“Absolutely not,” he replies as we get to the trail. He calls out to someone. “We’ve got a medical emergency. I’m taking her down.”
There’s a commotion from the other volunteers but I’m in too much pain and too panicked to try to understand what’s happening. And Linden’s already moving down the trail, with the Forest Service Ranger following along, barking into her radio.
“Did you identify the snake?” she asks in a rush.
“Don’t need to. The anti-venom isn’t species specific.”
“I thought we’re supposed to cut and suck.”
“No,” Linden barks, curling me tighter against him.
My face is hot and tingly and panic has my lungs in a vice. “Linden,” I whimper.
“Listen to me, Meg.” Linden shoots me a steady glance. He’s barely breathing hard. “The best thing you can do is try to stay calm, okay? I’m going to get you to help as fast as I can.”
I gulp a breath but my lungs tremble. “I’m scared.”
“It’s going to be all right,” Linden says in a firm tone, shifting my body and increasing his pace.
Every time his foot lands, a spike of heat shoots up my leg. I start to cry. Coupled with my shaking limbs, I feel like I’m going to crack into pieces.
Behind us, the ranger’s radio crackles. She’s breathless while relaying information.
“The ambulance is en route,” she says to Linden as we reach the parking lot.
“I’ll meet them,” he says, sprinting for his truck.
The ranger opens Linden’s passenger side door, and he sets me gently on the seat. His face is flushed and sweat beads at his temples.
He’s wearing an expression I can’t read, but he’s moving too fast for me to try very hard.
He slings the seat belt across me and clips it in, then takes my face in his hands so we’re eye to eye. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Okay,” I whimper as another nauseous flicker sends a pulse of unease through me.
He dashes to his side and jumps behind the wheel.
“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?” He accelerates down the gravel road, kicking up a plume of dust.
“Eight?” I manage as a sudden jostle loosens my stomach.
“Are you still?—”
“Stop!” I scrabble for the door handle.
The truck slides to a stop and Linden lunges across my lap to open my door just in time for me to hurl into the dirt.
“I’m sorry,” I rattle off, teeth rattling.
He rests his big hand between my shoulder blades. “Fuck, Meg, you don’t need to apologize.”
“Your seats,” I manage, the nausea ebbing, making me feel exhausted and weak.
He heaves a sigh. “I don’t give a fuck about the seats.”
Woozy, I lean back, the movement sending a fresh pulse of pain up through my kneecap.
He grabs a handful of fast-food napkins from the glove box, then accelerates again.
