Trevor stopped short before they had gone ten feet. An idea had just occurred to him, and it seemed so obvious he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before.
“Wait,” he said, turning to Micah. “Why don’t I just climb out of the canyon here and get help? That one bolt is missing, but the rest look secure enough.”
Micah frowned. “But I could never handle the brake line with my busted arm. Plus, the rope snapped. There’s not enough rope to make it to the top. You’d have to free-climb.”
Trevor sighed. He had completely forgotten about the broken rope after everything that had followed. “And free-climbing would definitely count as pushing myself, right?”
“Uh, yeah, that would probably be the worst possible thing you could do in your current situation.”
“I figured,” Trevor grumbled.
Micah adjusted his sling, wincing. “But you might have a point. Maybe I should walk ahead and get out of the canyon while you wait here. I’ll be able to go faster on my own, and then you can rest and keep your heart rate down.”
“No!” Trevor said so quickly that Micah raised an eyebrow. “What I mean,” Trevor said, “is that I changed my mind. Now that I think about it, it’s a really awful idea to split up when both of us are injured. Strength in numbers and, er, stuff,” he finished lamely.
He didn’t want to tell Micah the real reason he was so against the idea—he was terrified of being left alone. The thought of sitting here by himself in the dim canyon, staring up at the strip of blue sky just out of reach overhead, while the poison worked its way through his body, slowly shutting down his organs and nervous system . . . He couldn’t help shuddering.
The way Micah was looking at him, Trevor kind of suspected that his friend had already guessed the real reason.
“Yeah, no problem, we can stick together,” Micah said softly. “You’re right, it’ll be safer that way.”
They slowly walked on. Trevor found himself having to watch his pace—he kept wanting to speed up. It felt like they were taking a casual stroll when they should have been racing against the clock. Trevor resisted the urge to break into a run.
Slow and steady wins the race, he reminded himself. Although the tortoise in that story hadn’t been bitten by a rattlesnake.
He tried to keep his mind off the burning pain of the snakebite, but instead Trevor found himself running over all of the mistakes he had made to end up in this situation in the first place. He shouldn’t have skipped class. He should have told his parents he was going climbing. He should have brought his own phone instead of just relying on Micah’s. He should have known to watch out for snakes in an area like this.
Trevor knew that it didn’t do him any good now to obsess over what he should have done differently, but that didn’t stop his brain from looping his mistakes again and again like a movie montage of shameful moments. He and Micah were well beyond rookie status as climbers—and that seemed to make it all the worse. They knew better than this. And now the two of them were basically a walking manual for things not to do when climbing.
Trevor was starting to get short of breath, like he was rock climbing instead of walking slowly along the mostly flat canyon floor. It was hard to take deep breaths when his chest felt like there was a rope wrapping around it, tighter and tighter, trying to squeeze the breath out of him.
On top of that, he was feeling light-headed and incredibly thirsty. Usually he would have guessed it was heat exhaustion from being out in the desert all morning. But now he assumed that every muscle twitch and stomach cramp was a symptom of the snake venom working its way through his veins. It was difficult to tell what was the venom, what was the heat, and what was just in his head.
“So,” he said aloud to try to distract himself, “when you and Peyton go to homecoming together, where do you think you’ll take her for dinner before the dance?”
Micah looked taken aback by the question, and he raised his eyebrows. “You should really try to save your energy—”
“Please,” Trevor interrupted. “I know, but I need something else to think about besides this stupid bite. I just . . .”
Micah nodded, quiet for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. “Uh, I mean, I hadn’t really thought that part through yet.”
“Dude, that’s like the most important part of the whole date,” Trevor said.
“I haven’t even asked her yet,” Micah protested. He no longer seemed to remember that this was all to distract Trevor. Judging by the look on his face, Micah really was worried about Peyton’s response. Apparently this had been bothering him for a while.
“Doesn’t matter,” Trevor said. “You’ve got to plan these things way in advance. Besides, you already know she’s going to say yes—”
“But what if she doesn’t—”
“She will,” Trevor said firmly. “If I were you, I would make reservations for—” He broke off suddenly in a coughing fit that left him gasping for air.
“I’m fine,” he croaked after several seconds, while Micah stared at him with wide eyes, looking unsure about what he was supposed to do to help. “I’m fine,” Trevor repeated. “Let’s just keep moving.”
“You should really drink some water,” Micah said.
Trevor’s mouth was so dry it felt like he had swallowed a bunch of climbing chalk. He wanted nothing more than to chug an entire bottle. But he couldn’t stop thinking of how important water was in the desert. “Shouldn’t we try to stretch out our water supply as long as we can?”
