Whimpers spilled from his mouth, and he turned and ran back the way they had come. Captain Knight had to have anti-venom serum on his boat. Cally was paying him. The man would have to save him!
Cally’s vision began to cloud along the edges, and he knew he’d never make it back to the beach. You’ve got a knife, he reminded himself. He ripped back his sleeve and moaned at the site the torn material revealed—his right arm turning a frightening shade of purple-black and swelling, but he could see the two puncture wounds. He pulled the knife from its sheath on his calf and cut the skin. Blood flowed freely, and he almost pissed himself in relief. He was doing something about the situation. It would be all right.