Caught

22.

I dragged Shira into the room and slammed the door. He could barely stand, his hand clutching the wound on his thigh, blood seeping between his fingers even through the improvised pressure bandage.

We were both drenched. The wet clothes clung to my body, but I hardly noticed. Shira was shivering all over, and I guessed it wasn't just from the cold. 

Besides the drops of water, blood was trickling down his face from the cut on the forehead. Unfortunately, the scratches and bruises were not the worst of it.

My biggest concern was the gunshot wound in his right leg.

"It's okay," Shira breathed tiredly, pulling himself out of my grasp.

He leaned his back against the wall and only now did he set his katana down. He had lost most of the extensive arsenal with which he had armed himself before his departure. However that sword would nobody have pried from his hand perhaps not even after his death.

I removed my soaked jacket and then assisted Shira out of his equally drenched coat.

"You need to see a doctor."

"No," he rasped.

I expected that answer. He'd given me the same one outside when I'd tried to call for help.

"You're going to bleed to death," I snapped at him, harsher than I meant to. I didn't know why he wanted to play a hero. Surely there was a doctor somewhere on this base.

And Maya.

If only she were here with me, she'd know what to do.

"It's not that bad," he breathed, losing his balance for a moment before I grabbed his arm.

'Not that bad' meant that the blood wasn't gushing out, so hopefully the main artery had been intact, but that's where the good news ended. It was still bleeding, the leg was swollen and the true extent of the injury could only be guessed at.

And looking at Shira's pale face, watching him shiver and struggle to stay conscious, it didn't require Maya's medical expertise to diagnose the onset of shock.

"Lie down," I supported him and helped him onto the bed. I put a pillow under his injured leg and rushed next door to the bathroom where the first aid kit should have been.

I had occasionally treated gunshot wounds in battles, but I was no surgeon. Most of the time, all I had to do was wrap the wound, stop the bleeding and get the patient to Maya as quickly as possible.

Determined to do everything in my powers, I threw the contents of the first aid kit onto the floor and quickly picked out what I needed. Some bandages, disinfectant, small scissors, gauze. I looked for a painkiller, but couldn't find any. I grabbed a clean towel and soaked it thoroughly.

When I returned to the room, Shira was lying on the bed, breathing shallowly, his face glistening with sweat.

I leaned over him, his blue-grey eyes locked with mine. He was conscious.

"I'll clean this up and dress the wound."

He nodded and I carefully removed the temporary bandage. The black pants around the wound were soaked with blood, I had to get them off. I wondered how to do this without moving the injured man and causing him more pain.

As if Shira had read my mind, he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and withdrew a small sharp blade from the holster on his forearm.

"Cut the fabric through."

I took the knife he offered me and cut the seam down the side of his pants. Then it wasn't difficult to rip the pants down the length of the leg and pull the fabric aside.