From Fraidy Cat Quarterly: Volume 2
The leech was already swollen with blood when I saw it on the back of Amy’s neck. It pulsed when I touched it, digging in deeper.
She squirmed. “Oh fuck, gross, get it off me!”
“I’m trying! You’re supposed to do it carefully or it gets infected.” I tried to grab it, but I was squeamish and it was slippery. Finally I let panicky adrenaline take over and yanked it loose, writhing and vomiting blood on her neck. “Don’t worry, I got it just right,” I said, although I hadn’t.
“Such a romantic honeymoon, Blake.” She gave a half smile. “Nature is fucking gross.” But she was already over it, shrugging her pack back on while I was still checking myself for more leeches.
“Rawdogging it with life itself, bare-ass naked and feeding on you,” I said lightly, like I was over it too. “Is there any better way to start our lives together? In sickness and in health and in leeches and out in the great green world with you. This is real life, babe!”
As if on cue, it started pouring.
“Daiquiris by the pool are also real life!” she shouted over the rain. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, always thinking you have to be uncomfortable or it doesn’t count.”
We were at least an hour from the hotel. “Should we try to find somewhere to wait it out?”
“I think I see an overhang,” she said, pointing to a cliff a ways off the path.
We tucked ourselves under it, but it didn’t help much. “This still sucks,” she said, worming her way back into a crevice in the rock face.
And then she disappeared altogether.
There was a little crack in the cliff, a sliver just big enough to squeeze through. Her excited squeal came out. “Cave!”
“You okay?”
“Come on in!”
I didn’t want to. It looked creepy, and I didn’t know what kind of shit could be in a Venezuelan jungle cave. It seemed reckless. Partly I was worried, and partly I felt mad because I wanted to be the reckless one in the relationship, not her.
But I pushed through and in. It smelled like ammonia, a noxious thick odor. The floor felt slushy. Amy was fumbling for her phone. “Cool, right?”
She turned the light on, pointing it straight back. It was big–maybe twenty feet deep. Water drizzled down. The ceiling was weird, though, and it took me a moment to figure out why. Tiny little brown stalactites hanging from it. Textured. Twitching. A pair of eyes opened, shining like tiny flashlights, and then hundreds of others opened too.
Bats. The ceiling was covered in bats.
“Shit!” Amy whispered, jerking the light down to the ground–but that moved, too. I had a sense of vertigo: it was writhing. A big shiny cockroach climbed up my pants, feelers twitching. I yelped and swatted at it, and it fell back into the sea of roaches roiling at our ankles.
Amy screamed, and the bats exploded into a storm of leathery wings and squealing. One stuck in her hair; she flailed at it, cursing and throwing it to the ground. Her light swung wildly, strobing over flashes of fur, leather, bugs. I grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the exit. “Out!” I yelled–but stopped abruptly, wheeling backwards, as the cave mouth came alive.
Shadowy tendrils rose from the rocks, guarding the exit. Each was studded with spines, flexing in the air. A bat was caught with a soft whump; the spines folded around it and held it fast. It struggled and then went still. “Back!” I shouted, dragging her with me. “Look!”
They weren’t tendrils. They were centipedes–but huge, much bigger than any I’d ever seen before. As big as my forearm. They gripped the rock around the cave mouth with their back legs; the rest stuck out into the opening, waving delicately, waiting for prey. There must have been a dozen of them.
We retreated and pressed ourselves against the wall of the cavern. The cockroaches weren’t as thick here. The bats were settling down.
“That fuckin’ centipede just caught a bat,” I whispered.
“Oh hell no.” Amy held the phone to her chest to block the light. It glowed just enough to see her face. “Those things are super poisonous.”
“How are we going to get out of here?” I looked around, and then froze in terror.
One of the giant centipedes was slithering down the wall over Amy’s head.
It tapped at her hair, those wicked fangs just inches from her. She stood rigid, holding her breath. It hovered there, its scarlet body swaying.
Then it bolted with horrifying speed down the side of her face. Its sharp black legs dug into her forehead, her ear, her cheek. She stayed motionless as it slowed to coil around her neck, suddenly languid, intimate, just under her jawline. Its antennae whispered over her face.
Her eyes were wide and full of tears, but she didn’t budge. She stood as still as death, letting it explore, as if willing it to see her as not prey, not danger, not worth biting.
But it was trying to wiggle its way behind her head, and I understood. It smelled blood. It was going for the leech wound.
I tensed. She widened her eyes and mouthed “NO” at me, but I knew it was going to bite her. There was no choice. In one motion, as fast as I could, I clutched it and flung it away.
She yelped and we bolted away from the wall, splashing into a big puddle in the center of the room. “Did it get you?” I asked. “I think I got it in time.” At least the puddle was free of cockroaches.
“I think it got me.” She cupped the light and tilted it up.
There were two puncture wounds in her neck, bigger around than pencil leads and just as black. The skin was already swelling around them.
She could see the frightened look on my face before she turned the light off. “Is it bad?”
“It’s…swollen, that’s all.”
“It hurts really bad. It’s poison. It burns.” It was alarming to hear her voice shake. “Why’d you have to grab it?”
