“We gave him a dose of epinephrine,” she said, “and we’re about to start CPR.”
That sounded like a good idea to me, so I slapped the fire ants off the kid’s clothes as best I could, then his face. Then I tore his shirt open and killed a bunch more of them, and started CPR.
“Pull his shorts off,” I said.
“Excuse me?” Rachel said.
“Strip him down. He’s literally crawling with fire ants. We’ve got to get them off his body.”
Rachel put the pen light in her teeth and tugged his boxers off.
“
“What?”
She aimed the beam at his crotch, and I looked at the kid’s nuts. They were swollen to the size of avocados and covered with red, circular welts.
And scores of fire ants.
“Slap the ants off his dick,” I said.
She raised her hand tentatively, poised to strike, then started to retch.
“How about we trade places,” she gasped.
“His mouth’s kind of mangled,” I warned.
“Still,” Rachel said.
We traded places. She gave him CPR, and I slapped the kid’s crotch and thighs like they owed me money. When Rachel paused a moment, I pushed him on his side and slapped the ants on his back and ass for good measure. Then I eased him onto his back and she started in again with the CPR.
“That was so
“Creepy?”
“His nuts.”
“Uh huh.”
“You ever see anything that creepy?” she said.
“The Grady Twins.”
“The Grady twin boys?”
“Girls.”
“Hmpf,” Rachel said.
We worked on him till the ambulance arrived. While the two-man crew checked him out, I shook out his pants and shorts, and a large buck knife fell out and skittered across the pavement. I retrieved the knife and put it in my pocket. Then I put his clothes in a ball and tossed them on the front seat. While one of the EMS guys covered the kid in a blanket, the other took down some contact information from Rachel. They placed him in the ambulance, thanked us, and rushed him to the hospital.
Rachel and I stood still a minute before resuming our walk.
“You get stung?” I said.
“I don’t think so.”
“You’d know if you had.”
“I guess. How about you?” she said.
“I’d feel better if we patted each other down.”
She laughed. “You’re just looking for an excuse to touch my boobs.”
“How easily you see through me.”
We brushed each other’s clothing in the dark until satisfied we weren’t transporting any ants to the B&B, then started walking.
“You were fantastic back there,” I said.
“When?”
“The whole time.”
“Tell me.”
“You knew what to do, and you never hesitated. You were completely lucid and rational.”
Dusk had become night, and though I couldn’t see it, I’m sure she smiled.
“I have my moments,” Rachel said.
We were quiet a while. I finally asked, “How’d you happen to have the syringe?”
“I carry it in my purse all the time.”
I knew this to be untrue. Until just recently, Rachel and her husband, Sam, had lived in a huge house in
