Infested Page 3

  I edged further into the river. Fathers were holding children up above their heads, but it only meant they had further to fall, and they did, some with sickening crunches and cries of pain. Now the pub-goers on the bank began to jump into the river and swim toward me, but I knew I’d be overturned if any grabbed hold of my canoe and tried to climb aboard. For a moment I froze; the situation was hopeless and I was caught between trying to save a few, which meant me succumbing to either the spiders or the river, and saving myself. I made a decision. I can’t say it was the right one and, dare I say it, it was a cowardly thing to do but I decided to save myself. It was a choice most probably helped by a man who was trying to do the same, pushing past all the others who were thrashing in the water to swim directly toward me. I saw him kick out at a child of around ten years old, who’d tried grabbing hold of him for buoyancy. The child slid under water just as the man reached a hand to my gunwale. A reflexive reaction caused me to bring the paddle down like an axe, the edge of the blade undoubtedly breaking his fingers. He let go and I moved further downstream, torn between paddling back into the melee or moving away and not looking back.

  By now, bodies were floating face down on the surface of the river. It was too soon for them to have drowned and so I had to presume the spiders were of a poisonous variety. A handful people were still alive though, treading water; an old lady with her skirts spread out around her like a lily pad, the young man who’d been one half of the lovers I’d first seen staring into each other’s eyes over their drink, frantically searching the water for his beloved. And a little girl who couldn’t have been more than eight, her shock of red hair plastered to the sides of her face as she desperately tried to swim back to shore. I strongly suspected that if she made it, the spiders would have her.

  Fuck it. I dipped the paddle and pulled hard, propelling myself forward to intercept her before she touched a hand to dry land. In a couple of seconds I was with her. “Grab on,” I shouted when the front of the canoe was level with the girl’s head. She looked around and quickly figured it out. “Pull yourself up.”

  The canoe lurched violently and I had to fight to keep it upright as she tried, and failed to haul herself out of the water. “Wait,” I called and edged forward so I could grab her hand. It felt tiny in mine as I pulled. “Kick your legs,” I told her and heaved. For the next few moments I thought we were both going to end up swimming, but eventually I had her slumped in front of my seat, resting on my legs. It was an awkward position for paddling but with my gear piled in front of us, it was too much of a task for her to clamber forward into the front seat.

  Neither of us spoke as we moved away from the pub and the bodies which were gently floating. Nothing moved on land and I didn’t turn around to look back for fear of seeing any late survivors clinging to the life which was surely slipping from their grasp. When I felt we’d travelled a safe distance from the pub, I began looking for somewhere to land, so the girl could climb into the front of the canoe and make our progress easier.

  It must have been half an hour or more before I spied a narrow place to stop and I manoeuvred beneath the overhanging branches of a willow to where its roots met the water. I stayed seated and told her what I wanted her to do, that she was to get out, I’d move the canoe a bit, and she could get back into the front. She simply nodded her understanding, numb shock evident on her face, as it must have been on mine, and as she clambered out onto the river bank, my heart was breaking.

  I bit down my sadness for her, it would do neither of us any favours, and edged back out from the branches, leaving it easy for her to get back in. “Ready?” I asked when she was seated. She nodded, for I saw the back of her head move, and I moved us back out onto the river.

  Six

  For a long time we travelled in silence, the only sound being the song of the paddle as it slipped in and out of the water. I don’t know what she was thinking, or feeling, and could only guess, as I could only see the back of her head. I wondered whether she was crying and stared, looking for any tell-tale movement of her curly locks.

  Me, I was trying to formulate a plan. My thinking being that during our next brush with civilization, I could leave her with some responsible adult and - although I didn’t doubt for a moment the events of the pub were undiscovered - pass on news of what had happened.

  Now, the river was so tranquil I found it almost impossible to believe what we’d experienced had really happened, as if it had all been a dream. Were rescue teams and frogmen right now searching for the girl, I wondered? A horrible thought struck me hard and filled me with panic: What if they take me in for questioning when I deliver her to safety? I decided the best course of action was to flag down the next passing boat and deposit her on board, with as little interaction from myself as possible.

  The next boat we encountered however, was coming at speed, headlong down the middle of the river and creating a wash which was breaking over the banks on either side. Its pointed bow was aiming directly for us and I needed to steer hard into the trees to prevent us being rammed, which would have certainly turned the canoe into matchwood and killed both me and the girl. The fat man at the helm appeared to be in a state of high anxiety and if he’d seen us, he showed no sign of it.

