“Split the difference. Go with moist.”
Creed held out his fingers, and Gator drizzled a stream of water onto the gauze.
The first swipe went fine.
Creed set that gauze aside and opened a second packet, so he didn’t risk re-embedding any crystals he’d wiped out.
This second time, Jeb clamped down hard on Creed’s finger, growling at him, with the wide-eyed fierceness of a kid that didn’t give a shit; he just wanted the pain to stop.
If someone did this on the battlefield, Creed would have punched the guy lights out and called it a day. Here, though, he tensed his muscles so he wouldn’t flinch and kept his eyes soft as he asked in a soothing tone if Jeb would please open his mouth.
Jeb was seven. This was probably the most intense, scary pain of his little life, and his developing survival brain was glitching. It happened. Creed could stay soft. Speak to the boy kindly and wait for Gator to intervene.
Gator reached around Creed to press gently into the boy’s temporomandibular joint, easing the bite enough for Creed to extract his hand. The gauze, catching on Jeb’s teeth, was left behind, and Gator snatched it.
As soon as Creed’s finger was free, the kid was back screeching.
“Brother, check that Jeb didn’t bite through your glove and that he didn’t draw blood. Did you know that a human bite is one of the most deadly bites there are?”
“Not Komodo dragons’?” Creed asked, removing the glove and inspecting the deep dents the boy had left in his fingers.
“Yeah, well, that’s more a case of venom. I’m talking bacteria here. And I paraphrase Dr. Jefferson the last time I had a call patched through, ‘the pathogens are diverse and aggressive, the bites tend to lead to infection, and those infections are treatment resistant, keep people’s mouths off your body, please.’”
“Good counsel,” Creed said as he gave his hand a vigorous shake to stop the throbbing. “Hey, Jeb, I’m taking you back to your mom. It’s your decision: Do you want me to try to remove the berry needles from your mouth, and then we go? Or do we just go?”
The boy pointed—it was in the wrong direction, but that was probably how they’d ended up on the search in the first place. It was the easiest thing in the world to get turned around in the woods.
Creed caught Gator’s eyes so he could weigh in. There was no way they could force their help on the boy.
“Speed of extraction,” Gator said.
Creed opted for a quick text to the mother because a call might get involved. Gator gathered the equipment and put the berries into a bag, marking the date, time, and probable plant source.
Then Gator took over Creed’s backpack. “Do you want me to put you on my back like a piggyback, or do you want me to put you on my shoulders?”
The kid held out his arms.
Gator lifted the boy onto Creed’s back, and Jeb immediately wrapped his arms tightly around Creed’s neck, cutting off his airflow.
“Hold your elbows like this. See? Nice, safe, and much more comfortable. You can put your head on my shoulder if you’d like.”
Jeb squirmed around, and Creed was afraid he’d want to get down. It would be a long damned trail; the child was too invested in screaming to make progress walking on his own two feet. Then Creed realized that Jeb was looking for Rou.
Rou was the one who found him and stuck by him, lending her sharp bark, which traveled the furthest, so Creed could locate the sound.
“She’s here. Rou’s going to lead us out.”
Rou looked up at Creed when she heard her name. And because it was the easiest way to make this work and keep Rou out front where Jeb could see her and feel comforted, Creed held out his leg and commanded, “Scent. Scent.”
Rou booped him with her nose.
“Track back,” Creed said, so she’d follow his trail to the dell.
The boy only stopped his screaming for the brief moment that he was clamped down on Creed’s finger.
With the screeches in his ear, and little Rou racing by his side. It was a hell of a twenty-minute run.
Striker liked to repeat the seal phrase, “The only easy day was yesterday.”
