The sun beat down on the Wisconsin river that July afternoon, turning the water into a sheet of silver. Jason Miller leaned back in his canoe, paddle resting across his lap, grinning at his best friend Kevin.
“See?” Jason said. “Told you this was better than sitting in your apartment all weekend.”
Kevin smirked. “I’ll admit, it beats Netflix. Barely.”
The two men were college roommates turned coworkers, their friendship forged in late-night study sessions and bad takeout. Kevin wasn’t much of an outdoorsman, but Jason had spent summers fishing and camping with his father. When Jason suggested a weekend canoe trip, Kevin reluctantly agreed.
By early afternoon, they pulled onto a sandy bank, dragging the canoe ashore. Jason cracked open the cooler, tossing Kevin a soda. The river murmured, cicadas droned, and for a while, everything was perfect.
Then Kevin yelped.
“Damn—something stung me!” He slapped at his arm, wincing.
Jason glanced over. A yellowjacket buzzed angrily away, disappearing into the weeds. On Kevin’s forearm, a red welt swelled rapidly, already puffing larger than normal.
Jason frowned. “That’s more than just a sting.”
Kevin muttered, “I hate bugs,” and popped the soda tab, trying to laugh it off. But within minutes, the swelling spread. His skin flushed, and sweat broke out on his forehead.
Jason’s smile faded. “Kev… how bad are you feeling?”
Kevin rubbed his chest, his breaths short. “Weird. Dizzy. Like my throat’s tight.”
Jason’s stomach dropped. He’d taken a wilderness first aid course years ago. He knew the signs.
Allergic reaction.
“Okay, don’t panic,” Jason said, forcing calm into his voice. “Do you have an EpiPen?”
Kevin shook his head, struggling to breathe. “Didn’t know… I was allergic…”
Jason cursed under his breath. They were miles from the nearest town, with nothing but a canoe and a cooler.
Kevin swayed, nearly collapsing. Jason caught him, heart pounding.
“Stay with me,” Jason said, gripping his shoulders. “I’ve got you. I’ll figure this out.”
The buzzing of cicadas seemed louder now, oppressive. The river, once calm and beautiful, had become an indifferent witness to something far more dangerous than Jason had ever expected: the fight to keep his best friend alive after the sting of an insect.
Jason eased Kevin onto the sand, his own hands shaking. Kevin’s breathing was shallow now, wheezing like air forced through a clogged pipe. His lips had taken on a bluish tint.
“Okay, think,” Jason muttered, forcing himself to focus. He dropped to his knees beside the cooler, rummaging for anything useful. Gauze, band-aids, antiseptic—nothing that could stop anaphylaxis.
Kevin clutched at his throat, eyes wide with panic. “Jase… can’t… breathe…”
Jason grabbed his hand. “Don’t talk. Save your strength.”
His mind raced through fragments of the wilderness first aid class he’d taken years ago. Pressure bandages were for snakebites. Tourniquets weren’t for venom from insects. He remembered one phrase crystal clear: If you don’t have epinephrine, you need to keep the airway open until help arrives.
But help was miles away.
Jason pulled Kevin up into a sitting position, leaning him slightly forward. “Easier breaths, come on. In through your nose, slow.”
Kevin’s chest rattled, but a thin thread of air still made it in. Jason’s heart hammered as he grabbed his phone, praying for a signal. Nothing. Just a flat “No Service” glaring back at him.
“God damn it!” he shouted into the trees.
Kevin’s body slumped, eyelids fluttering. Jason shook him gently. “Stay awake! Kev, stay with me!”
For a moment, Jason froze. He felt the edges of panic clawing at him, telling him it was hopeless, that Kevin was slipping beyond his reach. But he shoved it down, gritting his teeth.
“No,” he whispered fiercely. “Not like this.”
He tilted Kevin’s head back, listening for breath. Weak, uneven, but still there. He remembered the EpiPen demonstration the instructor had given—blue to the sky, orange to the thigh. Jason didn’t have one, but he had adrenaline pumping through his veins, and he had to act.
He splashed river water over Kevin’s face, keeping him conscious. “Come on, man. Breathe. You’re tougher than this.”
Kevin coughed, choking, but his eyes flickered open for a second. “Hurts…”
“I know,” Jason said quickly. “I know it does. But you’re not quitting on me. Not today.”
Jason glanced toward the canoe, then back at his friend. He had a choice: wait here and hope for a miracle, or risk everything paddling miles upstream with Kevin half-conscious, praying there was a ranger station or a house nearby.
The weight of the decision pressed on him. Time was bleeding away with every rasping breath Kevin managed to drag in.
Jason tightened his grip on his friend’s shoulder. “We’re moving. Now.”
He hauled Kevin into the canoe, steadying his limp body as best he could. The river stretched wide and merciless in front of them, but Jason set his jaw, dug his paddle into the current, and pushed off.
