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She stood on a flat, sandy rock, sensing the area around her. Nothing moved in the bright moonlight except a tiny caravan of insects rooting in the sand. The soft breeze moving across the desert floor ruffled the thick, brown hair on her body, but brought her sensing organs�nothing.
She moved backward into the shadow from an over-hang in the rocks, and continued to digest her meal. The shriveled remains of the Kangaroo Rat she had just devoured lay in the sand, the ants curiously inspecting what was left of it.
She was extremely large for a spider. Her fat, hairy body being almost four inches in length, her legs extending out another six. Her large head moved slightly as she rotated her mouth parts, getting the last traces of food from the tufts of hair around her fangs. She could not be seen in the shadow as she stood motionless; only her eyes, glowing like little coals from the bright moonlight, could be seen.
She was unique for a spider. Her ancestors had been common tarantulas---she was much larger than they had been, more vicious; her instincts were different. No spider who ever walked the earth was quite like her.
A rifle shot broke the stillness, the jackrabbit fell over in its tracks with a bullet through its brain. Lee Miller lowered the rifle and walked silently through the sand and over the rocks to where the rabbit had fallen, his eyes alert and watching for any movement.
It was great fun to be fifteen years old and go out hunting. Dad had bought him the .22 for his birthday, along with new hiking boots and camping gear. Dad and his brother, Steve, had spent most of today showing him how to properly aim and fire the rifle; now he had gotten his first rabbit with it. Dad had wanted them all to hunt together, but he had insisted on going out on his own. Now he was glad that he did. Dad would be proud of him.
As he crossed the desert sand, heading toward the rabbit he had killed, he still found himself wondering about the chain-link fence he had seen before. Imagine, a high chain-link fence, stretching as far as he could see in both directions, right out here in the middle of nowhere. He had been greatly tempted to climb the fence and see what there was over the small rise inside, but the �RESTRICTED GOVERNMENT PROPERTY---NO TRESPASSING!� sign that hung from the fence about every fifty yards or so quickly changed his mind. Dad had always taught him never to trespass on someone else�s land, that he could get into a lot of trouble. He had detoured in another direction, away from the fence. Then he had spotted his rabbit. But he still couldn�t help wondering what the government would need with barren, deserted land like this, out here in the middle of nowhere.
His dog, who had been sniffing around up ahead, began barking crazily. �Joker!� he shouted. �Stop that barking and come here!� He stooped to pick up the dead rabbit, then put it in his game bag. �Joker! Come on, you stupid dog!� he called again, but the shepherd kept running around and barking excitedly at something hiding between the rocks of a small hill. �Whatcha got, boy?� he asked as he reached the dog. �Another rabbit?�
He knelt down to have a look, but all he could see was a dark shape crouching in the space between the rocks. Then it came out, its fangs spread and ready, its front legs raised high in a fighting position. It moved forward slightly, its fat, hairy body held tensely, quickly changing its position with every move the boy made, meeting him squarely.
�Damn!� Lee said, amazed. �Look at the size of that thing!� He grabbed the dog by the collar. �Get back, boy! You don�t wanna mess with that! �
The dog tore himself from the boy�s grip, and with his hackles standing high, and barking excitedly, he circled the---spider, darting forward with a growl, then jumping back to circle again.
The boy was fascinated by the size of the spider. What he had thought was just a curious marking, he could now see was the small numerals �86�, painted in white across the spider�s back. Damn, he thought again. He just had to show this one to dad and Steve.
He pulled his hunting knife from the leather scabbard he wore on his belt and poked gingerly at it, trying to force it back against the rock, where he could succeed in getting it trapped and imprisoned in his game bag. He leaned forward slightly, resting his left hand on the rock to support his weight, and tried slipping the knife blade under the spider to lift it.
There was a blur of movement as the spider shot forward, digging the sharp claw on each of its legs deep into the boy�s forearm. With a cry, the boy straightened up and shook his arm violently, trying to dislodge the spider. It held fast, again and again sinking its fangs into the boy�s soft flesh, injecting more venom each time.
With his free hand, Lee grabbed the spider and pulled hard, but the spider held on. From the underside of its abdomen, the spider produced a short, stinger-like protrusion and jabbed it deep into the boy�s arm; its entire body seemed to shudder.
Lee screamed as a white-hot pain ran up his arm, numbing it. He pulled again on the spider, using all the strength he could muster. This time it came loose, leaving behind deep gouges where its claws had been ripped from the flesh. Lee threw the spider down hard against the side of the rock. Immediately, it righted itself and charged forward again, trying to attack the boy�s leg. He stomped quickly with his boot and caught the spider squarely, crushing it into the hard-packed sand by the rock, leaving a large smear of cream-colored goo where its body had been. The legs jerked and twitched spasmodically. Lee stomped the spider again to make sure it was dead.
His arm throbbed painfully and was bleeding. In the center of the gouges made by the spider�s claws rose a large, purple blister the size of a half dollar. His shirt was soaked with perspiration and his head spun dizzily. He shook it to try to clear it, and his vision cleared somewhat, but he was still dizzy and was beginning to feel nauseated. He tried taking a few steps, but the nausea was getting worse. Finally, when he could control it no longer, he bent forward and dropping to his knees, vomited. After what seemed an eternity of stomach-wrenching contractions, they subsided and he began to feel better.
He picked up his rifle where he had dropped it, gathered up his knife and game bag, and started walking slowly. His legs felt so heavy he could hardly lift them; it took all of his willpower to keep from stumbling in the soft sand.
�Come on, Joker,� he called weakly. �Let�s�let�s go find dad. I�I don�t feel so good.�
He started back the way they had come, the dog scampering ahead, sniffing everything in sight, occasionally peeing on a likely-looking cactus or the side of a rock.
Lee looked at his painfully throbbing arm. It was bleeding steadily from the deep wounds, the blood leaving a little trail in the sand behind him as he walked. He stopped and, reaching down with shaking fingers, unlaced the leather bootlace from his right boot. Tying the leather thong tightly around his injured left arm just above his elbow, then breaking off a small twig from a bush, he inserted it under the thong and gave it a half twist. The bleeding stopped. He began walking again, holding the makeshift tourniquet in place with his good hand.
He got as far as the second rise before a rush of dizziness caught up with him. His knees turned to rubber. He fell forward, sprawling, face in the sand. He tried to pick himself up again and managed to make it to his hands and knees before his strength gave out completely. He fell back again, the sand gritting between his teeth. He vaguely felt movement near him as the dog came back to investigate, lay down beside him and, whining softly, licked the sand from his face.
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