Wilderness: Venom Part 15

"Thanks, Ma," Chickory said. He went to the door and opened it and took several steps, the water rising around his bare feet and his ankles. Something rubbed over his toes and he looked down.

The water was filled with snakes.

Louisa lay in bed with her hands on her belly. Zach had insisted she rest before the social and gave her what she liked to call his manly stare. He always got this intense look about him whenever he wanted her to do something for her own good. If she objected, he would argue and today she didn't want to argue.

The patter of the rain on their roof had ceased and the howl of the wind had faded. Silence reigned, save for the ticking of their clock on the mantle above the fireplace. She liked to listen to the soft, regular tick-tick-tick. It was so soothing it often put her to sleep.

Lou eased onto her back. Zach wasn't beside her; he had been when she'd lain down. She swung her legs over the side and went out into the main room and there he was, at their table, his legs over it, reading. It startled her. Zach rarely read. He wasn't like his pa. He'd never taken to books although he could read as well as anyone when he put his mind to it.

"There you are. What are you reading?"

"How are you feeling?" Zach asked without looking up.

"Fine. If I have a problem, I will tell you. What are you reading?"

"A book." Zach turned a page.

"My, is that what they call those?" Lou said in mild exasperation. "Where did you get it and what is it about?"

"My pa gave it to me." Zach held the front of it toward her, keeping his place with his finger. "He said we'd find it useful."

Lou looked but there was no t.i.tle on the cover. "I still don't know what it's about."

Zach turned it so she could read the t.i.tle page.

Lou expected it to be one of the James Fenimore Cooper books Nate liked so much but it was The American Almanac and Repository of Useful Knowledge. "My word. Why are you reading a thing like that?"

"There's a part in here that has to do with babies. About how to be a good father and mother."

Lou wanted to hug him. He could be such a trial; hardheaded, stubborn, temperamental. Then he'd go and do something sweet, like this. "What does it say?"

"It says here that a newborn should sleep next to the mother for the first eight weeks. It says that the baby sleeps better and puts on more weight than if it sleeps in a crib." Zach looked at her. "I'll rig a cot here in the living room for the other."

"What other?" Lou asked, confused.

"Well, you won't want to do it in bed with the baby right there, so we can sneak out when it's sleeping and use the cot."

"It?" Lou said, and then realized what he was referring to. "My G.o.d. The baby's not even born yet. It won't be born for pretty near eight months. And you're thinking of that?"

"One of us has to plan ahead."

Lou went from wanting to hug him to wanting to slug him. "Why you...you..." She couldn't think of a word fitting enough. "...you male, you."

Zach lowered his legs and sat up. "What are you getting so hot about? Here I am trying to make things easier for us. I offered to build a cot, didn't I?"

"Easier for you," Lou said. In a huff she marched to the front door. "I need some air."

Zach didn't help matters by sighing and saying, "Women sure are p.r.i.c.kly when they're pregnant."

Lou balled her fists. If there was anything in this world more aggravating than men, she had yet to meet it. She flung the door wide. Here and there were scattered puddles, but for the most part the ground around their cabin was clear. It sat on a slight elevation, no more than a few inches above the rest of the sh.o.r.e, but that was enough. Rainwater invariably drained toward the lake.

Without paying much attention, Lou stalked out and went a few yards and stopped to take deep breaths.

Something hissed near her leg.

Lou glanced down and couldn't credit her eyes.

Rattlesnakes were on all sides of her.

Winona King was wrapping a pie in a cloth to keep it warm. Her husband was fond of pies. Early in their marriage she had learned of his fondness and practiced until she could bake them exactly as he liked them. Her own people didn't have anything like them, and she had to admit, they were delicious. She carefully placed the pie in the basket and was closing the lid when she snapped her head up and said, "A shot."

Nate had heard it, too. He was at the table, honing his Bowie. He put the whetstone down and went out, leaving the door open for her to follow, as he knew she would.

"Which direction, do you think?" Winona asked. His ears were much better than hers.

Nate pointed to the northeast at a point along the sh.o.r.e. "Somewhere over yonder."

"From Zach's?"

"No. Farther along." Nate rose onto the tips of his toes, but other than his son's cabin the opposite sh.o.r.e was a vague line of rock and earth, and beyond, the green of the trees.

"Rifle or pistol?"

"Pistol."

"Did Evelyn take her rifle?"

"She forgot again. I noticed too late, after she was gone."

"But she had her pistols?"

