Jake grins, but it doesn’t completely erase the look of concern on his face. “Do you want me to cut you and suck the poison out?”
“Well, if that’s what you’re supposed to do . . .”
“With some venomous snakebites, that might be the case, but with a copperhead, fortunately their strike is their warning, so they don’t often inject very much venom. I’m going to get the first aid kit and clean it then we’ll head down the mountain.”
I consider this new information, feeling somewhat relieved. But still, my leg is hurting so bad!
“What about all your stuff? The camp?”
“I don’t care about all that shit. My main concern is getting you to the hospital so they can give you some antivenom and something for the pain.”
Jake sets me in one of the chairs in front of what used to be the fire. I watch him dig through a metal box in the back of his Jeep and produce a small white square. As he walks back, I notice the fresh blood on his arm and one thigh. When I twist my leg and look down at it, I see the blood running from the wound at my knee.
“Bleeding is a good thing, right? To clean out the bite or something?”
“Copperhead bites bleed quite a bit. It has something to do with the way the venom affects your blood cells.” Jake kneels in front of me, opens the white box and sets it on the ground at my feet. “This is gonna sting, but I need to clean it before I put some gauze on it, okay?”
I nod.
Whatever Jake pours onto a cotton ball is liquid hell. I’m sure of it when he presses it to my already hurting leg and it makes it hurt even more.
“Almost done,” he says, dabbing gingerly.
I glance down and see the blood trickling even as he swipes at it. Nausea creeps over me like a swell of unbearable heat. Sweat beads on my forehead. “Jake, I feel sick.”
“Slow deep breaths. We’ll be on the road in a minute.”
With quick-yet-competent movements, Jake folds a few squares of gauze into a thick pad and presses it lightly to the snakebite. He then winds a roll of gauze loosely around my knee and fastens it with tape. It’s just enough pressure to keep the gauze in place.
“Not the best job, but it’ll do,” he says, closing the white box and then standing to his feet. “Let’s blow this joint.”
Before he can scoop me up into his arms, I have a moment of clarity. “Aren’t you going to get dressed?”
He’s still naked. And I’m still mostly naked.
Jake looks down at this body then back up at me. “Well, you’re wearing my shirt. How ’bout we settle on a pair of shorts for both of us?”
I nod. “Sounds good.”
Jake ducks into the tent and, after a few seconds, emerges wearing shorts and tennis shoes, carrying my shorts from last night. “Here,” he says, holding the shorts open at my feet, “step into these and then I’ll carry you to the Jeep.”
He pulls me slowly to my feet and I put my hand on his shoulder to steady myself as I step into my shorts. It’s so sweet that, before I can do it for myself, Jake pulls the shorts up and fastens them at my waist.
When he meets my eyes, he winks. “Strange. I never seem to fantasize about getting you into your shorts.”
His calm charm makes me feel more at ease. Careful to mind my leg, Jake reaches for me, swinging me up into his arms and heading for the Jeep. I lay my head on his chest. I know I should be afraid. Up here in the mountains, hurt. All alone with a bad boy, someone the whole town looks down on. But I’m not afraid. I’m in good hands. I have no doubt.
The drive back down the mountain seems twice as long, although, according to the dashboard clock, it’s actually shorter. Of course, I wasn’t in pain on the way up, either.
When we pass over the river at a spot I remember as being fairly close to the bottom, Jake takes out his phone and powers it up.
“I should have signal by now,” he says by way of explanation. He punches in a short couple of numbers and then holds the phone to his ear. “Yes, ma’am, I’m on my way down the mountain behind the Theopolis peach orchard. I have a friend with me who’s been bitten by a copperhead. Could you send the paramedics?”
Jake answers a few of her questions and then gives the woman his address. After a few seconds of listening, he thanks her and hangs up.
“Why did you do that? I can make it to the hospital.” I’m not sure how to take his actions, but I’m not feeling good about them. Should I be more worried? Is this bite more serious than I think? Or is Jake just trying to get rid of me?
“You need the antivenom as quickly as possible. The sooner you get it, the more effective it is. By calling it in now, the ambulance can be at the house by the time we get to the bottom of the mountain, giving you at least twenty minutes. And by calling it in as a snakebite, the hospital can make sure the ambulance has it on board when they come out.”
“Oh,” I say with a nod. That makes sense. False alarm.
We ride in silence the rest of the way down.
The paramedics are just coming down Jake’s driveway as we drive up from the field. They pull to a stop, we pull to a stop, and then Jake hops out and comes around to the passenger side to get me. He carries me to the back of the ambulance just as the EMTs are extending the legs on the stretcher. He sets me gently on the thin mattress and backs away.
The emergency techs are both older guys, which makes me feel at ease somehow. Maybe it just seems that the older they are, the more experience they should have. Or at least that’s my way of thinking.
“Where were you bitten?” This comes from paramedic number one, on my left.
“The back of my left knee.”
He nods to paramedic number two, who begins placing a cuff around my arm as paramedic number one lifts my leg to examine the bite.
“What’s your name, ma’am?” the one on my right asks as he starts placing stickers on my chest.
“Laney.”
“Is this your husband, Laney?” he asks, nodding to Jake.
“No, he’s, um, he’s a friend.”
I use Jake’s term. It feels just as cold and hopeless as it did when I heard him use it on the phone.
“Do you have family in the area, Laney?”
I feel a moment of dread. I gulp, feeling tears threaten. This is not the end I had thought our wonderful camping trip would have. Not at all. And now my parents will be involved.
“Yes, I do.”
“What are their names?”
“Graham Holt is my father and—”