Loki's Gambit, page 94
part #1 of I Bring the Fire Series
From behind them, she hears skittering footsteps. Mr. Squeakers, suspended on a line of silk, drops down to the floor and starts hopping in the opposite direction. Bohdi follows the mouse, pulling Amy along. Right before they enter the next room, he tugs her so she’s leaning against the wall and pokes his nose cautiously around the door. Amy looks in the direction they just came from. She hears chittering and footsteps getting louder, but sees no spiders.
Before she knows what’s happening, Bohdi pulls her into the next room. It’s a lot like the first, but longer, and with multiple doors. Dead tree tops poke through the floor and the walls. More chittering rises outside the door they just entered, and Amy looks over her shoulder as Bohdi pulls her along.
There’s still no sign of spiders, but she swears she hears more of them.
Bohdi gasps, and she snaps her head forward. She’s relieved to see there isn’t a spider in front of them.
But that relief only lasts a moment.
Bound to a wall with fine spider silk is a hominid figure with dragonfly wings. Obviously long dead, it’s still terrifying. Through the silk, Amy can see its skin is sunken to its bones. Its mouth is open in a silent scream—revealing fangs nearly as long as Amy’s pinky fingers.
“Adze,” she whispers.
“Oh,” says Bohdi. His Adam’s apple bobs. And his eyes slide down the creature, its shape still visible beneath the nearly translucent silk.
“So um…did the spiders take some parts off of him, or do adze…” He winces.
Amy follows his gaze to the adze’s sexless groin. “They come like that.”
“Ahhh…” he says. “Still disturbing.”
And it is. The creature’s body is smooth like a Ken doll, and there’s something about it that makes Amy feel like her hair is being brushed the wrong way.
“Which way?” Bohdi whispers. Mr. Squeakers hops over to one of the doorways and disappears. From the way they just came, the chittering increases in volume.
Without further conversation, Amy and Bohdi bolt after her mouse and find themselves in a narrow hallway. Instead of loft-like scaffolding above them, there is a smooth roof. Mr. Squeakers darts down a side hallway, and then another. At one point, he slips through a narrow space in the floor, just large enough for Amy and Bohdi to slip through one at a time. They work their way through another jungle-gym-like obstacle course of silken support beams and then pop out another tiny hole into a narrow, twisting hallway.
As they follow Mr. Squeakers down the corridors, Amy notices they’re slowly going downward. It’s getting progressively gloomier, and the sound of spider chittering seems to be rising around them everywhere—from the walls, ceiling, even the floor.
Amy gulps. They’re in the spiders’ living quarters…which explains the seeming lack of stickiness in the web.
Ahead of them, Mr. Squeakers makes a sudden break right. Bohdi and Amy follow him down a narrow hallway that drops abruptly about eight feet or so into a cavernous room. Mr. Squeakers keeps hopping forward, extending out a bolt of silk to lower himself. Bohdi and Amy come to a skidding halt.
The room is slightly larger than an Olympic swimming pool, and the chattering of spiders echoes through it, though Amy can’t see any of the web’s inhabitants about. But then, it’s impossible to see very far. The room is filled with treetops that rise at least twenty feet from the floor. The branches are adorned with their own dead leaves, brown withered ivy with dark black fronds, wispy cobwebs, and odd bits of spider silk.
“Weird,” whispers Bohdi. And Amy knows what he means; everywhere else the spiders’ webs have been spun with engineering precision. Here it looks like cheap Halloween decorations.
Mr. Squeakers bolts between some of the tree limbs. Amy feels herself tremble, and Bohdi meets her eyes. Without a word, they slip down the drop and follow Mr. Squeakers, trying not to step on dried husks of plant matter that litter the floor.
They’ve only gone a few feet when Bohdi gives a low hiss. He veers away from the path Mr. Squeakers is weaving and goes to a wide, loose, pile of spider silk, barely visible in the gloom.
Amy looks at where Mr. Squeakers sits patiently, and then back to Bohdi, now kneeling by the silk.
What is he doing? Why is he stopping?
Biting her lip, Amy walks over to him. She is about to put her hand on his shoulder, to remind him that they are in a nest of giant, human-eating spiders, when he grabs hold of the silk and pulls it away.
