Web of Fire Bind-up

by Steve Voake

  But it was very different when you were this far above the ground.

  His pulse racing, Sam edged slowly towards the end of the leaf and took his first, tentative steps on the stem. A breeze rustled the leaves and he felt the air gently buffeting him. Swaying unsteadily, he dropped onto his hands and knees and felt his heart thump against his ribs like a clenched fist.

  ‘Come on, Grandma,’ Skipper called. ‘We don’t want to miss the bus.’

  ‘OK,’ said Sam, shutting his eyes. ‘Be with you in a minute.’

  Above the humming of hornets he could hear the sound of birdsong floating down through the forest canopy and the notes calmed him a little. With a sudden feeling of lightness he stood up again and walked quickly over to where Skipper was standing. He half expected her to make a joke, but she just looked at him with serious blue eyes and gave him a small, reassuring smile.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, and she held out her hand. ‘Let’s go.’

  It really was the strangest feeling, like sitting on a lilo with a constant stream of water being pumped through it. When they had first climbed onto its back, the caterpillar had reared up, twisting its head from side to side. But after a while it settled down again, resuming its slow, shuffling progress along the branch. Now it reached the main trunk of the tree and began to move upwards.

  ‘Hold tight,’ shouted Skipper, ‘we’re going vertical!’

  Sam squeezed his knees against the caterpillar’s rubbery sides and leaned forward, pressing his face against its rippling back and gripping the fleshy ridges tightly in both hands. As the caterpillar moved up the trunk he felt gravity pulling him backwards and was quite relieved to hear the buzzing of the hornets grow louder above their heads. Soon, one way or another, it would be over.

  Lifting his head from the caterpillar’s back he was puzzled to see Skipper lean over and plunge a long silver knife into the tree trunk. Grasping the handle firmly, she slid sideways off the caterpillar until the only thing preventing her from tumbling to her death was her tenuous grip on the knife. She swung back and forth like a tiny pendulum before pulling another knife from her belt and stabbing it into the tree next to the first one. Suspended between the two handles, she twisted her head round to look at Sam.

  As the caterpillar shuffled forward and drew level with Skipper, Sam could see the look of urgency on her face and decided that she must have slipped. Grasping the caterpillar’s skin tightly in his left hand, he leaned over as far as he dared and stretched out his arm.

  ‘Quickly, Skipper!’ he shouted. ‘Grab hold!’

  To his surprise, Skipper took hold of his arm and pulled so hard that he was wrenched violently from the caterpillar’s back. With a shout he found himself scrabbling frantically for something to stop him from falling. Then he hit the side of the tree trunk with such force that it knocked the wind out of him. He just had time to feel Skipper’s arm grip him firmly round the waist and notice that the knife she clutched at with her free hand was bending under their weight before there was a loud buzz, a snap of metal and he was falling like a stone. He slammed into something green and spongy and as he grabbed hold of it, he realised it was the caterpillar which was now, incredibly, flying through the air. The buzzing grew louder and the world spun into a whirl of sound and colour until suddenly he landed with a smack and everything around him was bathed in a dim, grey light.

  He sat up and rubbed his forehead, feeling a big egg-shaped lump where he had whammed into the side of the tree.

  ‘Ouch,’ he said. ‘What happened there?’

  A hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him backwards just as something very large scuttled past.

  ‘Sam, are you all right?’

  ‘Skipper!’ breathed Sam, the relief apparent in his voice. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘I think so,’ came the reply. ‘It’s a bit hard to tell in this light.’

  Sam squeezed his eyes shut and rested his head on his knees for a few moments in an attempt to get his breath back.

  ‘What happened there?’ he asked. ‘Why did you jump off?’

  ‘Didn’t you see it?’

  ‘See what?’

  ‘The hornet. It came round the back of the tree and I figured it wouldn’t be long before it spotted the caterpillar and took it back to the nest to feed to its grubs. So I jumped off and grabbed you just before it hit. Then as the hornet took off again, I made sure we jumped back on and hitched a ride. It was a perfect way in, really. The guards never even noticed us.’