“We brought lots of water with us,” Micah said. “I think keeping you hydrated right now is more important than our long-term survival plans.”
Trevor saw Micah peek at the snake bite and then quickly look away, and he realized Micah was right—the venom would finish him off a lot faster than his thirst. He took a few pulls from one of their water bottles, then soaked his bandana in water and tied it around his neck. The cool, damp fabric felt soothing on his flushed skin.
After that, they continued without talking, the silence broken only by Trevor’s wheezing breaths. Trevor kept his eyes on the ground as he walked so that he wouldn’t have to see Micah shooting worried glances at him every five seconds. He also looked at the ground to keep from stumbling, since his limbs were starting to feel heavy and stiff, and he was getting increasingly clumsy.
Soon, however, Trevor was forced to ask Micah if they could take a break. He felt embarrassed to have to stop after what seemed like a very short distance, but his head was pounding.
Trevor sat heavily on a rock and downed more water, thankful that they had brought enough and didn’t have to add dehydration to their long list of current problems.
Meanwhile, Micah signaled with the emergency whistle.
Since Trevor’s headache had gotten worse, the blasts seemed unbearable to him now. He covered his ears to try to block out the shrill sound.
Once again, there was no answer to their call for help except the sound of the wind through the canyon.
“Someone could have heard us already, you know,” Micah said. “The sound carries so far that someone could be making their way toward us right now, and they just haven’t reached us yet. Or they might still be trying to locate where exactly the sound is coming from. That’s why it’s important that we keep signaling.”
To Trevor, it sounded like Micah was trying to convince himself more than anything. “Yeah, I bet our rescuers just stopped along the way to grab us some milkshakes,” he joked.
“Oh man, a milkshake sounds like the greatest thing in the world right now,” Micah said.
“Right?” Trevor said. “Well, I guess antivenom would be first on my priority list, but milkshakes would be a close second.”
Micah’s smile faded at Trevor’s mention of antivenom, and he busied himself with adjusting his makeshift sling. Trevor almost regretted his comment, but he felt that making jokes about their crisis was a better way to cope than getting stuck in his own head.
Trevor found it harder to think of jokes, though, once he examined his snakebite. The purple, swollen area had spread up his leg from his calf to his thigh, and everything below his knee felt like it was on fire. And what wasn’t burning felt numb. His stomach clenched, and he wasn’t sure if it was from panic or nausea.
People survived snakebites all the time, Trevor knew. They were practically a common occurrence in the Southwest. But it was one thing to get bitten in your backyard half a mile from the emergency room and another to get bitten when you were trapped in the middle of the desert without a working phone.
The montage of negative thoughts started up again in his head, and he felt unable to move for a moment, staring off into space. But that frozen feeling was due to his anxiety, he reminded himself, not a symptom of his snakebite.
“How are you holding up, Trev?” Micah asked, startling Trevor out of his mental paralysis. Micah’s tone was light, but Trevor had never seen his friend look so concerned.
He shrugged. “Eh, I’ve been better,” he joked, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. There was no reason to admit that he was in the worst pain of his entire life and worry his friend even more. “Just feeling a little woozy. I think it’s from being out in the sun all day.”
The canyon usually would have provided some shade, but by now it was noon and the sun was directly overhead. It really was getting hot, but Trevor could tell Micah didn’t believe this excuse.
Sweat dripped down Trevor’s face. He wiped some of it away with his bandana, trying to ignore the stinging pain in his leg.
Everything seemed a little blurry. He blinked, thinking that it sweat in his eyes, but the blurriness stayed. With a sinking feeling, he realized that his vision was clouding over. That was another effect of the snake venom.
“How much farther do you think it is?” he asked Micah.
Micah shielded his eyes against the sun and looked ahead. The canyon ran north to south, but it twisted just enough that it was impossible to see anything ahead of the next bend.
“It can’t be too far,” Micah said. “It’s just a little over a mile from the climbing route to the southern end of the canyon.”
“It sounds so easy when you put it that way,” Trevor chuckled sarcastically. Then he added in a more genuine tone, “By the way, how’s your arm?”
He’d noticed how pale and sweaty Micah had gotten, how pinched his face looked. But in a flash it was gone, and Micah gave an unconvincing smirk. “It’s been better,” he said, echoing Trevor’s reply from before.
Which means, Trevor thought, that he’s in a whole lot of pain too, and neither of us wants to admit it.
“Well,” he said out loud, “I guess the only way out is through.” He pushed himself up to standing, gritting his teeth against the agony of pain that shot up his leg. His muscles were so weak they felt like jelly.
Less than a mile, he reminded himself. But at the moment, that distance felt like a marathon.