But again that ridiculously stupid thing came into my mind. “You are in grave danger,” I blurted. “Do not come any closer.” And, having zero faith that my words would make even the slightest difference, I sat down so hard I could feel the rocks jar me all the way to my teeth.
BRRRRR. The sound was so soft as to be almost missed. But Geoffrey heard it clearly. He froze in place, one foot suspended in midair. His eyes jerked downward, wildly looking around for the source of the sound. BRRRRR.
There aren’t many sounds more chilling than that of an adult rattlesnake coiled and giving warning.
Dad jumped to his feet. “Don’t move. Stay perfectly still and it won’t strike at you.”
I don’t think Geoffrey even heard him. He was swinging the rifle down, half turning as he did so. This brought the foot that was suspended in the air down hard. That did it. There was a gray blur, low to the ground. Geoffrey screamed and fell back. The pouch dropped as he clutched wildly at his rifle and blasted off three shots in rapid succession.
I heard Malcolm yelling and a moment later he came tearing back up the hill. “Geoff! What’s wrong?”
But Geoffrey was in total panic mode now. He threw the rifle aside and scuttled backwards, rolling away wildly, screaming, “Snake! Snake! I’m bit!” His face was contorted with pain and horror as he clawed at his pant leg.
Seeing the pouch on the ground, I started inching toward it. But Malcolm saw me and fired off a shot in the air. “Stay back!” he screamed. And then he skidded to a stop, staring at the ground around him in pure terror.
BRRRRR. BRRRRR. BRRRRR. BRRRRR. The rattling sounds were coming so fast as to be barely distinguishable one from another. Some were high and shrill. Some deep and sonorous. Falling back, firing blindly at the ground in fully automatic mode, Malcolm was screaming like a madman as he stumbled and went down.
“Rattlesnake nest!” Dad shouted, racing forward. Grandpère and I followed. What I saw was something out of a fiendish nightmare. A three-foot-long rattlesnake was slithering away from where Geoffrey lay on the ground, clutching at his leg. His pant leg was up enough that we could see the two puncture wounds from the fangs. They were already starting to ooze blood.
But much worse than that, ten feet beyond him, the ground was alive with snakes of every size. Malcolm was frantically slapping them away, screaming and moaning and writhing on the ground. As I came up, I saw a snake flash out and sink its fangs into his right cheek. He shrieked, then screamed again as a larger snake went for his bare arm.
Dad bent down on the run and snatched up Geoffrey’s rifle. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! He blasted away at the ground, and body parts of snakes went flying everywhere. Grandpère looked wildly around. He grabbed a dead sagebrush branch about three feet long and ran forward. Snakes started flying through the air as he scooped them up and flung them away. Finally he had the ground cleared enough that he could move in. He grabbed Malcolm by both arms and started dragging him backwards. “Get the pouch, Danni,” he yelled at me. “Then cut Rick and Cody loose. Your dad’s knife is in the truck.”
As I leaped away, I saw Grandpère drop Malcolm, snatch up his rifle, and start blasting away alongside Dad. Covering the ground in great strides, I snatched up the pouch and slung it over my shoulder, then sprinted for the truck. A moment later, I was kneeling behind Cody, carefully cutting through the nylon cuffs. “There,” I said, as they finally snapped. I moved quickly over to Rick and started sawing on his.
He looked at me as he reached for his crutches. “Did you do that?” He jerked his head toward Dad and Grandpère and the two men writhing on the ground.
My eyes widened. Did I? No. All I had done was ... was tell Geoffrey he was in grave danger. I hadn’t asked for rattlesnakes. That thought had not even entered my mind. My eyes widened. Except earlier, you wished for a rattlesnake to bite Malcolm.
Then came another realization. I knew enough about rattlesnakes to know that rattlesnake nests or dens were rare, and even then they occurred usually only when the weather was cold. Snakes gathered together in the wintertime to share each other’s warmth. Right now, the temperature was over a hundred degrees. That ended any question.
I reached down and touched Le Gardien. It was you, wasn’t it? I didn’t expect an answer. I didn’t need it. I got to my feet marveling, totally astonished once again at how this strange companion of mine worked.