  ‘Perfect way in?’ said Sam. ‘Perfect way in where?’ But as he listened to the powerful humming that reverberated through the gloom and felt the scratch of the curved, papery wall behind his head, he realised that it was a question he didn’t need to ask.

  ‘Oh,’ he said quietly. ‘Oh, wow.’

  ‘We’ve done it, Sam,’ said Skipper excitedly. ‘We’re sitting inside a hornets’ nest!’

  Seventeen

  Sam held out his hand and touched the smooth, papery sides of the nest. He noticed the stripy pattern and realised that each different coloured stripe represented the pulp from a different tree, fence, or telegraph pole.

  ‘This is beautiful,’ he said. ‘It’s like a work of art isn’t it?’

  ‘I guess so,’ said Skipper. ‘Wouldn’t want it hanging on my wall, though.’

  They crouched behind a raised layer of waxy cells and felt the breeze from a thousand hornet wings, blowing through the nest and cooling it.

  ‘Where do you think they keep their eggs, then?’ asked Skipper.

  Sam thought for a moment.

  ‘Wherever the queen is I suppose. She’s one big egg-laying machine. If we find her, we find the eggs.’

  They were interrupted by a ripping, squelching sound away to their left and as Sam peered through the dimly lit nest he could just make out the face of a giant hornet. It was the same one that had carried them into the nest and now it was using its powerful jaws to tear the still writhing caterpillar apart. As Sam watched in horror, it pulled off little pieces of the caterpillar and began to feed them to the larvae which twitched and squirmed in the hexagonal cells beneath it.

  ‘Oh lovely,’ said Skipper.

  As his eyes became more used to the gloom, Sam saw that there were several other large hornets moving across the tops of the cells, stopping every now and then to distribute another chunk of unfortunate grub or insect to the hungry larvae.

  ‘You know what I think?’ said Sam.

  ‘No,’ said Skipper. ‘Oh gross!’ She grimaced as the first hornet proceeded to snip off the caterpillar’s head. ‘I think I might become vegetarian.’ She glanced at Sam and noticed that he was looking slightly exasperated. ‘Sorry Sam. I am listening. Tell me what you think.’

  ‘I think,’ Sam continued in a low voice, ‘that all the eggs must be down on the next layer.’

  ‘Like chocolates,’ said Skipper, looking back at the hornet.

  ‘Eh?’ said Sam.

  ‘You know. The horrible ones are always left at the top and the ones you want are always down on the next layer.’

  She paused.

  ‘Mind you, it’d be one hell of a shock if you got given a box of these for your birthday.’

  ‘Skipper,’ said Sam. ‘Can we just forget about the chocolates for a minute?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Now the way I see it, these hornets are going to finish feeding their larvae pretty soon. When they do, we can make a move.’

  ‘What about the other hornets? There must be hundreds of them.’

  ‘Yes, but listen,’ said Sam. ‘Can you hear that noise?’

  Skipper put her head on one side and listened. A faint scratching sound was coming from the cells beneath the hornets.

  ‘What is it?’ Skipper asked.

  ‘That’s the sound the larvae make when they’re hungry – bit like baby birds when they squawk at their mothers. It’s a signal that they want to be fed. But if you listen carefully, you can t
ell that the noise is getting fainter all the time. Soon they’ll be so busy digesting their bits of caterpillar that they’ll stop scratching for a while. And when they do, the hornets will deliver their food to larvae in other parts of the nest.’

  Skipper gave Sam an amused look.

  ‘You certainly know your hornets,’ she said.

  Sam pointed to a gap between where the layer of cells stopped and the outer walls of the nest curved down past it.

  ‘See that gap? That’s our route down to the next layer. If we’re lucky, we can climb down without being spotted and make our way to the egg-laying chamber.’

  Skipper held up her hand. ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I think that’s it.’

  Sam listened and nodded. The scratching had stopped.

  ‘That’s it all right,’ he said.

  They watched from their hiding place as, one by one, the hornets moved across the tops of the cells before disappearing with a loud buzz.

  ‘OK,’ said Sam. ‘Soon as the last one goes, we make a run for it. Straight over the cells, down the gap and into the egg chamber. Then we grab one egg each, and come back for the ropes.’

