by Doug Kelly
During the night, while the others were asleep, Kevin became ill. His right hand was swollen and very painful. He broke into a sweat and his breathing became labored. The nausea urged him to lean over his raft as he felt his stomach turn, and the saliva dripped from his mouth. Kevin began to vomit violently and it felt like his guts were being ripped out of his body through his throat. The vomiting and diarrhea lasted throughout the night. Mary tried to give him sips of water and Kevin tried to drink. The nausea was overwhelming his tired body when, near sunrise, the effect of the poison began to fade. His fatigued body retreated into much needed sleep and, just before sunrise, all three weary travelers finally slept at the same time.
Dylan was usually the first person to wake in the morning. Because of Kevin’s illness, he knew they would not be travelling anytime soon, so there was no urgency to wake early and start the day. When Kevin’s sickness faded, he took advantage of the temporary tranquility as he stretched out and faded into sleep once again. He knew the other two would do the same; Kevin needed as much rest as possible.
Dylan was deep asleep when he felt the tap of something metal on his forehead. He did not understand why they would be trying to wake him up. Staying up the entire night from Kevin’s violent illness should have been fatiguing, and he knew they needed to rest. Then he heard the voice; it was a man’s voice, but not Kevin’s.
“Hey, wake up,” said the stranger to Dylan, as he took a step back. He had poked Dylan on his forehead with the barrel of a shotgun.
Dylan’s eyes flew open wide at the sound the strange voice. He sat up startled and shifted his body slightly away from the man, but not very far, as the raft confined him to a seated position. He quickly turned his head to see his rifle, but it was out of his reach on the opposite side of the raft from the stranger.
The man was wearing a flannel shirt and overalls with black cowboy boots. One of the overall straps was not clasped and hung loose. The man had the shotgun under his arm hanging downward, not in a threatening way.
“Who are you?” The man’s eyes squinted, more from curiosity than anger or fear.
“Nobody, we’re just passing through.”
The man saw Dylan quickly glance toward his rifle. The look toward the weapon was enough for the man to respond.
“Don’t do anything stupid.” He patted his shotgun gently. “We’re just talking, so stay cool. You’re on my property and I need to know what you want.”
“We don’t want anything and we’re not looking for trouble. Like I said, we’re just passing through.”
The man paused, looked toward the sleeping couple and faced Dylan again. “I’ve had some people ‘just passing through’ before. They caused problems for me. They were really crazy, sort of spooky. You look like you’re doing okay, not starving and desperate like the others.”
Dylan nodded.
“Do you need any work? I’ve got a lot of corn in this field.” The man tilted his head back toward the field of corn, but kept eye contact with Dylan.
“He’s sick. We’ve been up all night.” Dylan nodded his head in Kevin’s direction. “We just wanted to wait it out until he gets better.”
The man stepped away from Dylan and more toward Kevin.
“What’s he got?”
“Snakebite. It was a copperhead.”
The conversation woke Mary and she gasped at the site of the man and his shotgun. She quickly shook Kevin. Kevin was groggy from sickness and fatigue. He acknowledged the man’s presence with a lethargic groan.
“Hey, amigo, let everyone know we’re just having a conversation and not to do anything stupid. Okay?”
“This is…”
“It’s Ben. Just call me Ben.”
“I was just telling Ben that we’re passing through. We’ll leave when Kevin gets better. This is Ben’s land and—”
Kevin interrupted. “Water, I need water, please,” said Kevin, in a hoarse voice.
Ben saw a bottle of water between him and Kevin. He picked up the bottle and bent over to hand it to Kevin, but not before he gave a quick glance back toward Dylan and the rifle. Dylan noticed the glance and held up his hands passively.
Kevin reflexively tried to reach for the water with his right hand. When he pulled it out from underneath the tarp, everyone could see it had swollen to enormous dimensions. That hand was not going to work. Kevin then slowly extended his left hand for the bottle of water and Mary quickly intercepted it, opening it for her husband, and holding it while he drank. Vomiting and diarrhea throughout the night had dehydrated him.
“Hey, buddy, your jaw is messed up, too. You look like you’re in a world of hurt,” said Ben, sympathetically.
