I never thought much about scorpions. Growing up in Wisconsin, they were something you saw in nature documentaries, not in your boots.
That changed the summer I went to Arizona with two college friends, Scott and Danielle. We’d planned a cheap adventure—rent a car, drive through the desert, hike during the day, sleep under the stars at night. None of us were seasoned travelers, but we were young, stupid, and eager.
Our second night, we set up camp near a dry wash outside Sedona. The sky turned violet as the sun dipped, stars crowding in almost too fast to count. We built a small fire, roasted hot dogs, passed around a bottle of cheap whiskey. It felt like freedom.
“Can you believe this?” Scott said, pointing his stick at the horizon. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, man. Real explorers.”
Danielle laughed. “Real explorers don’t bring marshmallows.”
We stayed up late, joking, telling stories, until the fire burned low. At some point, exhausted, I crawled into my sleeping bag and passed out.
The sting woke me before dawn.
At first I thought it was just a cramp in my foot. Then the pain sharpened, a white-hot jab like a nail driven into my skin. I kicked instinctively, groaning, and felt something skitter inside my boot.
My blood went cold.
I ripped my foot free, shaking the boot violently. A small, pale scorpion tumbled out, curling its tail, claws snapping in the faint firelight.
“Jesus!” I shouted, scrambling backward.
Scott jolted awake, fumbling for his flashlight. “What happened?”
“Scorpion,” I gasped, clutching my foot. “It stung me.”
Danielle swore, already grabbing the first aid kit. The light from Scott’s flashlight caught the creature, its exoskeleton glowing faintly under the beam. It scuttled away into the sand, vanishing like smoke.
The pain spread quickly, up my leg, sharp and searing. My toes twitched uncontrollably. My heart pounded.
Scott crouched beside me, eyes wide. “What do we do? Do we suck it out or something?”
“No,” Danielle snapped. “That’s snakes. With scorpions, you—” She stopped, rifling through the kit with shaking hands. “I don’t know! I don’t know!”
I gritted my teeth as the fire in my nerves climbed higher. My vision blurred, nausea twisting my stomach. I’d read once that most scorpion stings weren’t fatal, but at that moment, it didn’t feel survivable.
The desert around us was utterly silent, the kind of silence that pressed in from all sides. I realized how far we were from help, from hospitals, from anything.
Scott whispered, his voice breaking. “Man… are you gonna die out here?”
I didn’t have an answer.
The pain built like an electrical current running up my leg. My calf muscles twitched violently, my skin prickled as if ants were crawling under it. I couldn’t stop shaking.
Danielle crouched beside me, her face pale in the weak glow of the flashlight. “Okay, okay… just stay calm. We’ll figure this out.”
“Stay calm?” I hissed through clenched teeth. “My foot feels like it’s on fire!”
Scott hovered helplessly, flashlight beam jerking wildly. “We gotta do something! Pressure bandage? Ice? Cut it open?”
Danielle snapped, “Stop panicking!” Then she pulled her phone out, staring at the screen. “No service. Of course.”
The desert stretched around us, vast and indifferent. The nearest town had to be at least an hour’s drive away, maybe more.
I tried to breathe slow, but every inhale came jagged. My tongue felt thick, my lips numb. Panic rose sharp in my chest. I remembered reading once—some scorpions can kill children, the elderly, or anyone unlucky. At twenty-two, I wasn’t supposed to be a candidate. But what if this was the unlucky time?
Danielle grabbed my hand, steady but trembling. “Listen to me. Most stings aren’t lethal. You’re gonna be okay. We just… we need to get you to help.”
Scott’s eyes darted toward the car. “Then we drive. Right now. Screw packing up.”
Danielle hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Help me get him up.”
They hauled me to my feet, my legs barely holding. Every step sent new jolts of pain through me, my nerves sparking like live wires. I groaned, half-dragged between them as we staggered toward the dirt road where the car was parked.
The stars overhead spun. My vision tunneled. The desert air, cool before, now felt thin and suffocating.
I slumped against the hood while Scott fumbled with the keys. Danielle climbed in beside me, propping me upright as the engine coughed to life.
“Hold on,” she whispered, her arm around my shoulders. “Just hold on.”
The car jolted forward, bouncing over ruts and rocks. Headlights cut narrow tunnels through the darkness. Each bump sent waves of fire through my leg, my stomach lurching.
Minutes dragged like hours. My throat felt dry, my chest tight. I couldn’t tell if it was the venom or my own fear choking me.
Scott’s voice cracked from the driver’s seat. “I don’t see any signs. Nothing. Where the hell is the highway?”
Danielle shouted, “Just drive!”
I let my head fall back against the seat, sweat cold on my forehead. My body no longer felt like mine. It was trembling, jerking with spasms I couldn’t control.
Somewhere in the haze, I thought of my parents. My mom, who’d begged me not to go. My dad, who’d said, “You’ll be fine—it’s just the desert.”
