by Dawn Mattox
We stood there, side by side in the black void. It was the man's turn to panic. “What is it? What do think he's doing?” he asked in a harsh whisper. His voice cracked, and I heard him swallow hard. I might have even heard him break into a sweat. Fear radiated off him like a wood stove on a cold winter night.
“What's your name?” I asked the man.
“William. William Barros. They call me Wild Bill.”
“Ok, Bill. I suggest you sit down and don't move.”
“Why? What is it?” he asked.
“Snakes. Lots of snakes.” I replied.
I heard him running back to the door, tripping on the stairs and cursing in pain as he fell. He was the one yelling and beating on the door this time. For myself, I sat very still for what seemed like hours. At last, Bill was silent too. I imagine he was exhausted from his assault on the steel doors and the beating Logan had delivered. I began to sing, softly. I sang every worship song I could think of from “Amazing Grace” to “Silent Night.” I sang, but I did not move. Not even when I heard a rattle low and to the right. I didn't flinch. These are my mountains, I thought to myself. I just sang, and out of my songs birthed words of hope, and grace, and mercy.
I knew I stank. And while the scent of urine may attract bears and bobcats, Lefty always said it repelled snakes. I could only hope he was right. I know rattlesnakes prefer eating mice over people and that their rattle is comparable to a growling dog. The rattle stopped, but I sang on until some time later when the Lord gave his angels charge over me, and the sweetness of sleep washed my fears away.
I have no idea how long I slept. I only recall waking up with a painful longing for my mother. It was a familiar emotion, one I frequently experienced growing up here, at the cabin. There were long, lonely days, months, and years of yearning for my mother's love. But never more than at this moment did I ache for her arms to wrap around me. I could almost hear her whispering, “Don't you worry. Mama's here. Everything's gonna be okay,” and in my spirit, I saw her sweep the hair back from my forehead with a soft, gentle touch.
Then the spirit of my dad came to visit. “Get up, baby girl. Daddy's here. Find a shovel and kill the damn snake,” he commanded in the vision.
Kill the snakes? I didn’t have a shovel and I had lost the flashlight. I couldn't even see my fingers in front of my face.
Next in the apparition-parade came Travis. I saw him clearly in my mind.
“Use the Force, Sunny. Close your eyes and feel the Force.” I could practically hear Star Wars music playing in the background as he faded away. It was all so surreal that I thought perhaps I had been bitten in my sleep and was dying. But the visions overpowered my fears, and they continued.
Next came my husband, the rescuer. His fierce countenance pierced the darkness, ordering me to “Hold on. Never give up. Never give in. Help is on the way.”
And sadly, as usual, He who came last, should have been first. My Jesus came into my spirit saying, “I am the light. I am the way. I put before you both life and death. Choose life.”
Okay, Lord Life is good, but I could use a little of that light here.
What to do with all of this information in the great darkness?
Darkness? Wait a minute. Where was the flashlight? What happened to the light? Sitting up, I prepared to do a mental rerun when I heard a sharp hiss. Something was moving across my leg.
It was time to transcend from victim to survivor. The minute I trusted the Lord who gave me life, I had my epiphany. The divine revelation of my vision was revealed. Instantly, I believed: everything was gonna be all right, I would hold on, let “The Force” be with me and kill the damned snake.
Snakes move fast, but I moved faster. This one was not coiled but stretched out over my leg. I had the advantage. Using the “Force,” or maybe it was the Spirit, I grabbed toward the hissing end of the weight on my legs with both hands, clamping down on a powerful timber rattler, desperately clutching its head and feeling the sting of its tail as it frantically lashed at my face and body. In a frenzy of adrenalin-driven strength I screamed out “Daddy!” and smashed its head repeatedly on the metal floor between my legs until at last, the colossal snake lay limp across my lap.
My heart was crashing in my ears. “Come on snakes! This is what I do,” I roared, “I catch snakes... so come and get me!”
Flinging the carcass hard, I heard it slap against the opposite wall. I heard the Lord say, “Fear Not. I will give you the power to trample on serpents!”
