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New Hampton: Snake Handlers’ Commune
Ray slumped wearily on the ground, momentarily breathing deeply of the gathering dusk, and wondered if he could stand again without collapsing. Better try it now, he told himself. It’s not going to get any easier. Somehow he pushed himself to his feet, swaying a bit until his head stopped swimming.
“You look like Hell, Ray,” Jerry said.
“Thanks.” He took a deep breath and almost toppled over. “I’ll be fine after I pass out for awhile.”
“Save the repartee,” Yeoman said. “You need medical attention, along with Ackroyd.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“Only if we get the bleeding stopped,” Yeoman said. “You can’t have much left running though your veins.”
“Hey, guys,” Mushroom Daddy said, “I’ll go get one of the first aid kits from the snake handlers. They’ve got some really fine ones in case of accidents while playing their rattlers and shit.”
Yeoman looked around at the body-littered ground. “Some of these guys could use attention, too. I’ve seen fewer bodies on battlefields.”
So have I, Ray thought. Maybe too many battlefields. God, I’m tired. To Hell with standing up. He stretched out on the ground, and was asleep before Mushroom Daddy returned with the first aid kit.