“It’s his tooth, and it’s infected,” said Mary. “We should have taken care of that a year ago. I just don’t know what we’re going to do. We need a doctor.”
“Pardon the expression lady, but the shit has hit the fan. Good luck on that.” He paused and removed his hat to scratch his head. As he spoke, he pointed at Mary with his index finger as he held his hat in his hand. “If his tooth is infected, then you better pull it. You better yank it out with pliers now, before it gets worse.”
Kevin closed his eyes and groaned.
“Dylan says we don’t have any pliers,” said Mary, looking at Dylan.
Dylan shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn’t know how to pull a tooth anyway.”
Ben went over to Dylan. He got close to him and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Your friend over there is getting ready to meet Jesus. I’ll see what I can do.” Ben stood up and started to back away from the group. “My wife worked at a dental office for a while. I’ll see what she has to say about that tooth.”
“Bring her back, let her look at his tooth,” said Mary, with exasperation.
“No can do. No offense, but I don’t know you, so she’s not coming over here and you’re not going near my house. It’s better that way.” He turned completely around and walked toward the field of corn.
“Hey, Ben,” said Dylan.
Ben stopped and turned back around.
“How did you know we were here?”
Ben laughed. “Smoke, lots of smoke. It was like you were trying to give away your location.” He disappeared into a row of corn.
Dylan looked at Mary and she realized that she was the one who had put the leaves and green wood on the fire.
“Hopefully, something good will come of this,” said Dylan, as he grabbed his rifle and moved it to his side. “Cover him back up. Let’s try to get some sleep.
Dylan slept for several more hours, and it was hunger that woke him up this time. The late morning sun was bright, so he changed his tarp to lean over the raft for shade and tried to quietly fix some food while the couple slumbered on. The sun was climbing higher in the clear sky and a warm breeze was picking up. Dylan looked at the smoldering fire, and then looked at the grove of wood where the snake had been. He frowned to himself and went in that direction to get more wood for the fire. Dylan carefully stepped around and kicked the wood before picking it up. He cautiously collected a supply of firewood and deposited it all by the fire. Kevin and Mary woke up as he stacked the wood.
Dylan took some food over to Kevin and offered it to him. Kevin lethargically shook his head and reclined again. Dylan handed the food to Mary. “We can’t waste it, so here you go,” said Dylan. He stepped back from the couple and silently motioned for Mary to come towards him.
“He’s bad. Ben was right, we have to do something,” said Dylan.
Mary nodded; she had a sad and defeated expression on her face.
“He’s got to have some pliers,” said Dylan, angrily. “Damn it, I should’ve said something. I should’ve told him to bring back some pliers.”
“But you said you didn’t know how to do it?”
“This isn’t worth dying over. I should have said something. We have to try.”
Mary’s face was horrified.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sa
y that.”
Mary held the crucifix around her neck with her thumb and first finger, and then gently gave it a kiss, trying to comfort herself. “I heard what he said,” Mary said, nervously. “I heard that man whisper to you; he thinks Kevin is going to die.”
Dylan shook his head. It was something he did not want to talk about anymore. He walked toward the field of corn to escape the conversation, leaving Mary standing by the campfire. He stood near the rows of corn that must have been planted before the event, before the grid collapsed. He grabbed an ear and ripped it from the stalk. A quick glance back to camp showed Mary sitting by her husband again. Dylan began to walk the edge of the cornfield. He held the ear of corn with a tight grip and used it to hit the stalks of corn as he walked by. He heard something in the cornfield. Something was moving in the stalks of corn and the sound was getting closer.
“Ben?” asked Dylan, as he curiously peered into the rows of corn. There was no reply. The sound grew louder, so he began to step away from the corn. Suddenly a German shepherd lunged from behind the tall stalks. It was about six feet away from Dylan. The dog bared its teeth and delivered a low growl. Its hair was standing up along the ridge of its spine. Dylan frantically looked around for a rock or stick to use like a club. There was nothing but the ear of corn in his hand. He faced the dog and slowly moved backward. He knew that if he ran the dog would attack.
