He sat there for a while, maybe only minutes, maybe longer, trying to slow his heartbeat, realizing it might never go back to normal again. He wished desperately for some sensation, some sign of their presence, so he wouldn’t be alone anymore. An orphan anymore. And tears filled his eyes because he knew he’d been wanting that sensation for these last eight years, to know that they were nearby, watching over him.

For some reason, he suddenly remembered shooting hoops with his dad in the yard, and how his dad had never been much good at it. Then in the summer before the accident Tom had looked out of his bedroom window one evening and seen his dad pick up the basketball where it had been left on the ground and casually throw a perfect back-shot over his shoulder and through the hoop. Tom had been staggered at first, and more so when he’d realized his dad had only been pretending to be bad all that time, so that Tom could always win.

He smiled at the memory now, but was distracted by a fly homing in on the punctured flesh of his leg. Tom shooed it away and at the same time noticed his heart was no longer racing. He checked his watch but wasn’t sure how long it was since he’d been bitten. He was afraid to hope.

Toby had gone into shock, that’s what they’d said, but Tom’s heart seemed to be beating normally now. The fly homed in again and Tom swatted it away. He got his water bottle and poured a little over the wound, wincing with the sting, and used it to wipe away the blood too.

Could the snake have been non-venomous? He could only wish he’d be that lucky, but by now he should’ve started to feel some symptoms. Still, he’d been bitten by a wild animal, and even if it wasn’t immediately fatal, it could get infected. He didn’t have the first aid kit, but he had his own antiseptic cream for blisters and minor wounds.

He stood awkwardly, treating the injured leg as if it was broken rather than bitten, afraid of moving it. And once he’d found the cream he lowered himself back down and rubbed it gingerly over the wound, cringing as his finger pushed through the congealing blood into one of the holes.

Once he was done he checked his watch again, knowing he had to move, that the daylight wouldn’t last much longer. If the snakebite didn’t kill him, being out here alone at night without a fire absolutely would. But before he’d had the chance to act on the thought, he heard a noise somewhere on the trail ahead and immediately tensed, listening for more.

What else would this jungle throw at him?