The Voice of Wild Places, page 28
Watt dying.
Watt gone.
He didn’t remember putting his knife to hand, but his fingers closed around the familiar handle all the same.
Cornelius lunged before Watt could run his hands further down Maggie’s body.
Cornelius yelled, “Snake!”
He hit his knees and grabbed the snake by its tail, stretching it taut with all the strength and bravery he could muster.
“Cornelius!” Watt cried in alarm.
Maggie yelped and turned ‘round in an effort to bite him, but Watt caught her by the snout just in time.
Cornelius brought the knife down, striking behind the snake’s head. Bone and flesh were severed in one clean motion.
The headless body twitched and writhed in Cornelius’ hand, wracked with death defying nerves. Warm blood splattered across his hand, his arm, his clothes. A fleck landed near his eye. Cornelius nearly threw the corpse but had enough sense of mind to simply drop it. The fangs, and head still attached to them, were embedded into Maggie’s back leg, the upper thigh. The eyes rolled in the snake's head, and Cornelius thought he could still hear it hissing. Or maybe that was the air rushing in and out of his own lungs. He couldn’t tell how much was post-mortem movement and how much was Maggie moving around. She was crying, quivering in pain and drooling all over Watt’s thigh.
Watt stood doubled over and held her head against him, whispering frantically to her. “Maggie, oh Maggie. It’s alright, girl. Shh, it’s alright.” His wide, terrified eyes flicked to Cornelius, as if he could stop Watt’s heart from breaking. Tears streamed down Watt’s flushed face, cutting through the dirt on his cheeks.
Cornelius cleared his throat, which did nothing to shake off his nerves. He said, “I—I’m going to try and pull it out now.”
Watt nodded furiously. “Okay. I’ve got her.”
Cornelius reached for the snake’s head, fingers trembling.
“Be careful,” Watt added.
Cornelius said nothing, because despite all the blood and its lack of a body, he was quite sure the thing was going to turn ‘round and bite him. His fingers brushed against the snake’s scales and he shivered, revulsion coursing through him. But the snake did not move, at least not to bite him. Those eyes still rolled, furious and indignant.
Keeping in mind the way the snake masters had milked snakes, he pulled the upper jaw in an upwards and back motion in an effort to unhinge the fangs. Maggie protested against the pull on her flesh, and Watt soothed her with a string of soft praise. With great care, Cornelius removed the whole affair from her leg. He gingerly tossed the head onto the path back the way they’d come, then stood and located his bag. He must’ve shucked it in the place he’d been standing before.
“What’re you doing?” Watt asked, his voice strident.
“See if you can get her to lay down,” Cornelius said, rifling through his supplies. “We need to treat it.” It only took him a moment to locate the first aid kit he’d made, complete with the antivenin. By the time he returned, Watt was sat down in the dirt with Maggie pulled into the space between his legs, her head tucked against his ribs. She was twitching.
'Fuck,' Cornelius thought.
“Do you think—wait, is that—Cornelius?”
“It’s a bushmaster,” Cornelius said and knelt in the space between Watt’s spread legs, laying out the antivenin kit and necessary cleaning supplies. He wiped off the blade of his knife with the corner of his shirt, then squinted at Watt. “Can you hold her still? I’ll need to shave the fur in order to get a good look at the bite, then douse it in the iodine and administer the antivenin.”
“But that’s for—”
“Do you want me to save her or not?” Cornelius barked.
“Yes,” Watt croaked, arms tightening around Maggie. “Yes.”
Cornelius took a deep breath. “Then hold her.”
He worked as quickly as he could without making mistakes. He wasn’t able to shave her as close as he would’ve liked, but it would do for now. The punctures were deep, and the holes jagged. He poured iodine perhaps far too liberally than he should’ve, but alas. Maggie whimpered, and Cornelius did his best to ignore her. To ignore everything in this situation that wasn’t the wound itself.
He prepared the second to last bothropic ampule they had, then the enormous needle. His stomach rolled and he inhaled slowly, doing his best to steady his trembling fingers. Finally, Cornelius locked eyes with Watt. “Are you ready?”
“Yes. Do it.”
