Page 105 of Mirror Image

It was an excellent point.

Nine months in, and we were finally settling into our new new life. After finding a sweet little coral-colored cottage in Everglades City, we’d spent months becoming intimately acquainted with Everglades National Park, hiking, fishing, and paddling almost daily. Wild Gemini Tours was gaining traction little by little, starting off with half-day hikes, then expanding to overnights and multiday trips. The novelty of having the “Serendipity Twins” for guides seemed to be a particular draw. Now, in anticipation of adding paddling tours to the roster, we’d spent the last few months honing our canoeing and kayaking skills while exploring the ninety-nine-mile Everglades Wilderness Waterway, including this claustrophobic, dark, twisty little slice of hell.

“Okay, well, I guess the sooner we get through these last four miles, the sooner we’re back out in open water. In a few hours, we’ll be all comfy cozy on our sleeping pads, in our tent, nice and high above the gators on the chikee.”

“Yes, that’s the spirit!” I grinned. “Tell you what, I’ll even heat up some of that leftover beef-stew-in-a-bag crap for you, okay?”

She offered a weak smile. “Deal.”

“Okay . . . so I’m thinking we’re going to have to go over this thing,” I said, pointing in the direction of the trunk still looming ahead of us.

“Over? Over how? I don’t think we can get out and lift the canoe without sinking into the mud.”

“No, we’ll go over, onto the branch. I think there’s enough clearance for the canoe to float underneath. Then we can pull it forward and get back in on the other side. Make sense?”

“Uh . . .” She considered the suggestion and looked up, trying to glimpse the position of the sun through the tree canopy. “Yeah, I guess we don’t have much choice. We’re running out of time—and tide.”

“Should be easy peasy,” I assured her with a smile. “You know, you’ve really gotten so much more confident with the water stuff. I’m really proud of you, Sam.”

I don’t know what made me say it, but whatever it was, I’m glad I did because there was something so raw and real in her expression—like gratitude. Like no one had ever said those words to her before. They probably hadn’t. I offered her my most sincere smile even as my heart hurt for all the love my sister had missed out on.

“Um, yeah, thanks,” she said a little awkwardly, breaking the spell between us as she turned back around to face the obstacle we were approaching.

We scrabbled atop the tree trunk, sort of draping ourselves over it, hanging down so we could prod the canoe out from under us. It cleared perfectly.

“Damn, we’re good!” Sam declared, grinning from next to me.

“Yes,” I agreed. “Yes, we are!”

I swung myself all the way over, landing back inside the boat, then braced myself on the tree I’d just scaled so she could follow me. Sam reached out with her right and grabbed a branch jutting off the trunk, stabilizing herself so she could swing her leg over and join me. Then she froze.

I saw it on her face before she said a word—a lightning-fast sequence of confusion, shock, pain, disbelief, and, finally, fear.

“What?” I asked, alarmed. “What is it?”

That’s when a movement along the trunk caught my eye. A snake, almost perfectly camouflaged against the bark, was slithering away from us. Quickly. Retreating. My gaze swung to Sam, who was staring at her wrist. Part of me knew what she was seeing, but I allowed myself the luxury of a few more heartbeats of hope. When I couldn’t put it off another moment, I looked, spotting the twin puncture wounds on the inside of her right arm, just above her wrist. There was no more hoping. There was no more denying. There was only the rapidly swelling flesh turning angrier by the second.

“Oh . . . oh my God . . .” I whispered, staring at it with wide eyes. “Oh, sweet Jesus, Sam . . . It-it bit you?”

She nodded, unable to speak.

I had to do something, and fast. “Okay, okay, okay,” I chattered to myself.

Think, Mary, think!

I willed my mind back to our wilderness first-aid training at NAWA and what Ranger Rick had to say about snakebites. It was very rare that someone would die from one, right? And I shouldn’t make a tourniquet or try to cut or suck out the venom.

“Right,” I said to myself. Then put a hand on her left arm, still braced like she was about to hurdle right over the tree like a gymnast on a pommel horse. I took a deep breath, making a concerted effort to keep my voice calm and steady when I spoke again. “Listen to me, Sam. You’re going to be fine. We just need to make our way out of here as quickly and carefully as possible, okay?”

She blinked at me—through me.

“Sam? Sa-man-tha!” I barked out harshly enough to get her focus back to me.

She nodded. “Yeah, okay.” She looked down and to the side again at the wound, then back up to me. “It’s just—it hurts, Mary. It really, really hurts. And I don’t feel so good . . .”

She didn’t look so good, either, but I wasn’t about to tell her that.

“Well, yeah, duh! Getting bitten by a snake is painful,” I teased, hoping to ease the panic showing through—just beneath the surface of her tough veneer. “Now, let’s get you back into the canoe, then we can see about immobilizing the arm. Okay?”