“Mary!” yelled Dylan; he raised the ear of corn to throw it at the dog. “Get the rifle!”
Dylan did not turn around. He knew if he turned away, the dog would be on him.
“Hurry up, Mary! Squeeze that trigger!” exclaimed Dylan as he continued to back up slowly.
The dog’s growling stopped and it lifted its head. The dog sniffed the air and its ears twisted, searching for a noise. Dylan heard a whistle. It sounded like a person whistling for a dog.
“Don’t shoot! Hold it! Someone is in there,” said Dylan, still backing away.
The dog turned and ran back into the cornfield, and Dylan quickly turned to sprint for his rifle, grabbing it from Mary. His hands were shaking.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but that was close.”
Ben emerged from the cornfield. He did not have his shotgun this time, but was carrying something in his hand. The dog was right behind him. “Looks like you met my dog. Sorry about that. She got away from me.”
Dylan pointed to his rifle and shook his head disapprovingly. “That was close.”
“Sit! Sit!” Ben commanded the dog. The dog sat and Ben commanded her to stay as he walked toward Dylan and Mary.
“I need to keep her away from that water,” said Ben, pointing to the inlet, “and the trees. There is good fishing over there, but it’s thick with snakes. I already lost my other dog to a copperhead.”
Mary went pale and looked back to her still sleeping husband.
Ben held up a pair of pliers. “Let’s sit down and talk.”
They walked back to the campfire and sat down. Ben tossed the pliers to Dylan.
“I talked to my wife. She said, ‘grip the tooth and wiggle it back and forth until it comes out.’ That’s it.”
“That’s it?” asked Dylan.
“That’s it. Well…almost it,” replied Ben, tipping his hat upwards. “My wife said that between the snakebite and the infected tooth, your friend Kevin is going to need some antibiotics, and fast.”
“I’m listening,” said Dylan.
Ben took his hat off and used it to fan his face. “I’ll help you pull his tooth. Then we go into town and get some antibiotics. What do you think?”
“It’s just that easy?” asked Dylan, skeptically.
“Maybe, but it’s my wife’s idea.”
“I’m still listening.”
“She said that pet stores sell antibiotics for aquarium fish and they are the same as human antibiotics.”
“Really? Is she positive?” asked Mary.
“Absolutely. I’m sure the pet stores will be looted, but people would’ve taken the dog and cat supplies and pet food. They won’t give a shit about their fish. Hell, they probably ate their fish by now,” said Ben, laughing. “You go into town with me and we’ll split everything we take. Sound fair?”
Dylan looked at Mary and she nodded.
Ben extended his arm and opened his palm. “Mary, give this to your husband. It’s a painkiller. Once it kicks in, we should take the tooth.”
Mary took the pill wrapped in a small piece of paper. “I’ll go talk to Kevin.”
“How do we get into town?” asked Dylan.
“Horses. I have two. We’ll ride out at sunrise tomorrow,” Ben said, looking back toward the dog to make sure she was still there.
“Okay, it’s a deal.”
Dylan looked down at the pliers in his hand, then toward Mary and Kevin. Kevin was sitting up. Mary made eye contact and nodded her head as she tossed away the empty piece of paper that had held the pain pill. By Mary’s expression alone, they understood that Kevin had agreed to go through with the tooth extraction.
Dylan and Ben put a tarp on the ground and helped Kevin onto it. They positioned Kevin on the edge of the tarp and rolled the tarp around his body, like a cocoon. All that was exposed was Kevin’s head and neck. The tightly wrapped tarp restrained his arms. Dylan held the pliers and straddled Kevin’s supine body and Ben held onto Kevin’s head. They put a short but thick stick in the back of Kevin’s jaw to keep him from biting down on the pliers or their fingers.
“Remember, don’t crack the tooth. Just grip it and wiggle it around until it gets loose,” said Ben.
Dylan nodded, took a deep breath, held it briefly, and tried to relax as he slowly exhaled. Dylan held up three fingers. “On my count. One…two…three…Hold him! Hold tight!” Kevin’s head jostled on the hard ground and he groaned in pain. Dylan pushed, pulled, and wiggled against the tooth with the pliers. He began to feel a slight looseness from side to side. “It’s moving…almost there.”
