Curse of Arachnaman (18 page)

"No, no, no. We're not wasting time in junk crap like that."

I tried to draw his attention back to the arcade. “But..."

We'd already reached Peter's car, and before I knew what was happening, I was stuffed inside, and Peter was leaning in and kissing me hard. If he wanted me to shut up, he sure picked a damned good way of doing it.

He pulled away and, now leaning his head against the window, he raised his brows and gave a lopsided smile. “No buts. We're on a deadline. I'm also desperate for a stress-buster."

"I thought we were hanging out here.” I kept staring at his mouth. I tried not to, believe me. Total fail.

"Nope. I decided to make it a little more special. That's why I brought the car.” Then he closed the door and walked over to the driver's side.

"I think Trent's rubbing off on you."

"Okay, so we can go to Barron for lunch,” he said as he hopped inside, fishing out his keys and quickly jamming them in the ignition. He glanced at his watch again. “That ought to take us, uh, about twenty minutes to get there, and then another hour to eat, and I think we should hang out there for another hour to save on driving time, and then..."

The car wouldn't start. Peter fell silent, blinked, and then turned the key again. The car made that wurr-wurr-wurr sound, and the more Peter turned the key, the slower it got till it just plain stopped.

"Uh-oh,” I muttered.

"Fuck,” Peter hissed, turning the key again and again and again, this time hearing nothing but clicks. “Damnit!” He slumped back in his seat, head thrown back, eyes pinched tightly shut. “And I left my cell phone at home."

I'd never seen Peter so upset. Even when he was pissed at me, he was never like this. It was all I could do to swallow and then gingerly rest a hand against his arm and give him a gentle squeeze.

"Um, hey, don't worry about the date,” I said, hoping that my disappointment didn't show. “We gotta take care of your car first. Do you have the number for a tow truck? Oh. Sorry, I forgot about your cell phone.” I winced.

Peter didn't answer right away. He merely knocked his head repeatedly against his headrest, hissing “Damnit!” again and again.

"Hey, quit that. You'll hurt yourself.” I glanced around. We were parked on a side street, which was pretty deserted. Even with the tiny shops that were there, no one seemed to frequent this area, save for a random kid or two who gravitated toward the arcade. “If you don't, we can go to one of those stores and borrow their phone book."

"God, Eric,” he finally said. He glanced at me, red-faced and helpless. “I'm so sorry. We just don't have any time, I really want to be with you, and I don't want to piss your mom off, and..."

"No, no, it's cool, really,” I cut in, forcing a little smile. “We can go out another day. Maybe I'll be given more time then. Just take care of your car, okay?"

I think my voice shook a little. I was pissed—not at Peter, but at Mom for giving me such a stupid “curfew.” I definitely shouldn't go home yet, or I'd barge into the living room and get myself in a full-blown fight with her. I figured that it would be better for me to hang out with Peter till the bitter end, let my mood lighten up, and enjoy what I could of his company with what pathetically little time was allowed us.

Then
maybe I could go home, barge into the living room, and get myself in a full-blown fight with Mom.

"Okay,” Peter said. He sounded much calmer now, thank God. “I'll go to that bead shop over there."

"I'll go with you."

"No, I need you to keep an eye on the car."

He opened his door and stumbled out. I followed suit, but stood next to the car, watching him jog down the street and then vanish inside the bead shop. I turned and stared at the arcade for a moment.

"I'll only be standing outside,” I said, walking toward it. “I'm sure Peter won't mind."

I was soon standing by the window, peering inside like before. Nope, nothing seemed out of place. A few kids walked next to the window, but their faces were turned away from me, so I couldn't see what they looked like.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Peter's car was still there, looking all shiny and sexy amid the urban decay. Peter was still inside the bead shop, and I guessed that making arrangements for towing would take him some time. He might even be calling his parents in addition to the tow truck. That would definitely take him a while.

I shrugged. “Okay, I suppose it won't hurt to check things out for a few minutes.” I walked over to the arcade's entrance and sauntered inside. From the gray light of Vintage City's dreary daytime landscape to the cheap, weathered darkness of a retro arcade, I was catapulted into a completely different world.