  The bow-wave hit us with a jolt and we were almost capsized. On instinct alone I pointed the front of the canoe into the waves to ride them as best I could. The girl in the front clung to the gunwales but thankfully did nothing to further upset the canoe. By the time I’d managed to restore balance, the speeding boat was already rounding the next bend and out of earshot.

  “That was close,” I shouted forward, thinking I ought to break the silence between us.

  “I liked it,” she laughed, half turning in her seat to look over her shoulder. Although there was still plenty of sadness in her eyes, her freckled face lit with a smile which showed where she’d lost a front tooth.

  I had to laugh myself at that. “Yes, it was quite fun wasn’t it.” The resilience of children never fails to amaze me and as it happens, the excitement, no matter how short lived, provided a welcome distraction and stopped us both thinking, at least for a short while. “Want a drink?” I asked her.

  “Please.”

  I grabbed the big, square water carrier, which was now two-thirds empty and warm, and leaned forward as far as I could, reaching over the gear stacked between us and half throwing it in her direction. It tumbled to a rest just beneath the back of her seat. It took her a little while of feeling about to find it and then she struggled with the cap which I’d over-tightened.

  “What’s your name?” I asked after she’d got the bottle open and was gulping down water from its neck.

  She paused for breath and lowered the container. “Lindsey.”

  “I’m M… Bobby,” I said, figuring I’d have to get used to my new name.

  She turned back to face forward, so once more I was staring at the back of her head. The awkward silence which followed seemed to last an age, and I for one could not think of anything with which to fill it until eventually she said, without turning. “My mum and dad are dead.”

  It was a simple statement, but at least she understood. “Yes,” I said quietly. “Yes, I think they are.”

  Her shoulders started to shake and I could hear her quietly sobbing. Lost for words and thinking of nothing to comfort her, I simply continued to paddle gently down river, hidden from the world by green banks of trees and reeds until she finally broke the silence. “Will you look after me?”

  I sighed. “Until I find somewhere to leave you.”

  “Don’t leave me. Please don’t.” She was crying again.

  “It’ll be with someone nice, I promise.”

  “But I want to stay with you.”

  I sighed again. “I don’t think that’d be a very good idea,” I said, half under my breath.

  “Please,” she pleaded.

  “We’ll see.”

  The next words spoken were “I need a pee.”

&n
bsp; Although I was starting to need one myself, my heart sank a little and I didn’t want to stop just then. “Can you hold it for a bit?” I asked. “We should be at the next lock soon.”

  “I’ll try,” she said although I could see her squirming in her seat.

  I put more effort into paddling, to try and speed our progress but a few minutes later she piped up again. “I’m desperate.”

  I groaned. “Okay, I’ll find somewhere to stop, just hold it a little while longer.” I paddled harder, studying both banks for somewhere suitable and when I spied a small gravel bank on a bend I ran the front of the canoe up onto it, jolting us both forward. “There you go,” I said. “Hop out.”

  She shot me a look as if to say, don’t be grumpy, it’s not my fault, and climbed out onto the gravel and then scrambled up the side of a small, vertical section of bank which the river had carved during times of flood; devoid of vegetation and full of holes. Sand martins darted in and out of them, swooping low over the river and seemingly unbothered by our presence. I watched their acrobatics with fascination while she disappeared out of view into the fields above.

  “Eaugh,” I heard her shout. “There’s dead cows up here.”

  “Just do whatever you need to do and hurry back,” I shouted in reply, having no inclination to investigate. I imagined there might be one dead cow and she was exaggerating by using the plural.

  A few moments later she was clambering back down the bank and into the front seat. We were well and truly grounded, “Right, when I say, grab the sides and shuffle back,” I said to her and took hold of the sides of the canoe myself and counted to three before lurching backwards in my seat. The canoe moved a couple of inches back into the river. “And again.”

  We continued to try and shunt the canoe with our combined movement and each time it edged back a little more. It was an effort but so much better than me getting out and pulling it off the gravel, giving myself wet feet in the process. Soon we were free enough for most of the canoe to be afloat and I shoved the paddle down onto the river bed and gave a final punt to free the front end.

  “I wonder what killed them?” asked Lindsey when we were once again making steady progress down the river.

  At first I was unsure what she was referring to. I wished I’d got out to relieve myself at the same time, I was getting pretty desperate myself and hoped the next lock wasn’t far. “What?” I asked, being as unspecific as I possibly could be.

  “The cows.” She said. “I wonder if it was the spiders.”

  “Were there a lot of cows?” I asked, suddenly putting two and two together with a sinking feeling in my belly.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sure it was something else,” I told her. “The spiders were back at the pub, we’re a long way from there now.”

  “I don’t like spiders.”

  “I know.”

  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 tr
ouble 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.