"It'll help to disinfect the wound, if nothing else," Bourne said, rifling through the box to find the alcohol. It wasn't the most sterile stuff in the world - God only knew how long it had been sitting out - but it was what they had to work with, and he wasn't about to complain. After all, he'd had to make do with worse.

At the girl's comment about seeing it in a movie once, he almost smirked, and almost reprimanded her. This was real life, not some Hollywood fantasy. Of course she knew that - it was why she was so scared, after all. She didn't know if her friend was going to be all right. But at least this time the moviemakers had gotten it right. "Looks like you didn't do a bad job," he said as he inspected the hasty suturing. He'd definitely seen worse, and it would probably make her feel better, hearing praise for her handiwork. Under any other circumstances, he wasn't too concerned with others' feelings, but the girl couldn't be more than twenty, and scared half to death by what had happened to her and her companion. "Start disinfecting," he said, taking a small wad of bandages and pouring alcohol on it, making a rudimentary cleaning pad. "Then we can start to get him wrapped up in the blankets."

The key here was moving quickly. He didn't want some dogs to be the end of these two, and damned if he was just going to leave them here.