The air in northern Minnesota always smelled different in June—fresh pine, damp earth, and something sweet that came with the early wildflowers. Mark Wilson loved it. He’d been coming up here since he was a boy, his father teaching him how to fish the lakes and hike the old logging trails.
Now, at thirty-six, Mark was bringing his fiancée, Laura, on her first backwoods hike. She was a city girl from Chicago, more used to yoga studios and coffee shops than mosquito nets and sleeping bags. But she’d agreed—mostly because she wanted to see the side of him that glowed every time he talked about the woods.
“Not so bad, right?” Mark grinned as they walked the trail, packs light, sun warm on their shoulders.
Laura swatted at her arm, grimacing. “Depends if I count the blood donation I’ve already made to the bugs.”
Mark chuckled. “That’s nothing. Wait until evening. The mosquitoes up here could carry you away if they worked in teams.”
Laura gave him a look, half amused, half annoyed. “You’re not helping.”
They pressed on, the forest alive with birdcalls and the buzz of insects. Mark pointed out beaver dams and wild orchids, sharing stories about his childhood adventures. Laura tried to match his enthusiasm, but every so often, she’d slap at her arm or neck, muttering curses under her breath.
When they stopped for lunch by a stream, Laura rubbed at a red welt rising on her forearm.
“See? They love me,” she said, scratching.
Mark leaned closer, frowning. “Don’t scratch it. Makes it worse.”
“Easy for you to say,” she shot back, though she dropped her hand.
They ate in silence for a while, the water trickling soothingly over smooth stones. But Mark couldn’t shake the look of that welt. It wasn’t like a normal mosquito bite—angrier, already swelling more than it should.
“You allergic to anything?” he asked casually.
“Just cats,” Laura said. “Why?”
Mark nodded slowly, but unease prickled at him. He’d seen bad reactions to stings before—his cousin once nearly passed out after a bee got him.
As the afternoon stretched on, the trail narrowed through thick brush. The hum of insects grew louder, denser, until it seemed like the air itself buzzed. Laura waved her hand in front of her face, scowling.
“Mark, this is crazy. It’s like they’re following me.”
“Just keep moving,” he said, though his own skin crawled with the sound.
They pushed into a small clearing, and that’s when it happened. Laura yelped, slapping at her neck. Then her arm. Then her leg.
“Bees!” she shouted.
Mark looked up, horror striking him as he saw them—a swarm rising from a hollow log, black and furious, filling the air like living smoke.
“Run!” he yelled.
They sprinted for the treeline, bees chasing, stingers sharp and relentless. Mark felt the burn of a sting on his neck, another on his wrist, but he kept running, pulling Laura by the hand.
Her breath came ragged, uneven. “Mark—I—”
She stumbled, collapsing just inside the shadow of the pines. Mark dropped to his knees beside her, heart hammering.
Her face was already swelling, eyes narrowing, lips puffing. Red welts covered her arms, her neck.
“Laura!” Mark’s voice cracked with terror. “Oh God—are you allergic?”
She gasped, clawing at her throat. Her breaths were shallow, wheezing.
Mark’s stomach turned to ice. This wasn’t just a sting. This was anaphylaxis.
Mark’s mind spun, but his body moved on instinct. He yanked off his pack, tearing it open, scattering gear onto the forest floor. Water bottle. Snacks. Map. First aid kit—small, basic, utterly inadequate.
“EpiPen?” he shouted at Laura, his hands shaking. “Do you carry one? Please tell me you have one.”
She struggled for air, her face turning blotchy, her eyes wide with panic. She shook her head, just barely.
“God, no,” Mark whispered.
Her throat swelled tighter, every breath a battle. He grabbed the first aid kit anyway, fumbling through bandages, antiseptic wipes, ibuprofen. Useless. His heart pounded, his breaths coming fast and shallow as if his own chest were closing.
“Okay. Think, Mark. Think.”
He forced himself to remember. CPR training, wilderness safety classes, that time he’d watched his cousin swell from a bee sting. He remembered the instructor’s voice: Keep the airway open. Call for help immediately. Use epinephrine if available.
But there was no epinephrine. No signal on his phone. Just him, Laura, and the endless forest.
She clawed weakly at her throat, gasping. He slid behind her, holding her upright.
“Stay with me, Laura. Stay awake, you hear me? You’re not passing out on me.”
Her breaths came in harsh whistles. Mark pulled his water bottle, dribbling a little on her lips. She coughed, choking, but swallowed some.
He pressed his forehead against hers, desperate. “Listen to me. We’re getting out. You’re gonna marry me in two months, remember? You still haven’t picked the flowers. You can’t leave that to me—I’ll just get plastic ones.”
Her lips twitched, the ghost of a smile, but her eyes rolled slightly, her body going limp.
“No, no, no!” Mark shook her gently. “Stay with me, Laura!”
The buzzing had faded—the swarm had dispersed, their fury spent. But the damage was done.
Mark hoisted her up, his arms trembling with the weight, and staggered to his feet. His legs screamed, his back bent, but adrenaline drove him.
The trail stretched ahead, endless. He knew the ranger station was at least four miles away, maybe more. He couldn’t make it carrying her the whole way. But what choice did he have?
He stumbled forward, each step agony. Laura’s shallow breaths rattled in his ear, a constant reminder that time was bleeding away faster than he could move.
Minutes blurred. The forest swam around him. His shirt stuck to his back with sweat, his arms burned, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
At one point he tripped, nearly dropping her, his knees slamming into the dirt. He bit back a cry of pain, clutching her tighter.
“I’ve got you,” he gasped. “I’ll always have you.”
But as he pushed on, her breaths grew weaker, softer, fading like a candle guttering in the wind.