“It was smelling your blood, honey. From the leech.” I knew I sounded defensive. “It was gonna bite you.”
“I was mouthing ‘No.’”
“Is that–I couldn’t tell,” I lied. “I’m sorry, babe. I did my best.”
“It feels like my skin is blistering. Is it?” She turned her phone on again and I caught my breath. It had happened so fast. Skin bulged and drooped over one side of her face. Her eye had disappeared. The skin was the color of boiled lobster. It was grotesque; I could hardly bear to look at her.
“I want to see,” she said, and raised her phone.
I snatched it from her. “You shouldn’t look. It’s–you’ll be fine, we’ll get you help, but you look pretty rough right now.”
“I feel pretty rough.” She was swaying. Her voice was distorted; she couldn’t make the sounds through her swollen lips anymore. “I want my pone back.” She staggered and I caught her, but she was too heavy to hold up; I knelt down in the fetid pool, lowering her with me. She turned her head and vomited. Most of it went in the puddle, but some splashed outside and the swinging phone light caught cockroaches swarming on it. “Gimme my pone back,” she moaned.
“I’ll keep it, babe. Just to make sure we don’t drop it in the water, okay?” The roaches swarmed at the edges of the puddle. I squatted there with her between my legs, her head hanging down.
The water was sludgy with bat shit. Around them, the floor of the cavern was piled high with guano. That’s what we’d sloshed through; it must be what brought the bugs. A ceiling of bats, a floor of shit; a carpet of cockroaches, gorging themselves on it.
And past that, not ten feet away, the little crack we’d squeezed through, guarded by its corona of giant centipedes. A single bat flapped towards the exit as I watched; one of the predators swung down and grabbed it.
Another came scuttling over the cockroaches towards us. It ignored the bugs altogether; maybe they were too small for it to bother with. It paused at the edge of the pool, testing the air with its antennae. It was inches from Amy’s leg. I held my breath…but a little squeak came from behind it. The bat Amy’d torn from her hair was twitching among the cockroaches, injured. In a flash, the centipede turned and fell on it, dragging it into the shadows.
“No barth, right?” I’d thought Amy was passed out, but she was looking up at me with one feverish eye.
I checked again. “No bars.” We hadn’t had service for days. The phone was for pictures, nothing more.
“Thould we run for it?” she asked.
“There are like ten of them around the exit, babe,” I whispered. “But look, they weren’t there when we came in, right? So they’ll leave again at some point, and we’ll make a break for it. I’ll keep watch.”
“It’s jutht I feel really bad, Blake. I think I need a hothpital.”
“I know, babe. But if we get bitten more, you know…I don’t even think we could make it back.”
She vomited again. It was just thin orange bile now, and it dripped down the side of her face.
“Try to rest,” I said.
“Thuch a romantic honeymoon.” Her lips were too swollen to move much, but she was trying to smile. Trying to be brave.
“We’re gonna be fine,” I said. “We’re just rawdogging with nature a little.” But I didn’t really believe it.
We hunched in the milky puddle for hours. Night came, and it kept raining outside. She was in and out of consciousness, sometimes puking. It was better when she was out; she kept moaning and crying when she was awake. I hated myself for it, but I felt resentful. If she hadn’t gotten bitten, maybe we could have made a break for it. Even if she hadn’t gotten so injured by the bite. If she’d been tougher about it. She was helpless now. She was making it so much harder.
The dark red bodies of the centipedes crowded around the dim exit, waiting for prey. They had all the patience in the world. They were automatons, the insects. They would never get bored. Anything bigger than a cockroach, they would attack.
Amy shifted under me, making a strangled choking noise. There was a scrambling motion at her lips: a cockroach disappearing into her swollen mouth. I’d let her slip forward, and she’d ended up in the bugs. They were carpeting her legs, exploring her. One of them was going after the source of the vomit. “Oh god,” I moaned, and shoved my fingers in her mouth to chase it. Its legs scrabbled across her swollen tongue, but I forced myself to claw it out and throw it away.
“What wath that?” Her voice sounded weak.
I risked the light again, cupping it to check on her.
She was turning black. Tendrils of ink traced from the festering puncture wounds outward, across her throat, over her face and under her shirt. The eye that could still open was glassy and unfocused. A line of vomit trickled from her mouth. She looked like a roasted marshmallow, bubbling on its stick.
I knew I couldn’t wait any longer.
“It’s almost morning. I think they’re gone,” I said.
“Really? I can’t thee much.”
“I’ll help you up and we’ll make a break for it, okay?”
“Okay.”
I stood up, lifting her with me, hauling her towards the exit. But as we got closer, she looked up and stopped. “No wait, I thee them,” she moaned. “Thtill there.”
“I know, honey,” I said, trying to keep her moving. “But the thing is, you’re in pretty rough shape. It’s just…do you want to see how you look?”
She hesitated, and then nodded. “Uh-huh.”
I turned the phone to selfie mode and held it up for her. She whimpered in horror when she saw.
“Yeah,” I said. She staggered a little, and I maneuvered her closer to the door.
“I can get out, though, I think,” I said. “If I could just distract them for a sec, I could get help.”
