Infested (4 page)

Seven

Although the sun was still beating down with plenty of heat, by the
time we rounded a long, gentle bend and saw the next lock ahead, I could tell
evening was drawing near. The channel for the weir branched off to our right,
complete with wire rope and warning signs. I had expected to find it a hive of
activity, or at least to see a handful of people on the boats which were moored
at either side of the river but we were greeted with silence.

It didn’t seem right on such a fine evening but I assumed the hour was
later than I thought, although I still hoped the lock keeper would be around,
or even some walkers to whom I could deliver Lindsey. There might be a house,
or even a pub, I thought.

As we approached the slime covered wooden gates and the metal ladder
set into the concrete bank, the quiet started to seem unnatural.
Probably for the best,
I thought. “We’ll
see if we can camp here for the night,” I said, now thinking it might be late
enough to worry about losing the light. Although I had only one sleeping bag,
it was warm enough for me not to need it if we shared the tent. I didn’t mind
one bit giving up a small part of my planned comfort, if the truth be known I
was beginning to enjoy the company of someone who didn’t judge me or take every
opportunity to put me down.

I brought the canoe to rest so Lindsey’s seat was level with the ladder
and tried to hold it steady while she stretched her legs. She was so tiny we
hardly rocked in the water at all, until she stood to reach for the rungs and
we lurched to one side. “Try and keep your feet in the middle of the boat,” I said.

It was a stretch for her to reach the ladder but to her credit, she
climbed up and onto shore with the minimum of fuss.

“Wait there,” I shouted up to her and pulled the canoe forward so it
was in the right position for me to climb out. “I’ll just pass this stuff up.”

“Okay,” she shouted back, seeming to be enjoying the adventure and clinging
onto the curved handrail at the top of the ladder, hanging precariously out
over the river for me to pass the dry bag and the water-bottle up to her.

When those things were safely ashore, I leaned forward, carefully, to
heave first one barrel, and then the next up onto the bank, and Lindsey
steadied them to stop them toppling back into the river before I clambered up
the steps, while keeping hold of the rope to prevent the canoe drifting off.

The first thing I noticed was a cruiser, seemingly abandoned in the
lock and while this was strange, I was more concerned with how I was to get my
canoe out of the water, being a few feet below the level of the concrete bank.
I stood straight for a moment, stretching and scratching my head for an easy
way to do it, while staring at the cruiser and seeing if I could see anyone
aboard. The chrome rail and windows glinted in the sun and reflections from
the river danced across its sleek lines and gleaming, white hull, but the
movement of light was the only motion I could detect.

Still holding onto the rope, I lay on my front and tried to reach the
handle of the canoe. The tips of my fingers brushed the plastic, but not
enough to wrap them around the grip and I leaned further over the edge, my
cheek pressed to the ground but even at full stretch I couldn’t grasp it. I
clambered back to my feet and bit my lip before heaving on the rope. The front
end of the canoe lifted and I simply hoped it wouldn’t tip and fill with water as
I pulled it slowly upwards. After much effort, the handle was elevated enough
for me to be able to reach and I leaned back to pull the rest of the boat out
after it. It scraped over the sharp concrete edge and I expected that when I looked,
there would be green plastic shavings from my hull curled on the bank.
Another scratch to add to the collection.
I just hoped they weren’t too deep this time and then wondered why I was
worrying, I wasn’t likely to own it for much longer.

With the canoe out of the water, I slumped onto one of the barrels and
asked Lindsey to pass me the water. Up until now, she’d been standing quietly
by the gear. “Here you are,” she said, passing me the container. There were
only a couple of mouthfuls left in the bottom and so I took a smaller glug than
I would have liked, and passed her the last bit.

“I’m going to move the canoe, save doing it in the morning,” I said to
her. “You go and see if you can find any water to fill up the bottle.” I
glanced toward the lock keeper’s hut, to see if I could see anyone through the
big, plate glass window in the front of it whom I could ask about camping.
Although we were likely to be back on the river early, I didn’t want any rude
awakenings. “There might be a tap over there.”

“Okay,” she replied but stayed where she was, watching as I flipped the
canoe upside-down, noting that the damage to the underside didn’t look too bad,
and picked up one end before walking along its length, lifting it as I went.
When I got to the middle and my arms were almost at full stretch, I ducked my
head under the yoke and lowered it onto my shoulders. With the canoe balanced,
it was easy to pivot the other end upwards and walk with it over my head like a
giant, pointed hat. It meant I couldn’t see much other than my feet, but I
heard Lindsey scurrying off to find water.

I’d negotiated a few brick steps and reached the lower end of the lock
when I heard her scream, a piercing sound that could only mean trouble and the
type which triggers an instinctive response. Without consideration of further
damage to the canoe, or to myself, I threw it to the ground and while it landed
with a loud, hollow thunk and rolled, I was already sprinting toward the lock
keeper’s hut.

