The Spider Children (The Warren Brood Book 1) Read online

  Dedicated to my wonderful wife for her constant support. Without her arachnophobia, there would be no story.

  The Spider Children

  The Warren Brood

  Book I

  Bartholomew Lander

  Copyright © 2016 by Bartholomew Lander

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN 978-4-908656-25-5

  Revised First Edition

  Design and Typesetting: Corey Mark

  Cover: Louis Rakovich, Indigo Forest Designs

  Frontispiece: Korinne McKinley

  Lunarium Books

  Von Gerdesgatan 1

  412 59 Göteborg, Sweden

  www.LunariumBooks.com

  “Ironically, the holy grail of mind control is not merely blind obedience, but rather an unquestioning acceptance; it is one thing to zealously serve a cult, and another entirely to, whilst convinced of one’s own sound mind and agency, accept the omens of doom for common banality.”

  —Thaddeus Coolidge, Eschatonic Cabals

  Chapter 1

  A Goddamn Miracle

  “I’m not going to white-wash this, Mr. Warren,” Doctor Morton said. “You are genetically spider.”

  Ralph stared at the doctor, stricken by the illogical remark. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s really quite extraordinary,” Morton said, leaning forward across his narrow oak desk. “The lab wasn’t able to give any insight as to the cause, much less the exact mechanics, of your disorder. However, it seems you are a carrier for certain traits common in arachnid species—which is why you yourself show no signs of abnormality. I suppose using the word spider might be a little misleading.”

  Ralph was in no state to consider semantics. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, telling me that bullshit.” He glanced over his shoulder, half-believing a hidden camera crew had snuck into Morton’s office. “The fuck does genetically spider mean?”

  Morton raised his palms in a calming gesture. “I understand this must be difficult to hear. I’ve had to deliver a lot of bad news in my time—”

  “Bad news!? How stupid do you think I am? I’m going to sue your ass for malpractice if you don’t stop fucking with me!”

  Morton sighed and shook his head. “You’re welcome to look at the results yourself.” He slid a four-page lab report covered in cryptic medical jargon across the desk. “Like I said, genetically spider is a massive oversimplification of a miraculous rarity in your genetic makeup.” He paused for just a moment, and Ralph felt his lips curling into a sneer. Morton gave a nervous little laugh. “Honestly, I’m as baffled as you are.”

  Ralph looked up from the papers he held. The slanting rays of evening light from the blinds fell across the doctor, giving him a vaguely sinister appearance. The goofy car-salesman grin beneath Morton’s glasses made Ralph want to lay him flat. His hands wound into trembling fists. He’d hated that grin ever since they’d first come to his damn office. “And you expect me to believe something like that?”

  Morton’s smile vanished. Though his gaze was steady, a hint of fear now crept across the blind-cast shadows of his face. “I don’t have anything to gain by lying to you. Besides, can you really dismiss it so easily after seeing your daughter?”

  Ralph grew quiet. He adjusted his glasses and again tried to read over the meaningless streams of measurements in the charts. Somewhere outside the office, someone was making copies. He wondered if those copies, too, leapt to ridiculous conclusions. Was the expectant mother in the next room genetically rhinoceros? Probably, since the entire universe had apparently gone mad around him. “I want another test,” Ralph said at last. “At a different clinic. You guys must have screwed up, because this is the most insane thing I’ve ever heard of.”

  It was denial. He was just pushing back against the universe’s unilateral edict. Somewhere in the shaking innards of his mind, he knew Morton was right. As insane as being genetically spider may have been, what else could have explained the miracle of his daughter’s birth three weeks earlier?

  May Warren found out she was pregnant a year after she and Ralph moved to Grantwood, California. It was a shocking development. She never wanted kids, never even liked them. Not that she hated the idea of raising a family with her beloved husband. When asked, she’d always said it was financially irresponsible to have children so young. But that point held little water anymore; they’d moved because of an unbelievable job offer, and Ralph’s salary was now more than sufficient to comfortably start the family she knew he wanted.