Cornelius steadied Maggie’s shaking leg and injected her with the antivenin. He prayed to the universe, to Watt’s God, to anyone who was listening, that it worked. She whimpered beneath his ministrations, but not once did she try to bite him again or pull against Watt’s hold. She gasped for air, and by the time Cornelius withdrew the needle from her flesh, he was too.
He secured the used ampule and needle into a separate case, then sat back on his heels and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Watt had his face buried in the scruff of Maggie’s neck, his spine bent at a painful angle. Cornelius felt like the moment was too big to break with words, so he set to work once more in silence.
He placed a clean gauze pad over the puncture wounds, then wrapped the bandage around her leg. He did so in an X-shaped motion, covering probably far more than he needed to of her thigh. Even if the antivenin worked, they would still have to contend with infection in a place where it festered so easily. The humidity and the mud, the bugs and travel. The best course of action would be to go back to the site. They’d have a better chance of finding their way back rather than the unknown. Their supplies were low, Maggie was hurt, and the idea that they might find Fawcett in this place had long since withered and died.
And when did that happen, exactly?
“She bit me,” Watt said, muffled by Maggie’s fur. He lifted his head, eyes swollen and mouth twisted downwards. Cornelius had never seen him look so miserable, but he didn't see a bite.
“Where?” Cornelius asked, a bit dazed.
Watt's eyes were a bit glazed too, like he was somewhere else. “The fence. I was bleeding, find home, find a way home. Stuck in a fence, scared. She didn't mean to, she was just scared. She's scared.” He began panting, breathing in short bursts. “It hurt. I screamed. But she didn't eat it. Took me home instead.”
Cornelius swallowed against the hysteria rising in his throat. He went to rest a hand on Watt’s shoulder, then faltered upon seeing the blood all over his fingers. “Watt,” he whispered. “I'm right here.”
Watt blinked rapidly, coming back to himself. “We have to go back,” he croaked.
He opened his mouth to say, ‘I know,’ but stopped. Goosebumps swarmed his skin, and he shivered beneath the distinct weight of an unknown presence watching them. His gaze wandered over the small, barely cleared out portion of the jungle, their slice of their world. He felt sure they were alone, that it was only them here. Them, and the wild. He listened, sure he heard someone speaking. No, it was … it was calling them.
The voice of wild places sung to Cornelius, and Watt. He looked around too, eyes wide with fear and perhaps a little bit of awe.
It was the bright and hopeful tenor of the birds, and the solid bass of life pulsing in the ground beneath their feet. The gentle swish of foliage surrounding their little company, and the rustle of the thick canopy overhead. And even fainter than that, but present all the same, the sound of water. They were at the heart of the world, and she was singing to them.
The birds cried, ‘not yet.’
The mud groaned, ‘just a little bit farther.’
The leaves whispered, ‘there are secrets here.’
The water promised, ‘life, the secret of life.’
It was all beckoning them to try once more. They weren’t truly lost, not if going home was an option. And what was waiting for them at home?
“Do you—” Watt whispered, reaching for Cornelius’ hand.
Cornelius took it, squeezing tight.
And like a cloud passing over the sun, the presence faded and the voice receded, back into the depths of the unknown.
Cornelius shivered. He whispered, “It’s too late in the day to go anywhere. Let’s make camp here for the day, and see what tomorrow brings.”
“Cornelius, what was that?” Watt's knuckles were white from how hard he gripped Cornelius’ aching fingers.
Cornelius shook his head. “I … don’t know. I think we’re both just tired.”
Watt barked out a short, delirious and giddy laugh. Cornelius startled, then he started laughing, too. Harsh and wet, full of frustration and relief and something like hope. Because all was not lost, not yet. Not while they were still holding hands, bodies coming together until their foreheads met. Watt’s forehead was sweaty, and his hair was rough where it stuck to his skin. Cornelius didn’t care, he was probably just as disheveled. Their laughter died a slow death, lingering in the space between their lips. Their hands were still clasped between them, and they stayed like that for a little while longer. Existing in the other’s space, the air between them thick with love. Discounting Cornelius’ own feelings, it was a different sort of love. One that was forged through hardship and kinship, trust and the knowledge that this person beside you, they were in it for as long as you were. Neither time, distance, or meddling from others could sever a connection like that.