  ‘So what’s our exit strategy?’ asked Skipper. ‘Still drop and swing?’

  Sam thought about a discussion they’d had back in the restaurant where they had agreed the best way out of the nest would be to fasten the ropes somewhere near the base and swing out onto the nearest branch.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Let’s stick with that.’

  It was certainly risky, but it had the advantage of being quick which – where angry hornets were concerned – was a definite bonus.

  ‘Ready?’ asked Skipper as the last of the hornets flew off through the gap.

  Sam took a deep breath.

  ‘Ready,’ he said.

  He held out his fist and Skipper bumped it with her knuckles.

  ‘Let’s go!’

  Then they were off, running hard across the hexagonal ridges that surrounded the edges of the larva cells. Sam could feel the tiny vibrations of the larvae as they squirmed beneath his feet, but within seconds he found himself at the edge of the cell layer, staring all the way down to the hole at the base of the nest. In between the stream of hornets arriving and departing, he could just make out the forest floor far below.

  There was a sudden scream behind him.

  ‘Sam! Help me!’

  Turning, he saw that a maggoty white larva had thrust its head up, caught hold of Skipper’s foot and was attempting to drag her back into its cell. Another of the larvae had latched onto her arms and was pulling her back the other way.

  ‘Hang on!’ Sam shouted. He raced frantically back towards her and like a football player executing a drop-kick in the closing seconds of a match, he booted the nearest maggot as hard as he could. There was a loud, soggy thwack as the creature’s head flapped backwards and a gobbet of yellow slime flew out of its mouth, splattering the front of his jacket. Immediately, Skipper pushed herself up with her free leg and swung her fist around so hard that it smacked the other larva sideways, sending it wriggling back to the safety of its cell.

  ‘You want lunch, maggot?’ she asked icily, pulling a grenade from her pocket. ‘I’ll give you some lunch.’

  Sam grabbed her firmly by the arm and steered her back towards the edge of the nest. He gently took the grenade from her hand and returned it to her pocket.

  ‘Save it,’ he said. ‘We’ve got work to do.’

  Peering cautiously over the edge he saw that, besides the outer wall of the nest which was on the far side of a five- or six-metre gap there was only an internal wall of smooth paper below them. This extended downwards for several metres until the next layer of combs was reached but, as far as he could see, there were no handholds anywhere.

  ‘I think we’re going to need the ropes,’ he said.

  ‘No we’re not,’ replied Skipper. She crouched down, gripped the side of the comb and then, to Sam’s surprise, began to lower herself over the edge.

  ‘Careful!’ he warned as her knuckles whitened under the strain.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Skipper. ‘It’s made of paper, remember?’

  Swinging her leg back, she kicked at the wall with the toe of her boot. There was a muffled thud and leaning over the edge Sam saw that her foot had practically disappeared into its soft, pulpy structure. Fragments of paper floated down like confetti towards the base of the nest.

  ‘See?’ said Skipper. ‘Easy-peasy.’ She punched a couple of handholds into the wall and began her slow descent toward the next layer.

  ‘All right!’ said Sam. He smiled and swung himself neatly over the edge.

  It was really quite simple when you got the hang of it, like climbing down the side of a steep, snowy hill. If you needed a hand- or foothold, you just punched or kicked a new one out for yourself. And although the paper structure was quite soft, it was also amazingly strong. In no time at all, Skipper had reached the opening to the next layer. But as Sam joined her, several hornets flew past and buzzed loudly out of the entrance, the wind from their wings sweeping upwards with such force that it nearly blew them off the wall.

  ‘Jeepers,’ said Sam. ‘Didn’t see that coming.’

  ‘That was close,’ said Skipper, lifting her face back off the wall again. ‘I thought we were goners that time. Hang on a sec while I take a peek.’

  She swung her legs around like the hands of a clock so that she appeared to be doing a handstand up the side of the wall. When her feet were above her head she kicked out two fresh holes and slotted her feet in. Then, hanging by the tips of her boots, she put her hands on the edge of the chamber below and peered in. As Sam watched, she gave a little squeak and quickly pulled her head back again.

