Mark pulled himself off the burning ground and ran over to Jesse, as gently as possible moving him away from the middle of the burning building, which seemed ready to cave in on itself at any moment. He spotted a small corner, which, for some unknown, un-need-to-know reason, seemed rather stable and as of yet untouched by the flames and wreckage.
Jesse grunted in pain as he tried to help Mark move him to wherever they were going. He was losing blood fast and he could feel the bullet lodged in his upper right chest near his collarbone. Jesse relaxed slightly as Mark gently lay him down. He felt himself nearly black out for a moment.
Mark nervously lowered his profusely bleeding friend to the floor as he got the bright idea to check up on their situation, and to retrieve his medical bag, which he had left in his briefcase in the middle of the building. But as he rushed back to the proverbial "cavern of safety," a beam fell from the ceiling, and, while luckily narrowly missing his head, landed with a crunch on his outstretched left arm. He was able to yank his arm from under the beam and make it back to the temporary safety, but the sharp, throbbing pain told him that his arm was not quite alright. He tried to ignore it for the moment, though, as he examined the possibly mortally wounded Jesse.
"Are you alright?" Jesse gasped, noticing the look of pain on Mark's face and how he held his arm.
"I'm fine, let me take a look at that wound." Mark was astounded at how Jesse could only think of Mark's minor injury, in comparison to his own serious wound.
Jesse, to weak to argue, winced as Mark tore open his shirt to examine the wound. "Aw, that was my favorite shirt." Jesse tried to laugh softly, but that only resulted in a few wheezes and coughs.
Mark chuckled, encouraged by his friend's intact humor. He carefully examined the wound, coming to the bleak realization that the bullet needed to come out. It had already damaged a major artery and would do more harm if left in. Mark singlehandedly (think about it) rummaged through his medical bag muttering, "That bullet's gotta come out." It would be possible to remove without surgery, but rather tricky, not to mention painful. He pulled out the forceps as Jesse's eyes widened in fear. "Hold on Jess. This is gonna hurt."
Jesse swallowed hard. "Quite an understatement, eh?" He attempted a smile. It didn't work very well. He braced himself as Mark's steady hand, holding the gleaming forceps, approached the bloody wound. At first touch, the pain was so great that a convulsion shook his whole shoulder.
Mark quickly pulled back, trying almost too hard to cause as little pain as possible. "I'm sorry! Jess, you have to hold still!"
"I know," the younger man gasped. "I'm sorry."
The whole ordeal lasted approximately 20-30 seconds, but, as these things always do, it seemed near to forever. By the end of the makeshift operation, Jesse's wound was bleeding even more profusely. Mark felt his own eyes well up as he watched a few stray tears trickle down Jesse's sweating, contorted face. The pain Mark had caused his young friend possibly hurt him just as much or more than it hurt Jesse. He began to doubt that, though, at Jesse's strained whimpers as Mark carefully bandaged the wound. He finished the dressing and exhaustedly leaned against the stable-enough-looking wall, still cradling his swollen, probably broken arm. "I'm all done, Jess, you relax now."
Jesse opened his eyes and saw Mark still favoring his arm. "Now you can take care of that arm."
Mark had almost forgotten about it, he was so concerned with Jesse. "Oh, yes, I suppose so."
Jesse produced a small plank of wood that he had been absently picking at. "Be careful for splinters," he warned, feebly grinning.
"Thanks Jess," he smiled, taking the piece of wood from Jesse. He carefully wrapped a cloth around it and made a makeshift splint, however that's done. Mark sighed deeply as he rose to check on their predicament. For some strange reason, the fire seemed to be keeping to the other side of the warehouse, giving them seemingly temporary security. But, on the other hand, they were trapped. There was no third hand about, there was no way to get out with both of them injured. Help couldn't come soon enough. He finally came to rest at Jesse's side. As he sat there in the burning building, his own arm probably broken and the young man he saw as a son lying in a small yet growing pool of his own blood, a certain realization happened upon Mark (besides the fact that there was absolutely nothing he could do for the situation.)
