Fear shot through Carla like venom from the cobra. Her hands flew to her mouth but did nothing to stifle her terrified scream when she saw Jackson cry out and clutch his thigh. She seized Lisa’s hand in a death grip while her eyes clung to the monitor as the horrifying scene unfolded.
Cheng Li grabbed from his side pants pocket a slim black case. It looked like an oversized wallet folded in half, but as Cheng opened it she could see on the camera it was a first aid kit containing, among other things, several syringes. With calm but quick efficiency he began using the syringes on Jackson, plunging one needle after another into the veins of his left wrist.
In the meantime, Jackson took a small scissors from the kit and cut away his pants leg. Two red puncture marks, almost mockingly small compared to the damage they inflicted, were surrounded by angry, swollen blisters.
Trickles of cold sweat rolled down Carla’s face and in the valley between her breasts. Her stomach churned with fear, but she knew she had to stay strong. If there was anything, anything she could do for Jackson once he and Cheng emerged from the enclosure, she’d do it. She’d be there for him.
Cheng did little talking on the two-way except for a check-in to ensure everyone knew what happened. “Cheng to base.”
Lisa picked up the radio. “Base here, Cheng.” “You saw what happened?”
“Confirmed.”
“Unfortunately it wasn’t a dry bite.”
“Help’s on the way.”
After that exchange, the monitor area grew silent as a tomb, all eyes riveted to the cameras as they watched Jackson and Cheng. Two senior researchers had raced into the enclosure with a stretcher to carry Jackson out. The rest of the staff knew they could do nothing more and a pervasive sense of helplessness, like a thief, stole into the room.
Carla swallowed back her fear as she watched Cheng giving Jackson the antivenin injections.
“What did Cheng mean by a dry bite?” she asked Lisa.
The researcher’s eyes never left the screen as she replied. “It’s when a snake bites without discharging venom. It happens sometimes. Unfortunately not this time.”
Once Cheng finished, he retrieved bandage wrap from his kit and began winding it around Jackson’s leg, above and below the bite but not onto the injury itself. They had propped Jackson up against a tree with his legs sticking straight out in front of him.
“Why doesn’t Jackson lie down?”
“He needs to keep his heart above the bite,” Lisa replied.
“And the bandage?”
“Helps slow the blood flow to his heart. You don’t want to restrict it, just slow it.”
Just as Cheng completed his administrations, the camera picked up the two researchers who’d arrived with the stretcher. The men lifted Jackson onto it, all the time moving slowly, wanting him to exert as little effort as possible. Movement increased blood flow, and blood surging through Jackson’s veins would carry the poison with it.
When the men were finally ready, they left the area and headed back to the building, careful not to startle any of the snakes and risk another bite. Once out of the enclosure, they were met by Quinn who waited with a golf cart that could navigate around the strewn branches and he drove Jackson to his room. By then his skin was warm and he had difficulty breathing. As they hurried along the hallway toward his room, they passed the door to Amy’s room. Quinn pounded on it.
“We need your help, Amy,” he called out as he banged. The door swung open immediately. Amy’s face reflected a picture of calm, even when she spotted the gurney upon which Jackson lay.
“Get him on his bed,” she instructed. “I’ll be right there.”
She turned away, shutting the door behind her. Carla marveled at how she could be so composed in the face of crisis, but then she remembered Amy was a trained nurse.
They entered Jackson’s room with Amy right behind, carrying an oxygen tank and tubes. Methodical yet quick, she set up the equipment and intubated his nose. In seconds oxygen flowed and Jackson’s breathing began to settle. Amy placed the listening device from the stethoscope she wore around her neck against Jackson’s chest. The room fell silent while she listened to his heartbeat.
“Hand me that,” she said to Carla, pointing to a blood pressure cuff. Carla gave it to her and Amy strapped it around Jackson’s bicep and stuck the earpieces in her ear. She inflated the cuff and then slowly turned the valve to let out the air, keeping an eye on the gauge.
“Sixty over forty,” she announced, and the nervous tension already in the room shot up like a rocket. Even with the antivenin that Cheng had administered, Jackson’s blood pressure had plummeted dangerously low.
Jackson himself was unaware of what was going on around him. He had fallen unconscious.
Amy opened a black packet of syringes, similar to the one Chang had had in the field, and withdrew a small bottle of clear liquid. She filled the syringe and injected it into Jackson’s arm.
“What’s that?” Carla whispered to Quinn, but Amy answered.
“Isotonic saline. It should help get his pressure back up.”
In fact, the first bit of good news since the wretched ordeal began came minutes later when Amy rechecked her brother’s blood pressure. It had rebounded to eighty-six over fifty-nine. Not great, but better.
“There’s nothing else we can do but let him rest,” she said to the nervous gathered group, “so I’d like everyone to go. I’ll monitor him and call for help if I need it. At this point we’ve done all we can.”
With reluctance, the group began shuffling out of Jackson’s bedroom, most of them giving Amy’s hand or shoulder a squeeze of thanks for everything she did. She acknowledged their gratitude, but her face remained a mask of concern. Jackson was her patient, but he was also her brother.
Carla waited until she was finally alone with only Amy and Jackson in the room, and then she pleaded with Amy to allow her to stay. “I’ll help you in any way I can. Whatever you need me to do. But please, I can’t…” Her throat grew tight, forcing her to pause before going on. “I can’t bear to leave him,” she finished in a whisper. “I just can’t.”
She knew she asked a lot. She’d only been there for a few weeks and was requesting privileges well beyond her status. At the same time, she knew she’d ingrained herself in Jackson’s life, and he in hers. Amy knew it, too.
