6. Six
Weston Monroe, international rock star, would go and get himself bitten by a venomous island pit viper on an uncharted island in Indonesia.
She held his limp body in her lap. He would die, and it would go in the history books as all her fault. They would bury him in Bali, and everyone would flock to his grave like they did to Jim Morrison’s. His headstone would read, “Here lies Weston Monroe, who died tragically young of a snakebite because Kat Brooks couldn’t save him.”
Kat’s heart pounded against her ribs, the blood roaring in her ears. She fought to keep the panic at bay, but it threatened to consume her. What options did she have? He was going to die, and she was going to hyperventilate to death.
Kat had to pull it together. She wasn’t some simpering person who caved under pressure. She could save him. She just had to think of how. Before Kat had left for college, she and her grandmother had spent a lot of their time learning about Native medicine; she had the knowledge, she just had to put it all together.
After hours upon hours on the tour bus, Kat, along with Cher and Lydia, had seen countless documentaries on animals when they hadn’t been watching others on cooking or travel, and she racked her brain for any on snakes.
Knowing they were coming to Bali, they’d watched a travel series on the island, and if she remembered correctly the green snake was definitely the pit viper. Based on West’s reaction to the bite, there was indeed poison coursing through his body. She had to make an antivenom and apply it to the wound, and she should have had it on him say . . . now, or West would die.
No pressure.
Once again, Kat hoped for a great creator, not just in the sky but all around her, as she needed all the help from the spirit she could get. Her family was staunchly Christian, but she preferred the old teachings of her people. These teachings had been effectively whitewashed out of her family. But ultimately, she didn’t believe in much of anything. The problem with being a semi-atheist lost on a deserted island needing to save someone’s life was that there wasn’t anyone to pray to. Which meant she sincerely hoped she was wrong, for West’s sake.
As the venom coursed through his bloodstream, his body twitched and writhed in her lap, his muscles spasming. With each quiver of his skin, concern churned within her. If she wanted to save him, she had to act quickly. She inspected the bite mark on his foot. Fortunately, it seemed the viper hadn’t sunk its fangs in deep.
Stupid, stupid man, walking around the deck without shoes. Not that he knew he would be thrown overboard, but that was beside the point. If he’d had shoes on, he would be awake, still teasing her, frustrating her, and making this situation more bearable, and she wouldn’t be holding back tears while racking her brains for how to make this antivenom.
Lying him down on the rainforest floor, water became her first inclination. She didn’t have a cup and searched for the largest leaf she could find.
Her gaze fell upon a towering banana tree, its leaves swaying mockingly just out of reach. Kat felt tears prick at her eyes as she realized there was no way she could scale the tall trunk with West in tow. But then, a glimmer of hope appeared—a lone coconut had fallen from one of the palm trees above. Without hesitation, Kat rummaged through West’s pockets until her fingers closed around the small pocketknife she knew he always carried. West now lay stock still, not a good sign, and Kat tamped down the sense of dread that reared its ugly head.
The coconut was going to have to wait.
Her grandmother had a distrust of modern medicine after losing her husband to cancer. Personally, Kat felt there was a place for both in the world, but she still loved learning about the old ways. Kat had wanted to be closer to nature and understand the ways nature provided for them. Closing her eyes, she thought about the story of a boy bitten by a rattlesnake; the remedy had been chewed tobacco, the milky root of prenanthes alba, the bark root of the tulipier,spiraea trifoliata, and because it was a serious case, they added sage for good measure.
Surveying her surroundings with a heavy heart, she knew the plants used in the remedy were native to North America and wouldn’t grow here—except maybe the sage. There seemed to be plenty of different varieties of that growing in abundance here.
Kat paced back and forth, wringing her hands as she stared down at West. If only they were back in the States—in America, she knew exactly which plants to look for. Little blue and yellow ones with white roots that could save his life.
Kat tried to recall any knowledge she might have. What did they watch together? Hear about? Almost ten years of living in the city and being on the road had made her disconnected from the natural world.
Think, Kat . . .
She paused as her eyes fell upon a stack of tiny white flowers, resembling the trifoliata, and as she stared at the tiny little white plants, a voice played in her head—the tour guide from one of their visits while in Bali.
They’d gone to Tanah Lot, also called Snake Island, a Hindu temple surrounded by snakes. Come to think of it, maybe West should have chosen a different vacation spot that hadn’t been so full of snakes.
The tour guide had assured them the snakes wouldn’t bite, and they would all be fine. Then she remembered what he’d said. There was a hospital easily accessible, but that before modern medicine, locals used Mucuna leaves as an antivenom by grinding up its leaves or the purple beans found in the buds and applying it directly to the wound.