And then I thought of the scorpion, small and pale, vanishing into the sand. Fragile-looking. Almost delicate. And yet, it had reduced me to this—broken, helpless, maybe dying.
That was the last clear thought I had before the world tilted sideways and everything went dark.
When I came to, the car was still moving. The engine’s growl vibrated through the seat, headlights carving shaky paths across the desert scrub. My vision was blurred, colors bleeding into each other.
Danielle’s voice cut through the haze. “He’s awake! He’s still with us!”
Scott leaned forward over the wheel. “Thank God. I thought he was gone.”
I tried to speak, but my tongue felt like stone. Only a rasp came out. Danielle leaned close, brushing damp hair off my forehead. “You’re okay. Just hang in there.”
But I wasn’t okay. My chest felt heavy, every breath shallow. My body jerked with spasms, my fingers curling tight against my will.
“Hospital,” I croaked. “Please…”
Scott’s knuckles were white on the wheel. “I’m trying! GPS doesn’t work out here. No signal. Just dirt roads.”
Panic bubbled in my chest, but Danielle gripped my hand hard. “Don’t give up. You hear me? You don’t quit.”
The car hit a rut, jolting me so hard my vision went white. Pain flared like fire through my leg, then rippled upward, flooding my torso. I screamed, raw and hoarse, before collapsing back against the seat, trembling.
Scott cursed. “We’re not gonna make it at this pace.”
Danielle’s voice hardened. “Keep driving. Faster.”
He shot her a look. “If we blow a tire—”
“Faster!” she snapped.
The engine roared louder, the car bounding over ruts like a wounded animal fleeing predators. My body thrashed with every bump, but somewhere through the fog I saw the first glimmer of salvation—streetlights.
Faint, distant, but real.
Tears blurred my eyes. “Town…” I whispered.
“Yeah,” Danielle said, her voice breaking. “Almost there.”
We barreled onto asphalt, the rough rattle of dirt giving way to smooth pavement. Scott drove like a man possessed, running stop signs, following the glow of a red cross symbol that finally appeared against the night sky.
The emergency room doors slid open as they rushed me inside, voices shouting, lights glaring. Nurses swarmed me, their movements efficient, calm in a way that made me realize how dire this was.
I remember an oxygen mask pressed to my face. A needle in my arm. Danielle’s tear-streaked face as she held my hand until someone pulled her back.
And then, once again, nothing.
When I woke the next time, it was to the steady beep of monitors, fluorescent light, and the sterile smell of disinfectant. My body ached, but the fire was gone. The spasms had stopped.
Danielle sat beside me, slumped in a chair, her eyes swollen from crying. Scott leaned against the wall, exhausted, his clothes streaked with dust.
“You’re alive,” Danielle whispered when she saw my eyes open. She squeezed my hand as though afraid I’d slip away again.
Alive. The word felt strange in my chest. Fragile. Precious.
The doctor came in a few hours later, a tired-looking man with gray hair and desert dust still clinging to his boots. He carried a clipboard but didn’t bother reading from it.
“You had a close call,” he said, pulling up a stool. “Bark scorpion. Nasty sting. Most aren’t fatal, but reactions vary. Neurological symptoms, breathing issues—you got the full set.”
I swallowed, my throat raw. “Was I… close?”
He met my eyes. “Closer than you want to know.” Then his tone softened. “But you’re here. You’ll walk out of this. Not everyone does.”
Danielle wiped at her face, whispering, “Thank God.”
Scott shook his head, pacing. “It was so small. I saw it, Doc—it was tiny. How can something like that…” He trailed off, shaking.
The doctor gave a weary smile. “That’s the desert. Out here, size means nothing. A creature you can crush with your boot can kill you faster than a mountain lion if you don’t respect it. That’s why we tell tourists—check your shoes, your sleeping bags, your packs. Always.”
His words landed heavy. I thought of how casually I’d left my boots by the fire, open, unguarded. How I’d laughed at the idea of real danger from something so small.
When the doctor left, the three of us sat in silence, the weight of what almost happened pressing down.
Finally, Danielle broke it. “We can’t go back out there. Not like this. Not without knowing.”
Scott nodded. “Yeah. Next time… if there even is a next time… we do it right. Prep, gear, research. No more winging it.”
I closed my eyes, the memory of the sting still burning ghost-like in my nerves. “Or we just don’t tempt it again. Some places… they don’t forgive mistakes.”
The desert outside the hospital walls stretched endless, ancient, indifferent. People came and went, tourists chasing sunsets, hikers chasing solitude. And beneath the sand and stone, creatures waited—silent, patient, hidden in boots and shadows.
I lived. But the lesson carved itself deep: in the wild, danger doesn’t roar. Sometimes, it’s no bigger than your hand. Sometimes, it waits for you in the dark, with a sting sharp enough to remind you that survival is never guaranteed.