“You might be able to help,” Amy said, nodding her consent. “Talk to him; try to keep him calm.” She glanced down at her brother, her lips a thin tight slash across her face. “I know he looks relaxed, but emotionally he’s under stress. He’s worried about the sanctuary, his staff, the research, getting funding. Hearing your voice, reassuring him he’ll be okay, might be just what he needs.”
“He can hear me?”
“Yes. Research has shown snakebite victims appear to fall into a state of unconsciousness but are still aware of ambient noise around them, including the sound of people’s voices. So if he hears you telling him everything will be all right, it’ll help in his healing.”
“All right.” Carla pulled a chair up to the side of his bed. At first she wasn’t sure what to say, but at Amy’s encouragement the words began to flow.
“Okay, so I’m sure the first thing you’ll want to know,” she began telling Jackson,” is the status of Mariah. You went to check on her, that’s what you and Cheng were doing before you got bit, in case you don’t remember. Anyway, she’s fine. We all watched you on the monitors and all indications checked out. She and the nest are in good shape.”
She leaned back in her chair, warming up to her own monologue and actually beginning to enjoy herself. “And you know, the more I think about it, the less surprising it is she survived so well. I mean there is no way a strong female like that is going to let anything get in between her and the ones she loves. We girls protect our own, whether it’s people or cobras. We protect who we love, and we don’t let adversity get in the way of the bonds between family. That’s just the way it is. That’s why Amy’s going to do everything she can for you, and so am I. Because Amy loves you, and I—”
She stopped before she went too far. Casting a hurried look toward Amy to see if she’d been paying attention, she knew from her soft smile that Jackson’s sister had heard every word.
“I was right,” Amy said, her eyes moist. “The minute we met, I knew you were the one for him.”
Carla quickly shook her head, her objection palpable. “No,” she insisted. “I was just talking, trying to make him feel better, like you said.” Preposterous though it was, she could actually feel her cheeks go warm. “It’s nothing.”
“So you don’t love my brother?”
“I—” She couldn’t quite take that leap, but she couldn’t exactly deny it, either. At the moment Carla felt as if she were in the middle of a suspension bridge hanging precariously between two steep cliffs. She couldn’t go back to where she’d been, but moving ahead had risks as well.
“I don’t know,” she finally admitted, a welter of emotions roiling in her mind. She cast a glance back at Jackson and then bent forward to tenderly brush aside a lock of hair from his forehead. “I know I care for him.”
“I know you do, too,” Amy said, her voice hitching in her throat. “Just don’t hurt him. He’s been through enough.”
At that Carla only nodded, acknowledging what Amy said but unwilling to go further. She didn’t want to make a promise she wasn’t certain she could keep.
She kept vigil with Amy in Jackson’s room for the remainder of the day and through the entire night, fear for Jackson prohibiting her own sleep. At one point, Chef Jean brought over a tray filled with sandwiches and a container of jambalaya. Although both girls were touched by his concern, the delicious food went largely uneaten.
Carla talked to Jackson throughout the night, sticking mostly to banal topics like the weather or movies she’d seen. Amy chimed in now and again, but as evening wore on her contributions waned. When it had been over half an hour since Amy last uttered a word, Carla glanced over to the chair where she was sitting, only to see Jackson’s sister with her legs tucked under her, fast asleep.
“Well,” she chuckled, returning her focus to Jackson, “apparently Amy is about as thrilled with my analysis of the best late night TV as you are.” She took a cool washcloth from the night table and pressed it lightly to his forehead. “Maybe it’s time for a topic change.”
Returning the washcloth to the bucket of ice where it kept cold, she settled back in her chair.
“You know, the last time I was in this chair we were doing something a little more interesting than me watching you sleep.” Her pulse jumped at the searing memory of Jackson thrusting into her as she sat atop him. She lowered her voice, even knowing Amy was sound asleep. “So let’s just make sure that you get yourself feeling better so we can have a repeat session of that one, okay?
“Of course, we’ll have to make up for lost time since my assignment’s nearing the end. Hopefully I’ll have convinced you to sign on with Bartlett Silver. We can do a great job for you, you know. You shouldn’t downplay the value of corporate consulting, Jackson, even though I know you do. But really, our firm—”
Hearing herself being pitch girl for Bartlett Silver suddenly made her stomach churn, and the truth slammed into her like a semi. She was trying to convince herself of a lie.
“Oh, fuck it,” she sighed. “I can’t do this anymore. I just, it’s all wrong. Everything. Maybe Bartlett Silver could actually help Rivard Research. I don’t know. But you know what? The truth is, I really don’t care.”
She glanced over at Amy, whose calm, steady breathing reassured Carla that she still slept. Nevertheless, her voice dropped even lower and she pushed up in her chair to lean toward Jackson.
“I don’t even know whether I’m cut out for the corporate life. I know my family thinks I am. My mom’s always talking about me climbing the ladder. My promotion to V.P. is important to her. It’s like another notch in her belt, you know? A notice to the world that her kids are successful. Whatever success means, I suppose. But people have different definitions of that word. Maybe mine just don’t match everyone else’s.”
A knot lodged in her throat and the hot sting of tears misted her eyes. Blinking against them, she continued. “All I really want is to be happy. Be close to my family. I even wish I was better at sports because I’d love to share that connection with them. But they love me in spite of my klutziness. And in the end, that’s kind of what this life is about, isn’t it? Family, friends, love. I think if we have that, we don’t need much more.”
Jackson’s sheet had slipped down, baring his chest. She looked longingly at him, wishing she could slide her fingers across his smooth skin, along the ripples of his rib cage and his hard muscled abs. Her nipples grew tight as she imagined him playing with them as she had her fun.
Soon, she hoped. He’ll be better soon.