Stolen (30 page)

You backed through the doorway and carried me quickly into the kitchen. You laid me gently on the table. You disappeared for a moment and I heard you in the hall, throwing open the closet. The light was bright through the door so I turned away toward the kitchen cabinets. You came back with a couple of towels. You rolled one up and placed it underneath my head.

“How do you feel?”

“A bit weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Just weird. I don’t know. Like I’m getting a cold or something.”

You swallowed. “Anything else? Pain around your ankle? Numbness?”

I nodded. “A little.”

You felt for the pulse in my wrist and touched the back of your hand to my forehead. Lightly, you pressed the skin around my ankle. You shook out the other towel and frowned as you laid it over my chest.

“Maybe I should get you a T-shirt, huh?”

“What?”

You nodded toward my chest and bra, your cheeks pinking slightly. “Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.” You raised an eyebrow, then forced that smile upon your face again. “And I’ve got to concentrate here, too, you know.”

You went to get the T-shirt. Through the open door I heard the squeal of a bird, circling high above the house, but that was it. I felt along the top of my leg. Just how serious was this snakebite? I couldn’t figure out whether your joking tone was because you weren’t worried about it, or because you were trying to mask your fear.

You were back quickly, handing me a shirt, supporting me while I put it on so that I didn’t have to move my leg too much. You left and returned with a metal box. You flung it open, took out a roll of bandage, and started winding it over the shirt on my leg. You wound all the way from my foot to my hip, rolling up my shorts to get to the top of my thigh. My skin tickled as you touched it. You pulled the bandage tight.

“I can’t believe I was so stupid,” you muttered.

“What do you mean?”

“I let you get bit, didn’t I?” You placed the metal box on the floor and rifled through it loudly. Gauze and bandages and rubber gloves fell out as you searched. “I should’ve caught that snake days ago,” you continued. “I should at least have tried to desensitize you to it. But, well, snakebites never happen to me, and I guess I kind of hoped … I thought we had time for all this….”

Your words faded away as you found what you were looking for. You took your hand from the box. As you uncurled your fingers, it looked like they were shaking. Inside them was a key. As you stood, I saw how pale your face was. It reminded me of how you’d looked when you’d had the nightmare. I had a sudden urge to touch it. I stretched my fingers a little toward you.

“I stole antivenoms from a research lab,” you explained. “You’ll be OK.”

You strode to the locked drawer beside the sink, stuck the key in. You rifled through it, your back preventing me from seeing exactly what was inside. You took out several small glass vials with different colored lids and a plastic bag full of clear liquid and put them on the bench; then you took out a strap and something that looked like a needle. You left the drawer open while you turned back to me. You grabbed my arm and slapped at the veins. I glanced back at the vials. They were the same ones I’d seen once before, spread out before you on the kitchen table … the ones I’d thought contained drugs.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” I whispered.

“Course.” You rubbed your forehead. “You’ll be OK. The snake’s not that dangerous anyway….”

“How dangerous?”

“I’ll be able to fix it.” You wound the strap around my arm, pulling it tight above where you’d been pressing my veins. “Look away,” you urged.

I looked toward the open drawer. I heard a crack as you opened something. I felt the jagged prick of the needle go in, the jolt as you attached the plastic bag … the release as you undid the strap on my arm. Then a rush of fluid, straight into my veins.

“What is that?” I asked, still looking toward the drawer.

“Saline solution, also from the research lab. I’ve mixed the death adder antivenom into it. It should start filtering into your veins right away; you should start feeling better.”

I turned my head back to you, registering your words. “Death adder?”

You stroked the side of my cheek. “His name’s worse than his bite.”

I looked at the bag of fluid slowly seeping into my body, at the tube stuck into my arm. “How do you know how to do this?”

Your eyes darted away from mine. “I practiced on myself.” You tapped the side of the bag, checking how fast it was flowing.

“Now what?”

“Now we just wait.”

“How long?”

“About twenty minutes, dunno. Until the bag’s used up.”

“And then?”

“Then we see.”

You scraped a chair from under the table and sat beside me. You ran your finger lightly over the needle in my arm.

“Will I be better after this?” I asked, nodding at the bag.

“More or less.” Again I saw the sweat on your forehead. I saw your temple pulsing quickly.

“You’re worried,” I whispered. “Aren’t you?”

You shook your head. “Nah.” Your voice was breathy and your mouth fixed in a smile. “You’ll be ‘right. I have another vial if you need it. You’ll be fine, though. Just relax, wait.”

But your eyes were unsettled as they looked at me, twitching slightly at the corners. You breathed out, deliberately slowly, and pressed your fingertips to the twitch.

“What’s going to happen to me?” I whispered. “What are you hiding?” I felt my breathing speed up, my throat tighten around it.

“Nothing,” you said quickly. “Just don’t panic; that’s the last thing we need. When you panic, your blood travels faster, speeding up the venom.” You pushed your hands against my shoulders, rubbing at the muscles in my neck. “Relax,” you whispered.

