He’s going into anaphylactic shock. I rapidly dig through the first-aid bag while he wheezes, the sound very close to someone being choked to death.
His throat is swelling closed.
He tries to say my name.
“You’re okay. Stay calm,” I tell him like I’m at complete ease. No care in the world.
Where’s your fucking EpiPen?I touch my mic. “Get me an EpiPen.” It’s not in this bag.
“Oh my God, Maximoff?!” Ella almost clutches onto him, but I gently push her back. Maximoff grasps the back of my neck. His head hung, his sporadic breaths cut off short.
“You’re okay.”
He’s not okay.I react calmly in any medical crisis, even when I know the person. Even when my heart wants to lodge in my throat. I swallow it down, and I have one mind that says,fix this. Help him.
Help him.
Do not leave him.
I can’t leave him. In the distance, Quinn sprints urgently towards us with an EpiPen.
“He’s allergic to fire ants!” Ella yells at me.
“I know.” I cup his jaw. His narrowed eyes are determined to breathe when he can’t. He tries to open his mouth for air.
If I could give him mine, I would.
I would in a fucking second—but his passageway is closing, tongue swelling. His blood pressure is dropping, his heart rate slowing. CPR solves nothing.
He needs epinephrine.
I should’ve had an EpiPen on me.It’s the first week of December. We both thought there wouldn’t be any fire ants.
His face reddens. He wheezes, eyes watering. I tighten my grip on his jaw. “I’m here. You’re okay.”
Maximoff wears no fear. He’s just fighting his body to stay conscious.
“He’s going to die!” she screams and bursts into tears.
“No he’s not.” I stare right at Maximoff. “You’re not dying on me, wolf scout.”I promised you.
Maximoff can’t breathe anymore, close to passing out.
Quinn drops the EpiPen on my lap. I bite off the cap and stab Maximoff’s thigh. I hear the click. A spring-loaded needle pierces through his clothing.
And he gasps a lungful of air. Like he’s breaching the surface of a pool after almost drowning.
I hold the pen in place for ten seconds.
He tries to speak.
“Don’t talk,” I say and click my mic. “Akara, we need to call an ambulance. His vitals need to be checked at the ER.” And I need to find where he was bitten.
Maximoff doesn’t argue. For once.
Really, that just concerns me more.
36