Jesse grunted in pain as he tried to help Mark move him to wherever they were going. He was losing blood fast and he could feel the bullet lodged in his upper right chest near his collarbone. Jesse relaxed slightly as Mark gently lay him down. He felt himself nearly black out for a moment.
Mark nervously lowered his profusely bleeding friend to the floor as he got the bright idea to check up on their situation, and to retrieve his medical bag, which he had left in his briefcase in the middle of the building. But as he rushed back to the proverbial "cavern of safety," a beam fell from the ceiling, and, while luckily narrowly missing his head, landed with a crunch on his outstretched left arm. He was able to yank his arm from under the beam and make it back to the temporary safety, but the sharp, throbbing pain told him that his arm was not quite alright. He tried to ignore it for the moment, though, as he examined the possibly mortally wounded Jesse.
"Are you alright?" Jesse gasped, noticing the look of pain on Mark's face and how he held his arm.
"I'm fine, let me take a look at that wound." Mark was astounded at how Jesse could only think of Mark's minor injury, in comparison to his own serious wound.
Jesse, to weak to argue, winced as Mark tore open his shirt to examine the wound. "Aw, that was my favorite shirt." Jesse tried to laugh softly, but that only resulted in a few wheezes and coughs.
Mark chuckled, encouraged by his friend's intact humor. He carefully examined the wound, coming to the bleak realization that the bullet needed to come out. It had already damaged a major artery and would do more harm if left in. Mark singlehandedly (think about it) rummaged through his medical bag muttering, "That bullet's gotta come out." It would be possible to remove without surgery, but rather tricky, not to mention painful. He pulled out the forceps as Jesse's eyes widened in fear. "Hold on Jess. This is gonna hurt."
Jesse swallowed hard. "Quite an understatement, eh?" He attempted a smile. It didn't work very well. He braced himself as Mark's steady hand, holding the gleaming forceps, approached the bloody wound. At first touch, the pain was so great that a convulsion shook his whole shoulder.
Mark quickly pulled back, trying almost too hard to cause as little pain as possible. "I'm sorry! Jess, you have to hold still!"
"I know," the younger man gasped. "I'm sorry."
The whole ordeal lasted approximately 20-30 seconds, but, as these things always do, it seemed near to forever. By the end of the makeshift operation, Jesse's wound was bleeding even more profusely. Mark felt his own eyes well up as he watched a few stray tears trickle down Jesse's sweating, contorted face. The pain Mark had caused his young friend possibly hurt him just as much or more than it hurt Jesse. He began to doubt that, though, at Jesse's strained whimpers as Mark carefully bandaged the wound. He finished the dressing and exhaustedly leaned against the stable-enough-looking wall, still cradling his swollen, probably broken arm. "I'm all done, Jess, you relax now."
Jesse opened his eyes and saw Mark still favoring his arm. "Now you can take care of that arm."
Mark had almost forgotten about it, he was so concerned with Jesse. "Oh, yes, I suppose so."
Jesse produced a small plank of wood that he had been absently picking at. "Be careful for splinters," he warned, feebly grinning.
"Thanks Jess," he smiled, taking the piece of wood from Jesse. He carefully wrapped a cloth around it and made a makeshift splint, however that's done. Mark sighed deeply as he rose to check on their predicament. For some strange reason, the fire seemed to be keeping to the other side of the warehouse, giving them seemingly temporary security. But, on the other hand, they were trapped. There was no third hand about, there was no way to get out with both of them injured. Help couldn't come soon enough. He finally came to rest at Jesse's side. As he sat there in the burning building, his own arm probably broken and the young man he saw as a son lying in a small yet growing pool of his own blood, a certain realization happened upon Mark (besides the fact that there was absolutely nothing he could do for the situation.)