Useless Bay(18)

Plus Mr. Shepherd had the power to deny me access to Henry. We were supposed to be friends, he and I. But recently something had started changing between us, so now it was the kind of feeling that couldn’t be fenced off. I told myself I’d never do anything to stop the way Henry looked at me now, the way his eyes lingered on the whole length of me that didn’t make me feel like a too-tall freak, as though being the Girl weren’t such a bad thing after all.

Then I did something stupid.

Which brings me to the second death in Useless Bay that night, or How I Royally Screwed Up.

At first, I thought it was just bulb kelp that I’d grabbed. And if it was a little slimy, a little elusive . . . well, so was everything else in the bay. I had no way of knowing I’d gotten myself a live Portuguese mano’-war, or purple jellyfish-o’-poison. The top you can brush up against with no ill effects. But the bottom? That was where the nematocysts were.

I grabbed that part of jelly and held it tight.

The second death of the night was my own.





eight


HENRY


There’s a difference between seeing a dead person and watching someone die.

Pixie whipped up out of the bay with a purple gelatinous disc on her arm. She threw her hair out of her face, examined the disc, and said, “Oh, shit.”

At first, I didn’t understand what was going on. Frank did.

He swore and tore off down the beach, carrying his med kit, which he dropped at the tide line.

Lawford wasn’t far behind. The two of them waded waist-deep into the bay and felt under the surface.

I’d never seen them in red-alert mode before. There were waves of panic rolling off them, and it was infectious.

“Have you got her?”

“Not yet.”

“Come on, man. Hurry!”

“Hold on— I’ve got her, I’ve got her, I’ve got her!”

Once on shore, Frank rolled Pixie onto her side and whacked her hard on the back.

She barfed seawater, got to her hands and knees, and barfed more. She wiped her mouth. “I fucked up, Frank,” she said.

Lawford said, “Easy there, girly man,” as Frank opened his med kit.

It all happened so fast, and I was so slow. I followed them from the patio behind the main house to the beach in the cold rain and stood over them, useless. I had no idea what was going on.

Pix definitely didn’t look right. Her face was as pale as a halibut, and her breathing was raspy and labored. Her whole chest drew up each time she inhaled.

I heard sirens. I told Lawford, “That’ll be the ambulance. Go. It’ll be faster if they know exactly where we are.”

“Right,” Lawford said, and he sprinted around the house to the security gate, the lights from the motion detectors illuminating his way.

God, she looked bad. Her right arm was swelling, and with each heartbeat the swelling spread. Her fingers were already the size of kielbasas, and her face was puffed up like a French pastry.

What would happen when the swelling reached her brain? Or her lungs?

“Do something!” I barked at Frank.

“Shut up, Henry! I’m already on it!”

He pulled a yellow syringe out of his medical kit. It had the logo of a bee on it.

“Bee stings? You’re treating her for a bee sting?”

“Not a bee. A Portuguese man-o’-war. Pix is allergic.”

He jammed a needle into her thigh so hard that his sister recoiled from the force. He had to practically sit on her to keep the syringe in her flesh.

I counted to ten before he took it out, then tossed it carelessly aside. We’d worry about biohazard disposal later.

Pix shook uncontrollably. She fought for each breath.

“It’s not working.

It’s not working!”

“Give it time.”

“You’re just spreading the poison through her faster. Look at her hands. Look at her face. Everything’s puffing up.”

It was true. With each heartbeat (and there were a lot of them), the evidence of the poison seemed to be spreading.

“I told you to shut up, Henry!”

“Goddamn it, Frank. Look!”

Her eyelids were so swollen they were as large as moon snails.

“Where the hell is that ambulance?” Frank shouted in Lawford’s direction. Not that Lawford could hear. He was too far away.

“Frank!” I said. “It’s not working!”

“Maybe you’re right.” He opened his med kit and took out another identical syringe and whacked her just as hard in the same spot on her leg.

This time she arched so high I was afraid her spine might break.

But that wasn’t nearly as bad as what happened next.

Pix fell back onto the sand and stopped moving completely.

So did Frank.

Wait, what? Both of them? At the same time?

But there he lay, a heap of Frank, not doing anything.

I couldn’t deny what was in front of me, but I didn’t understand. Frank wouldn’t have given up on Pixie. None of them would have ever given up on anything that wasn’t yet dead.

Why the hell was he down now? Was it some kind of sympathetic quint thing? One gets hurt, the other feels the pain? Hell of a time to be too sensitive to do your job.

I shook him, but he still didn’t move. I felt his carotid artery.