  May was thus forced to admit the real reason for her apprehension: she doubted she could really feel that unbreakable motherly bond with a child. Evolutionary mechanism or not, she didn’t believe that unconditional love for slimy, placenta-covered little brats could actually happen to her. It was a sick, rotten feeling that she hated to even acknowledge. And when Doctor Morton informed them that the ultrasound showed signs of abnormal growth, her guilt only deepened. Though he assured her there was little chance of a life-threatening condition, it did little to quell her malaise.

  For weeks following that appointment, May found herself in the study, listlessly poring over encyclopedias and browsing the then-nascent internet for information on what to expect. The breadth of birth defects and developmental disabilities was staggering. A child with high-functioning autism would have been one thing, but raising a child with progeria? Cystic fibrosis? Treacher Collins syndrome? She didn’t even know if she could handle a perfectly normal child, and the more she thought about it the worse she felt as a human being. Selfish, unworthy. If only that clown Morton wasn’t so hard to get a straight answer out of, she could have found some peace amidst her worry. But Ralph’s uncharacteristic optimism gave her a fragile hope that everything would work out. It was too late to change her mind about starting a family. She could only expect the worst and pray for the best.

  May Warren gave birth to her daughter on the evening of June twenty-seventh, 1996.

  If the clock by the side of the bed was to be believed, May had been unconscious for just under four hours. Night had fallen long ago, but it was impossible to tell in the windowless cubicle they were trying to pass off as a recovery room. Her head throbbed, and her still-blurry vision made her dizzy all over again. The sterile lights pressed against her temples, and a twinge of panic raced toward her heart. “Ralph?” she said, throat dry.

  “Right here,” came a soft voice.

  She turned her head, not without a tremendous effort. Ralph still held her hand as though he’d never left. Despite her pounding forehead, she smiled up at her husband. Her memory was a blur. Her other hand drifted instinctually to her lower abdomen, and a mild soreness jump-started her recollection of the birth.

  The cesarean. The scuttle of doctors moving about the delivery room. A glimpse of her daughter before falling unconscious.

  “Where is she?” This time it was a little harder to speak. It felt like she’d swallowed broken glass.

  Ralph nodded his head toward the door to his left, eyes distant. “They have her in special care right now, I think.” He cleared his throat and made a visible effort to brighten his somber tone. “But Doctor Morton said he wanted to talk to us about it once you were awake.” He showed her a weak smile, but his brown eyes held no joy. “I’m sure everything’s fine. I hear all babies go there after a C-section.”

  May’s stomach turned as he spoke. Ralph had always been a terrible liar.

  Fifteen minutes la
ter, Doctor Morton poked his head into the room. Drowsy and dizzy as she was, May still noticed the slight frown creeping across his lips. That meant bad news. The doctor hadn’t even opened his mouth, but tears were already washing away her vision.

  “Ahh, you’re awake,” Morton said, his voice bright. “That’s good, that’s good.” He at last stepped across the threshold, holding a clipboard with a fat stack of papers.

  May’s heart continued to sink. Through the tears welling in her eyes, she saw him pass a nervous glance over them both. Ralph’s grip on her hand tightened.

  “Well, you’ll be happy to know that your daughter is perfectly healthy.” Morton broke out with his goofy smile. “Which, given the circumstances, is a goddamn miracle if you ask me.”

  May felt a weight lift from her shoulders, but another squeeze from Ralph’s hand cast doubt over her relief.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Ralph said in a calm, measured tone. It was the tone he used when his temper was just below boiling. “Given what circumstances, exactly?”

  Doctor Morton’s eyes lit up and he gave Ralph a puzzled look. “Really? Nobody’s told you? I figured one of the nurses must have said something about it by now.”

  May didn’t find his word choice very reassuring. What circumstances made a healthy baby a goddamn miracle? How healthy was healthy? What the hell was wrong with her child?