Amy’s jaw drops. Beneath the layers of silk is an airplane. Well, not an airplane. At about eighteen inches high, four feet long, and maybe eight feet wide it is obviously not for passengers.
Kneeling on the ground, Bohdi looks up at her and whispers, “RQ-487 Albatross. Spy drone.” He shakes his head. “These things were only prototypes when I was in the Corps.”
Amy swallows. So Steve and company—or someone on Earth—is looking for them. She wishes she could feel more relieved, but all she wants to do is get out of here now. The spider chitters are making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
Unfortunately, Bohdi doesn’t seem to share her urgency. Still kneeling, he runs a hand down its frame and whispers, “Looks like the electronics are out… If I can get it out of here, I might be able to turn it on, maybe re-launch it, and get a message to Steve.”
“We have to get out of here first!” Amy whispers. And how he will carry that ungainly thing, she has no idea.
Bohdi blinks at her, and then his eyes snap back to the drone. “Right.”
Instead of getting a move on, he picks up the drone. It must be lighter than it looks because he lifts it with one hand. Raising it to eye level, he studies it and then pulls a lever beneath its body. The wings and tail finny-things fold inward and collapse until they are flush with the body of the plane. Suddenly Bohdi is holding something that looks more like a very long baseball bat than an airplane, although, where there would be a handle on a baseball bat, there is a rather sharp, pointy tail end.
Her face must show some surprise because Bohdi whispers, “Know why they call it the albatross?”
Amy’s brain does a little blinky-away-from-reality thing. “Because it doesn’t look like it can fly?”
Bohdi’s jaw sags. “Yeah.
Bouncing on her feet, Amy whispers, “Can we just go?”
Somewhere nearby something crunches in the leaves. “Right,” he whispers.
Together they follow Mr. Squeakers, Amy’s heart dropping as they do. The chittering echoes in the room are getting louder.
Beside her Bohdi whispers, “Do you think he knows where he’s going?”
Amy can only shrug.
Mr. Squeakers hops up to a wispy curtain of spider silk adorned with dry leaves, and stops. A faint breeze stirs, and the silk rustles.
Bohdi goes forward and glances through the cobweb. Inhaling sharply, he whispers, “Uh-oh.”
Slipping to stand beside him, Amy peeks past him. Her legs immediately go weak. Beyond the curtain is a break in the trees. About thirty feet in front of them there are two massive spiders, plucking at something on the far wall, concealed by their bodies. Writhing between their legs are smaller spiders chattering madly. They range from the size of miniature poodles to golden retrievers. Where the large spiders have legs that are long and spindly in comparison to their body size, the little spiders have short stubby legs. Instead of smooth, silvery carapaces, the little ones have soft downy white fur. One turns its head briefly, and Amy notices its six red eyes are very large in its little head, and its mandible is proportionally very tiny.
All of the spiders have their backs turned to them—the better to shoot them with web. She blinks. Whatever the large spiders are doing has the little ones very excited. Their chittering is becoming deafening. A few shoot wispy bits of webbing from their butts. It doesn’t look strong or go very far.
“Spider babies?” Bohdi whispers.
“Yes,” Amy whispers back, not really afraid of being overheard over the deluge of chatter. They’re kind of cute, and if she was watching a Natural Geographic special, she’s sure she’d be utterly besotted.
She wonders what has them so excited. And then one of the large spiders steps sideways, and Amy sees what it was plucking at.
No. Not plucking. Stabbing. The adult has a forelimb protruding from the chest of an adze—and although the adze’s head is lolling downward, its wings are still trembling. Blood is gushing from the wound. Little spiders are hopping up and down trying to catch the geyser in their mouths.
She hears Bohdi take a sharp intake at the same time she does. She hopes with all her might the adze is unconscious. As soon as the thought crosses her mind, the adze raises its head, hisses, and then begins lunging against the spider’s forelimb, driving it further through its chest. Seemingly oblivious to the pain, the adze roars, clawing and gnashing its fangs at its captors. At the adze’s feet, the little spiders make a sound that sounds like a baby’s coo.
Bohdi and Amy both jerk their heads away.
Amy scrunches her eyes shut.