Kevin began to cough and choke on his own blood. “He’s bleeding! Get that tooth out,” said Ben, frantically. “The snake venom thinned his blood. His mouth is filling up with blood.”
Dylan leaned his body weight forward and he felt Kevin’s tooth release from the jaw. “Got it! Flip him over.”
Kevin turned his head toward the ground, coughed, and spit a cupful of bright red blood onto the dirt. He coughed once more and took in a deep breath. Both men swiftly unrolled Kevin from the tarp. Kevin curled his body on the ground, grimaced, and touched his jaw with his swollen hand.
Mary handed him a small piece of cloth wadded into a ball. “Bite down on this. It will help the bleeding,” said Mary, as she sprinkled some water on her husband’s forehead.
Dylan picked the molar up from the ground and washed it off. He carefully inspected the tooth. “It’s intact. We got the whole thing.” He handed the tooth and the pliers to Mary and humorously said, “Keep them for your scrap book.”
Ben had walked back over to his dog. The big German shepherd had obediently stayed in the same spot. Ben motioned for Dylan to come to him, and Dylan acknowledged with a wave.
As Dylan closed his approach, the dog alerted and began to growl at Dylan again.
“Heel!” commanded Ben.
“Your dog doesn’t like me,” said Dylan, stating the obvious.
“She doesn’t see many strangers out here. Let her get your scent. She’ll warm up to you.”
Dylan slowly extended his hand. The dog began to smell the air, then licked Dylan’s fingers, hand, and arm.
“Looks like you’ve got her approval now,” said Ben, petting his dog.
“What’s her name?”
“Lucky.”
“How’d she get that name?”
Ben pointed to the wooded area by the river. “When she was a pup, Lucky and her brother were down there chasing rabbits. Snakes bit them both. Her brother didn’t make it. So, she’s Lucky.”
“I need all the luck I c
an get,” said Dylan, now freely petting the dog.
Ben fanned himself with his hat a few times and turned to walk toward the cornfield. He gave a quick wave and a smile. “I’ll be back at first light tomorrow.” He disappeared into the rows of corn. Dylan heard a quick whistle and Lucky ran into the cornfield, following her master.
Although the man and his dog had already disappeared, Dylan waved towards the corn, and then returned to Kevin and Mary. Dylan stepped over to his raft and sat down. “He’ll be back at daybreak. We’ll head for town early.”
Mary forced a smile at Dylan as she put a wet cloth on her husband’s forehead. She knew that Kevin was deathly ill, but was trying to display strength during his adversity.
Chapter Seventeen
The warm breath and cold nose of Lucky, Ben’s German shepherd, woke Dylan at the break of dawn. Before Dylan could get his hands up to ward off her affectionate advances, she had already licked the side of his face, which cooled from the evaporating saliva. He immediately extended his arm to force her back from the raft. His greatest concern was that her sharp claws would puncture it. She promptly licked his hand and arm instead.
Ben was crouched at the campfire prodding the glowing embers. He quietly laughed to himself as he watched his dog interact playfully with Dylan. “I think she likes you now,” said Ben, placing a small log on the remains on the campfire.
Dylan eased the grip on his rifle and placed it down in the raft. He extended a finger toward the dog and commanded, “Sit!” The dog partially lowered her hindquarters and whimpered slightly, wanting to play.
“Sit!” commanded Ben. The dog immediately complied. The dog sat with her mouth partially open and her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth, panting.
Ben continued to poke at the red embers with a stick, persuading the log to come ablaze.
“Ready?” asked Ben.
Dylan stood and stretched. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He noticed that Mary was awake, her eyes wide as she listened to their conversation. Mary’s hand was on her sleeping husband’s forehead.
Ben started to walk away, and with a quick whistle, called his dog. Dylan wondered if Ben had called him with that whistle, too. With little regard to the issue, Dylan grabbed his rifle and filled his pockets with cartridges. Ben stood at the edge of the corn with the dog, waiting for Dylan.