  “The nurses wouldn’t say a damn thing to me,” Ralph said, his voice wavering.

  Morton scratched his forehead. “Huh. Well, that makes things a tad awkward, then. Now, before I say anything else, I want to reaffirm that your baby is perfectly healthy, all things considered. However, I’m sure it would come as no surprise if I were to say that your little girl is rather special.”

  Ralph nodded, his anger fading. “We’ve had four months of ultrasounds,” he muttered. “No surprise there.”

  This time May squeezed his hand. As she did, a flare of pain ripped its way through her temples and made her wince; was it the drugs? Or maybe the blood loss? She suspected both, and a healthy dose of stress to top it all off. “What’s wrong with her?”

  The doctor lowered his voice. “To be honest, I’m not sure. That is to say, I’ve frankly never seen anything like this before. Ahh! That probably didn’t sound very good, did it? But no, we won’t be naming a disease after her, if that makes you feel any better.” A nervous chuckle sputtered from his grin like water from an old, rusty sprinkler. “I’ll have Molly bring your daughter in. I shouldn’t have to explain anything after that.” He turned and, with a purposeful haste, exited the recovery room, leaving a rigid and palpable silence behind.

  May kept repeating those words, though they made no sense to her. Perfectly healthy, he’d said. All things considered, he’d said. A goddamn miracle.

  Those incompatible thoughts continued running in their own separate directions, growing and spreading. Whatever was wrong with her child must have been wrong on a fundamental level; it didn’t matter how healthy she was at the moment because soon nature would take its savage and unapologetic course.

  Her mind flashed to images she’d seen of a baby born with his heart outside his body. How healthy had that baby been? How long had he lived? And even if that poor miracle survived, could she have cared for it? Could she have been the loving mother he deserved? Doctor Morton’s words stabbed over and over: nothing short of a goddamn miracle . . . given the circumstances. A goddamn miracle.

  May doubled over, grabbing at her abdomen with her free hand. A numbed soreness again radiated from the incision. She wanted to throw up. Her head pounded and her eyes ached. What God could condone such cruelty?

  God is dead, she decided. Dead and buried, two thousand years or more. No more resurrections, no more healing. This is Satan’s world now. All hail your new god, him and his goddamn miracles.

  Footsteps entered from the hall. When Ralph squeezed her hand again to signal the nurse’s arrival, she was still trapped in her own world of hopeless vacuity. Then she heard a brief, almost inaudible cooing. The panicked voices and thoughts ceased. Her universe was empty of all existence except for her and her daughter. Time stopped. Silence. Though her eyes were clenched shut, she thought she felt the tiny heart beating not ten feet from her. She cracked her eyes. The breath went out of her husband—it was a sound that gave her no comfort. She focused her blurry vision upon the maternity nurse.

  The nurse stood nervously just inside the doorway, her face filled with a mixture of revulsion and apprehension. A bundle of blankets sat in her arms, held farther from her body than May thought appropriate for a maternity ward. And then she noticed what rested within the bundle. May held her breath. The baby was beautiful, her sleeping face the portrait of peace and tranquility. Her face was round, her cheeks full and rosy, her tiny nose upturned, her ears small and flat. Strands of dark, wispy hair crowned her perfect head.

  But there was something wrong. Something out of the ordinary. Something none of May’s research could have prepared her for. What stood out about this child, the clear cause of the nurse’s discomfort, was a pair of dark structures which bent down over her shoulders. Their presence defied everything May understood about anatomy; what could they have been? They weren’t tumors, for they were far too well-formed, too purposeful. Yet it didn’t matter what they were. The despair and anguish that had consumed her mind vanished. In their place was a sudden and overpowering need to hold her child.

  She reached out toward the nurse, ignoring the crippling weight of her arms. For a moment the nurse didn’t move, her expression perplexed, but then she glided to May’s bedside and lowered the Warrens’ firstborn into her mother’s embrace.

