocking them.
***
“That’s a helicopter!” Jack shouted. “Someone is coming down! I can’t believe it.”
Crawling next to him, Gellis simply smiled, his yellow scar lost in the folds of his face. Jack had never seen a man look so happy before. He knew he must look the same way.
“Screw crawling, let’s go.” Jack stood up to run but Gellis yanked him down by his shirt.
“No. There is a new problem. See?”
Ah shit, Jack thought. The idiot with the gold pistols was back. And he had Derek and the others held at gunpoint. Before he could even ask what the plan was, Gellis was army crawling across the ground, moving as fast as a snake. Jack’s elbows blazed as he scurried to keep up. They got closer, closer still, until the sound of the helicopter’s whirring blades was so loud he could barely hear himself think.
He could not make out what the gunman was saying to his captives, but he could see the madness in the man’s eyes. “Fuck,” Jack whispered as the man cocked the guns.
***
“Please don’t,” Derek yelled.
“Oh don’t worry,” replied the Skeleton Man. “I do the woman first.”
He aimed his guns at Janet’s head. The woman flinched, let out a cry. Derek froze, trying to think of a maneuver to get the guns. But he had nothing. They were going to die.
The man fired.
From out of the grass leapt the other Congolese man, Gellis, whom Derek had last seen fighting a giant spider. The man soared in front of Janet, knocking her to the ground. Derek saw blood spit from Gellis’ back.
Surprised, the gunman lowered his aim for a second. At the same time the motor for the rotors was cutoff, the blades shifting in pitch. It was all enough of an opportunity for Derek to rush in. He hit the man like a linebacker, driving a shoulder into his stomach, throwing him to the ground, going down on top of him. The man roared and threw a punch and Derek felt the cartilage in his nose turn to mush, felt his nasal bone shatter. The man’s hand came up again and the butt of one of the guns caught Derek on top of the head, erupting starbursts behind his eyes.
Like his ex-wife always said, he was a lover, not a fighter.
Defeated, Derek rolled off into the grass, saw Banga lunging over him, kicking the man in the head now. Stomping on the man’s face. Blood bursting from split lips and an equally busted nose. Then Banga was down as well, both men throwing punches.
“Derek, get out of there!”
Jack’s voice barely came through the sound of the helicopter’s dying rotors. But from where? Everything was blurry, Derek’s entire face lit up in white hot pain. He saw a silhouette running toward him, arms waving above its head. Shit, it looked like Jack, sounded like Jack. Must be—
“Derek! The spider. Look out! The spider!”
Yes, it was Jack, racing toward him. Something about a spider. Aw, shit, he thought, not again.
***
As Gellis threw himself in front of Janet, Jack watched in horror as one of the dead spiders on the field twitched and rose on its legs. The damned thing wasn’t dead after all. Wounded yes, dazed yes, but dead, hell no. It staggered for a second, dripping blood and guts from its underside, A goopy trail of white silk dangling from its spinneret, then spun towards the helicopter, the holy mother of all things big, insectile, and hopefully, eatable. And then it rushed. Legs pumping and digging into the ground like a racecar, kicking up clods of soil. It jumped, spun, jumped again, angled toward the men rolling on the ground.
Nobody saw it coming but Jack. He had to warn them.
He was up and running toward the melee, screaming, waving his arms, wondering what the hell he was going to do to stop the damned thing.
“Derek! The spider. Look out! The spider!”
And then it leapt, high, graceful, legs spread for the attack.
Derek saw the new shadow in the air now, coming from the other side of the copter, the familiar asterisk shape of a spider in mid jump. He threw his arms around Banga, yanked him away from the rebel psycho’s grip, and dragged him to the ground.
***
Now free from the fight, The Skeleton Man was up in a flash. He had lost one of his pistols, but he held the other tightly in his right hand, ready to kill on his command. The scene was glorious before him. Four people on the ground, one running toward him. Himself standing tall above it all. He could not be defeated. This truly was his land. With his free hand he rubbed the bones on his necklace. Decided to finish the job he’d started. He jabbed the gun toward the woman, lying under the large, scar-faced Congolese man.
