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- Mark R Faulkner
Infested Page 4
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“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.
Nine
The night had been a feat of endurance and the longest of my life, but eventually the sky began to brighten and a light mist collected on the river. “Wake up,” I said quietly, giving Lindsey a little shake.
“Oww,” she groaned before rubbing her eyes and slowly uncurling in my lap. It was her only complaint and I looked at her, thinking her parents would have been proud. She didn’t say anything else and shuffled back to her seat at the front of the canoe while I braced my hands against the sides, keeping it steady.
I was stiff and aching all over from spending the night, to all intents and purposes, immobile. A long drawn out yawn escaped me before I dipped the paddle to move us back upstream in search of the channel for the weir. It wasn’t far; a bank of reeds jutted out from where the river split, extending upstream, gently swaying as water swirled around them.
I pulled the boat alongside the wire rope which crossed the river, blocking it from traffic, and held onto it to keep us still. Suspended a foot or so above the water, I only needed to lift it a little for us to slide underneath. “Watch your head,” I told Lindsey and she lay down almost flat and I, as best I could, did the same. The wire rope was heavy but we passed beneath without difficulty.
On the other side, I began to get butterflies at the thought of shooting the weir. It was like a different river; there were no motor cruisers or neatly maintained banks, rather, it was wild and overgrown. Trees leaned over, almost touching overhead and reeds choked the channel so we had to push through them. All the time, the dull roar of rushing water was getting louder. Everything told me I was about to do a stupid thing, but on this occasion I could see no option.
I approached slowly, with caution, all the time thinking about the best way to descend the weir. It came into view, visible as a stark line where the river disappeared over the lip of the concrete ramp. I held us as still as I possibly could, sitting upright to get a better look at the weir and to figure out the best line of attack and to see if there were any obstructions such as rocks, trees or general detritus.
The flow of water caught us and I could feel the canoe accelerating; we were past the point of no return, where the power of the water was greater than my ability to paddle against it. Usually, on a natural rapid, I’d steer the canoe as slowly as possible through the tumultuous water, to give me a chance of steering out of harm’s way but this time my main concern was to punch through the stopper wave at the bottom and not let it trap us into a watery grave.
“Hold on tight,” I shouted and at the same time paddled hard, building as much speed as I could before making the descent. For a split second the front of the boat seemed to hang in mid-air over the weir before we tipped forward and entered the cascade. For the first time, I caught sight of the wave at the bottom; looming tall and rolling back on itself toward us. All I could do was hold my nerve and pray as we plummeted, like the log flume at the fair, and hit the bottom with a splash which drenched Lindsey and sprayed my bare chest with icy cold droplets.
We were on flat water again and in one piece, although there was an extra inch of water in the bottom of the canoe. Lindsey spun around on her seat to face me, giggling. “Can we do it again?” she asked.
I was giggling too, it must have been the combination of adrenaline and relief. “We might have to,” I replied, uncertain how far it was to the next lock.
“That was fun,” she stated, water dripping from her nose and hair and then a curious expression came over her. “What are they?” she asked.
“What are what?” I had no idea what she was talking about.
“On you?” She pointed to my chest.
I didn’t need to look down to visualise the scars; round, white-ish dots which never tanned, crinkled at the edges. There were a lot of those, and to set them off was a three inch, ugly, jagged scar, not far north-west of my navel, which was put there with a carving knife of the serrated variety, the kind with an integral fork at the end. She’d been using it to carve roast chicken just before she stuck it in me. I’d only gone into the kitchen to see if she needed a helping hand but she was in a bad mood, an empty wine bottle sat on the counter next to her.
I reigned my thoughts back in and I might have even blinked before answering. “Scars.”
“How’d you get ‘em?”
Under Lindsey’s enquiring gaze, I felt ashamed. “Someone put them there.”
“Who?”
“It’s not important.”
“A girl at my school had scars like that. I saw in PE.”
I cringed.
“She’s probably dead now isn’t she?” asked Lindsey, swinging the conversation away from my past to our present situation.
I shrugged, to give myself time to think of an answer, but she spoke before me. “Just like Mum and Dad.”
“I wouldn’t have thought so,” I said, “She wasn’t at the pub was she?”
“No.” She said it slowly, giving me a sullen look which said there was something still on her mind.
I waited for her to speak, processing the thought which I’d been denying myself to even entertain.
“What about the people at the lock?”
“Well, that was still quite close to the pub, it might be the same thing?”
“So the spiders aren’t everywhere then?”
I didn’t want to lie, but I needed to reassure myself as much as her. “Probably not,” I said in as cheerful a voice as I could muster.
She didn’t look convinced but thankfully she changed the subject by declaring she was hungry in a slightly whining child voice.
“We’ll be in Oxford soon,” I said, although I didn’t really have much of an idea how close we were.
“And I need a drink.”
“I know.” I needed to drink too. The day was turning out hotter than the one before and without suntan lotion, we were both starting to go pink. I’d already been hugging the bank, trying to keep in the shade as much as I could. We were on a part of the river where the banks were not so steep and there were fewer trees and I just hoped we reached Oxford quickly.
Ten
It must have been mid-afternoon when we reached the next lock. The correct channel, under normal circumstances, was marked with an arrow and the word ‘LOCK’ in bold black letters on a white, battered sheet metal sign. The thirst of earlier was many-fold worse than it had been; I had to keep trying to make spit just for something to swallow. And I had a raging headache, forcing me to half close one eye against the sun’s glare. Drinking from the river was becoming an ever more tempting thought, but one I was resisting and also encouraging Lindsey to resist, because of the near certainty that the water would make us both ill.
I’d been giving serious consideration to turning myself in to the authorities when we reached Oxford. It wasn’t transpiring to be the relaxing trip I’d hoped for and after missing a night’s sleep, all I wanted was somewhere safe to rest my head; e
ven if that place were to be a police cell. I was thinking I might earn some leniency for rescuing Lindsey. I turned my eyes forward, to where she was sitting. She’d not spoken in a while, neither of us had. “Same as last time then, okay?”
“Okay,” she replied without turning and as we reached the wire rope, she flattened herself to fit underneath.
I’d decided to tackle the weir exactly the same way as the other, but as the dull roar of ever falling water got louder, my nerves began to fray. We were, however, committed to the ride and so, just before we pitched over the edge, I shouted for Lindsey to hold on tight again.
As we tilted forward, two things simultaneously caught my attention. The first was that the stopper at the bottom was much larger than before, and the other thing which distracted me was a vast wall of black smoke in the distance, blotting out a sizeable piece of the sky in that direction. Both of these things, combined with fatigue, caused in a moment of panic for me to lose concentration and as we plummeted down with water boiling on either side, the canoe skewed slightly to the left.
We hit the wave side-on. I was thrown clear so all I knew was water filling my senses and bearing me away downstream in a rush of bubbles. I was tumbling underwater and couldn’t tell which way was up and which was down. Even after I surfaced the current was too powerful for me to fight, and I was carried along; just another piece of flotsam. By the time the river slackened, it had jettisoned me a hundred yards downstream. I looked back toward the weir to see the canoe; half-submerged, bobbing toward me. There was no sign of Lindsey.
I swam back toward the weir, hugging the margins of the river where the current was slackest. Half the time I was only pushing my belly through the mud and even though it would have been quicker to get out and run along the bank, it wasn’t planning on leaving the water. I had to stand and wade the last bit, with the churning river battering my legs and trying and steal them away from under me. It was a losing battle and I was still nowhere near the stopper.