Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Both of us on our sides, her facing away from me, my hand between her thighs for a while before I was sliding into her from behind…
“I won’t be long. Keep an ear out for me.”
As it would turn out, she wouldn’t have to listen hard.
Because as I knelt down on the ground beside a particularly large rock, trying to roll it, something crawled up my leg.
Before I could even see what it was, the bite started.
The debilitating, indescribable pain told me what it was.
A bullet ant.
Fuck.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Violet
I was staring up at the tree, hands on my hips, wondering if I would be a better person for the job of climbing the tree.
True, Wick was stronger. But I was lighter.
That said, my little holding on for dear life over a raging river escapade from the day before might have weakened me too much.
I honestly wasn’t even hungry. I should have been ravenous with all the exercise. But when you are eating the exact same thing over and over, I guess you kind of lose your taste for it. And when it is your only option, you just don’t want to eat at all.
I’d just knelt down to open my backpack when I heard it.
Not a simple, maybe even playful, Marco Polo.
It was a guttural scream.
I’d never heard anything like it.
I didn’t think; I didn’t stop to consider what I might be walking into. I just turned toward the sound of Wick’s screams and ran.
My heart felt compressed in my chest, like it didn’t have room for how hard it was punching against my ribcage.
Because it wasn’t like Wick had just let out one loud scream. Like he’d fallen. Or got his hand crushed or something.
He was screaming nonstop, the pain so raw it felt like it ripped me open too.
What the hell could have happened to him to make him scream like that?
The sound only got louder as I drew nearer, drowning out anything else.
Until, finally, I broke through a clearing.
And there he was.
He was sitting on the ground, his hands clutched around his leg, his shirt damp with sweat, his face beet red.
“Wick!” I cried, rushing forward. “What is it? What happened?”
Had he broken his leg?
Dread washed through me.
What could we do if he had a broken leg? There was no rescue. He would have to walk out. Or be pulled out.
He was a big guy compared to me, but I imagined if I used the tent to pull him in, I could use my lower body strength to move him. It would be slow going.
“What is it?” I asked, dropping to my knees, trying to pry his hands from his leg so I could investigate the injury. “Okay. I’m trying to help,” I said as Wick continued to groan in pain, sweat pouring down his face. “Did you break…oh.”
His hands finally moved away, revealing his leg.
“Alright. Okay. It’s not that bad.”
It was awful.
His whole lower leg was swollen and red, but it was worse in one spot. And in the center of that spot, a dark dot.
Almost like…a sting? A bite?
Why was he screaming over a bite?
“Were you bit? Stung?” I asked, putting my hand on his swollen, red skin.
It was a barely-there touch.
But Wick responded like I’d stabbed him. Another scream escaped him and when I looked over, tears were pouring down his face.
“Oh, my God. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do. Was it a snake? Should I be, like, sucking out the venom?”
“Bull…et.”
“Bullet? No, no this wasn’t a bullet, Wick.”
“Ant,” Wick hissed out between clenched teeth.
“Bullet ant?” I asked, getting a fierce nod from him.
My mind raced back through the conversation we’d had when I’d freaked out about a bunch of freaky red ants that looked like they did steroids and lifted dumbbells for fun.
He said those were harmless.
But that I had to watch out for the big, black bullet ants. Which were as high on the venom bite pain scale as you could get.
When I had no frame of reference for other insect bites or stings, he’d started to compare it to other, more tangible things.
Touching a live electrical wire.
Third-degree burns.
A broken bone being twisted.
Surgery without anesthesia.
And the pain could last twelve to twenty-four hours.
“Oh, oh, God,” I said, looking into his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do,” I said. My lower lip wobbled as tears flooded my eyes.
His leg was trembling in agony, and that shaking was spreading through his whole body.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
He was the one who knew more about this kind of thing. And he couldn’t tell me what to do. He could barely breathe.
My gaze went down to the wound again. Leaning closer, I noticed it wasn’t just a hole; something was sticking out of it.
Honestly, I didn’t think.
It was like that time I’d broken my little toe and had just… reached down and pulled it back straight again.