As she studied the delicate petals of the white flowers, her fingers rubbing over them, her thoughts turned to West. If she combined traditional healing methods from both cultures, perhaps she could save him.
Cringing, she knelt beside his infected foot. The first thing the people had done was suck the venom out of the wound in the story of the boy. Her stomach roiled at the thought of possibly poisoning herself, but she knew this step would be critical in slowing the poison. Kat placed her lips around the punctures and sucked, immediately spitting out the fluid that entered her mouth. West owed her big time for this. After a few more tries at sucking out the venom, she ran to the stream and rinsed her mouth out. She would go to her grave with West never knowing she sucked on his foot.
He’d never let her live that down—if he survived.
Next, she needed to find Mucuna leaves, or beans, and sage; this island had to have something close. It was uninhabited, and humans hadn’t destroyed its ecology yet. She’d read that Indonesia had upward of six thousand uninhabited islands, so this one had to have something useful.
Grabbing the knife, she took one last glance at West. “Please don’t die,” she pleaded as she ran off, searching for the plants she needed.
Later, as the sun began to set, Kat felt a surge of adrenaline course through her body. With determination, she had searched for the specific plants she needed—Mucuna leavesandsage. She had climbed trees, foraged bushes, and even chased off a bird to get what she needed.
Finally, she found her way back to West and checked his pulse—it was weak but still there. She grabbed the coconut and tried to crack it open with her knife, but the hard shell refused to budge. Panic rising, she desperately searched for anything that could help her break through the tough exterior.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a fallen tree with a branch jutting out. With one swift motion, Kat slammed the coconut onto the branch but only managed to scrape her hand against it.
“Dammit!” She continued cursing as she hit the stubborn coconut against the branch. West’s life depended on it—she needed to break it open so she had a place to grind the herbs into medicine. Time was running out.
With trembling hands and aching muscles, she finally cracked it open. Without hesitation, she gulped down half of the precious milk and saved the rest for West. Time was of the essence—she needed to get the poultice on him. She quickly returned to her task, using the butt of his pocketknife to mash together various plants and herbs. She didn’t have chewing tobacco, but she remembered her grandmother’s trick—spitting into the mixture for added potency. Every second counted as she searched for something to put it on, eventually settling on a piece of her own torn pants.
West was only in his shirt and shorts, while Kat had layers upon layers—linen pants, a tank top, and a hoodie.
Crawling over to West’s injured foot, she gasped at the angry red wound. After tending to it, she knew they needed lemon balm or chaparral to properly clean it out and stave off infection. She wasted no time in cutting off the bottom of her pants and rushing over to the nearby stream to rinse it off. Time was ticking.
Kneeling beside West’s foot, she desperately hoped he would stay passed out for this procedure. Inhaling deeply, she readied herself for the gruesome task of cutting off the pieces of dead skin from around the wound that had been killed by the venom.
Kat’s stomach churned as she surveyed the red, angry skin. She steadied her hand and cut away the damaged flesh. Though West groaned in pain, he was still. Concentrating on the task at hand, Kat soon finished her work and applied her antivenom poultice, quickly tying her pants tightly around his foot.
She set his head in her lap and forced the coconut milk down his throat. He coughed and sputtered most of it out, but she managed to coax him into swallowing a decent amount.
Satisfied that she had done as much as she could for him, Kat set his head down on her balled-up hoodie, and laid her head on his chest, closing her eyes as she listened to the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing.
Hours later she awoke to the moon in the sky, the sun long gone, and the growl of her stomach.
She checked West’s pulse, which was steady, but she was still apprehensive about trying to move him. On one hand, they needed shelter. On the other, if she moved him too early it could injure him further. She let the gentle rise and fall of his chest calm her nerves as she listened to the many sounds of the rainforest at night.
Birds chirped loudly, and land animals rustled the trees. Kat closed her eyes hoping to tune out the noises that left her feeling exposed. Were there bobcats or other large mammals on this island? Would she be eaten? Her thoughts strayed to the worst-case scenarios before she could tamp them down. This was why she needed West. He kept things light and fun.
Her stomach growled at her again, shaking her from thoughts of her demise at the claws of a tiger. It had been well over twenty-four hours since she’d eaten anything, and her gaze settled on the overripe papaya she had fought a macaque for, unsure if she should eat it.
She didn’t have the first clue how to start a fire. She didn’t even know how to fish, or cook one for that matter, so the gross looking fruit was her only option. She may have understood the healing aspect of nature, but when it came to the hunting and gathering part, she was a failure. The spirits, if they were out there, were simultaneously applauding and booing her as an Indigenous woman.