Then I heard him say, “God, Lady! I don't know who's crazier; you or Logan.” Bill was still alive and still huddled somewhere over by the door.
“Hey, Bill,” I said breathlessly, “there's a flashlight somewhere in here. We should try to find it.”
“Yeah, right. I'm right behind you.” Even in the dark, I could sense the sarcasm on his face.
“Listen. If you're really a cop, shouldn't you have cop-people who will come looking for you?” I asked.
“No... Maybe.” he paused. “I lost cell reception when I followed you up here.”
I laughed, somewhat hysterically. Nerves jagged. “Yeah,” I said, still breathing hard, “That is a problem up here.” I wet my lips. So thirsty! Then I asked, “How did you know I was coming up here?”
He seemed to be considering whether or not to tell me, and then reluctantly said, “Our informant sent me a text.”
“Informant? What informant?” I demanded, squeezing my eyes shut in a vain attempt to block his answer even as I asked, anticipating yet another stab to the heart. “Tell me.”
I heard him sigh. “Pretty, young, blonde,” he doled out the clues like columns and rows of hints on a crossword puzzle.
“Paige?”
If it weren't for the likelihood of multiple snake bites, I would have run over there and bitten him myself.
“What about you?” he demanded. “Are you saying Travis doesn't know you're here?”
I was stunned. “How do you know Travis?”
“Jeez, my head is killing me,” he groaned. “We work for ATF.”
My head reeled as I absorbed the possibility. I ran various scenarios through my imagination, alternately accepting and dismissing what he was saying.
“I saw you with Logan. You're no agent. You're just another Bandido dealer.”
The man gave a short laugh of contempt. “I almost have to agree with you, Chica. After a few years of undercover, you start to question your own identity,” he said, more to himself than to me. “Your Logan is a pretty smart guy for a dirt-bag. He managed to put a lot buffers between himself and his crimes. He solicited traitors inside other gangs and paid them with Hells Angel money. Risky as hell, but brilliant. He paid a Mongol in guns to take out your dad.”
My head spun, and sparkly flecks of light danced before my eyes in the absolute blackness of the shelter. “I don't believe you. You're a liar.” My voice trembled in rage, anger, and denial. “Are you saying that Hells Angels sanctioned my father's murder?”
“Course not. You're not that stupid, and neither am I. Logan and his buddies are traitors to their clubs, you know?”
“Even if you are an agent, you're in with the Bandidos, not the Angels or Mongols. How could you know these things?”
Bill made some more noises as he moved around. “Logan agreed to pay a couple of our... let's call them, 'independent contractors' in guns to blow up the Mongol clubhouse.”
“Why?” I whispered. “Why?”
I could hear him exhale. “To kill Lefty's killer. Make it look like a gang war.”
The pictures Travis had shown me of the charred remains of the burned-out clubhouse pixilated before me in shades of gray, like a thick cloud of smoke before my eyes. And like smoke, it sucked the oxygen from my lungs.
Logan was the man who had my father killed! Had Travis known that?
Bill continued, “They blew the place to hell, but Logan never made good on delivering the guns. That's where you come in, and that's why we're stuck
in this God-forsaken snake hole.”
“You tried to kill me!”
“You nearly blew my cover!” I heard him stumble against something. “Holy shit! Ohh...! Jesus Christ! I've been bitten. God! It bit me! God damn it... Ahh—”
“Bill don't! Get a hold of yourself!” I tried to maintain as I listened to him alternately crying and cursing. “Take off your belt. Put a tourniquet above the bite,” I ordered. He was breathing erratically.
“Bill?”
I stood up slowly, hoping to reduce my body-target size, and inched my way in Bill's direction and toward where I hoped the flashlight had fallen when the doors were slammed shut. Moving carefully, with extreme caution, I tentatively felt along the floor with my foot until I bumped into something solid. A crate of guns. Good!
Lifting the lid and reaching in, I dug around until I felt one. It wasn't loaded, and it wasn’t as if I was going to shoot my way out, but it would make a much safer probe in the darkness than my foot. No sooner had I pulled the rifle from the crate and turned around, then I heard a warning rattle from another snake.
