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We’ve had two more sightings of paw prints near the camp, but we haven’t encountered the animal making them. I’m counting it as a blessing, but it does act as a reminder that there are things out here other than the three of us.
I take in the ladder I’ve made and move up to the end of the plane, hooking it against the warped metal frame and nudging it into a groove on the downed tree. I stand on the bottom rung and bounce, testing its strength before climbing all the way up and back down again. It’s not going to win any beauty awards, but it will get the job done and give Salem more independence.
Jumping down to clean up the mess I made, I decide to toss a couple of logs on the fire to keep it burning and ready for when I make dinner. I pull open the log enclosure Oz made and reach inside for a couple of logs when the sound of a twig snapping behind me has me whipping around. With the thought of the lurking animal fresh in my mind, I search the area. When I don’t see anything—or hear anything else out of the ordinary—I reach back in for the wood. Keeping my eyes on the forest, I curse when a sharp sting on my hand has me yanking it free. I look down and see deep fang marks between my thumb and forefinger.
“Fuck.” I yank the gun from my thigh holster and pull the door open wider, dislodging the snake from where it had been poised and waiting. As soon as it hits the ground, I shoot it, not wanting it anywhere near Salem.
When the snake stops moving, I take a deep breath and look at my hand, which is already beginning to swell. It feels like fire is burning through my veins, and though I’m no expert on snakes, I know this isn’t good. I pick up the snake and toss it into the fire before grabbing my pack from beside our makeshift seating area. I search through it for one of the bottles of water and pour it over my throbbing hand. It does nothing to help the pain or eradicate the burning.
Giving up, I move to the plane’s entrance and use the ladder to climb inside. I find the bag we shoved all the medical supplies into, find some antiseptic cream, and toss back a couple of antibiotics, but even I know it won’t be enough. Funnily enough, we don’t have a first aid kit filled with different types of antivenom. I lie back on the bed for a minute as the room spins, more likely from panic than venom. I check my watch again. Where are they? If I remember correctly, I probably have about thirty to sixty minutes before the venom kicks in. Wait, is that right? Or is it dependent on the snake? Fuck, I can’t think straight.
I rub the sweat out of my eyes, my heart thundering in my chest as my hand throbs in time to it. Fuck it. I need to get to Salem. I climb back to my feet, swaying slightly, and make my way down the ladder slowly so I don’t fall and add broken bones to the list.
I move in the direction I know they’ll be heading back in when I remember I don’t have my pack with me. I double back and grab it, but when I stand back up again, the whole world spins and tips. A wave of nausea makes my gut roll. I try to swallow it down, but it’s relentless. I breathe through my mouth like Luna used to do at those Lamaze classes I mocked her for—anything to help me concentrate on not throwing up or passing out.
I slide the straps of the pack over my shoulders and stumble toward the trees. I pause and shake my head when I realize I’m not sure if I’m going the right way. I’ve done this trek a thousand times, so why can’t I remember? I slap my palm against my head, then curse when pain ricochets down my hand and arm. I swear, for a moment, all I can see are black spots.
I hear laughter, sweet and infectious, in my head. Instead of making me smile, it makes my heart clench. I’d give anything to hear that laugh again. My knees give out from under me, and I fold like an accordion.
Every sound around me seems to be magnified by the second, and my head feels like it’s ready to explode. I grip my hair just as screaming rips through the air. Hands on my face have me turning into them, but my eyes are too heavy to lift. Someone is lowering me to my back, and I can’t stop them. I can’t move at all. I can’t make out their words as the world fades in and out, their voices manic. All I can do is focus on the pain in my hand because if I can feel pain, I’m still alive.
Vomit rushes up the back of my throat, but I can’t turn my head to avoid choking on it. Thankfully, someone moves me when I start gagging, rolling me onto my side as I heave the water up from before. Slowly, I realize the pain is retreating. The fire rushing through my blood has dulled to a warm heat that soothes more than burns.
A hand on my forehead centers me, tethering me to the here and now. My brain is still too thick with fog to understand what’s happening, so I just hold on, focusing on the hand on my head as my heart rate returns to a steadier place and my sluggish mind finally gives out.
* * *
When I wake,I find myself staring up at the night sky. I have no idea why I’m outside for a minute until everything rushes back. I lift my hand and twist it, seeing that it’s back to its normal size with no puncture wounds. I sit up, knowing what that means, and find Oz sitting opposite me with an unconscious Salem in his lap.
“Jesus fuck, is she okay?” I scramble over to them and reach out to touch her flushed skin.
“She will be. She’s over the worst of it now. You, however, I’m going to fucking kill. You scared the shit out of me. I thought I was going to lose you both. What the fuck happened? We heard the gun and ran back as fast as we could. You were on your knees, babbling something fucking incoherent. I thought you were having a stroke or something. I laid you down, and that’s when Salem saw the puncture wounds on your hand.”
I stroke a finger down her cheek. Her eyelashes flutter, but her eyes don’t open. “I was putting wood on the fire, wanting it ready for when you got back, and there was a fucking snake in the shed.”
“How the hell did it manage to get the drop on you?”
I close my eyes. “I thought I heard something.” I swallow. “I was distracted.”
“Yeah, well, your distraction nearly got you killed.” He’s so tense that I’m surprised he’s not vibrating.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t ever fucking do that to me again. Not only can I not lose you, but I also can’t watch Salem go through this every time.”
He lifts her hand and shows me the two puncture marks exactly where they were on my hand. They aren’t bleeding, and her hand isn’t swollen, but if she healed me and took on what was happening to me—
I shake my head, feeling sick. “I get it.”
“No, you don’t,” he snaps.
I lift my head to stare into his eyes. “She told you she healed my arm. Did she tell you it was broken? Tell you how she wouldn’t let me go even when I heard her bone snap? Her scream will haunt me to the end of my days.
“I saw what happened to her, and I couldn’t believe it, but I knew it was real. She heals, but to do so, she takes on the injury or sickness herself. Her body heals the damage faster and burns off the diseases she gets exposed to. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel every single ounce of pain we do. I heard her arm break. I heard her scream. And still knowing all that, I watched as she healed you. I can’t lose you either, Oz, but don’t tell me I don’t get it. You were almost dead, and I had to stand there and watch as this tiny slip of a woman took your place.” I’m breathing heavily by the time I’m finished.
His eyes widen, and I know he’s thinking back to that day, his mind flashing over the blood-soaked T-shirt Salem wore. He assumed the blood was his. Though some of it was, most of it was from the wound Salem hid beneath it—the wound she took from him.
“What? I... Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t she?”
