Percival Everett - Half an Inch of Water - Stories

They sat there staring straight ahead. Neither cast a glance at the other. Well, young lady, Sam said, obviously to himself. What we have here is two gallons of shit in a one-gallon bucket. He looked at his hand; there was little blood. I’ll bet you’re glad the big man has come to rescue you. He let out a nervous laugh, then sighed a long breath, trying to slow his panic, his heart rate. He tapped the child on the shoulder and gestured that he wanted her to get on his back. He pointed at her and then at his back. He held out his unbitten hand and smiled. She leaned over and looked at his injured hand. He showed it to her. Yeah, he got me. I wish the fact that he was little meant something good, but it doesn’t. She reached out and touched the hand, her fingers cool against his skin, small, light.

Sam turned his back slightly to her and patted his shoulder. The girl understood, put her arms around his neck, and climbed on. He stood, found her remarkably light, weightless. His hand hurt and he thought he could feel it swelling. So much for any hope that it was a dry bite. He walked less gingerly on the way back, feeling a new sense of urgency, both for the girl and for himself, also recognizing that his too-careful pace was the reason for his bite. He also harbored the notion that like lightning the snakes would not strike twice. That notion turned out to be wrong. After successfully kicking away a couple of snakes, a large one that he did not see struck and latched onto his calf just below his knee. He reached down, grabbed the snake, and hurled it away. The bite hurt like hell. Zip was barking and bouncing, but still she stayed.

Clear of the snakes, Sam gently put down the child and collapsed, mainly in disbelief. He was swelling at both bites and either felt or imagined some tingling in his mouth. He felt weak. He was dizzy. He stood and guided the girl back through the maze of boulders to his horse. He tried the radio. Static. Dusk was on now and everything was indistinct. An owl hooted somewhere. The air was much colder. Or was it chills?

By his reckoning he was six or seven miles from where he had left the sheriff. A voice scratched through the radio. He pressed the talk button. Say again. This is Innis. Nothing. In case you can hear me, I have little Penny with me. I repeat, the child is safe, unharmed and with me. However, I have managed to get myself bitten twice by rattlers. I’m about six miles southeast of the staging area. Be advised, need help. Do you read? Static. Maybe they heard me, he said to the girl. He pointed to his ear.

He opened his knapsack, which he’d tied to the saddle, and pulled out his first-aid kit. Never leave home without a snakebite kit, kid. In fact, he’d never used a kit or treated a human for a bite. Bites to horses were rare and horses were so big that they usually just got sick and got better. Considering how long it had taken him to get to the kit, it seemed a lot like closing the barn door after whatever was already out.

If only he’d been bitten only once, he’d probably be okay because of his size. But two bites, that was a different matter. He addressed the bite on his leg since it was more recent and because the snake had been bigger. He cut his pant leg with his pocket knife and ripped it up to his knee. He then swabbed the area of the bite with an antiseptic pad. He fumbled with the sterile blade, nearly dropped it when he pulled it from the plastic sleeve. He sliced through the two fang holes and used the extractor to draw out what poison he could. He hurt while he did it. For some reason, swearing helped and so he did, pleased at least that the child could not hear him. He wondered if she could swear in sign language. He finished, looked at his hand. He had reservations about using the same blade again. He decided not to. Penny watched. He stopped and listened. The world seemed quieter with her there.

Sam studied the darkening landscape. He wished he had a flare gun, then laughed at himself. He could also wish that he could teleport them back in time. If we had some ham we could have ham and eggs if we had some eggs, he said. He tried the radio again. Dale’s voice scratched through.

Dale, he said.

Sam? Night air seems to help the signal.

Dale, I found her. I have her here with me.

He found her, Dale said to the others. There was cheering in the background.

She’s okay, unhurt. I’m about six or so miles east and a little south of you. I wish I could be more precise.

Copy that.

Dale, I’ve been bitten twice by rattlers.

Jesus, Sam. How bad?

I don’t know. We’re going to start back. I have a flashlight burning. I’ll be sticking to flat ground. Come out and try to meet us.

Roger that. We’ll find you.

Leaving now.

We’ll find you, Dale repeated.

Sam took off his jacket and put it around Penny. He mounted and then pulled her up into the saddle in front of him. He cantered for a while, but the horse felt uneven. The girl didn’t add enough weight to be a problem. He stopped, got down, and looked at the horse’s feet. The animal had a quarter crack on his left forefoot. He was hurting. If the animal came up lame, they’d be in a real fix, he thought. He left Penny in the saddle and led the horse, walking as briskly as he could. His mouth was surely tingling now. The swelling at both sites was now undeniable. He was sweating and his mouth was wet with saliva. The sweating made him cold and then there were the chills. He did not yet feel nauseated, but he knew that was coming. He wished the girl could hear and speak, because he needed the distraction of conversation to keep himself together. Zip stayed extra-close, sensing trouble. I’ll be all right, girl, he said to the dog. You just keep me awake.

It was dark now. The nausea was beginning. The dizziness was more profound. He was glad he wasn’t in the saddle. He’d probably slide right off. He was worried about a lot of things now. Walking in a straight line is hard to do, he remembered, and without a distant point of reference it is impossible. Given his disorientation there would be no reckoning by the stars, even if he could do it. The last thing he needed was to lead them off into the wilderness away from where they were expected to be. He stopped the horse and brought the girl down. He pushed down in the air with his palms, trying to say that they would wait there. He pulled some sagebrush together into a pile and in short order she was helping. He broke off some creosote branches and started a fire. There was a lot of smoke at first. It stung his eyes. He then imagined that the burning sage might cleanse him. He fanned it over his body as he’d seen Old Dave do on many occasions. He laughed at himself. He looked to find the child doing the same thing. He pushed at the fire and watched it catch better.

He put on more branches. The fire was large now, he thought, easy to spot from the sky or a distance. It warmed them, but it did nothing to stop his chills. He heard a plane someplace. Penny took his hand, his bitten hand. He looked at her, felt himself drifting. He watched the flames, advancing, retreating, dancing, hypnotic the way flames always are. There was Dave Wednesday, younger than he had ever been while Sam knew him, sitting in front of a fireplace in a cabin.

You’re thinking you’re having a vision, aren’t you? Dave said.

Pretty much. As offensive as that must be to you.

Snakebit?

Afraid so.

Dave offered Sam a mug of coffee. It’s real strong, will keep you awake for days and days. You’re not a spiritual person.

That’s an understatement.

Yet here you are, hallucinating stereotypes.

Pretty much. Sam drank some coffee. It was actually rather weak, though it was too hot even to sip. So, how do I handle these bites?

You’re the doctor.