The difference between victim and survivor often depends on a person's immediate response to the threat. The natural action-and-reaction to a snake’s rattle is to jump backward. Instead, I pushed with all of my might— tipping several crates of M-16's, sending them sliding and crashing toward the sound.
Wiping my face with my arm, I moved forward again, past a silent snake and toward a silent Bill.
I wondered how many more snakes were entombed with us. I wondered if the one I had just dumped the crates on was dead or just wounded. I knew from my childhood that snakes can still deliver a deadly bite long after they are dead. Lefty always cut their heads off with a shovel and then buried them for safety’s sake.
Tap-tap-tap! I inched my way toward Bill, making lots of noise and vibration with the rifle butt in hopes the sound would frighten the snakes.
“Fear not, Fear not,” I repeated in time to the taps. This was my mantra.
My toe bumped something that suddenly moved away from me. Or rather, rolled away from me. Squatting down, I reached out tentatively in the darkness, fingers wrapping around a cold, hard cylinder. The flashlight!
Trembling with hope, I pushed the button. Darkness. Banging the Maglite against my leg, it flickered on just long enough for me to see a giant timber rattler, fangs protruding, silently sailing through the blackness... sinking them deep into my leg. Startled, I cried out in pain.
The flashlight fell and rolled, blinking off and on. I seized the rifle, gripping it with both hands, and leaped after the snake as it hurried to escape. A lethal cocktail of rage and adrenaline surged through my veins as I repeatedly hammered the snake with the gun butt into a writhing, bloody pulp before collapsing on the steps next to Bill and the flashlight with its spasms of faltering hope.
Tears falling, hugging the flashlight, I offered up a “Thank you, Lord.” At least I wouldn't have to die alone in the dark.
People from the mountains and country know all about rattlesnakes. It is no surprise to us that between seven and eight thousand people in the country are bitten every year. And every year we get updates on what not to do: No tourniquets, no sucking out the venom, no ice or elevation of the body or affected limb. We are told there is a progression of shock, followed by fainting, or blacking out. So, it was with some surprise that I found myself falling from darkness into light instead of the other way around.
I looked around for my dear friend, Jesus, to welcome me home. Joy unspeakable, there He stood in a cloud of light, just as I had imagined; all aglow, hair flowing, eyes unearthly. The clouds rolled back, revealing all of my hopes... I blinked rapidly. Make that—all of my nightmares!
It was the devil himself, Logan, and he hovered just inches from my face. The light I’d seen from above was filtering in through the open doors of the bomb shelter as Logan disentombed Bill and me.
Laughing. Stinking. Spitting out, “Hey, baby. Got you a little love bite?” More laughter as he slid his arm under my neck, lifting me onto his lap and squeezing my face as my head rolled from side to side.
“Sunny side up. Wake up! Are you alive, sweet thing? How about a kiss for old times' sake?”
My leg was numb; the rest of me tingled. Overwhelmed with nausea, I gagged. I must focus or die. I felt a mass of slime and gore under my fingertips. The dead snake I had pulverized, and something else. Something hard.
“Time for a quickie, baby? A little send off for the hubby?” Logan pulled my shirt open and lifted my bra. Fresh air on bare breasts. My head spun, making bile rise as he worked to unbutton my pants.
Not this time!
Now or never! I gagged violently, cheeks ballooned, and vomit erupted from behind pinched lips. Logan pulled back to avoid the stream of spew. I leaned over, my hand madly groping through entrails to grasp what was left of the snake's still-solid head. Pulling myself upright, swung hard on Logan’s neck—driving the open mouth of the dead snake straight into it.
Screaming, jerking erratically, Logan clawed his way backward from under me, frantically clutching the viper head that was latched firmly to his throat. He crawled over Bill's inert body and up toward the light.
“Freeze! Police! Get Down! Get Down! Get Down! You're under arrest.” Bam! Bam! Warning shots? Travis had arrived with the cavalry.
