Spidey Sighting

Sophie bit back a yawn.

Everyone else was still fast asleep, where all sane persons ought to be at four in the morning. 

But sleeping in a room with curtains when the sun shone practically all night was not the same thing as sleeping in a screen tent. With three other girls. One of whom, um, kinda snored….

And another of whom occasionally sleepwalked…. And a third who woke up every time you so much as rolled over. Trying to sleep was more exhausting than staying up. She laughed ruefully to herself. But quietly. She didn’t want to actually wake anyone up. 

They’d set up their own camp on the edge of the field, far enough away from Rich and the woods for their campfire to be safe, and near enough to stage rescue missions if Rich ever got his gag off, and attracted unwanted attention from the local characters.

She suppressed a giggle, remembering how artfully the setting up of Camp Mud had been conducted…. The exact place was very, very important, and it was even more important that the door of the tent faced the right way…. Here the giggle turned slightly smug. They’d done a pretty decent job that day, the turnip girls had!

And nobody any the wiser, except the infamous trail cam of yesteryear. 

But that would keep til another time. Meanwhile, it was strangely pleasant to be the only one up in the sweetness of the early morning air, like being the only person in the world…. Even the birds were only just beginning to trill a few sleepy little notes from the nearby woods as the twilight began lifting,  and the shadows crept back into the woods to play there until evening came again.

She settled down on one of the logs they’d rolled around the campfire last night, poking idly at the ashes. They were cold, of course, but the coffee pot still hung in its place to one side…. She had half an inkling of repurposing it for tea. Just a cupful or two, because it would be stone cold by the time everyone else got up, but it was chilly enough yet that tea would be just the thing.

And furthermore, precisely the thing. 

With a decisive nod, she slipped off the log bench and fell enthusiastically to work. 

Three minutes, two false starts and one missing box of matches later, she sank back on her heels in disgust. This was not making tea very fast. Not very fast at all. 

Even the lighters were MIA, and she highly suspected the guys were responsible for that. This did not mean she intended to wake them up to find out. There had to be less dangerous methods of tea-procural. 

Where was that propane torch the guys had used to start the fire last night? 

Sure, Linnie had laughed at them for building a “White Man’s Fire”, and also pointed out that you really only needed the one lighter, and anything bigger was slightly excessive…. And pulling a flint-and-steel out of her pocket, waved it in their faces insisting that REAL woodsmen didn’t even need matches. (She had also insisted on naming their camp, because it wasn’t fair for only Rich’s camp to have a title) 

But it had worked, the torch had, and they’d laughed right back, with the rejoinder that they were working “Smarter, not harder,” and all in all it had been a very entertaining fire by the time it was built.

Sophie looked around camp searchingly. It had been RIGHT there, sitting beside the chainsaw pretty as you please. But either the monkeys had swung off with it, or somebody had been overcome by a fit of tidying up last night after the girls went to bed.

She huffed. Of all times for people to have a change of heart. This still was making no tea, and all thanks to Whoever Messed Up The Moose.

Linnie’s purse would have something. Linnie’s purse would have practically everything, come to think of it. 

But it, like everything else, was in the tent. The tent with the noisiest zipper. 

She was on the point of giving up in disgust when  one of the spots on the coffee kettle moved. She squinted at it, dubiously. This did not seem like proper procedure to her, not even in the middle of a Much-Too-Bright night. 

She stepped closer for a better look. If that spot really had moved—and it was impossible for it to have, not to mention highly irregular—she WAS going to wake them up, every last person in camp. People could not be allowed to sleep through earth shattering discoveries.

She was approximately three inches away when the spot unfurled itself, and showed itself to be in possession of eight decidedly lively limbs.

A violent shudder ran through her, and she choked on a scream. Jerking back and scrambling to her feet, she practically crashed into someone standing behind her. It was only thanks to a quick save on his part that they did not go over like a tower of blocks.

It was Judah. He had been just on the point of saying a bemused Good Morning when the cataclysmic sprouting of octolimbie took place, and he was not at all prepared for being used as a shield by a maiden in very obvious distress.

“Sophie??” 

He reached tentatively behind his back, twisting to get a look at her. She had hold of his hoodie, and was hanging on for dear life. And her hands were shaking. The confusion gave way to concern.

“Soph, what on earth…?” 

Her face had gone so pale, he was afraid she was going to faint. He grabbed her by the hand, suddenly scared. “What IS it, girl? You hurt? Something happened? Talk to me!”

She shook her head at all three of these questions, and still looking like she might faint at any given moment, made a valiant, if somewhat incoherent, attempt to get it out. “S—S—Sp….” And then it was too much for her, and she ducked her head against him, shivering so hard her teeth were chattering. 

A look of understanding crossed his face as he rapidly translated. (He was getting pretty fast at the dialect of Sophie.) So THAT was what it was.

To his credit, though, he didn’t laugh. Didn’t even feel like laughing. What he did do, however, was whisk her as far away from the spider that must surely be there as he could in 39 seconds.

Which landed them somewhere between Rich’s camp, and their own, but far enough away from both to be safe.

And she was still shaking so hard she could barely walk. He’d coaxed her out from behind him somewhere in those 39 seconds, and she was now tucked neatly in his arm. That was how come he knew she was still shaking.

What he did not know, however, was that half of the shaking was from embarrassment by this point.

He tightened his hold around her shoulders, giving her an impulsive little squeeze, and leaning his head on top of hers. Sure, it might have been just a spider, but it gave HER a heart attack, which in turn gave him one.  And HIS heart had yet to go back to normal. He wondered vaguely what it was about spiders that was terrified her. Bad experience when she was little? Or was it an actual phobia? 

Sophie’s face began to burn. And this one time, she was thankful to be a decided brunette and not a redhead. He might not notice anything but a flush from that rocket walk. 

But he did, of course. Read her like a book he’d read until it fell apart. 

His voice was calm and soothing when he spoke, and he didn’t let go of her even then. For one thing, she had gone stock still, and he was still afraid of what might happen…. And for another, the first made a good excuse, because he wasn’t ready to let go yet. 

“Hey. Don’t worry about it….”  

She still didn’t say anything, but he felt her head tip downward, and knew she had to be staring at the ground. Well, maybe he didn’t want the ground to be stared at. Maybe he wanted to be stared at his own self. One way or the other, he shifted around until she was facing him, and still holding on to her shoulder with one hand, he reached out with the other, and gently touched her cheek. If it was possible, her head ducked even farther.

He laughed suddenly, a low, warm little laugh that only had two notes in it. He rubbed his thumb along her jaw, marvelling. He’d wanted to do that for a very long time. 

“Sophie….” His voice had dropped, and it was only a whisper now. “Please look at me.”

She did. It was a little reluctantly at first, and then the way he’d said it registered in her mind, and her heart made it lift the rest of the way.

He smiled, the kind of smile she liked best. The kind that left her feeling like melted chocolate before it was done.

And he wasn’t done. 

THIS IS NOT THE END.