Oh, Cornelius was done for.
He loved Watt. He loved him. Always had, always would.
Watt lay with Maggie in his arms and listened to Cornelius as he moved around camp. He’d done everything, from taking the lead during the event to setting up an acceptable area to make camp in less than ideal conditions. Watt had watched as Cornelius cleared brush and vegetation from a small area between the trees, checking for critters and otherwise. He’d hung up their hammocks between a few sturdy but small trees, and instructed Watt to rest with Maggie.
“A calm patient is a healing patient,” Cornelius had said, but Watt knew it was because of him, too. Watt was … well. Cornelius had said it, didn’t he? Watt was a failure. He’d failed to keep their direction, to keep Maggie safe, or to act quickly in an emergency. He’d frozen.
Besides his time in France, bleeding out and trapped in the woods like an animal, freezing beside the long dead body of the man he'd cared for, he’d never felt so much despair before. He’d locked up, costing Maggie precious seconds. He’d never hesitated in a time of crisis before, not in wartime or otherwise. But God, this was Maggie. He hadn’t been able to leave her behind, and now his cowardice could be the death of her. Cornelius had tried to warn him, and did Watt listen?
And again, if he’d listened to Cornelius even a day sooner and turned back for camp, Maggie wouldn’t have been bitten. Well, now the fever dream of ambition had been broken, and Watt could see every mistake he’d made clearer than ever before. How could he ever repair them all? He was a man built of fractures, and was falling apart at the seams.
He closed his eyes and thought, ‘that’s what you get for running through bramble and jungle, those thorns will get you. That’s what you get for taking the word of a widow clinging to something intangible like magic and faith.’
But … was magic and faith so ridiculous? He thought about the voice they’d heard, for by the look on Cornelius' face in that moment it was clear he'd heard it too. The sensation of the world opening her eyes and perceiving you, and henceforth judging you worthy enough to hear her siren song. It was a sound you heard with your heart more than your ears, and wasn’t that intangible, too?
His fingers glided through Maggie’s coat. She lay entirely on top of him and her heart beat against his, fast and unrelenting. She wasn't asleep, only resting through the pain.
“Watt,” Cornelius whispered, and his fingers skimmed over the curve of Watt's shoulder. “Food’s ready.”
Watt opened his eyes. Cornelius stood over him, his hand coming to rest on Watt’s collarbone. His brow was furrowed, and his face was dirty. There was a scratch above his eyebrow, fresh and weeping blood. Watt reached out and wiped it away before it trickled down into Cornelius’ eye.
Cornelius took him by the wrist with his other hand, raising that same brow. “I’m fine, just a branch got me.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’ve been through worse.”
“Me too.”
Watt tugged against the slight grip, reaching upwards for Cornelius' neck. His fingers curled against the side of Cornelius’ throat, and his fingers tightened around Watt’s wrist.
Watt pulled Cornelius down, and kissed him.
It was not at all what he thought it would be like. It was gentle and chaste, almost disbelieving in nature. Cracked lips met dry lips. Cornelius stiffened, nose brushing against his own as he pulled back enough to catch Watt's eye.
“Watt,” he whispered. “Are you sure?”
“Aventurier. Please,” Watt whispered back. “Embrasse-moi, si tu veux.”
Cornelius exhaled, and the air was caught between them as he bent down for another kiss. He released Watt’s wrist, trailing his fingers up Watt's arm before tangling them in the sweat damp hair curling at the base of his neck. His other hand tightened in the fabric over Watt’s collarbone.
In turn, Watt cupped the back of Cornelius’ head, tugging him down insistently. Watt yielded his mouth to Cornelius who slid his tongue in, exploring with a slow sort of desperation. A need to feel every inch of Watt’s mouth, inside and out.
A little moan escaped Watt, barely a whimper even, but Cornelius’ grip in his hair tightened all the same. That drew another sound out of Watt, and Cornelius hummed in response. This was what he imagined kissing Cornelius to be like. Intentional and deep, all consuming and full of care.