And that was when I saw the third man come into view just below the rim of the hill. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, but he had a wicked-looking pistol in one hand, and it was up and pointed at the three of us. “Hands up,” he hissed. “Don’t move.” I instantly recognized what was clearly a heavy French accent.
Jean-Claude had arrived.
Keeping the truck between himself and where Dad and Grandpère were dealing with Malcolm and Geoffrey, Jean-Claude came quickly over to the three of us, the pistol rock-steady in his hand. “You, boy. Come here.” He was motioning with his other hand at Cody.
Cody hesitated, then moved over to him. Jean-Claude stepped behind him and put a hand on his shoulder, then turned to Rick and me. “All right. You two will go ahead of us. Please do believe me when I say that I will not hesitate to shoot one of you if you disobey me.”
While he was not as horribly frightening as Doc, his manner was cold and ruthless, and I knew we were dealing with a very dangerous man. I didn’t doubt that he meant what he said. Rick moved forward, and I fell in beside him.
If Jean-Claude’s plan was to stay undetected as long as possible, it was too late. Grandpère, who was squatted down beside Malcolm, examining his wounds, suddenly looked over in our direction. His head jerked up, and he slowly straightened. “Mack?” I heard him call softly to Dad.
Dad was on his knees beside Geoffrey. He too stiffened. For a moment, I thought he was going to grab for the rifle, but he caught himself and put his hands in the air as he stood up.
“Step away from my comrades,” Jean-Claude called. “Stay clear of their rifles.”
Both Grandpère and Dad did so, moving back toward us. Jean-Claude gave Cody a little shove. “You! Go over there with your father.” As Cody gave a sob of relief and took off running, our captor stepped behind me, jamming the pistol in my back. “Move. I want to see what happened here.” Then to Rick, “You. Cripple. Stay right there.”
I looked over my shoulder. “They stepped into a rattlesnake den.”
His eyes widened for an instant and then went dark. “I do not believe you.”
I shrugged. “Go see for yourself.”
“You show me!” he snarled, pressing the muzzle hard against my back.
I didn’t have to say anything. The blood and scattered body parts of a dozen snakes bore silent witness, as did the multiple puncture wounds—now dark with blood.
Malcolm was incoherent with fear, rolling back and forth and howling in pain. Geoffrey was sitting up now, holding his leg, moaning softly. His face was white with shock. Malcolm’s cheek was already turning dark. I knew what that meant. A rattlesnake’s venom is injected directly into the bloodstream. Rodents, birds, and other small animals are a snake’s primary food. Venom doesn’t kill instantly, but it does contain toxins that cause paralysis. This slows the animals down enough for the snake to follow their scent until they cannot move. It also starts breaking down fleshy tissue so it will be easier for the snake to digest. Both of those processes are extremely painful.
“They’ve been bitten several times,” Dad said. “We need to get them help as soon as possible.” He started slowly toward us. I could see the shock in Jean-Claude’s eyes and wasn’t surprised that he didn’t object.
Dad’s voice got Malcolm’s attention. He opened his eyes. When he saw Jean-Claude, he started yelling. “I’m dying, Jean-Claude. Help me! Help me!”
Geoffrey turned too. “You gotta help us, Jean-Claude.”
With hands raised i
n the air, Dad went to Malcolm, giving Jean-Claude a wide berth. He knelt down and put his hands on Malcolm’s shoulders. “You’re not dying,” he said. “Most rattlesnake bites are not fatal. Thrashing around only pumps the poison into the system more quickly.”
“You lie!” he screamed. Then to Jean-Claude, “He wants us to die. I need a tourniquet. Get me a tourniquet for my leg.”
Dad stood up again and spoke to Jean-Claude slowly and calmly. “About eight thousand people are bitten by rattlesnakes in the United States each year,” he explained. “Fewer than ten of those die. But those who do, do so because they didn’t get help. If you put a tourniquet on his leg, it cuts off the blood to the limb and he will likely lose it. We keep antivenom shots in the first-aid kit in the boat. Malcolm has been bitten at least half a dozen times. If we inject him and Geoffrey now, that will stabilize them until we can get them to a hospital. But if we don’t do something immediately, they will both die.”
Jean-Claude’s head swung back and forth between Dad and the two men on the ground.