Lindsey was standing just outside the door, rooted to the spot with her
hands raised around her face. What I saw when I reached her made me pull up
short and gasp before shoving her aside to avert her trembling stare.

On the floor, just inside the hut were three - what appeared to be at
first glance - cocoons of white thread. Closer inspection showed them for what
they really were, bodies, tightly wrapped from head to toe in spider silk. The
lock keeper was amongst them, identifiable by the orange of his life-vest
showing through the web and the toes of his shiny shoes, poking out the end.
The others, I assumed, were the owners of the boat in the lock. An ear stuck
out of the side of one of the silk wrapped bundles, a gaudy Pat Butcher style
ear ring trailing from the lobe. Although the bodies couldn’t have been more
than a day old, they were as desiccated as a three thousand year old mummy. A
spider crawled from the decorated ear, not a large one, probably smaller than
the average house spider. Its body was round, with an iridescent beetle-like
carapace and its legs were about twice as long as its body was wide. Closer
inspection showed more of them moving in the silk cocoons, feeding on what lay
within.

Eight

All of this only took an instant to be forever imprinted onto my brain
and in a moment I’d picked up Lindsey, thrown her over my shoulder and was
running for the canoe, stooping to grab the paddle on the way. She was
weightless in my arms. “Have you been bitten?” I asked, breathless, as we ran.

“No.” Her reply came in short bursts as the rhythm of my feet hitting
the ground knocked the breath from her. As we made the short dash, I was
scanning the ground. Spiders appeared from cracks and crevices, came out of
the neatly mown grass, closing in on us. It’s hard to believe, but it felt
like we were being chased.

I felt a sudden pain on my bare calf, below my shorts, not dissimilar
to a bee sting. We’d about reached the river’s edge and reflexively, I
launched Lindsey into the water. It was a longer fall than on the upstream
side of the lock, probably about ten feet, and she let out a small, surprised
scream before hitting the water heavily on her back. Before the water sent airborne
by her plunge landed to re-join the river, I’d jumped in after her.

My hearing filled with the sound of bubbles rushing past my ears and my
vision with green underwater murk. I kicked my way to the surface and
instantly I was looking around and making a grab for Lindsey where she was flailing
in the river.

“You okay?”

She spluttered and blew some water from her nose. “Uh-huh,” she
nodded.

“Can you tread water?” I asked, still holding onto her although it was
a challenge to keep us both afloat, especially as I was still wearing boots and
my leg was throbbing from where I’d been bitten.

“Yes,” she nodded again, a touch of indignance in her voice.

I almost laughed. “Good, glad to hear it. Now, try not to touch the
sides, okay? If you get tired and think you’re going to sink then just let me
know, I’ll hold onto you.”

“Okay.”

I peered up at the canoe, an impossibly long distance above us, just
the tip of its nose visible over the bank. An end of rope trailed over the
side, hanging down toward the water, tantalising but unreachable. There were
two spiders, which I could see, on the metal steps and more crawling out from
small cracks in the concrete; such small things. They looked harmless, but
appearances can be deceptive.

They
had thought
me harmless, and look where that got them.

I shook my head, to clear it of the past and bring my concentration
back to the present predicament. It was without question I needed to climb the
ladder and fetch the canoe, even if all our other gear was lost. Whether it
was the cool of the water, which I don’t think it was, or through shock, I was
trembling. The throbbing in my calf was testament to how these things could
bite and my whole being was telling me not to go up.

After looking and thinking about it for a few moments, psyching myself
up, I removed my vest and, while still treading water, used it to flick the
spiders from the steps, as well as any I could see on the wall on either side.
As they landed in the river I moved out of the way, watching as they struggled
and swirled slowly away downstream on the gentle current, before once again
fixing my attention on the steps. I could see no more of the spiders and so,
after a deep breath, I grasped onto the rungs. My body didn’t want to comply
and I took another deep breath, “fuck it,” - it was becoming somewhat of a
mantra - and climbed as fast as I could, keeping my body hanging as much as
possible over the river and away from the wall.

Before I’d climbed half way, first one, and then a dozen or more
spiders appeared over the lip of the bank, scurrying down toward me. There
would only be one chance and I had to take it. It was then or never. I
launched myself upwards and across to where the rope was trailing a little over
the edge and prayed I’d catch it. My fingers brushed the yellow nylon and for
a split second, whilst in mid-air, I thought it wasn’t enough but I tightened
my fist and as I fell, a wave of relief washed over me as I felt the tension
snatch on my arm.