It was a world of flashing lights. Multi-colored spots of brilliance that pierced the gloom with brain-numbing frequency. Sounds of gunfire, laser beams, electronic chirps and carnival music, all melted into each other to create an endless stream of mechanized noise.

I paused in the middle of the arcade, looking around me, my breath held. It was like sensory overload. Thank God the interior was kept plain—no paintings or decorations on the walls. All the machines along the perimeter were set against dull black.

"Not quite,” I noted. The arcade's owner was probably a big Halloween fan or something because he'd festooned the ceiling with white web that looked pretty real. I glanced up. “Oh, he even has shadows of giant spiders crawling all over up there, and...” I froze. Oh,
crap
.

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Mechanical monsters come alive! Knowing that they've been spotted, they attack! BAM! Spewing innards-dissolving slime at helpless civilians, they move to consume thousands of innocents! SLURP! BURP! But wait—someone fights back! Look! In the middle of the green, gooey carnage, Starburst Boy rises, slippery slime falling off his broad, muscular shoulders! Eyes narrowing, he fixes his attention on the source: a gargantuan beast that looks like the love child of a Chihuahua and a minivan! His enemy spots him, and they lock angry gazes across the flailing mass of dissolving humanity! Starburst Boy launches himself in the air, shouting, fists ready! He meets his mechanical nemesis in the middle! POW! Slime and bits of metal rain on the fading citizens!

Okay, so things didn't happen exactly like that. It was more like...

"Oh, look. They've got some cool-looking spider effects on the ceiling."

"Those spiders look awfully big...and...realistic in that
Matrix
sort of way."

"Did that spider just look at me? Is it, like, independently thinking or something?"

"Gah!"

The long and short of it was that we were jumped by spiders—mechanical ones, by the way, that were the size of beagles. Not beagle puppies, but the real deal. I figured that I was the one who caused the whole mess because I was the only one who bothered to look around and then stare at the ceiling, while everyone else was sucked into one retro game after another.

White webby stuff rained on us, and we all ran around, screaming and flailing, while the door—there was only one door there, go figure—slammed shut and locked itself. I didn't know if the owner of the arcade was there, but his employees apparently hadn't expected this, either. Like the rest of us, they got attacked, though in their case, they were in the middle of sharing a joint when disaster struck. Frankly, I wondered how that might have enhanced their altered reality, but as I was about to be turned into lunch for a mechanical Shelob, I didn't stop to think.

Covered in white stuff, I looked around for something to throw against the windows, so we could get the hell out. Around me, a few kids collapsed, crying out, their bodies completely swathed in sticky web things, while robot spiders pounced on them.

I dove for one and yanked it away from a screaming girl even though I could feel the weight of the stuff increasing around my body. It grew thicker, I thought, and it slowly solidified so that I could barely move.

I tried to help another kid, but I fell over instead because my legs were completely encased. Stars exploded behind my eyelids when I hit the ground, my world spinning and filled with light and color while screams and sobs mingled with the clacking noise of spiders and the ongoing beeps and whatnot of the arcade machines. I tried to kick, roll, and punch my way out, gritting my teeth and feeling sweat trickle down my face and back. The more I struggled, the harder it got, and before long, I couldn't move an inch, though my head remained free.

I lay on the floor, staring helplessly at the ceiling and listening to the sickening sounds of bodies falling down and hitting concrete pretty hard.

"We're going to die,” a girl sobbed beside me. “I don't wanna die."

I turned my head with some difficulty and looked at her. Red-faced and tear-streaked, she stared at me as though she were looking for some kind of comfort, but what could I say to her?

"Hey, listen,” I said, my voice shaking, “we'll be fine. The heroes will come for us."

She only shook her head and broke out in a fresh wave of hysterical sobbing. Robotic spiders walked around us, crawling over bodies and so on, as though they were taking inventory or something. One stopped next to my head, fixing its eyes on me. I mustered enough courage to look back and try to take in what I could of its appearance. With the darkness in the arcade, though, I really couldn't see very well except for its eyes, which glowed a spectral white, but other than that, there was nothing else worth noting.