It took her a moment to process this, and then she moaned, “Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me in here. I wouldn’t leave you.”
“I’m not going to leave you in here,” I mumbled.
She was still trying to move away from the exit, but I held her there. I wouldn’t let her go. That’s how she figured it out. How I was going to distract them. “Blake?” she said. “Blake, you wouldn’t.”
She tried to look me in my eyes, but I turned away from her ruined face. It was too upsetting. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “You’re so brave, Amy. I’ll always love you.”
I shoved her backwards, pinwheeling, into the opening.
The centipedes sprang at her, fastening into her face, her arms, her torso. She screamed and staggered out, wrapped in their segmented bodies, and fell in the pouring rain. Only her boots were visible; they shuddered once, twice, and then stopped moving.
I fumbled with the phone, shining its light around the crack before hurling myself through to freedom. Just to make sure the way was clear.
In that moment a new host of centipedes swarmed to the aperture. The fanged tendrils appeared again, swaying and blocking my way. The doorway was as guarded as ever.
I’d missed the chance.
It was tempting to bolt through anyway. Just panic and charge. End all this fear. Die quick, like Amy had. But I wanted to live so badly.
Crying silently, I dropped to my knees in the shit. The cockroaches fled but returned fast, exploring my legs, climbing up the inside of my thighs. I didn’t care anymore. I was trapped; there was no way out. I wept as the roaches swarmed over me. Burying me.
Hiding me.
I remembered the way the centipedes ignored the insects. Too small to bother with.
I put my hands down. They sank into the guano muck and disappeared, and the bugs filled in over them. The ammonia stink assaulted my nostrils. I fought down panic. It could work, if I could bear it.
Holding my breath, I rolled over into the shit.
A few of the insects climbed onto me immediately, exploring. Their feathery antennae tickled. One crawled down my shirt, its little feet needling my body as it worked its way down my chest. Maybe it liked the warmth.
I tried to control my breathing. The stink was intense. Slowly, stealthily, I began piling guano up over me. I swept my arms through the muck as though making a snow angel, bringing waves back and smearing it over my clothes, my stomach, my neck. The roaches came with it, digging and rummaging through the shit as it covered me. Hundreds of tiny legs explored every inch of me. Soon I was part of the floor–just a bump in the sea of guano, covered with busy cockroaches, only my face peeking out.
A roach’s antennae tapped at my cheek as it licked my tears. Another scurried across my lips and nudged at my nostril, and I held my breath desperately. No sudden movements. No sudden movements.
Slowly, I began to push my way backwards across the floor. My head faced the cave opening; I dug my heels in, inching through the slush as it built up behind my head. The guano started to spill onto my face, and more bugs came with it…but it was working. I was making progress. The exit was close, and the centipedes hadn’t noticed me. Soon I would be out. Soon I would be free.
With a hideously loud rummaging noise, a roach began trying to dig its way into my ear.
Maybe it was after my ear wax. Maybe it was curious. I tried to bear it, squeezing my eyes shut, telling myself it would be over soon. The insect would lose interest. It wouldn’t fit. But its antenna were tapping at my ear drum, and I felt it trying to burrow deeper, and with a soft whimper of panic I lost control and raised a hand to slap at it.
I almost made it worse, almost pushed it farther in, but it fell away and I put my arm back down.
But I’d made too much noise. At my feet, a centipede bustled over.
Its head and several segments rose up, waving gently through the air, as if smelling. Its long antennae twitched. It could be on me in seconds. Those cruel black fangs would sink into my face; I would die an excruciating death, writhing and screaming in the shit while the roaches poured into my gaping mouth. I tried not to breathe. Bugs swarmed on my face. I stared out of my blanket of insects as the centipede inched closer.
It poked my boot and then gripped it with two legs, and I wondered if it might attack–but then it inched up to my ankle, fussing and twitching over me, until it found my pant leg. It tested it, pulling at it, while I watched frozen under the roaches.
Then it squirmed forward and squeezed inside.
Its little pointed legs tapped up my calf. It was a tight fit, and it scrabbled for purchase on my leg, worming its way up. But it kept coming. When its head was at my knee, the tail was still sticking out of my cuff. Soon I felt its legs digging into my inner thigh, pulling higher and higher, wriggling as it shoved its head up and up until finally it ran out of room, just at my underwear.
And there it stopped.
It pulsed on my leg like a vein. Its antennae rustled at my groin. Its many legs clasped my thigh like an embrace. Why hadn’t it bitten? I could picture those blackened fangs hovering above the pale soft flesh. How defenseless I was, here in the shit. If I tried to kill it, it would surely bite. If I moved, if I even twitched, it would bite. I remembered Amy’s bulging marshmallow face.
Maybe it would leave! Maybe it would get bored. But it was just an insect: an automaton. It would never get bored. I was warm, probably. One thought in its scaly head: warmth. I lay in the shit as the cockroaches crawled over my face. Only my eyes were clear, white circles in the roiling carpet of bugs. The predator twitched on my thigh. I could see the cave mouth, not five feet away. The sun was rising. The rain had stopped. It would be a beautiful day. It was so close.