If West would just wake up, he could cook. Kat shouldn’t even remember that about him, but she did. She knew so much more about him than she should, more than he ever cared to know about her.
Earlier, when he had put his hands on her arms and gazed into her eyes as if he was going to say something utterly romantic, Kat had been thoroughly disappointed when he’d simply promised to get them off the island.
She was so stupid to think he would ever have any romantic feelings for a woman like her. She had already been down this road and been summarily rejected. He dated sophisticated women, or he liked crazy, dramatic ones. She knew exactly what he saw when he looked at her. Average height, average brown eyes, average brown hair, a too-big butt, and thick thighs. Sure, she had nice breasts, but considering all the models he dated didn’t have a chest to speak of, that likely wasn’t something he found attractive.
She groaned, the noise probably alerting some predator to her location. “Why do I even care?” She dropped her head in her hands, knowing she shouldn’t entertain any feelings for West.
He was far too attractive to ignore—his arrestingly handsome features made it difficult to look away. But it wasn’t just his looks that made her heart flutter; they shared a common love of music.
The first album they’d worked on together had been truly collaborative. He had let her into the process, and working with him had been amazing. He played every instrument on his albums, and Kat, Lydia, and Cher had worked with him to create the harmonies. He even asked their opinions on lyrics.
Then feelings had gotten involved, and a wall had come up between them. But that hadn’t stopped Kat from watching him create beautiful music, leaving her to daydream about what those talented fingers would feel like on her skin. The dexterity in each digit was enough to make any woman go mad.
She would watch in awe as he played his guitar. His head gently lolling backward, his eyes closed, his hair falling over his forehead. Every line of music played with complete abandon, and she knew that was exactly what he would look like in the throes of passion. Music was his great love, and she doubted any of the women he’d been with ever came close. Thousands of people each night saw more of him than those women ever did, and he probably didn’t even realize it.
Kat had lost that in herself. She hadn’t written a single note in years. She sat down at the piano plenty and played other people’s music and sang other people’s lyrics, but never her own. At this point, she wasn’t even sure she could. Her creative drive had diminished or gone missing. It didn’t seem to matter how much yoga, meditation, or grounding practice she did, she wasn’t at one with anything. She was adrift in the universe, and now she was literally and not only figuratively lost.
Kat didn’t like being alone with her thoughts like this. On tour they were never alone, always together doing something to keep the boredom at bay. She was going to miss everyone so much. A lone tear rolled down her cheek, and she realized that was the first tear she’d allowed herself since West had upended her life, deciding that he was done with music and with her. And then she thought about their current situation, and the tears started to flow so fast she couldn’t stop them.
She was going to die alone. Whether on this island or back in Iowa where her family lived, it didn’t matter, both were equally depressing. She had no future, no love prospects, no career, her life was a failure. Her fifteen-year high school reunion was already in the works, and she was absolutely not going to that. Her ex-best friend Peggy, with her four children and dentist husband in the ‘burbs of Des Moines, was living a much better life than she was at the moment.
Not that Kat wanted a husband or kids right now. She loved her life: she traveled the world and met amazing people; she only wished she had been ready for the ending.
She felt betrayed by her mind and her own internal clock. Why did society make her feel like she was past her prime to start over?
Her stomach growled at her again, and she picked up the overripe papaya, the yellow skin now turning brown in places. It was soft to the touch and she was scared to open it, but she had to eat something. Using the knife, Kat cut into it easily, the fruit soft and squishy. As the papaya fell open, she tried not to gag at the putrid smell that emanated from it.
Taking the knife, she cut out a few pieces of fleshy fruit that seemed okay and swallowed, choking as she forced them down with some coconut milk. Her eyes watered, and she pushed away the urge to vomit the disgusting rotting fruit back up. Inhaling deep gulps of air, she repeated the process until most of the offending fruit had been eaten.
She might die from that rotten piece of fruit, or she might die of starvation, or she might die from lack of shelter, but one thing was for sure: at this rate she and West were both going to die within the night.
She moved West’s head onto her lap, keeping her warm. His breathing was still an even pace, so maybe the snakebite wasn’t going to be the death of him. She was going to wait another hour to change the poultice, and then she would try to sleep again. Maybe West would wake up in the morning and they could find better shelter. It wasn’t like either of them had anywhere to be. Kat wondered if the rest of the group was searching for them, or if they had flown back to America by now. Then a thought occurred to her. Had they told her mother?