Margaret’s eyes widened as a thin, brown head slipped from under the mattress, the rattle louder than ever.
“Get out of the way!” Adrian roared, but the snake struck, sinking its fangs into Margaret’s trembling hand.
She screamed, a sound swallowed by the sudden, metallic clink of the snake’s bite.
Adrian turned, eyes blazing, and stormed toward the door, throwing the bedroom door open as blood dripped from Margaret’s palm.
The room fell silent save for the hiss of the rattlesnake, its venomous promise hanging in the air as he vanished into the hallway.
Margaret’s Collapse and the Hospital Revelation
“She’s bleeding from her hand!” I shouted, gripping the slick fur of the snake’s coil as it slipped from Margaret’s clenched fist.
Adrenaline surged; I lifted my mother‑in‑law onto the hallway couch, the scent of antiseptic already thick in the air.
“Claire, get the car,” Adrian barked from the kitchen doorway, his voice trembling.
I shoved the rattle‑filled bag into the back seat, the snake hissing against the leather as we sped toward Cedarcrest Medical Center.
In triage, a nurse’s eyes widened. “Rattlesnake bite—venom is rare. It’s from *Crotalus horridus*, the timber rattler. Antivenom is only produced by one biotech firm.”
