— Don’t lie down, Scott shouted, — keep your heart above the wound!
Eugene quickly pulled himself up, resting on his elbows. He took heavy, ragged breaths.
— Where did it bite? Scott asked again, as Madeline stared at Eugene.
— My privates… Eugene said more modestly, — a rattlesnake! Damn!
— For God’s sake, Eugene, Scott gasped, — those things are fucking dangerous!
— I fucking know that, Scatt, it bit my damn pecker. Eugene went onto his knees, letting the bag fall around him, and pulled down his shorts. There were two red puncture marks an inch from the tip of his penis. — What am I gonna do! he squealed, in a sudden panic.
— If only that shaman were here… Scott mused, looking around the tent for inspiration.
— Fuck the shaman! Eugene cursed.
Madeline shook her head. — He’s only saying because these people have healing knowledge, Gene.
Eugene grimaced. — Well, he ain’t here, he said mournfully.
— I couldn’t tell for sure what type of snake it was, Scott pursed his lips, getting out of his bag, rising in his green boxer shorts as he stepped toward Eugene, — but I’m sure it was a Mojave green; these sons of bitches are one of the most venomous snakes around. Their toxin attacks the nervous system, not just the tissue… that poison’s gotta come out!
— How the fuck can we…? Eugene gasped in horror.
Scott edged closer, eyes trained on Eugene’s cock. — We gotta open up the area around the wound. You make two crisscross incisions over each hole with a knife, to draw out the bad blood, he explained, and he reached across for the large, multipurpose Swiss Army knife in his bag.
Madeline was trying to get a signal on her cellphone. In the storm the device seemed a useless and dead artifact, technology rendered impotent and void by nature’s whims: complacent men against indifferent gods.—This is supposed to be fucking America, she hissed in frustration.
Eugene looked agog at the glinting blade in Scott’s hand. — This is Boy Scout bullshit! His voice went high and fey. — That sorta crap’s probably been discredited for years! Nobody’s slicing up my fucking dick!
— It’s just four goddamn little nicks, Gene! We ain’t got time to pussy about here! Scott wailed.
For the first time, Eugene realized that he could actually die; that his life could end out here in the stony, unforgiving desert, in such sad, unlucky circumstances. He thought of the footballing career he chucked away to party with Lana, following her around clubs as she ‘networked’ for the purposes of her own advancement. The bitch would hear of his demise as she accepted an Academy Award with a fake tear and a halting choke in her throat. Trembling under the terror and exasperation of it, Eugene gasped, — Okay… okay… I’ll do it, he said, steeling himself as Scott handed him the knife. Then he looked at his cock in his hand, the two angry red holes, and the blade of the knife. Something ugly rose in his gut and he thought he was going to pass out. — You… you do it, his tones hushed as he handed the knife back to Scott and lay down balancing on his elbows to keep his torso raised, looking upwards at the orange roof of the tent.
Eugene gritted his teeth as Scott took his penis in his hand. Winced as his friend made the first cut. Though he had to hold him firmly to get purchase, the sensitive skin of Eugene’s penis yielded easily to the blade. Droplets of blood spotted up in a line along the incision. It only started to flow when Scott made the second, crisscrossing cut. — Maddy, throw me over that towel!
Madeline quickly complied and Eugene screamed as he looked down and saw the dark red blood quickly absorbing into the white towel. — WHAA… YOU’RE FUCKING CASTRATING ME, MAN!
— If you don’t stay still, I goddamn will!
Scott quickly crisscrossed the second wound, urging Eugene to hold the towel against himself as the blood flowed out. — It’s done, he said, then looked at his friend, — but we ain’t finished yet. Somebody’s gonna have to suck the poison out.
Eugene instinctively glanced toward Madeline. His expression was hopeful and pleading.
She gaped at his bleeding cock in the towel. It was large and fat. She’d always thought of him as smaller in that way for some reason, even though he was a big guy. Maybe it was swollen with the snakebite. — Don’t even think about it, she snapped. — That bloody mess… that is so gross!
Eugene felt utterly wretched. He now fancied he could feel the deadly venom of the snake, winding its way through his veins and arteries, meandering with slow menace toward his heart. He looked at her in apoplexy. — You goddamn selfish bitch, he half begged, half threatened.
Madeline lurched forward a little in the bag she kept wrapped round her, even though she was still wearing her brown tank top. With her free hand she swept her tumbling hair back from her face. — I ain’t gonna suck your cack. It’s dripping with blood! You could have herpes or Aids or any shit. No way, she said, her frosty finality taking Eugene back to that party.
— I’m probably fucking dying, man… it’s fucking medicinal, it’s first fucking aid, Eugene pleaded.
— I’ll do it. Fuck it, Scott said.
Eugene regarded his friend with sudden trepidation. There was something about Scott, crouching there in those green boxer shorts. There had always been something about him: from way back in college. His girl’s eyes. His lady hands. Scott had had few close friends at UCLA and after they’d graduated he’d followed Eugene up to San Francisco on the basis that it was a ‘cool spot’. Moved close to him in North Beach. And he’d never really seemed that interested in pussy. The kid was just plain weird. — Keep away from me, man… Eugene said, raising his hands, — I want her to do it, he pointed at Madeline who again shook her head.
— For God’s sake, Eugene, you might get seriously ill. Scott took another step forward.
Eugene upturned his palms. — Back off! Just keep away from me you goddamn faggot!
— Whaaat! Scott protested in disbelief. — You let me cut holes in it with a knife, but you won’t let me get the fucking poison out! He pointed to Madeline. — She ain’t gonna suck your cock, Eugene! he roared.
— You’re darned right I ain’t… Madeline said, looking at Eugene’s bloody penis with horror. He expected her to suck on that, and have every sniggering dude and frat boy back in the neighborhood make a face as she walked into a bar? No way.
— You selfish freakin — I’m fuckin dying! Eugene cried. — You’re murdering me!
Madeline looked at Scott, then at Eugene. — Listen, you asshole, Scotty’s offered to suck it out. You’re murdering yourself with your own fuckin homophobic bullshit. You think when we get back to San Francisco that he’ll be in every bar on Castro boasting about sucking a bit of poison out of your miserable limp dick?
Eugene let this sink in, and looked at Scott, who shrugged. And so he gave a sad, tired nod as his friend knelt down and once again took his cock tentatively in his hand. He looked down at his old college buddy. Eugene had never seen eyes so faggish as the ones in the head that gazed sadly up at him. My God, he thought. It all makes sense now. He nodded and looked back up at the roof of the tent. Madeline watched in fascination, as Scott’s mouth sucked below the bloodied, swollen tip of Eugene’s cock.
The storm had taken them by surprise. It had seemed appropriate, the anger of gods scorning them in this terrible flight from Carmelita’s vengeance. They had just wanted to get away, though they had no real notion of where they were going. The younger brother, Noe, the more circumspect of the two, regarded Alejandro, five years his senior, stern as he drove ahead through the dust.