Micro - Michael Crichton [38]
He saw the head. It emerged from the sawdust, tongue flicking rapidly. It came so close to Peter that the tongue almost brushed his body. He closed his eyes, unable to watch. He was trembling so hard he thought he would collapse in sheer terror.
He took a breath, held it, trying to stop the trembling. He opened one eye slightly, hazarding a look.
The snake was right there, just inches from his torso, and the black tongue continued to flick in and out, but something was wrong. This snake seemed confused, or hesitant—and then, to his utter amazement, the animal raised its head and slithered backward, pulling away from Peter.
Disappearing into the sawdust.
And gone.
And then he did collapse, falling to the ground, shaking with fear and exhaustion, unable to control his body, and one thought remained fixed in his mind—what the hell happened?
“God damn it,” Vin Drake said, looking down through the glass. “What the hell was that? What just happened?”
“Maybe it wasn’t hungry.”
“Oh, it’s hungry alright. God damn it! I can’t have these mishaps. I’m on a schedule, a tight schedule.”
The intercom clicked. “Mr. Drake, you have a visitor. Mr. Drake, visitor at the front desk.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Drake said, throwing up his hands. “I’m not expecting anybody today.” He dialed reception. “What is it, Mirasol?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Drake, but I was in the parking lot after the alarm, and someone from the Honolulu police came to see you. So I brought them in.”
“Oh. All right.” He hung up. “Great. The police.”
Alyson said, “I’ll go see what they want.”
“No, you won’t,” he said. “I’ll deal with the police. You go back to your office and stay out of sight until they are gone.”
“All right, if that’s what—”
“It is, yes.”
“All right, Vin.”
Jenny Linn watched as Vin Drake and Alyson Bender left the animal room. She noticed that Drake was careful to lock the door as he left. The plastic bag was lying on top of the snake’s tank. The top of the bag was twisted lightly. But it was loose. Jenny wriggled herself up in the neck of the bag, pushing, and she managed to get it open. “Come on,” she said. “We can at least get out.” The others followed Jenny, climbing out of the bag, until they were standing on the clear glass lid that covered the tank.
Jenny looked down into the tank. Peter was getting to his feet, obviously shaken. She shouted, “Can you understand me?”
He shook his head at Jenny: Not really.
Rick Hutter said, “Why didn’t the snake strike?”
Jenny got down on her hands and knees, cupped her hands around her mouth, and said, “Peter, can you hear now?”
He shook his head.
“Try bone conduction,” Amar said.
Jenny lay flat on the surface, putting her cheek against the glass. She spoke loudly: “Peter? Now?”
“Yes,” he said. “What happened?”
“I doused you with volatiles from a wasp,” she said. “Principally hexenol. I figured there were very few things that would put off a poisonous snake, but a wasp sting would be one of them.”
“Damn clever,” Amar said. “Snakes rely more on smell than sight anyway. And the krait’s nocturnal…”
“It worked. It thought I was a wasp.”
“Yes, but the substance is very volatile, Peter.”
“Meaning it will evaporate.”
“It is, as we speak.”
“Great. I’m not a wasp anymore.”
“Not for long.”
“How much time would you say?” he said.
“I don’t know. Minutes.”
“What can we do?”
Karen King said, “How are your reflexes?”
“Shot.” He held out his hand; it was shaking.
“What’s your idea?” Amar said.
“Do you have any of the spider silks we worked on?” For about six months, Amar and Karen had been synthesizing spider silks with various properties—some were sticky, some strong, some flexible like a bungee cord. Some could turn from smooth to sticky from the addition of a chemical at one end.
“I have several, yes,” Amar said.
“Okay, you see that plastic tube beside the cage, closed at one end?”
“It looks like it’s part of a little water dispenser.”
“Right. That’s the one. Can you grab that tube with sticky silk and hoist it up?”
“I don’t know,” Amar said doubtfully. “It probably weighs an ounce or