“I’m okay,” I tell him. “I think my stomach issues are passing.”
My belly gurgles.
Hank gives me a skeptical look, but nods. “We should both drink more water first,” he says.
We start off to the creek. Hank strides forward with uneven steps, and I drag myself along behind him.
“I wonder if any of the planes we’ve seen are from our search party,” I say.
“I think they’ve all been commercial aircraft,” he says. “Our search party will fly low. They’re probably working methodically from the path of the casino boat.” Hank pauses. “Oh, look at that! More mushrooms.”
I lean against a tree while he walks into some shrubs.
“This protein should do usyoww!”
Hank stumbles out of the bushes, clutching his hand to his chest. “Fuckity fuck!”
“Oh no!” I step forward, clenching my ass as my stomach twists. “What happened?”
He sucks on the back of his hand and spits on the ground. “Something bit me.” He sucks his hand again, looking aghast. “Ow!” he says, affronted.
I gently take his hand to see. There’s a red welt growing right beneath his knuckles. When I let out a sympathetic hum, he squeezes my hand lightly.
“That looks bad. Did you see what it was?”
He removes his hand to suck on the bite again. “No idea. But it smarts like hell.”
“Would it help to rinse it off in the creek?”
“More reason to hydrate,” he mumbles, wincing slightly. “I’ll keep myself calm to slow my heart beat. Knowing our luck, there’s probably venom pumping in my veins.”
We start walking slowly again, Hank holding his hand above his head and breathing with steady, intentional huffs as I wobble and focus on retaining my guts.
“That plane really can’t come fast enough,” I say as brightly as I can, and a cattail shoot falls from my foot.
Hank snorts. “Hopefully before the venom drives me insane.”
“Is that really a concern?”
He shakes his head. “Almost certainly not.”
We get to the creek and both plop down. I put my face in the water and drink, and the cool liquid soothes me, the relief a momentary distraction. When I look up, Hank is staring at his hand.
I’m dizzy and a little confused, but I do my best to take stock. Hank is down one hand, which means I need to step up. My stomach distress slows me down, but I can still move. I can’t undo any of the mistakes that got us here, but I can make sure I contribute to our rescue during these last few hours.
Standing weakly, I gather my resolve. “I can recognize the violets and mushrooms,” I tell him. “Why don’t you rest and take care of your hand. I’ll forage quickly, and when you’re ready, we can get back to the fire. With luck, we’ll have it done before we need to find shelter.”
It feels good to say that. I’m a man with a plan, too.
Before he can answer, though, a crack of thunder rolls through the sky, echoing across the island.
Hank’s eyes widen. “Damn it.”
I look up and see the dark clouds rolling steadily our way.
“Shit,” I agree.
“The wood,” Hank says as he pushes himself to his feet. “If it rains, the wood will be too wet to ignite.”
