Henry says over the radio, "I dunno, guys. We have some people here that need some medical attention, and doing that in a moving truck doesn't strike me as a great idea. Mama always pulled over the car when someone wasn't in good shape, and this looks worse than anything I ever did to my brother."

Joe bandages Brian's ankle somewhat with the first aid kit, supplementing it with a tournequet made from a strip from a rag found under a seat, but there's not a lot of room to move and get a good look at it. Major arteries don't seem to have been severed, but there's still probably a half a pint of blood on the floor of the truck. Brian's beginning to feel a little light-headed, sort of like low blood sugar.

"If you dont want to move, then what do you say to planning an all out assault on that guy back there who claimed to have all those weapons pointed at us. Surely he has a full stockpile of food."

"A slashed ankle is one thing, bullet wounds are quite another."

Joe turns back to Brian.

"Brian, try not to move too much, you've lost a lot of blood. If you start to feel nautious or like you want to pass out, don't get distressed. That's just the vasovagal response, and it's completely normal, and distressing will only make it worse. Take some deep breaths and it'll start to clear."

OOC: What about Brian's hand? If that needs attention, I'll use what I can to bandage it, then I'll start taking care of any of the major cuts on my own body.

Brian's hand is fairly badly gashed, but hasn't bled as much since he's either been holding something or clenching his fist since coming into the truck. There are visible glass shards, though.

Outside, the kids have stopped playing tag and are standing up against the fence looking at the two trucks.

"Look at those demon kids, they are trying to plot our demise while we sit here."

"I don't know about that guy from before, he gave me the willies. Besides, even as unhomely as he was towards us, he's sorta on our side I guess. If we do any assulting, I think it should be on the enemie...whoever they are..."

OOC: sorry about being gone, compy problems and work is bastards...

IC:
"Damnit! I wanna drink too, and an icepack."

"A friend of ours? I think you are forgetting that he wanted to kill us. We should respond in kind."

"Never said he was a freind, but the gap between enemie and simply unfreindly is pretty big. He didn't take a shot at us, just told us to let him be. Now, far as I'm concerned, that ain't grounds for killin' him."

Joe's managed by now to get everything pretty well bandaged up, at least for the moment. Some iodine would be nice, and a general washdown wouldn't hurt anything, either. Some glass shards may still be embedded in the skin, but they can wait for a little while. In the meantime... Damn, that's a major headache. It's starting to cause some tunnel vision...

One of the children looking at the trucks yells out (apparently to Sid, since he's the most visible), "Hey, mister, are you sick, too?"

"Too?"

Joe sits down to avoid passing out and grabs his head.
"Ah fuck! Where's that damned aspirin?"

"Get this bucket turned around! get back to town."

Jack ignores the outburst, and yells back to the kids, because now he is intrigued
"What do you men are we sick too?"
He prepares to gun it out of there if the kids turn hostile.

A little girl, around age 8, speaks up. "Are you sick like the sick people? The ones that follow us around? 'Cause if you are, can you please go away? We don't want you to hurt us."

Another chimes up, "Yeah. Anthony got hurt and became sick, and now we can't play with him anymore."