"Peter,” I breathed. “Where are you?"

The spider robot thing raised itself up on its four rear legs, waved its forelegs menacingly at me, and then spat a healthy chunk of white webby stuff from its mouth or beak or whatever the hell it was that spiders ate out of. And it aimed at my face. The only thing that saved me was my glasses, which kept all that crap from blinding me. All the same, WTF?

"Bastard!” I cried, squirming in my cocoon, barely able to see through my covered glasses. “I'm going to get you for this!” Not that my threats made any difference, really, since my mouth was effectively muffled by robot vomit.

I suppose it could've been worse. It could've been pea soup, and that would've been just plain disgusting. I heard the spider move closer even as I cursed out a storm. I even felt it touch my neck with something pointy.

The arcade was a mess. Machines destroyed, smoke from those battered things as well as the twisted wreckage of what used to be mechanical spiders hovered above us like a nauseating cloud, which was pretty typical for Vintage City, really. Windows blown apart, the door nothing more than a gaping hole that opened up to a small side street that used to be empty but was now swarming with horrified gawkers.

Inside, the police were busy picking their way through the mess, and one by one, we were cut down from our prison to be carried off or led away for doctors to poke at. Everyone was talking at the same time, and my head throbbed. I
so
needed a soda. Good thing was that the stuff that was spat in my face earlier had fallen off in bits, so that I was able to see even though my glasses were dirty and partially blocked still. It didn't feel like the same stuff that was used on our bodies; it was definitely a lot less solid, and it was pretty ticklish, by the way. I kept making faces to alleviate the feeling since I couldn't move my arms to scratch away. Didn't work. I thought I was going to go crazy from that.

All of us, by the way, were strung up to the ceiling, dangling like spider food, and I suppose the only thing good about that was no one was hung upside-down. Oddly enough. Wrapped up from the shoulders down in white stuff, we hung face-down, our torsos secured to the ceiling by long, webby ropes, our legs hanging down.

It was just a
teeny
little bit awkward, to say the least. Thank heaven for Calais, who showed up first, and Miss Pyro, who followed a little after. Calais whooped some major ass while Miss Pyro helped out in the last couple of minutes. I guessed that Wade had happened to be out shopping when all hell broke loose, hence her appearance. Trent would've been doing something typically Type A too far away to respond quickly, and God knew where Althea and Freddie were. To say that I was bursting with pride, watching my spandex-clad boyfriend smash one spider after another, would be an understatement. I was also glad to see Miss Pyro able to control her fire power much better, sending more muted fireballs and whatever in hell kind of flaming arsenal she had inside the arcade. We'd all be roasted alive if she didn't even try.

In a nutshell? The heroes saved the day.

The girl who'd fallen apart earlier dangled nearby, but she'd calmed down by now. All I could hear from her were a little bit of sniffling and coughing as she waited her turn to be released.

"Glad to see you're okay,” I noted, offering her a smile, for what it was worth.

"I wanna go home,” she croaked. “That's saying something, you know, ‘cause I hate my parents. This sucks."

"Well—you kind of get used to this sort of thing after a while. Trust me."

She blinked. “You've been screwed up like this before?"

"More times than you can imagine. I look at this as character-building, sort of."

Calais had walked up to her by then. “Okay, don't move,” he said as he grabbed hold of the white stuff that wrapped around her and tore it open with one powerful tug of his hands. The sound of ripping cloth followed, and with a little yelp, the girl fell straight into his arms.

The next few moments were like the longest ever in my short-yet-screwed-up life. Think of a really awful, sappy video of some really awful, sappy love song. Okay, imagine everything happening in super slow-motion, with the girl falling in Calais’ arms. Then their eyes meet. He looks sympathetic yet remains professionally distant. She stares at him, stunned, her arms wrapped around his neck, her body easily held up because he's just oh-so-strong.

Oh, fucking
hell,
just think of the scene in
Sense and Sensibility
where Kate Winslet fell down and got swept up in Greg Wise's arms in the rain (thank you, Liz, for making me suffer through that movie). Are you with me yet? Yeah, that was it. That was bloody
it,
as the British would say.