And…then…something else was coming. He sensed it.
He dropped to the ground just in time. The spider passed over him, the bottom of its abdomen scraping his head and knocking his beret off.
The creature landed behind him and seemed to stagger, wounded and winded. The Skelton Man picked p his beret and placed it gingerly back on his head. Straightened it for good measure. “Come back to say goodbye, have we.”
With a triumphant grin, he took aim at this new target. Such a magnificent denizen of this jungle, but not nearly as dangerous as he.
Someone tapped him on the back.
***
Jack leapt over Derek and Banga, praying the spider would get the asshole with the guns, but the guy was too quick. It must be true, Jack thought, you can’t be a leader just because you’re nuts and scare the shit out of your followers, you’ve gotta have some fighting skills too. This guy had just worked over both Derek and Banga, was bleeding profusely from his nose and mouth, but was still smiling like he would happily eat his way out of a padded room. This guy was a real survivor.
But Jack was from New York City. And he had his own style of survival, especially when it came to dealing with raping, kidnapping, murdering assholes with bad head wear.
He tapped the maniac on the shoulder. The man turned in mild surprise, conditioned to shoot first and ask questions later, the look in his eyes psychotic enough to give the Devil Himself a shudder. His gun was coming up out of instinct.
Jack grabbed the guy’s wrist, angled the gun down, drove a knee into the man’s groin, immobilizing him. It was cheap, but it was a proven method embraced since the dawn of time. The man’s arms went limp and his eyes shut in agony.
“That was for Gellis. And this is for being an all-around asshole.”
Jack punched the man square in the mouth, feeling two of his own fingers break in the process. The man flew backwards, right into the open legs of the spider, which were open like a catcher’s mitt waiting for a fastball.
The spider yanked him to its belly and sank its fangs into his back.
***
I am still alive, The Skeleton Man thought
. I can’t be killed. I am a god!
And then there was a new feeling.
The poison spread fast in The Skeleton Man’s blood, searing his arteries, making his muscles flex so hard they threatened to tear through his skin. He had never known such a level of pain before, could now hear himself howling in excruciating terror.
The fangs drove deeper under his ribs, piercing his right lung. He dropped his gun and grabbed the mandibles with both hands, curled his knees up as the spider’s mouth came down to suck him in, and pushed backwards with all his might. The fangs began to slide out, letting out a river of blood and venom.
The spider’s eyes showed no trace of emotion. Not fear or anger or even hunger. He could not even tell if the damn thing saw him, or merely saw through him.
“You cannot beat me. You are nothing but a stupid animal.” Phlegm wadded around his mouth as he spoke. With a grunt he kicked off of the spider’s face and felt himself break free of its legs, the fangs slipping all the way out to leave two gaping holes large enough to put his fists in. The legs curled in to embrace him again but he rolled out of the way, felt his gun on the ground beneath him. His fist snatched it up and he pointed it at the spider’s dripping mouth as he stood up defiantly.
“My land! Not yours!” he yelled.
“Not yours either.”
Someone was next to him. Annoyed, The Skeleton Man turned and saw the gun at his temple. He heard the shot and then felt nothing.
***
Jack flinched but wasn’t sure what he was flinching at. The sight of the crazy gunman’s brains exploding out of his head like confetti, the sight of Banga holding the gun—cocked back to reveal an empty barrel—or the sight of the spider redirecting its gaze at the guide.
“Banga! No!”
Banga’s eyes were locked on to the dead rebel leader. He seemed to notice nothing else around him. Jack felt hopeless, knew there was no way to save the man. Banga’s last act would be killing a reprehensible man who stole children and murdered impoverished Congolese villagers.
“Banga!”
And then something whirred by Jack’s head and lodged into the spider’s face.
Salticidae Page 21
