North American Rescue Bleeding Control Kit Novels & Stories

I swallow the saliva forming in my throat and bend down slowly, keeping my light steady, and observing. "Hey, there," I say softly, the exact way I talk to every other scared animal I've dealt with. I keep my voice calm, but my nerves are tense, wired with adrenaline. The dog doesn't move. Doesn't growl. It's just watching. I open the zipper of my bag and pull out my emergency kit. Gauze. Antiseptic. Gloves. I can't stitch him up here, not in an alley, but I need to stop the bleeding.

At the very least, he had to remove the crossbow bolt. He staggered back home and rummaged through a drawer, pulling out a knife, an alcohol lamp, gauze, and hemostatic powder. A man who fought as much as he did always kept a kit like this handy. He slit his pant leg open and went pale at the sight of the wound. In the brutal cold, the gash in his calf had already iced over. That had temporarily slowed the bleeding, but the skin around it was turning a purplish blue. His lower leg felt completely numb.

Once I made it inside his room, I laid him down on the bed and then went to his bathroom to grab the first aid kit. Everything in this room smelled like Blake and Nero, and it was making me uncomfortable and slightly annoyed. When I got the kit, I went to Nero, opened the box, grabbed the bandages, disinfectant, and antibiotic cream, placed all of the items on the small table near the bed, and then sat down to clean the wounds just so he doesn't have any issues healing faster. After I got done, I left the room, and when I came downstairs, I met Blake standing in the hallway, looking lost. She looked up and locked her eyes with mine, but her expression was unreadable.

"Tell him it's an emergency. That he should come prepared for surgery." While Julian goes for the doctor, Ragnar puts Katrina inside the cabin. He places her on his bed in the room, takes off her dress, and checks her wounds again. Both wounds keep bleeding. Immediately, he opens the first aid kit and puts some gauze on them, applying pressure and cleaning the rest of the blood with hydrogen peroxide. The girl's body starts losing temperature rapidly due to the hemorrhage, and her skin loses its vital color.

Of course Harrison would have a fully stocked emergency kit in his apocalypse bunker. My hands shook as I grabbed everything I could. “Okay,” I breathed. My brain felt like it was spinning. First step was to stop the bleeding. I grabbed a clean cloth and pressed it firmly against the wound. Harrison groaned weakly. “I know,” I murmured. “I know it hurts.” Blood kept soaking through the fabric. My stomach churned but I forced myself to keep going. I grabbed disinfectant and poured it over the wound. Harrison sucked in a sharp breath.

I had spent years studying the old ways, even after they cast me out. “His spleen,” I whispered. “I think the bleed’s there. We need to relieve pressure.” The nurse nodded, prepping tools. I guided her hand with precision, showing her where to apply gentle counterpressure to avoid shock. I used a pressure seal to stabilize his core, and Lara placed a cold compress over his chest to slow the bleed internally. “His breathing’s stabilizing,” the nurse murmured in disbelief. “Heart rate increasing,” another said. “He’s not out of danger yet, but it’s working.”

But I knew it was only going to get worse from here. He didn’t say anything, but sweat soaked his hairline, veins bulging on his forearms, and his chest muscles twitched. I knew he was trying not to scream. My eyes burned with tears, but I held them back and used a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. The first-aid kit had everything I needed. Thankfully, there was also some topical anesthetic in there. I wasn’t sure if it would help much, but I hoped it would ease the pain.

With my own internal history left in complete shambles, how was my wolf supposed to shield a newborn cub? By the time Uncle Daniel rushed into the neonatal corridor, only Jess and Brandon remained near the glass pod, their auras heavy with fatigue. “What cargo has your house brought to the floor, Daniel?” Jess asked, his tracker senses instantly locking onto the armored medical case Daniel was gripping. The stencil on the metallic container read: LINEAGE TRANSFUSION KITS. “Live blood,” Daniel responded flatly, his boots never stopping as he marched directly toward the attending healer’s workspace. Jess and Brandon flanked his movement, their eyes wide with disbelief. “Is that a compatible st

Inside—neatly arranged—was a small black box with a red cross on the top. A medical kit. I grabbed it. "Dante," I said sharply. "You're bleeding." He didn't even turn around. "It's not fatal." "It's bleeding through your shirt." I crossed the room, yanked the kit open on the table, and pulled out gauze, antiseptic, tape. "Sit." "Sera—" "Sit down before I make you." My voice cracked like a whip. He hesitated, just for a second—then sank into the edge of the long table with a heavy exhale, flexing the fingers of his injured arm.

Then suddenly honest, with neither of them quite noticing when the road changes beneath them. It begins with a triage threshold. “If evacuation takes more than twelve minutes, they stabilize in place,” Jin says. “Ten.” “Twelve.” “Ten.” “You can’t negotiate blood loss.” “I can negotiate the route.” Jin gives her a look over the top of the page. Maya adjusts the route. It becomes a discussion of field kits. Then secondary infection. Then the countermeasure. “Your notes are backed up?” Maya asks. “Yes.” “Where?” “With me.”