“Mr. Squeakers,” Bohdi whispers. Amy opens her eyes. Bohdi points through a little hole in the curtain.
Amy hears a hiss from the adze, and despite herself, her eyes go in its direction. The other adult spider has jammed a forelimb through its chest. The creature is pinned against the wall, its head is rolling from side to side, and its teeth are bared. At its feet the little spiders begin hopping excitedly again. On their short legs they don’t hop very high.
Tearing her eyes away, Amy follows Bohdi’s gesture. Mr. Squeakers is skittering across the floor, almost invisible among the dried leaves and cobwebs. As she watches, her mouse goes to a wall to the left of the spiders and climbs up to an opening roughly eight feet above the ground. Her eyes follow the wall and she sees other similar openings, all set above ten feet. She looks at the little spiders and their tiny hops. The openings are baby spider proof. They’re in the spider nursery, and apparently it was designed to keep the babies from getting out.
How touching. Unfortunately…Amy swallows as she looks at the opening. “I don’t think I can jump that high.”
Bohdi pulls away from the curtain. Looking her up and down, he puts a hand to his chin. “I can and you don’t have to.” He doesn’t sound at all afraid, or angry, and it’s such a relief she could kiss him.
“How?” she says, instead.
Leaning close, Bohdi says. “We make a break for it. I go first. I reach the wall first.” He interlocks his fingers and raises his hands. “I throw you up in the air.”
Amy’s jaw drops, about to protest. She won’t make it…and then he won’t make it and then…
Cocking an eyebrow he says, “We don’t have time to argue, and I’m not going anywhere without you.”
She bites her lip.
He looks cautiously through the hole in the curtain. She follows the direction of his gaze. The adult spiders have lowered the adze to the ground, and the little spiders are crawling all over it, making sounds that sound eerily like the laughter of small children. They seem focused, but she can’t imagine the feeding frenzy will last long.
“Ready?” he says.
“No.”
Bohdi’s teeth flash white in the gloom as he grimaces—or maybe smiles. “Me, either.” He shrugs. “Shall we?”
Amy nods. “Yes.”
“On three,” Bohdi says. “One.”
Amy takes a deep breath, her hands trembling.
“Two.”
She exhales slowly, trying to stay calm. Bohdi drops to a sprinter’s crouch, still holding onto the drone. Amy does the same.
Pushing the curtain of cobwebs aside with the drone nose, he whispers, “Three,” and bolts. Amy follows.
Bohdi is terribly fast. It seems like she is instantly several paces behind him. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the baby spiders lift their heads. They make a sound like, “Oooooooooooo.”
A loud deeper chittering fills her ears. The adults. She doesn’t turn, she just pumps her legs faster. In front of her, Bohdi has already dropped the drone, fallen to a crouch by the wall, and entwined his fingers. “Now!” he shouts.
Her heart is beating in time with her feet. One, two…there. Her foot connects with his hands, miraculously on the first try. She jumps, and he lifts, and she is soaring through the air. Her gut catches on the lip of the opening, knocking the wind out of her. Mr. Squeakers gives a squeal somewhere beside her, and she yanks herself up and into the tunnel. She turns. Below her Bohdi shouts. “Catch!”
He has the drone in his hands and is about to throw it, but Amy’s eyes are riveted behind him—an adult spider is closing in, mandibles clacking.
Amy screams.
Bohdi turns, just in time for the spider to lunge at his midriff, mandibles open wide. In a motion too fast for Amy to see, Bohdi twists his body around with a snarl, stabbing the pointy tail end of the drone right into the spider’s largest bottom eye. He pulls the drone out of the spider’s eye with an angry shout. Ochre liquid splashes from the gaping wound. The spider’s mandibles clack in a rapid staccato, and then the whole beast drops to the ground. With a shout of triumph or anger or both, Bohdi springs onto the fallen spider’s head and then leaps into the tunnel opening, with so much impossible grace, it’s like he’s being lifted by invisible strings. An instant later, he is on his hands and knees on the tunnel floor, panting at Amy’s feet.
In the nursery, the other adult spider lets loose a shriek that is nearly ear-splitting. Amy’s eyes rise to a point beyond the spider’s head. She gasps. “More adults!”
