Cheris has been through two or three cars by this time, and has concluded that too many of the people here are just civilians -- woefully unprepared for a crisis like this, because they shouldn't have had to endure it. This one's certainly deep in shock, even just going by the tremulous voice.

"Another passenger. My name's Cheris." She offers him one of the air masks she's salvaged; this car hasn't burst into flames yet, but smoke is already filtering in from outside. "Let me see if I can help get you out of here."

She hopes the blood is just a scalp wound. Those can bleed like a waterfall even if they aren't serious. The arm's a different matter; something's definitely skewed where it's trapped, even in the uncertain shoulder-light from her backpack.