Her throbbing headache and the nausea clutching at her belly went away and, as she resettled the gauze over the tender-looking bullet slash on Will’s right temple, she said another prayer of thanks. One of many prayers tonight as she’d patched up the two men. The wounds on Will weren’t too bad. The one on his temple wasn’t deep. Just a flesh wound, but he’d still bled like a stuck pig. She considered him lucky. Extremely lucky. His chest wound had been more serious. She’d dug out a bullet, but it hadn’t penetrated more than an inch. Hadn’t hit anything vital. On his chest, she’d placed a poultice with some herbs she carried with her—herbs that should attack any infection that might follow her digging around. She was glad she’d made alternative medicine a part of mandatory first-aid training for all Resistance members. Not only did alternative medicines work, they were easier to obtain than traditional antibiotics. And in many cases, members were able to grow their own herbs in the meadows around the areas where they hid.