But I couldn’t calm down, not properly. I just kept thinking about dying out there, on a kitchen table, in the middle of a billion grains of sand. My breathing sped up further, and you put your hand against my mouth to shush me. You stroked my hair.

“Don’t worry, it’s OK,” you were saying, over and over. “I’ll keep you safe.”

I shut my eyes. I saw darkness behind my lids. Perhaps that might be all I’d ever see again. Perhaps the numbness that was taking over my leg would soon be taking over my body, then my mind, and then that would be it. My heart would stop and an everlasting numbness would replace it. I’d be under the sand then, grains below and above and all around me. I gripped at the table, scratching my nails into its wood.

“Calm down,” you murmured.

I’d thought about death before, so many times. But the death I’d imagined would be violent and painful and caused by you, not numb and clinical.

“You won’t die,” you whispered. “You just need to wait it out. I’m here, and I know how to help. Just don’t panic.” You stroked the edge of my face. “Gem, I won’t let anything happen, not to you.”

You peeled the sweaty strands of hair away from my forehead.

“You’re hot,” you murmured. “Too hot.”

About half of the bag’s fluids had gone into me, but I could still feel a dull ache at the bottom of my leg. Was it from the snakebite, or from the bandage being too tight? You checked my pulse again.

“Do you want to be sick?” you asked.

“Not really.”

“Any pain in your stomach?”

“No.”

You put your fingers over your mouth, thinking. You looked carefully at my bandaged leg. “This is still sore?”

“Yes.”

I thought I could feel that dull ache around my knee now, traveling slowly up my thigh. I stretched my hand down and touched near to where I could feel it.

“It’s there,” I said. “The pain’s there.”

You shut your eyes for a second. Again, there was that twitch at the side of one of them. You pressed your hand against where I was feeling, then ran your fingers down to my ankle.

“Venom’s traveling fast,” you whispered, to yourself, I think. “It’s all swelling up.” You glanced at the bag of fluid, then tipped it to see how much was left. “I’m putting the other vial in.” I watched you use the needle to draw up the antivenom. Then you injected it into the bag and swirled it around. “This will give you a rush,” you said. You tried grinning, but it was a crooked grimace instead.

“That’s the last one, isn’t it?” I asked.

You nodded, your face tight. “It should be enough.”

You started wiping my forehead again, but I reached for your hand. I didn’t want to be alone right then, I guess. I didn’t want you to be alone, either. Your eyes opened wide when you felt my fingers touch you. They looked over my face, my cheeks and mouth, skimming down over my neck. I was the best view you’d ever seen. It gave me a buzz, the way I made you look, right then.

“Are you dizzy?” you asked.

“A bit. It feels a little like I’m floating.”

I gripped your hand tightly, wanting some of your strength to seep out into me. You held my gaze. There were questions in your eyes, and thoughts behind them.

“The antivenom should be working by now,” you said. “I don’t know why it’s not.”

“Maybe it takes time.”

“Maybe.”

I could feel the tension in your fingers. You glanced at the fluid bag. Then you got up quickly and stood beside the open door. My fingers went cold as you left them. I blinked. The kitchen cupboards were fuzzy around the edges. Everything was slightly fuzzy. I was floating in a haze. You were pacing around it.

You picked up the empty vials, squinting as you read their labels.

“What is it?”

You sighed, crushing a vial in your palm. “The only thing I can think is that these aren’t working properly. Where I’ve stored them … I’m worried it’s been too warm.”

“What does that mean?”

You came back to me, stumbling onto the stool. You placed your damp palm against my shoulder, your eyes searching for mine. “It means we’ve got a choice.”

“What choice?”

“We either stay here and ride it out—I’ve got other, natural, substances that could help you—or we …”

“What?”

You wiped your forehead with the side of your hand. “Or we go back.”

“Back where? What do you mean?”

You took a ragged breath. You spoke slowly, staring straight ahead at the kitchen cupboards, not wanting to think about the words you were saying. “There’s a mine site, I told you about it once. I could get you back there before you—”

“Why would you do that?” I interrupted. “I thought you didn’t want to let me go.”

“I don’t.” Your voice cracked a little.

I watched you, looking at me. I saw my face in your eyes, reflected double.

“You said four months?”

You had to swallow your emotions before you could speak. “It’s up to you. I’ll do what you want now.”

“You said it was hundreds of miles to the next town?”

“It is … to the next town.”

“Then what …?”

“The place I can take you is that mine site; there’s just men and a big hole there. But they have a clinic and an airstrip. They can help you; they could stabilize you….”

“How far?”

“It’s far.” You smiled at me, a sad smile. “But I know a shortcut.”

Then your face twisted away again, your expression tortured.

“You’d really take me back?” I whispered. I moaned a little as I felt a sharp stab in my guts.

You nodded, running your hand down my cheek. “I’ll get the camel ready.”