Every stroke was a race against the venom coursing through Kevin’s veins.
The canoe wobbled dangerously as Jason pushed off from the sandy bank, his arms already aching from the frantic pace. Kevin slumped in the middle seat, his chest rising shallowly, each breath a weak whistle.
“Hang in there,” Jason said between strokes, his voice breaking. “Just hang on.”
The river carried them downstream faster than he’d hoped, current tugging the canoe like a lifeline. But Jason knew speed alone wouldn’t save Kevin. They needed people. Medicine. A hospital.
He shouted into the emptiness, his voice bouncing off the trees. “Help! Somebody!”
The only reply was the croak of frogs and the drone of cicadas.
Kevin stirred weakly, his lips moving without sound. Jason leaned closer. “What? Say it again.”
“Don’t… let me…” Kevin’s voice trailed off, his throat closing.
Jason gripped his friend’s shoulder hard. “You’re not dying here. Not on this river. You hear me?”
The canoe jolted over a hidden rock, nearly pitching Jason sideways. He steadied it, panting, his eyes scanning the banks for any sign of life. Cabin, dock, fisherman—anything.
Nothing. Just miles of wilderness.
Minutes blurred together. Jason’s muscles screamed, sweat dripping into his eyes. He glanced back at Kevin constantly, terrified of seeing stillness where there should be breath.
Then—up ahead—a wooden dock. Weathered, leaning, but real.
Jason’s heart leapt. He shouted hoarsely, “Hey! Help!”
The canoe slammed against the dock. Jason scrambled out, nearly tipping it, and dragged Kevin’s limp body onto the planks.
“Please, God…” Jason muttered, pressing his ear to Kevin’s mouth. A faint breath brushed his skin. Still alive. Barely.
“Help!” Jason roared again, his voice raw. “Somebody help us!”
A door creaked. From a cabin up the hill, an older man in work boots appeared, startled by the scene. He rushed down, carrying a tackle box that looked more like a toolbox.
“What happened?” the man demanded, dropping beside them.
“Wasp sting,” Jason gasped. “He’s allergic. He can’t breathe.”
The man’s face hardened. He flipped open the box—and there, like a miracle, was an EpiPen.
Jason’s breath caught. “You have one?”
“Never go fishing without it,” the man said grimly. “Too many hornets around here.”
He yanked the cap, pressed the injector to Kevin’s thigh, and fired. Kevin’s body jerked, then sagged, the wheeze of his breathing shifting into a deep, ragged gasp.
Jason nearly collapsed with relief. “Oh thank God…”
The man nodded briskly. “He’s not out of danger yet. We’ve gotta get him to the hospital. Now.”
As they carried Kevin toward the cabin truck parked nearby, Jason realized just how close they’d been to losing everything. One sting. One mistake. And only a stranger’s preparedness stood between Kevin and death.
The truck rattled down the winding country road, every bump jarring Kevin’s limp body in the backseat. Jason sat pressed against him, holding his hand, watching his chest rise and fall with each uneven breath.
“Stay with me,” Jason whispered. “You’re gonna be fine. Just stay with me.”
The older man—Bill, he’d introduced himself quickly—drove like a man on a mission, eyes locked on the road, hands steady on the wheel.
“Hospital’s twenty minutes out,” Bill said. “He’s got epinephrine in him now, but reactions can rebound. Don’t let him fall asleep.”
Jason shook Kevin gently. “Hey, wake up. You still owe me for dragging your butt out here, remember?”
Kevin’s eyelids fluttered, a faint smile tugging at his swollen lips. His voice was weak, hoarse. “Netflix… would’ve been… safer.”
Jason laughed, half-sobbed, clutching his friend tighter. “Yeah. Guess you win this one.”
They pulled into the small-town hospital, nurses rushing to meet them with a stretcher. Kevin was whisked inside, Jason stumbling after, adrenaline draining from his body all at once.
Hours passed in a blur of waiting room chairs, coffee that tasted like ash, and the steady hum of fluorescent lights. At last, a doctor appeared, calm and reassuring.
“He’s stable,” she said. “The reaction was severe, but the epinephrine did its job. You got him here just in time.”
Jason’s knees nearly gave out. He sat, burying his face in his hands, relief crashing over him like a wave.
When he finally saw Kevin again, pale but alive in the hospital bed, he grabbed his hand firmly. “You scared the hell out of me, man.”
Kevin’s eyes softened. “Scared myself too.” He paused, then whispered, “Thanks for not giving up.”
Jason squeezed tighter. “Never.”
Later, as Jason sat outside the hospital, the night air cool against his skin, he thought of the sting—the tiny insect, the swelling, the helplessness. Something so small had brought them to the edge of death.
He knew he’d never look at the outdoors the same way again. Not without respect. Not without preparation.
And from that day on, every pack he carried, whether for a short hike or a weekend trip, had two things added without fail: a first aid kit—and an EpiPen.