Mark’s chest ached with more than exhaustion. He was running against a clock he couldn’t see, and every instinct screamed he was losing.
Still, he staggered forward, one thought burning in his mind: Don’t let her die out here.
The forest blurred into green and shadow as Mark staggered forward with Laura in his arms. His muscles screamed for release, his throat burned, but he refused to stop. Each shallow breath from her lips was a metronome of dread—proof that she was still fighting, but proof too that she was running out of time.
“Come on, baby,” he panted. “Stay with me. Just a little longer.”
His boots slipped on loose pine needles, and he went down hard on one knee, clutching Laura to his chest. Her head lolled against his shoulder, her skin clammy, lips blue-tinged.
“No, no, no.” Mark pressed two fingers to her neck, desperate. A pulse—weak, but there. Relief cut through his panic, only to be replaced by a darker fear: how long before it vanished too?
He laid her gently against a tree, fumbling for his phone. Still no bars. He raised it high, shaking it, moving in circles like some desperate ritual. Nothing.
“God damn it!” His voice cracked, echoing through the stillness.
Mark dropped to his knees, hands trembling as he searched his scattered gear again. No EpiPen. No miracle cure. Just gauze, tape, painkillers—useless.
Laura’s chest hitched, shallow, uneven. He tilted her head back, trying to open her airway. “Breathe, baby. Please. Just breathe.”
She wheezed faintly, eyelids fluttering. Mark grabbed her hand, squeezing it tight.
“Remember the cabin?” he whispered urgently. “That old shack your grandpa left us? You hated it—called it a rat’s nest. But we fixed it up, didn’t we? Painted it, put in that porch swing. You said you’d sit there with me every summer until we were old. That was the deal. You don’t get to back out now.”
Her fingers twitched faintly in his grip. It was enough. Enough to keep him moving.
Mark forced her back into his arms, his own body trembling with exhaustion. He stumbled forward again, his vision tunneling. Every step felt like dragging himself through mud, his calves burning, shoulders screaming.
Then—through the trees—movement. A flash of orange. A cabin roof, sunlight glinting on metal.
“God,” Mark croaked, half laughing, half sobbing. “We made it.”
It wasn’t the ranger station—just a hunting cabin, weathered and lonely. But maybe, just maybe, someone was there.
He kicked the door, shouting hoarsely. “Help! Please!”
Silence.
He kicked again, harder. The door creaked open on rusty hinges, revealing dust, shadows, and emptiness.
His heart sank, but he staggered inside, laying Laura gently on a rough wooden cot. He fumbled through drawers, cabinets—nothing useful, just old tins, mouse droppings, and cracked dishes.
Laura’s breathing was ragged now, her throat wheezing like a broken reed. Mark dropped to his knees beside her, tears cutting tracks through the dirt on his face.
“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
Outside, the forest hummed with insects again, as if mocking him. The very creatures that had done this filled the air with their endless buzz, indifferent to the suffering inside the cabin.
Mark pressed his forehead against Laura’s hand, praying to a God he hadn’t spoken to in years.
“Don’t take her. Take me instead. Please.”
Mark’s prayer was still hanging in the stale air of the cabin when he heard it—the low rumble of an engine. At first he thought it was a hallucination, the sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his skull. But then it grew louder, steady, real.
He stumbled to the door, nearly tripping over the threshold. Through the trees, a green ATV appeared, bouncing along the rough trail. A man in a ranger’s uniform sat at the wheel, his orange vest blazing like a miracle in the sun.
“HEY!” Mark shouted, waving his arms, his voice breaking. “HELP! OVER HERE!”
The ATV skidded to a stop outside the cabin. The ranger leapt off, grabbing a medical bag from the back. “What happened?” he barked.
“Bees,” Mark gasped, dragging him inside. “She’s allergic. She—she can’t breathe.”
The ranger dropped to his knees beside Laura, already pulling gloves on. He worked with practiced speed, pulling an auto-injector from his kit.
Mark froze, staring at the slim device. “That’s it, isn’t it? The shot?”
“Epinephrine,” the ranger confirmed. “Bought her time.”
He jabbed the injector into Laura’s thigh. Her body jolted slightly, her wheeze breaking into a deep, shuddering breath. Mark nearly collapsed with relief, tears streaming unchecked.
“She’s not out of the woods yet,” the ranger said quickly. “We’ve got to get her to the hospital. Anaphylaxis can rebound.”
Mark nodded frantically, helping lift her onto a stretcher the ranger had pulled from the ATV. They strapped her down, her breaths steadier now but still shallow.
As the engine roared back to life, Mark sat pressed against her, clutching her hand with both of his.
Her eyes fluttered open just a crack, and she looked at him through swollen lids. “You… didn’t get plastic flowers, right?” she whispered hoarsely.
Mark laughed, choked and broken but real. “No. Real ones. All real. Just like us.”
Her lips curved into the faintest smile before her eyes slid shut again, her chest rising and falling with steady rhythm.
The ATV tore down the trail, forest rushing past, the hum of insects fading behind them.
Hours later, in the clean sterility of a hospital room, Mark sat by Laura’s bed, her hand warm in his. Doctors came and went, reassuring him she’d recover. That she’d been minutes—maybe seconds—from not making it.
Mark never forgot that.
Every hike after, he carried two EpiPens in his pack. Every trip into the woods, he studied not just the map and the weather, but the unseen dangers—the insects, the stings, the hidden threats that could turn beauty into nightmare in a heartbeat.
And every time he heard the buzz of bees, he thought of that day in the pines. Of how close he came to losing her. And how sometimes, survival wasn’t about strength or courage at all—sometimes it was about sheer luck and the right help arriving at the right time.
But deep inside, Mark knew this much: he’d never walk into the woods again without being ready. Not after the swarm.