  May cradled her daughter, and truly saw her for the first time. The newborn girl, indeed, seemed healthy. May could now see the strange structures clearly. They were two long, thin, finger-like appendages that curled over her shoulders from the back. The structures gleamed with a glossy, deep brown color. The appendage on the left flicked upwards lethargically, as if reaching for something an inch above her face. It was the most precious gesture May had ever seen. “These . . . These are . . . ”

  “Legs,” the nurse said. “There’s more. Under the blanket. Six of ‘em.”

  Six more? Six plus two made eight of those beautiful appendages. May reached down and grasped one of the legs between her thumb and forefinger. She raised and lowered it in a handshake, feeling its texture against her skin. It was smooth and just a little hard, like plastic mixed with eggshell.

  “Ma’am, are you alright?”

  “I’m . . . ” A chuckle rolled out of her mouth. “I’m great.” She turned to Ralph, who had all but vanished from her awareness. “Ralph, look at her.” Her voice wavered as she started to laugh again.

  But Ralph’s expression was one of silent disbelief. Had he breathed at all since the nurse entered the room? His eyes were locked on the bundle May held. He was at a complete loss for words. “The hell’s the matter with you?” he said after a moment.

  The question made her laugh. Perhaps it was the drugs again, or perhaps it was the euphoria of motherhood. “What do you mean?”

  Ralph looked at the nurse incredulously before returning his gaze to May. “After all that talk before? You’re just okay with this?”

  She heard a very different question, and another laugh bubbled out of her. “She’s more than okay.”

  Again Ralph glanced at the nurse, but his eyes came right back. Concern filled his features. “Is she alright?”

  May wasn’t sure what he meant. Is she healthy? Is she stable? Is she acceptably normal? Is she here? Is she ours? Is she perfect? It didn’t matter. “Yes,” she said between spasms of laughter. “Look at her.”

  Ralph slid closer and put out a hand. He caressed his daughter’s cheek, and the dark appendages twitched in response. Ralph quickly withdrew his finger, as if afraid of being bitten. Though his perplexed expression lingered, May didn’t care. She was on top of the world.

&
nbsp; “What do you think? Way better than just a description, eh?” Doctor Morton said, once again walking into the room. He showed May a bright smile and turned to the nurse. “You can go back to the nursery now.”

  Thankful for permission to leave the miracle behind, the nurse turned and retreated from the room without a word.

  “Now then, I’m glad to see you two are getting acquainted,” he said, ignoring Ralph’s clear discomfort. “I’m sure you must be wondering what this little bundle of joy’s miraculous malformation is.”

  “I’d sure like to hear the answer to that,” Ralph said. “Nurse said she has six more, so that’s, what, eight of these weird little legs? The fuck does that make her, a spider?”

  May snapped her head toward him. “Ralph! How could you say that about her? She’s not a spider. She’s an angel.” She cradled their daughter closer and again began gushing over her.

  Ralph stared at Morton in disbelief. “Are you seeing this? Either I’ve lost it or I’m the last sane person in this hospital!”

  Morton wiped his brow. “Now, Mr. Warren, please, calm down. We are all quite sane here. Just because something doesn’t turn out the way you expect doesn’t mean you have to shout about it, you see?” A nervous tick started in the corner of his mouth. “As I mentioned before, I’ve never seen anything like this. I’d be lying if I said I had any idea what those extra legs are about. But rest assured, Mr. Warren, we are checking into it. That is to say,” he said, flipping back the top sheet on his clipboard, “we would like you to come in for a blood test as soon as possible.”

  “A blood test?”

  “Yes. You came in this April for a physical at the request of the Golmont Corporation. Remember that?”

  Ralph snarled. “Don’t patronize me, Morton.”

  “Sorry, sorry. Although it’s a bit early, I was wondering if perhaps you’d let us do some more blood work in light of your daughter’s, well, abnormality. Specifically, we’d like to do some genetic testing to see if we can’t find something out of the ordinary that might explain this. Fused chromosomes or what-have-you. We’d like Mom to participate as well, of course.”