Untouchable ~ A Jared Leto/MARS Fanfiction

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"You won't get better if you overdo it, either. Before we left, Dr. Lange said—"

His scowl deepens. "Dr. Lange can go fuck himself. I'm doing fine."

"Oh, that's nice. That's real nice." So much for the serene Jared. I know the pain makes him irritable and I try to be understanding of that but for Christ's sake, why must he be so goddamn stubborn? Angrily I speed up, but my whole attention is still on Jared ten yards back, gamely limping his way  behind me with a look of determination on his face, and that's probably why what happens next takes me so completely by surprise.

One minute I'm walking, unmindful that I'm descending downhill a little bit, and the next minute my right toe strikes something hard—a rock or an exposed root, maybe—and I'm sprawled face first on the rough ground, gravity and my momentum propelling me forward in a downward slide a few feet before I come to a stop. The palms of my hands sting from a dozen abrasions. I bet my jeans are torn, and I've probably lost a fair bit of skin from my right knee.

"Oh, shit!" Jared exclaims behind me, and I hear his quickened footsteps as he hurries toward me. "Lanie, are you okay? Are you—" the footsteps halt, and he gives a sudden intake a breath. "Oh, my God—Lanie—don't move."

I don't move. I know what Jared's seen because I've seen it, too. I'm frozen in place.

The diamondback rattler is just a few feet away, its ancient, bottomless black eyes looking directly into mine. The snake is coiled tightly, its head upright and drawn back slightly—its striking pose. It's impossible to tell how large it is, but judging by the size of its tail, also stiffly upright and vibrating so fast it's a blur, this snake is a large one. Five feet, maybe more. Not that it matters. Rattlesnakes are lethal whatever their size.

My right hand is nowhere near my belt to get my knife. If I move, the snake will strike before I can get close to it, and laying face down on the ground, I doubt I'd be able to throw my knife with enough power or in the right trajectory to kill it, anyway.

Because snakes strike their prey using their senses to detect motion and scent, if I lay still, if Jared makes no sudden moves, the rattler may lose interest and move on. But this one seems aware of that tactic. It's locked onto my presence, giving no indication that it's going anywhere. We continue to stare one another down in a kind of woman vs. wild standoff. The harsh rattle of its tail fills my hearing, obscuring everything else.

I barely dare to breathe. Every movement of my body causes the snake to tense up further, to draw its head back even more.

Where will it strike me? My right hand and my face are its closest targets. A bite to my face or neck would probably kill me before I can instruct Jared how to administer the antidote, which I don't even have in my possession. It's back at camp in my medical kit. Why the hell didn't I bring my medical kit on this hike? How could I have been so stupid? That kit should never leave my side. Did a couple of months of living in luxurious Hollywood comfort make me forget even the most basic lessons about wilderness survival?

All of these thoughts race through my brain one after the other as I continue to stare into the eyes of almost certain death.

"Lanie....I've got the gun in my hand and I'm going to shoot it. Please, please don't move." Jared's voice is trembling, and I understand why. Because of his own experience, he's terrified of the snake. He's also terrified of the snake biting and killing me, but he's even more terrified that he'll fire my gun, miss and end up shooting me. I close my eyes and remember his vantage point. If he's positioned where I think he is, there's about a foot of clearance over my head. I mentally calculate the angle he'd fire from. Yes, if he's a decent shot, he can hit the snake.