For a minute, the world was simple. He was kissing Cornelius, his friend. His confidant. His person. More than that, it was as if his soul was being embraced, comforted, and seen. His entire body lit up with the sensation and attention, and after a little while he had to draw his knee up in an effort to hide his arousal, shifting Maggie off to the side. She huffed in protest, then grumbled at their antics.
Cornelius didn't straighten to his full height, but he did pull back enough to leave Watt with a gentle parting kiss on the lips, then the side of his mouth. His fingers loosened their hold, and both his hands slid down to rest on Watt’s chest. He studied Watt, lips curved into a soft smile and eyebrows pinched in confusion. Like Watt was the most curious and wonderful thing he’d ever seen.
“I didn’t know you felt that way,” Cornelius finally said.
Watt inclined his head, cheeks hot. “I told you how I felt.”
“About men, but not … me.” He lifted a shoulder, gaze drifting elsewhere. “Not all men who enjoy men want men like me, if you get my meaning. And that’s fine, people like what they like.”
Watt guided Cornelius’ attention back to him with a gentle palm to the cheek. Cornelius’ eyes were wet, and his lips were pressed into a harsh line. “I like you, Cornelius.”
Cornelius looked like he was fit to argue, but in the end he sighed, leaning into Watt’s touch. “God help you then.” He closed his eyes and admitted in a whisper, “I’m fond of you too, Watt. You have no idea.”
Watt looked forward to finding out.
For Now
July 30th, 1930
Cornelius slept fitfully and was awake for the day long before Watt was. Long before the sun, even. Hypotheticals, irrational fantasies, and worst case scenarios loomed in his mind. And none of those had anything to do with Watt, who brought along an entirely different stream of thoughts. Hells, they’d kissed.
He’d been kissed by, and kissed in return, Watt Johnson. It was wonderful, heartwarming, and everything Cornelius had ever wanted. It was a kiss to end all others, because surely nothing could be better than that. Except for perhaps … a second kiss.
No. He couldn’t think like that. Watt had been emotional last night, vulnerable and not in his right mind. He’d wanted comfort, and Cornelius had given it to him. He should’ve known better, been the responsible one for both their sakes. But Cornelius hadn’t been in his right mind, either. He never was, but especially not when it came to Watt.
What would Watt desire in the light of a new day, faced with all the difficulties ahead of them?
Surely not Cornelius, not irritable and arrogant and weak Cornelius.
And if all he wanted was comfort in this difficult time, could Cornelius do it? Could he hide his heart and give Watt what he needed?
He wanted to say yes.
But deep down, he knew he couldn’t.
He couldn’t be with Watt … like that, not without being able to express his love. And if he couldn’t be selfless for the person he loved, because he did love Watt, what right did he have to love him in the first place?
Typical, selfish Cornelius.
It all made his head hurt, but his heart ached worst of all.
The sun had not quite risen when Cornelius climbed out of his hammock, but some bruised light had begun to make way for dawn. It was just enough to see by, but he slipped a torch into his pocket just in case. He checked his pistol for moisture or dirt, same as he always did when rising for the day. He withdrew a small canvas bag that held his secondary outfit and boxer shorts from his pack, then glanced back at Watt. He was still asleep, his arms wrapped around Maggie’s middle. Did the man ever move in his sleep?
Maggie was awake, sleepily watching Cornelius. He tried not to feel too hopeful about that, he needed to be the realistic one. And yet, he couldn’t imagine her dying. He believed if he gave the thought any credence, surely it would come true. Like a cruel prophecy. And he couldn’t do that to her, or to Watt.
He gave Maggie a half smile, then walked a little ways from camp and relieved himself behind a tree. Thankfully there was still some paper left, for he didn’t recognize any of the plants around him. Wiping with an unfamiliar bit of greenery was a gamble to say the least. The canopy was thicker here, and it blocked out most of the sky. There was more underbrush here too, mostly ferns and struggling saplings. He thought he could hear water running, and debated investigating the source. He was already on edge though, and decided to wait for Watt. He kept an ear out and his gun within reach, and quickly began to change his clothes.
