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He wondered if a lung might be punctured resulting in the boy’s labored breathing.  But the most serious wound had occurred on his right side near his lower abdomen that had somehow been left exposed as he ran.  Gordon guessed that as Edwin had turned to fire at the armored vehicles as they made their escape, the angle of his turned body and raised arms while he shot must have pulled his vest up just high enough to expose this tender area.
    The young man had paid dearly for the mistake.
    While the shoulder wound was bad, it was nothing compared to the gapping hole near Edwin’s midsection.  Gordon saw that he was losing blood at an alarming rate, and this was therefore where he decided to focus his efforts.  But he was no medic.  He didn’t have a clue as to where to begin.  The wound was big, messy, and ugly looking, and Gordon was afraid of doing more damage than good, but he had little choice.  Therefore, he took off the baseball cap he was wearing, pulled out his pocketknife and cut the bill from the mesh-netting and foam that comprised the rest of the hat.  He then shed himself of his t-shirt – something he knew he’d miss later when the mosquitoes got a hold of him – and cut off the sleeves.  Then he cut the rest of the shirt into strips and quickly knotted them together as best he could.  The entire process probably only took him three minutes, but with Edwin laying there, staring up at his uncle, moaning and wincing and dying right before his eyes, it seemed like it took much longer.
    Gordon then cut the rest of Edwin’s t-shirt and bulletproof vest away so he could work on him more freely and use the leftover material as wadding for the wounds.  Next, he wiped as much blood and debris away from the abdominal wound as possible with a portion of the cloth he’d cut from Edwin’s t-shirt.  Then he balled up the rest of the shirt material and did his best to cover the seeping exit wound.  Finally, he took the bill of his baseball cap and used it to cover the wadding, and then he tied it all in place with a long portion of his own knotted t-shirt, ensuring that he also covered the bullet’s smaller and less dangerous looking entry wound with the cloth. 
    Getting the strands of material under and around the boy was terrible as he had to lift the boy up slightly which resulted in poor Edwin nearly losing consciousness.  Gordon had no idea if what he was doing would help, but it was all he could think of under the circumstances.  It was what they did in the movies, and that was pretty much the extent of Gordon’s medical training.  Give him a bruised and battered vehicle and he could work wonders, but give him an equally beaten up human body and he was at a loss.
    With this work done, he took what material was left from the t-shirts, made two more wads of cloth, and put one wad on each side of Edwin’s shoulder wound.  He then used the sleeves of his own t-shirt to slide up and over the boy’s arm and shoulder to hold the patches in place.
    He spent the next 10 minutes – which seemed like about an hour to Gordon – caring for his wounded nephew who was now extremely pale and slipping in and out of consciousness.  Gordon just kept talking to him, trying to bribe him to stay awake with promises of booze, cigarettes, pretty girls, and whatever else he could think of to keep the boy’s brain active. 
    Finally, Gordon heard the sounds of vehicle engines in the distance and figured that the assholes responsible for all this were likely on their way.  There was the sound of an explosion and then silence as the engine noise faded back towards the direction of the interstate.
    “All this for some fucking gas,” Gordon shook his head, looking down at Edwin.  It was enough to make him want to cry.  He had at least two dead sons, a nephew near death, and who knew how many – or whether any – of his other boys were alive.  More than anything, it made him angry that the world had come to