Though he was a carpenter, not a doctor — not even a real “Sawbones,” Neville at least had the presence of mind to wash his hands before seeing to Catalina’s wound. And luckily, because he had run out of water, he found some brandy to pour on the wound, helping to disinfect.
He got on the table, for better leverage, braced his legs next to her body, and grabbed the piece of embedded wood. He took a steadying breath, then another, to be sure, and was about to put his leverage into removing the projectile when Catalina sat up with a start and gasped.
Neville, completely startled, screamed and fell off the table with a THUMP!
Catalina’s eyes rolled in their sockets, and her breath came ragged and fast. Finally, her eyes settled on the shrapnel sticking out of her leg with wide-eyed wonder.
“Miss,” Neville said from the floor, “we need to remove that. Please allow me to do so.”
Catalina looked over at the carpenter as he rose to his feet. Sweat coated her face, and she grabbed him by the collar. Through gritted teeth, she leaned into him, caught her breath, and growled, “Do it.”
Neville fluttered his hands at her chest and laid her back on the table, “All right, all right. Don’t tense. I will remove it in a moment. But first, I must tell you about the pain. I’ll need you to brace yourself for that.”
From the table, Catalina grunted, “I know pain. Do it.”
Neville sighed, nodded, and wrapped both hands around the wooden shard. He gave her a warning glance — to which she nodded — and yanked as hard as his shoulders would allow. The shrapnel pulled free with a squelch.
The pain was hot lava shooting up her leg. Catalina screamed, and her eyes rolled back in her head, just before the blackness took over.