The Hatching (The Hatching #1)(52)
“Give or take. And you’d think there’d be no chance of anything alive in there, right? That it would be fossilized? But nope.”
“How on earth could they still hatch if they’re that old?”
She gave them the simplified version, the way that certain eggs could, essentially, enter a state of suspension, waiting for the right set of conditions. She told them about the evolutionary ecologist from Oklahoma who’d been getting seven-hundred-year-old water-flea eggs to hatch. “Or, maybe it’s easier to think of cicadas. Some cicada swarms are annual, but others are on thirteen-or seventeen-year cycles. Nobody really understands how it works, why they’re dormant that whole time, but our not understanding doesn’t stop the cicadas from coming out.”
Melanie shrugged. “I’ve got years and years of research ahead of me. There are only so many questions I can answer. All I can tell you right now is that once we realized they were hatching, it felt like it took forever. Twenty hours of staring at the f*cking thing, but then, bam. And before you ask, no, I’ve never seen them or heard of anything like them before. As far as I can tell, it’s a new species. Or, probably more accurately, it’s a really old species. Totally extinct except for this egg sac. It’s kind of a miracle. That they were found, that they were shipped here, that they’ve been sitting around for ten thousand years or so just waiting for the right time to hatch. I’ve got to be honest, there’s a lot I’m not understanding here. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
She frowned and leaned into the glass. All the spiders, save one, had gone at the rat. But one of the spiders was moving listlessly near the corner. It looked undamaged, but there was something wrong with it. As if it didn’t have the energy to feed on the rat. She found herself about to tap on the glass but then stopped herself and turned to glance back at Billy Cannon. The secretary of defense had taken a paper towel from the rack by the sink and was wiping his mouth. She looked back at Manny, but he was staring at Steph. Steph was staring at Melanie and looked like she was about to say something when there was a knock at the door.
The Secret Service officer whom Melanie had banged into stuck his head in. “He’s here.”
Manny nodded, and the door opened wider. A white man in a suit came in. He was good-looking, Melanie thought. He had that first hint of softness around the stomach that comes with middle age, but he was only a couple of years older than she was. Even in the presence of the president and all the Secret Service agents, he looked sure of himself. He looked, Melanie thought, like what she wanted: a man. Certainly he was more appropriate than a graduate student. Even with his suit, he looked like a cop, though Melanie had been in DC long enough to peg the guy for FBI or CIA or some agency other than plain old PD. He was carrying what looked like . . . yeah. It was a pickle jar. Except that wasn’t a pickle.
Melanie took the jar out of his hands, noticing that the guy’s left hand had a bandage wrapped around it. There were holes punched into the lid, and other than the spider inside, the jar was empty.
“Madam President,” the man said to Steph. “It’s an honor. Agent Mike Rich. From Minneapolis.”
Steph shook the man’s hand, and without letting go, she looked into Mike’s eyes. “And this is the same one? This is the spider that came out of Henderson?”
Melanie looked up from the jar. “Wait. What? Came out of . . .” She put the jar down next to the insectarium. “Where’d you get this?”
“It came crawling out of a man’s face, actually,” Mike said.
Melanie stared at him. “No.” She said the word slowly then said it again. “No. I mean, where in the world?”
Manny sighed. “You know how you asked me a few minutes ago if you could ask what this is about?” Melanie nodded. “The spiders you’ve got here,” Manny said, pointing to the insectarium, “aren’t the only ones. When you say you think they are totally extinct except for the ones you’ve got here, I’m pretty sure you’re wrong. We think there are more of them.”
Melanie looked at the spider in the jar and then at the ones in the insectarium. “I can’t guarantee that these are the same spiders. At least on the surface, there is an apparent match, but I’d have to look a little more closely—”
“Melanie.” Manny’s voice was sharp. “When I say we think there are more of these spiders, I mean we think there are more of them. A lot more.”
Metro Bhawan, Delhi, India
He was not happy about having to work overtime. His supervisor had basically disappeared since those two scientists from Kanpur had come by. With the baby coming, he could use the money, but with the baby coming his wife expected him at home more often. At the thought, he hitched up his pants and then took his cell phone out of his pocket. She liked it when he remembered to text her regularly, to check in. She was due two days ago, and her temper had been rather short. He was a big advocate of trying to stop a fight before it happened, and dutifully, he tapped in a quick message saying he was thinking about her, asking how she was feeling. And then another one to apologize again for having to work but reminding her of the extra money it would bring in. The doctor said if she went another week, they’d induce.
He tucked the phone back into his pocket and walked down the corridor. The crew was already standing by the door. The scientists had raised all sorts of hell about the tremors, insisting they be allowed to go down, and presumably they’d gotten to see what the problem was, because he hadn’t heard any more complaints. And he hadn’t heard anything from his supervisor either. The man was probably out drunk somewhere again. He liked his supervisor, but the truth was that the man, even if he had not been a drunk, was not particularly competent. He was also not particularly demanding, so that was good.