Grandpère spoke rapidly in French. Jean-Claude seemed barely to hear him. “Come on!” Grandpère snapped in English. “It’s over. Your friends need help and they need it now.”
To my surprise, Jean-Claude held up his hand, as if to ward off the words. Then he started backing up, waving the pistol at all of us. “Stay away from me.”
“No!” Geoffrey shrieked. “Don’t leave us.”
The Belgian stopped, staring down at his two partners. Then, catching us all off guard, he leaped forward and snatched up first Geoffrey’s rifle and then Malcolm’s. He waved us back with them. All the time his eyes kept flicking to the ground, watching for any more snakes. Finally, he looked down at Geoffrey. “Sorry, mon ami. I can do nothing for you now.” And with that, he spun around and sprinted for the truck.
Geoffrey tried to get up, but his leg collapsed and he went down again. He started swearing and cursing, shaking his fist at the disappearing figure. Malcolm began to sob hysterically.
Jean-Claude did not turn back. In seconds, he was to the truck. He threw the rifles in the back, jerked the door open, and roared off in a cloud of sand and dust.
As I watched the truck bounce down the hill and turn north on the road that led away from Lake Powell, I felt a curious mixture of emotion. It was a blow to know that he was getting away. One more enemy still on the loose out there. But to have him gone had removed a tremendous complication from our lives. Now all we had to do was—
“Rick.” Dad’s voice cut into my thoughts. “Is your leg up to a brisk hike?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Okay, then. I need you and Cody to go to the boat. Go straight down the hill there, like Malcolm was going to do. It’s the shortest way, and while it’s a little rougher, it won’t tire you out as quickly. Cody, you get me the first-aid kit and get back up here as fast as you can. But you need the keys to the boat first.”
Dad dropped to one knee and fumbled at Geoffrey’s waist. He unbuckled the ammunition belt with its pistol, holster, hunting knife, and phone attached. Then he rolled Geoffrey onto his side and pulled it free. The man screamed out. Dad ignored him, tossing the belt aside. He looked up. “Grandpère. Get Malcolm’s belt off too. And get the boat keys from his pocket for Rick.”
Rick spoke up. “Mack, I left my phone in the boat. You and Danni and Grandpère had yours, so I left mine. Do you want me to call Don?”
“No,” Dad shot right back. “That will just frighten Mother. But call 911. Tell them where we are, and that we have antivenom. Then call Clay. His number’s on the speed dial. Tell him what happened. Tell him about the white truck.”
As Rick and Cody started toward Grandpère, Dad looked at me. “Danni, check and make sure there are no more snakes lurking around. Once you’re sure it’s clear, help Grandpère bring Malcolm over here by Geoffrey.”
As I moved gingerly forward, searching the ground for any sign of movement and making sure that I wasn’t stepping on dead snakes, Dad started trying to calm Geoffrey down. By the time I reached Grandpère, he had retrieved the gun belt and the boat keys out of Malcolm’s pocket as Dad had asked. He removed the pistol and handed it to me, then tossed the belt aside and the keys to Rick. Rick and Cody set off immediately.
Gratefully, I saw nothing moving as I looked around. I guess all the rifle fire had sent any remaining snakes running—or slithering—for cover. That was the one nice thing about rattlesnakes. They weren’t aggressive unless confronted. “We’re clear,” I called.
I rejoined Grandpère and helped him lift Malcolm to a sitting position. He howled in agony. I stared at the puncture wounds on his face and arms and nearly lost it. I swallowed quickly to keep the bile from coming up. I didn’t want to think about what must be going on in his body right now. Concentrating on Grandpère, I moved in and took Malcolm’s legs. Together we lifted him as best we could and half carried, half dragged him over to where Dad was working on Geoffrey. He screamed and cursed and bit his lip so hard it started to bleed.
Dad looked up as we joined him. “Get the knife, and—”
Geoffrey’s head jerked up. “Are you going to cut the wound open and suck the blood out?”
“No, I’m not.” Dad tossed me the shirt. “That’s pure Hollywood stuff.”
“You have to get the poison out!” Geoffrey screamed. “My leg’s going numb.”
