If the doctor was surprised to see the Courier again, it didn't show on his face. He just quietly sighed and directed the settlers with a firm voice where to place the two injured travelers, then the crowd filtered out just as quickly as they had appeared outside the Saloon, leaving behind only the doctor with Trudy and a young woman in leather armor, who had to be Sunny, the girl the Courier was so fond of. Sunny and Doc Mitchell went straight to work, pulling off Clarke's ragged Vault suit and dirty bandages. Boone closed his eyes before he could see the ruin of her right arm, but could still smell the lingering stink of infection. He heard Sunny give a strangled cry, and knew it was just as bad as he imagined. His bed dipped slightly and a warm bottle of water was pushed into his limp hand as he opened his eyes to Trudy. "Thank you," he scratched out.
"What happened to her, son?" Trudy asked, her eyes following Boone's actions as he swallowed gulps of water. Her eyes were narrow and the sniper could easily read the distrust in her voice.
"A—a bomb," he replied, voice already stronger than it had been just minutes prior when he was begging for the doctor. Trudy straightened out her arms from where they had been a moment ago, resting on the edge of the stained mattress and gave Boone an incredulous look.
"Where? What the hell? Who are you, anyhow? Ain't no NCR soldier going out of his way to might near die for no wasteland courier, so 'far as I'm lookin' that fancy beret got got in no pleasant way, an' we don't take to murderers kindly in these parts," Trudy's voice was sharp as a whip and Boone would have responded in kind if he hadn't just dragged a friendly face back into her town just about to knock on death's door.
"Craig… Boone," he still sounded husky and the words hurt to force out past his ragged throat. "First Recon Sniper Battalion. Haven't served under the NCR flag in years, though, ma'am. The Legion is responsible for this."
"These here wounds are already starting to heal, son," Doc Mitchell's voice sounded from the other corner of the room, the unasked question plain. Boone explained that he himself was badly injured and the only medical help wasn't much medical help at all.
"I left Novac this morning, she needed more than they could offer," Boone said.
"That's for sure," Sunny mumbled as she carried away an armful of bloody bandages, only to appear seconds later with bags of fluid and brand new strips of cloth. "Trudy, we need you."
Boone leaned back and closed his eyes again. He lost consciousness to snippets of conversation and words.
"Sepsis."
"Fever."
"What do we—"
"Doc, I don't think she's breathing."