Adult spiders are spilling through the other openings; a few are already on the ground, preparing to fire silk. “Run!” Amy shouts.
At a crouch at her feet, Bohdi snarls. “No!”
She looks down to see him jamming the drone’s sharp tail, now ochre and sticky with fluid, into the tunnel floor. He pulls on it, gives a grunt, and releases a lever beneath the drone’s core. The drone’s wings fly outward and pierce the tunnel’s walls and lights flash along its sides.
“Huh,” Bohdi says, eyes shining in the electronic glow. “Impact must have reconnected a wire.” Bohdi gives it a yank, and she sees the glint of his teeth in a vicious smile when it doesn’t move.
She hears a whistling in the chamber, and on instinct pulls him back. He falls on his butt just before bolts of sticky silk land on the drone’s tail end, sticking it to the floor.
Bohdi laughs. “Heh, they’re sealing the exit for us.”
In the nursery, all the adult spiders come to a halt. Mr. Squeakers cheeps from the floor, hops up onto Amy’s arm, and crawls to her shoulder.
All the baby spiders stop chittering. And then seemingly at some unheard command, they surge forward, their tiny bodies swarming over the body of the adult spider Bohdi downed. With excited squeals, they try to hurl themselves into the tunnel, even as the adults rush forward and try to pull them away from the exit.
With a gasp, Amy takes a step backward. The juveniles are small enough they can fit beneath the spider silk and the drone wings.
“Run!” she says.
“Yep,” says Bohdi, clambering to his feet. Even though Amy’s got a head start, he is instantly beside her. He grabs her wrist, and pulls her along. She doesn’t think she’s ever run so fast, it feels like she’s flying. And the next thing she knows, she is flying, suspended in midair as the tunnel floor drops out from beneath her feet. Before she can process what is happening, she falls with Bohdi, her wrist still in his grip. They land an instant later in a slide as the tunnel drops at an incline too steep for human feet. Bohdi shouts, Squeakers squeaks, and Amy bites her tongue, blood welling in her mouth. But even as they fall, her heart leaps… She smells fresh air!
They tumble, Squeakers frantically clinging to the front of her coat, her hand sliding to link with Bohdi’s. And then the tunnel opens to the outside, and they crash downward into a clump of undergrowth that breaks their fall. It’s so dry beneath the nest that dust rises up around the brush in a small whirlwind.
Beside her, Bohdi coughs. It must be near noon, but the light around them is dark and gray. She lifts her head. The spider nest is a looming gray cloud, not eight feet above their heads. They are surrounded by a dead forest of tree trunks and undergrowth.
Bohdi laughs. “Did we make it?”
Amy’s mouth drops. She almost laughs, too, but the laughter dies before it’s left her mouth. Beyond the copse of dead vegetation they’ve landed in, she hears angry chittering noises. She lifts her eyes above a clump of brown grasses that is nearly the height of her head. Leaning sideways, she looks between two trees whose trunks are choked with the same dead ivy they’d seen in the spider nursery. Closing in, less than fifty feet away, are more spiders than she can count.
“No,” she whispers. “We haven’t made it yet.”
The spiders move more slowly than they had on the roof or in the nest. Because Bohdi killed one of them? Do the spiders think they’re dangerous?
Climbing to his feet, Bohdi turns around, surveying the distance beyond their protective little wall of trees and dead plant life. “Fuck,” he says.
Scrambling up, Amy slowly turns around. Outside of the trees, it’s mostly underbrush. Spiders are everywhere.
A few bolts of silk streak toward them, but the silken bolts catch harmlessly in the trees and brush. Dipping his chin, voice low, Bohdi says, “So Loki got out last time by dashing beneath the nest…”
Amy nods. “But he had fire…”
A gentle breeze stirs. Bohdi drops to his knees and pulls out his lighter
“I know it won’t work,” he mutters.
Dropping down, she squeezes his hand holding the lighter. “Do it,” she says. She hears an edge in her voice that sounds like hopelessness or hysteria. She remembers the adze, the sharp forelimbs of spiders thrust through its chest. She will try anything to escape that fate. Bohdi’s lighter sparks, and he holds it at the base of a high clump of undergrowth. The tall spikes of grass begin to smolder.
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