Dad just shook his head. “Danni, use the knife to cut the laces on his boot. The foot is already starting to swell. Get the boot off of him.”
At that, Malcolm’s eyes flew open, and he gripped Grandpère’s arm. His fingers bit deeply into the flesh, causing Grandpère to wince. “Don’t let me die. Please don’t let me die.”
“You’re not going to die,” Dad snapped. “More people die of wasp and bee stings than from snake bites. We’re going to get you both a shot of antivenom, then we’ll get you to a hospital as quickly as possible. Now shut up and try to stay calm.”
The chopper from Page, Arizona, arrived in just under fifteen minutes. A sheriff’s deputy was with it and put both men in metal cuffs. As soon as it was gone, we all headed for the boat.
As we approached, waving to Rick to let him know everything was all right, I was thinking about Grandpère’s rebuke down there on the road. I wanted to apologize, to thank him for verbally slapping some sense into me. But I didn’t trust my voice to speak quite yet.
Dad was a few feet away, speaking rapidly into Rick’s phone, giving Clay more information on how to find us. “Hold on,” he said after a moment. He lowered the phone and turned to us. “Did either of you happen to get the license plate number of the truck?”
We both shook our heads. “It was an Arizona plate,” Grandpère said. “I did notice that.”
“And it was a late model Ford F-350,” Rick added.
“Yeah,” Dad said glumly. “I told him that. The only problem is, more white vehicles are sold than any other color, especially in Arizona. Jean-Claude could go any one of several directions from here.” He started to explain that to Clay, but I suddenly cut him off.
“Wait,” I said. A thought had just popped into my head. Don’t ask me why, but I was suddenly remembering last night up on the top deck of the houseboat when Cody had asked us his question. “What do you see when your eyes are closed?”
“What?” Dad asked.
I shook my head and clamped my eyes shut. For a moment, there was nothing, but I was concentrating hard. After a moment, a shadowy, white shape began to form. I felt a thrill of exultation. It was the truck, and I was looking at it from behind. I squeezed my eyes even more tightly closed. Slowly the image grew larger, like I was zooming in on it with a camera. I held my breath, staring at the place where the license plate would be.
And it happened. First it was a blur of color, but then it continued to resolve and grow larger and larger. In a moment,
it blotted out the truck and filled the entire frame of my vision. I swung around, my eyes flying open. “It is an Arizona plate,” I cried. “Number 942, ATG. Expiration tags are November 2011.”
Staring at me in open amazement, Dad started to repeat it into the phone.
“Wait,” I cried again. I didn’t have to close my eyes this time. This was something that I was suddenly feeling. Very strongly. “Tell Clay he’s not going out by way of Big Water. He turned north, heading for Escalante.”
This was amazing.
“Remind him he has our phones. Track ’em, and they’ve got him.”
Dad spoke rapidly, repeating what I had said.
Just then, I felt an arm go around my shoulder. I turned to look up into my grandfather’s face. It was very grave. He took me by both shoulders and turned me to face him directly. Only then did he finally speak. “Well done, ma chérie,” he murmured.
Then Dad called out again. “Clay is sending someone for Mom and Don. But he has a question for you, Danni.”
“Oh?”
“He wants to know if it would be all right if when he gets here, he gives you a huge bear hug and then kisses you on both cheeks.”
Grandpère laughed. “Tell him it is the French thing to do.”
“Yeah,” Rick said. “And then it’s my turn.”
I was grinning so big that it felt like my cheeks were going to split. “Oh,” I drawled. “I see no reason why you should have to wait for him to get here.”
It is way past my bedtime and I am so tired that I can barely keep my eyes open, so I am going to do it backwards. I’m going to write some conclusions tonight, then tomorrow I’ll write up everything that happened. It’s my journal, so I guess I can do it however I like.
I will also write about this totally awesome experience we had tonight after we got back to the houseboat, where we sat around and talked about all of the feelings we had about all the things that have happened to us. But I will just say this now. I have the most incredible parents in the world, and tonight, I decided that, number one, I want to be as strong as my mom when I grow up. And two, I want to marry someone as strong as my dad. That’s the best way I can make sure I am strong enough to help my children be strong for whatever is coming.
To Run With the Swift Page 18