Chapter Seven #3
They took a few steps, and Troy cried out sharply.
“Lean on me as much as you can. I’m your crutch, remember?”
Troy gripped Brian more tightly and leaned in, his panted exhalations hot on Brian’s ear.
“That’s it,” Brian soothed. “I’ve got you.”
Step by agonizing step, it seemed like hours before they glimpsed the light sand of the beach beyond the jungle’s thick leaves.
The water bottle was long empty, and sweat drenched them both.
Brian’s arms ached—one from pointing the flashlight in the right direction, the other from supporting Troy’s bulk.
Troy had quietened to sharp breathing and the odd cry of agony.
As they finally reached camp, Brian lowered him as gently as he could to the blanket by their campfire.
“We need water,” Brian muttered. His throat was like sandpaper.
He quickly filled a bottle and helped Troy drink before finishing off the rest. He’d turned off the flashlight when they reached the sand, the stars bright enough even though the moon had waned.
He switched on the light now to examine Troy’s foot.
Jesus.
The red swelling had spread halfway up his shin. Brian crouched and eased off the flip-flops, the one on the swollen foot barely budging. He finally unwedged it as gently as he could. “It still burns?”
Troy nodded jerkily, his lips pressed together and eyes closed. There was something… Brian reached a finger to Troy’s face, swiping it across his chin. He flashed the light up, his heart thumping.
No, no, no!
Blood dripped out of Troy’s mouth. Was he bleeding internally?
Was poison slowly killing him? Brian wasn’t entirely successful at keeping his voice calm this time.
“Let me see your mouth. Open!” He shone the light inside, half expecting to see a rising tide of red in Troy’s throat. But it looked normal, so what…
Aiming the light at Troy’s lips, he saw the torn flesh. “Stop that!” He squeezed Troy’s arm. “Stop biting your lip. Let it out.”
Breathing hard, Troy gritted his teeth. “But…”
“Scream! Here, you want me to scream with you?” Brian tipped back his head and let loose a howl of all the tension and fear strangling him.
His throat hurt, but it still felt good to unleash it.
He realized after a moment that Troy was shouting along with him, and Brian sat beside him, an arm strong around his shoulders as they screamed into the unblinking night.
“Am I going to die?”
Troy’s scraped-up, barely whispered question hovered in the dank air of the teepee. At Troy’s feet, Brian looked up sharply. “No.” He put every ounce of assurance and confidence he had left into his next words. “You’re going to be just fine.”
Troy only murmured.
The mosquito net brushed Brian’s back, stretched to capacity where he crouched, trying to avoid even the slightest touch to Troy’s swollen foot.
He hoped he wasn’t making the wrong choice to elevate it, but when his grandfather’s congestive heart failure had caused painful edema in his lower body, elevation had been one of the treatments.
Brian had filled the backpack with coconuts and folded his flannel blanket on top for extra cushioning. His kingdom for a few damn pillows.
“Okay, I’m going to lift your leg. I know it’s going to hurt, so scream as loud as you want.”
Troy nodded tightly, but only cried out weakly as Brian lifted under his knee, trying to avoid the swollen flesh below. As he got the foot settled, Troy panted, every muscle straining.
Brian asked, “How does that feel? I mean, I know it feels hideously painful. But do you want me to adjust the position of the pack?”
Troy shook his head.
“Drink some more. Here.” Brian crawled around and tipped a bottle to Troy’s chapped, bloody lips. “Is the Advil helping?”
“A little.”
Meaning not at all, Brian suspected. Troy settled back down, closing his eyes and shivering, and Brian wondered if he should cover him.
He shook uncontrollably, but his skin burned.
For now, no blankets. Brian had rinsed Troy’s lower leg with saltwater, which had made him spasm.
But hopefully the salt would act as an antibacterial.
Poking through the first aid kit again, Brian sighed.
Would it help to bandage it? Or just be incredibly painful?
Band-Aids, gauze, and tweezers weren’t any help.
He thought he could see two puncture wounds on Troy’s big toe, but it was so swollen it was hard to tell. He’d dabbed the toe with iodine anyway.
After Brian got him to drink more, Troy drowsed restlessly, whimpering.
Brian had given Troy an antihistamine along with ibuprofen, and there didn’t seem to be anything else he could do.
When Brian had sprained his ankle years ago, the doctor had told him to follow the RICE guideline: rest, ice, compression, elevation.
But this was a bite or sting. This was poison. Was elevation just helping it spread through Troy’s system faster? Brian had never wanted the internet more than in that moment. They were powerless without information and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it.