  ‘How’s it looking?’ asked Sam.

  ‘Not good,’ said Skipper, climbing back up the wall again. ‘The queen’s in there so it’s definitely the egg-laying chamber. Problem is, the place is absolutely swarming with worker hornets.’

  ‘Are you sure it was the queen?’ asked Sam. ‘Was she twice the size of the others?’

  ‘And then some,’ said Skipper. ‘Listen, we’ve got big problems. Those worker hornets are doing nothing else but guarding her. If we go in there now and try to steal her eggs, they’ll rip us apart.’

  Hornets’ nest

  Sam felt his mouth go dry at the thought of being attacked by giant hornets. He imagined the inscrutable stare of their robot-like faces and the crunch of their jaws as they plunged their sharp, agonising stings into him like hot swords.

  Closing his eyes and pressing his face into the soft paper wall, he heard himself say, ‘We can’t give up now, Skipper. We have got to get those eggs.’

  ‘I know,’ said Skipper. ‘But I’m beginning to run out of ideas.’

  Sam let out a heavy sigh and opened his eyes again. But what he saw next sent a sudden sparkle of excitement through his veins. The patch where he had pushed his face into the papery wall and breathed upon it had become strangely translucent, like a misted-up window. And there, on the other side of it, was a white, oval object the size of a rugby ball.

  ‘Skipper!’ he hissed. ‘Over here! I think I’ve found one!’

  Skipper quickly traversed hand over fist across the wall towards him.

  ‘What have you got?’ she asked breathlessly.

  ‘Look,’ he whispered. ‘In there.’

  Skipper pressed her face against the wall for a second or two and then turned to him with a smile.

  ‘Ker-ching! Sammy boy, I think you’ve hit the jackpot.’

  ‘All right,’ said Sam. ‘Let’s nick it and get out of here.’

  ‘There must be a third chamber between the other two,’ said Skipper. ‘Perhaps they seal it off while the eggs are developing and open it up again when the larvae hatch.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Sam. ‘To be honest, I don’t give a stuff as long as it keeps me away from those hornets. Pass me your knife a minute.’

  Skipper pulled
the knife from her belt and held it out towards Sam, handle first.

  ‘There you go, doctor.’

  Sam pushed the knife into the wall and, using a sawing motion, cut out a thick, circular slab of paper before carefully removing it and passing it to Skipper.

  ‘Cool,’ she said. With a flick of her wrist, she sent it spinning into space like a frisbee. It glanced off the far wall of the nest before tumbling towards the bottom like a coin falling down a well.

  ‘Skipper, don’t!’ Sam hissed in alarm. ‘You’ll have them all up here in a minute.’

  ‘Hornet frisbee,’ mused Skipper. ‘Now there’s an idea…’

  Ignoring her, Sam stuck his head into the hole and found himself looking into a waxy, hexagonal cell. The egg was in the middle, some way beyond the grasp of his outstretched hand.

  ‘How’s it looking?’ asked Skipper.

  Sam popped his head out of the hole again.

  ‘I can’t quite reach it. I think I’m going to have to crawl in and get it.’

  ‘Do you want me to go?’ asked Skipper enthusiastically. ‘I’m smaller than you.’

  ‘No, don’t worry. I think I can fit. Tell you what – if you can just hold open your rucksack, I’ll pass the egg back to you.’

  ‘OK,’ said Skipper. ‘But be careful.’

  Using his forearms to grip the floor of the cell, Sam pulled himself over to the egg and touched its surface with the palm of his hand. The thin white membrane felt smooth to the touch, like the skin of a ping-pong ball. Gripping it firmly with both hands, he tried to pick it up, but it was stuck fast.

  ‘Come on,’ he muttered and pulled harder, but the egg wouldn’t budge. Examining the base, he found that it was anchored in place by some sort of yellow glue.

  Using the knife to saw away at the base of the egg, he was relieved to see that it cut through the material quite easily. After a minute or two, the egg began to wobble and he wrapped an arm around it to stop it falling over. A few moments later he was wriggling back to Skipper with it safely in his arms.

  ‘Good work, Sam,’ said Skipper.

  ‘Do you think one’s enough?’