“Poor Bill,” I mumbled, fearing the worst as the world swam around me. I remember thinking that Logan had probably ignored the advisement and quietly hoped that Travis had shot him.
“Sunny, I'm here. I'm going to save you.” Chance appeared through shadows and light, kneeling over me as he checked my vitals. The last thing I remember was Chance’s strong arms carrying me, and him desperately shouting orders for someone to bring him Crotaline—whatever that was.
PART THREE
I survived because the fire in me
burned brighter than the fire around me.”
CHAPTER 37
There was that light again, temporarily blinding me as I squinted, blinking my way back to reality. Sounds filtered through brain-fog that slowly dispersed. Noise was replaced with a misty vision that faded into the worried face of my husband.
“Doctor, she's waking up!” Emotion glistened in Chance's eyes, threatening to spill over, like heady foam bubbling up and spilling over from the mug of a tired and thirsty man. His red-rimmed eyes were underscored with dark circles. Chance looked like a soldier who had stayed his post through a long night of battle. He brushed his fingertips across my cheek, and his simple gesture answered my questions before I asked.
“You're okay.” He wet his lips. “You're going to be alright.” Worry lines etched his brows, and concern broke his words like waves upon rocks. His heart was not on his sleeve, but in his face. “I swear... I don't know whether to kiss you, or divorce you,” he exclaimed. “I am so angry. And so relieved.”
“And I am so sick.”
I perceived many things: (1) I was not in heaven, (2) I had survived the snake bite with both legs intact, (3) I had a bandage over my cheekbone, and (4) Chance was pretty upset, albeit relieved about (1) and (2).
Dr. Lance entered the room and intervened before things could escalate. Moving to my bedside, he beamed down in his characteristically assuring way. I knew Dr. Lance. He was a gifted, generous man who had donated his skills to provide cosmetic surgery for disfigured victims of domestic violence. I felt privileged to know him and was relieved that he was my doctor.
Dr. Lance winked and said, “It's true. You are a very lucky young lady.” He pointed to my bandaged leg. “Just a small amount of venom in your leg, but your pants died a terrible death,” he joked with hands across his chest.
“Not my Gloria Vanderbilt’s.” I tried to joke back, but my voice was thick with emotion.
“Don't get too excited,” scolded the doctor, his expression turned warm with confident assurance. “The leg is swollen and there will be some scarring, but I have you on an antibiotic dri
p and we’re monitoring your blood pressure. You’re stable for now but I am keeping you here for a couple of days until the swelling goes down.” He tapped me with the chart, “And we want to make sure there are no complications.” He gestured with a tilt of his head toward Chance and continued in a more serious tone.
“You know, Sunny, your husband's quick thinking with that shot of Crotaline probably saved your life, or at least saved you from possible amputation.” He turned to Chance and bumped knuckles. “Good job!” Then, turned his attention back to me. “I did my best work on the cut on your face. You'll barely notice it when it heals. Questions?”
I couldn't think of any.
“I'll be back to check on you later. Meantime, get some rest. Doctor’s orders,” he said, tapping my chart with his pen. He left the room.
So much had passed between Chance and me—so much love and so much hurt. We each spent a few moments in quiet contemplation of one another. People who are close can comfortably do that. One thought, however, took center stage in my mind.
“That's twice you've saved me,” I told Chance. “Um, make that three times. I almost forgot being used for target practice at the house.” A scripture rose in my mind: There is no greater love than to lay down your life for another.
His peaceful mood shifted. “Yeah, we have to stop meeting like this. Let's move to Alaska and start over.”
I laughed until I noticed that he wasn't laughing with me. He looked serious.
“Brrr! Get real. You know I can't stand being cold. My feet don't thaw until the Fourth of July.”
That got a chuckle. Chance knows all about my icy feet on his warm legs. “Okay. Hawaii, then. It's always warm in Hawaii. We'll move there.” He still had that determined look in his eyes. “I can get work with their police department, and you can walk the dogs on the beach every day. Great sunsets, moonlit nights, pineapple grilled mahi-mahi...” His lips turned up at the corners, but the intensity of his gaze never wavered.