It's in the Genes

Spider Smoothies

"Brown recluse venom is necrotic, which means it causes tissue death," Amy said.

Amy and Parker sat at the kitchen table, doing their science homework together. They had to write about an animal that interested them. Amy was writing about brown recluses and Parker was writing about black widows.

The two became fast friends several years ago when they discovered their mutual interest in bugs. Amy is autistic, and bugs are one of her special interests (to the extent that she corrects me when I use the term "bugs," as she will often specify "insects and arachnids"). Parker is interested in so far as many of them are snack foods for him, and others are relatives. Parker was glad to find someone who wasn't creeped out by the animal whose DNA he shared, and Amy enjoyed having someone to talk with about the subjects she was interested in.

"Black widow venom affects..." Parker paused. "The nervous system."

"Sounds like they would both give some nasty bites," I said while I chopped up some veggies to use for dinner. Without touching my face, I sniffed, trying to clear my nose. I woke up congested, which was unusual given how odd my DNA is. Most viruses have a hard time getting passed my mutated immune system, if they are even transmittable to me in the first place. Now, as I leaned over while dicing up carrots, what was curious this morning became annoying as snot decided to try to make a run for it out of my still-congested nasal cavities.

"Yep. Black widows aren't as bad as people think though. Most of the time, their bites don't do much. Anti-venom is used mostly for pain-management. And we don't have any colonies of brown recluse in Maine," Amy said, flapping her left hand softly.

"But black widows can still cause some cool..." Parker leaned toward his book, squinting. "Symptoms."

"Oh, yeah? Like what?" I asked, plopping the veggies in a bowl and trying to discretely clear the post-nasal drip from my throat.

"Muscle pain, nau...sea, vomiting, cramps, sweating, itching, rash, swollen eyelids, weakness, and sometimes you can't move your legs," Parker listed, nodding his head back and forth as he did so. He seemed more interested in the last symptom. He turned to Amy. "Why does that happen—the leg part?"

"I don't know. I haven't read about that before. Maybe because of the muscle stuff," she suggested.

"Hey, Dee!" Parker said.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think we could find a black widow and make it bite me and see what happens?"

I swung around. "Um, no—no, we cannot!" I exclaimed, looking at him with a confused gaze and furrowed eyebrows. What kind of question was that? In the back of my mind, I thought about the likeliness that a spider bite would even do anything to Parker. His skin was tougher than typical human skin, and even if the spider broke it, I don't know that the venom would do anything to him, being that he has venom of his own.

Parker looked down, clearly disappointed.

I cleared my throat. "That could be dangerous, so I don't want to experiment with you getting hurt," I explained to try and soften the blow. It occurred to me how different that was from the approach of the scientists who raised the rest of us.

For an unnerving moment, I thought about the experiments and horrors they would have done with Parker had we stayed on the compound. He would have almost definitely been trained to be a weapon of some kind. His skin was thicker and denser than a normal human's, acting almost as a personal shield. The scientists would have tried to determine how effective that "shield" was against various objects, hitting, piercing, and wounding him in the name of discovery. Parker can also climb walls, an ability that would ensure he could creep into unusual and dangerous places, which they would have undoubtedly trained him to do. His extra four spider legs often allow extra mobility—would he have been trained to use weapons with his free hands?

I can still remember the specific type of spider his DNA was spliced with—a "Fringed Ornamental Tarantula." A bite from one can cause intense pain and muscle cramping, and while no human deaths have been attributed to one yet, I wondered if that would change if given a dose of venom from the massive fangs hidden in Parker's mouth. That, at least, is something the scientists would have tried to test.

I thought about who Parker was now: a hyper, lively, accepting, obnoxious and yet sweet boy. Then I imagined what he might have been if we stayed: an unquestioning, disciplined soldier, victimized for some sick scientists' hubris and an invisible entity's malice and greed.

It was enough to inspire a burst of rage that made me grip the kitchen knife tighter, almost wishing I could give those awful people a piece of my mind—and maybe a piece of that blade.

"And black widows only bite when they're scared. It wouldn't be nice to frighten them," Amy added helpfully, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Parker nodded. "That's true," he said, seeming a little less disappointed.

"Besides, do we even have any near here? It might be too cold," I said, feeling my blood pressure going back to its normal level and thoughts of homicide receding. Maine was colder than any of us preferred, but it's hard to hide extra limbs in shorts and a tank top, so here we were.

"Oh. I don't know," Parker replied, looking down to flip through his book.

"Maybe," Amy answered, still flapping her hand. "But it would be the northern widow, not the southern one. You can tell the difference between them, because the northern widows look completely different. Their body shape is similar, but they have a lot more markings"

"Well, that's pretty cool. I didn't know there were different types," I said, grabbing a box of pasta out of the pantry.

Amy nodded. "Yep. Actually, black widows are part of the Theridiidae family, which contains 31 species."

"That's a lot of spiders, " I commented. I appreciated listening to Amy's little lessons. I would never have thought to research bugs, and when she talks about all that she knows about them, I actually find myself interested. Sometimes she even reminds me about the better parts of my own schooling, and the times when we learned without necessarily—or, well, overtly—being exploited.

Parker's head popped up. "Do you wanna know how they eat their prey?" he asked.

"Sure," I said as I put some water on to boil. I actually wasn't terribly keen on hearing about it, but I knew it would make him happy.

"So they catch the bugs in their web and then they bite them and inject di...di—"

"Digestive enzymes," Amy chirped, looking down at the section Parker was reading from.

"Digestive enzymes," Parker repeated carefully. "Into them. And they turn the bug insides to mush. And then the spider sucks them out."

I frowned, but luckily wasn't facing Parker. That was disgusting. "That's very interesting," I said, trying to sound at least a little sincere.

"Like a smoothie!" Parker continued.

The words had effective imagery, and I gagged.

Meanwhile, Sybil quietly meandered into the kitchen. She'd heard the conversation and I noticed a small smirk as she glanced over at me. Evidently, she'd heard me gag as well.

"Speaking of smoothies, how long before dinner's ready?" she asked.

I glared at her. "Depends if I puke in the pot or not," I replied, keeping my voice soft enough that hopefully she was the only one who heard me. I tried my best not to make Parker feel self-conscious about his spider genes.

Sybil smiled as she met my gaze. "Do you need any help?" she offered.

"If you wanna keep an eye on the pasta while I get the veggies cooked, that'd be great."

Sybil nodded. "Sounds good."

"Great, I'll be right back." I headed to the bathroom and looked in the closet where we kept the medicine. The illogical combination of congestion and a runny nose was really getting to be annoying as I tried not to drip and sniffle all over our food. I popped a couple pills and went back to the kitchen to finish up dinner before Niall got home.