"I know what you're thinking." Nate went inside, s.n.a.t.c.hed his Hawken from where he had propped it, and came back out. "I'll have a look."

"I'll go with you."

"No need," Nate said. "I won't be long. You can finish getting ready."

"But if it's Evelyn..."

"If she was in real trouble, we'd hear more shots or shouts or screams," Nate said. His secret dread was that one day one of his family would be harmed. It didn't help that had hardly a month went by that some danger or other didn't rear its unwanted head.

Winona was torn between going and staying. She gazed across the lake, its surface serene now that the thunderhead had moved on. She looked to the northwest, at the Worths' far-off cabin, and then to the north at her son's, and at the stretch of sh.o.r.e that curled away from their own toward the others-and her breath caught in her throat. "Husband?"

Nate was almost to the corner. He stopped and turned. It took a few seconds for what he was seeing to sink in. Water covered much of the ground, inches of it, to within five or six yards of their front door. At first it appeared as if the water was moving, but it wasn't the water, it was something in the water. He took a few steps and the shapes acquired form. "It can't be," he blurted.

"You see them, then?"

Nate nodded. Snakes. Rattlesnakes. Hundreds of the things, swimming, crawling, moving aimlessly about as if they had no sense of where they should go. "G.o.d in heaven."

Winona was aghast. She had never seen so many at one time. The whole sh.o.r.e was covered. Washed from somewhere by the rain, she suspected. "You were right about the hunt," she said. "There must have been a den close by. If only we had found it."

Small consolation for Nate. He was thinking of the shot they heard. One shot, and nothing else. "Stay here. Close the door and keep it closed." He ran around the cabin to the corral. A large rattler was coiled almost at his feet. Drawing his Bowie, he hefted it, c.o.c.ked his arm, and threw. The razor tip sliced into the serpent's blunt head between its alien eyes and cleaved the skull nearly in half. The body whipped wildly back and forth.

Winona came running up. She had gone in for her own rifle and rushed back out. Bending, she yanked the Bowie loose and held the hilt toward him. "We must get to her right away."

"Me," Nate said. "Not we."

"She is my daughter, too." Winona turned to the gate.

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Give me one good reason."

Nate recited several. "It's dangerous enough for one person. We can't afford to lose two horses. And if McNair or Waku and his family show up, someone should be here to warn them about the snakes."

"I am going," Winona insisted.

"I can't watch out for you and me, both."

"Who asked you to? I can take care of myself, as you well know."

"What about Shakespeare and the Nansusequas?"

"They are not stupid. They will see the snakes and avoid them just as we will."

Nate knew better, but he asked, "There's nothing I can say or do, is there, to change your mind?"

"Not a thing. Nothing will keep me from my daughter. Not the Great Mystery. Not the snakes. Not you, husband, as much as I love you." Winona gestured. "We are wasting precious time. Our daughter might need us."

"Saddles?" Nate said.

"More wasted time. We can ride bareback."

Nate slid bridles on his bay and her mare. He led the pair out and climbed on the bay. Winona swung onto her mare and together they went around the cabin and promptly drew rein.

"How will we get past all those snakes?" Winona wondered.

Nate had been thinking about that. The rattlers were virtually everywhere except for a narrow strip along the lake-and in the lake itself. "Stay behind me." He reined toward the water and rode at a slow walk. Between the cabin and the lake the snakes weren't as thick, but there were enough to make him nervous. The thud of the bay's heavy hooves sent most of them gliding away. A few hissed but didn't stand their ground.

"Look out!" Winona cried.

One of the snakes had coiled and raised its head to strike.

Chapter Sixteen.

Evelyn King pulsed with fear. She tried to stand, but her left leg was pinned. The horse lay unmoving and silent save for the rasp of its labored breathing. "Please, no," Evelyn said. She pushed against the sorrel. She pushed harder. She might as well push a mountain.

The rattler kept coming. It was crawling straight for her, its tongue constantly flicking.

Evelyn stabbed her hand for her other flintlock. Terror seized her as she realized it was gone. She glanced about her, but it was nowhere to be seen. Maybe it was under the horse, she thought. She groped for her knife in its sheath on her left hip, but she couldn't pull the blade free. It was wedged tight by her weight and she couldn't rise high enough to work it free. She gave a last frantic tug, and the snake reached her.

Evelyn turned to stone. She expected it to coil and bite. Instead, it crawled up onto her shoulder. She shuddered at the contact and immediately willed herself to stop in case it provoked the snake into striking. The rattler went crawling on past as if she were a rock or a log.