“Heads up,” I shouted, hoping that Lindsey was clear of where me and
the canoe were going to fall. I hit the water and the canoe landed next to me,
fortunately missing my head by a hair’s breadth. It hadn’t nosedived
completely, it did more of a belly-flop, for which I was thankful as it left only
a couple of inches of water sloshing about in the bottom. It was the right way
up and floating, which were the important things, and the paddle had landed not
far away.

Lindsey was already swimming toward the canoe, to grab on to it.
“Wait,” I shouted, wanting to check for stowaway spiders first, and swam to
catch hold of my discarded vest, which was floating flat on top of the water,
some distance downstream. I swam around the canoe, inspecting it both inside
and out and when I was as satisfied as I could be that it was spider-free, I
moved behind Lindsey and held her by the waist.

“After three… Three.” We both kicked to lift her and with much
splashing and scrabbling, and me getting a kick to my chin, she clambered
aboard. Now it was my turn. Getting into a canoe from the water is not an
easy task. I’d read about how to do it and knew the theory, but it was
something I’d never done in practice. The trick is to not turn it upside
down. I reached across it to balance the opposite side to which I was trying
to climb in before kicking hard and pulling myself up. Several frustrating
attempts later and I was slumped in the bottom of the canoe, exhausted but
relieved.

That evening was a glorious sunset of crimson skies, but as I looked at
it I couldn’t help feeling that it was setting on much more than just one day.
Wet through and kneeling in water, I started to paddle slowly down the river.
“Lift yourself out of the water,” I said to Lindsey. “Lie across the seat and
dangle your legs over the side. Go to sleep if you can?”

She put her legs up, hugging them toward her chin as best she could in
the small space she had. She lay still for a while, curled up on the seat with
her back to me, and I thought she’d gone to sleep.

At twilight it suddenly occurred to me how quiet it was. The silence
was complete; almost tangible. There were no crickets chirruping in the fields
nor owls screeching, there were none of the often heard but unidentified animal
cries, or rustling in the margins. It was altogether unsettling.

As true dark closed in around us and the temperature began to drop, the
chattering of Lindsey’s teeth cut the silence like a chainsaw. “You still
awake?” I asked, unsure how I could help her.

“Yes,” she shuddered.

“Try and get some sleep,” is all I could think of to say. I was
shivering myself and trying to stop my own teeth from knocking together. I
don’t know whether she went to sleep or not, but she didn’t speak anymore apart
from letting out the occasional timid groan.

I moved us slowly as I could down the river; too afraid to make land
and concentrating hard on keeping the canoe in a straight line to stop us
hitting the bank, trees or any other obstacle. I thought that if we did, the
spiders would be able to get us. Going was slow, as I couldn’t see to guide us
and only knew at the last second when we were approaching a bend, as the black
shapes of trees, only slightly darker than the night, loomed tall at the front
of the boat. Sometimes we ran into them and I needed to correct our course or
risk taking a twig to the eye.

I could hear rushing water but didn’t see the gates of the next lock
until we crashed into them nose first, jolting us both forward, and even then I
needed to strain my eyes to figure out what we’d collided with. Lindsey was
propelled forward, off her seat and into the water lying in the bottom of the
canoe. She let out a small screech of surprise and even though I could hardly
see her, I felt the canoe lurch and wobble as she scrabbled about.

“Calm down, it’s okay.” I was worried we’d both be toppled into the
river in the confusion, an incident which would more than likely result in one,
or both, of us drowning.

“I don’t like it,” she whimpered.

“I know,” I tried to console her. “See if you can climb back here to
me?”

The canoe rocked violently again as she stood. “Steady.” I said and
after that I could see her outline becoming clearer as she inched her way along
the middle of the boat toward me. “Here,” I said when she got close, “jump on
here with me.” It was a little awkward and took a little time to get
comfortable but before long she was stretched out across my lap with her legs
hanging over the side of the boat, her feet dangling a few inches above the
water. I hugged her as best I could, while still keeping the canoe still with
the paddle, and after a while her teeth stopped chattering and she began to
snore lightly.

While she was asleep, I pondered about how to tackle the problem of the
lock. Doing it in the dark was not an option, as I feared even to touch the
bank, which left the weir as the only option for descending. It was not one I
relished. The thought played on my mind, as I sat in the dark too scared to
sleep and slowly I filled with dread at the prospect. I could hear the weir,
somewhere close, a never ceasing roar of water. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad? I
thought. I’d been down natural rapids on other rivers plenty of times and knew
how to handle the boat. Time after time I convinced myself it would be fine,
and then my mind would swing back the other way and I was terrified again.

My legs had gone to sleep but I didn’t move for fear of waking
Lindsey. It was bad enough one of us having to endure the cold, endless
discomfort of the night. I didn’t know what was worse, the unrelenting chill
or the pain in my leg from where I’d been bitten. I prayed for morning to come
but the dark seemed to last a lifetime.