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Page 165
his skin there." She pointed to Mike's upper arm. Hannah unsheathed a needle attached to a vial of liquid, then plunged the point into Mike where Abby had wiped. She soon extracted the needle. "There's another dose if we need it. While I put on the tourniquet, find some pills in the kit and get them down him. There's still juice in his glass."
Mike, his eyes glazed and half closed, was conscious enough to obediently open his mouth. Abby placed the pills on his tongue and lifted the juice to his lips. He swallowed.
"Do you see the stinger?" Hannah asked.
Abby did, a barb in the center of the swelling.
"I'll be right back with tweezers. Then we'll get him to the emergency room."
Abby bit her lip, frightened at being left alone with Mike. What if he stopped breathing?
But Hannah soon reappeared. She bent over Mike's arm, then straightened with an exclamation of triumph, the tweezers holding a tiny, pointed stinger. "Wouldn't think something this small would cause so much trouble, would you?"
The women helped Mike to stand. His breathing sounded less raspy, and his color seemed better. He was improving!
They got him into the Bronco. "Want to drive?" Hannah asked.
Abby shook her head. "I don't know how," she admitted in a small voice. What if that failing caused Mike's death?
Slipping behind the steering wheel, Hannah handed Abby the precious orange box. "Keep a

 
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