"G.o.d," Evelyn breathed, and grinned. She had been lucky, awful lucky. She pushed at the saddle and at the sorrel with the same result as before. Tiring, she sank onto her back and stared at the sky. She needed help. She couldn't extricate herself alone. Rising onto her elbows, she went to shout-and new fear gushed through her like spears of ice.

More snakes were emerging from the pool and making for the woods. Six, seven, eight of them, six rattlers and a bull snake and another that might be a ribbon snake. They crawled with purpose, their heads slightly raised, forked tongues darting.

Evelyn choked off a cry as the foremost viper crawled over the sorrel's neck and onto her chest. It was so close to her face, she could have stuck out her own tongue and licked it. Rigid with fright, she didn't breathe. She saw the vertical slits in its eyes, she saw every scale. The feel of it brus.h.i.+ng across her body was almost more than she could bear. No sooner was it off her when another smaller rattler took its place. This one, too, went over her without a sideways look. A third rattler slithered over the sorrel and onto her. It was thicker than the others, the skin pattern not the same. The head came even with her chin-and the rattler stopped and swung its head toward her.

Evelyn resisted an impulse to scream and throw it off. She started to swallow and caught herself. The snake's tongue was an inch from her throat. She prayed it would keep going but it just lay there, staring. Its mouth opened and she braced for the pain of its fangs, but all it did was hiss and continue on. She closed her eyes tight and fought back tears. When she opened them, the snake was off her.

Evelyn didn't know how much of this she could stand. The other snakes had gone wide of her, but there were bound to be more. She pushed at the sorrel with all the strength in her, but it wasn't enough. Exhausted, she sank onto her back and closed her eyes again. She couldn't imagine where all the snakes had come from. She didn't really care. She wanted away from there, to be with Dega, to have him hold her in his arms. She liked being in his arms more than she had ever liked anything. It felt so good, so comforting. She wondered if she would ever see him again. The thought of not seeing him brought an ache to her chest, a hurt so powerful it was as if her heart were being crushed.

Something was on her arm.

Evelyn opened her eyes and wished she hadn't. A veritable legion of snakes were streaming out of the pool and nearby puddles and moving in a body toward the drier sanctuary of the forest floor, so many of them that in places they formed a living carpet of moving scales. She barely had time to brace herself when four of them crawled onto her, moving across her chest, the nearest brus.h.i.+ng her chin as it went by.

Tears filled Evelyn's eyes, but she refused to cry. Not with more snakes wriggling onto her. She couldn't look. Again she shut her eyes and felt a serpentine form glide over her neck. Another went over the top of her head. All it would take was for her to sneeze and she was as good as bitten.

Evelyn thought of her father and mother. In the past she had always counted on them to get her out of tight sc.r.a.pes. Not this time. They were too far away. Even if they heard the shot, they might figure it was someone shooting game and not realize she was in trouble.

"I want to live," Evelyn said softly, and meant every syllable. She nearly gave a start when a snake brushed her throat.

A rattler crawled onto her face.

It was the hardest thing Evelyn ever had to do; to lie there and not twitch a muscle as the rattler slithered across her mouth and cheek and forehead. The sc.r.a.pe of every scale was magnified tenfold. She was scared down to her marrow but dared not react.

Suddenly the snake was off her, but it was only a temporary reprieve. More were crawling toward her. A lot more.

G.o.d, Evelyn thought. She couldn't take much more of this. It would drive her insane.

Chickory Worth's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. They weren't just any old snakes crawling around his feet. They were rattlesnakes. Chickory yelped and kicked and jumped backward. A couple of bounds and he would be inside. But as he sprang a sharp pain shot up his leg and when he landed he felt another snake under him and looked down just as it sank its fangs into his right foot. Chickory screeched, as much in terror as from the hurt, and threw himself at the doorway. He stumbled through, slammed the door behind him, and sprawled onto his hands and knees.

"What in the world?" Emala exclaimed, sitting up.

"Snakes!" Chickory gasped. "Rattlers! I've been bitten!" He sat and extended his legs.

Emala was speechless with shock for a few moments. Letting out a shriek of dismay, she smacked Samuel's shoulder, bawling, "Get up! Get up! Our boy's done been snakebit!" Despite her bulk she was the first to reach Chickory and kneel beside him. "Where?" she bleated. "Where were you bit?"

Chickory pointed. The bite marks were plain to see; two red dots on his right foot and two more on his left calf. "Twice," he said. "They're all over out there."