The last building was almost done: a post-exchange for the people living on the compound. We made contact with the owners and proprietors of that website so that we can host some of their goods on the shelves here as well. People gather near the streets and take pictures. I've heard the words, "FEMA camp," and, "blue beam," whispered more times these past two weeks than I have ever in my life. Luckily the armed squad stopped any of the crazies from doing any real damage. The civilian orders should start coming in by mail any day now, and this area will see a massive influx of people.
According to Shawn, the process of closing the Doors in town was going well. They were almost done with a street. It was only him and Lawrence closing them at the moment; we have another squad coming by chopper in two days, once the construction's all finished. Six people in total; a brother and sister pair from Arizona, a man from Manhattan who didn't want to stay on the east coast, a woman from Idaho, a college kid from Colorado, and an old preacher from Minnesota. Most of them will be moving on from here to other cities and towns within the zone; they'd just be coming here for a quick stop, and then they'd be on their way.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. It's Shawn. I answer it and put it up to my ear.
"Seargent Ortega," I say. "Everything alright? No? Oh. Yeah, where did you say you were? Yeah, I'll send some medics down. Yeah, can you carry him into a room there?"
The phone goes silent and I sigh. Lawrence was injured. Again. From the moment I saw him at the mote with his broken leg, I knew he would hold back our operations. that's why I asked Shawn to come down in the first place. Perhaps it would be better if he died this time. I could ask one of the others to stay if he does. He'll even be considered a martyr. A war hero, even. All I had to do was pass the order along to the medic I was sending.
I rub my temples. No, not yet. It'd probably alienate Shawn if I did that, and he was one of the US's greatest assets during these times. For whatever reason, he seems attached to that fatass. No, I'll have to do it later. When it is less conspicuous. Perhaps, I'll send the order along to another one of the Chosen, and send them on a mission together. That would probably be best, and I knew just who to ask. There was some leverage there.
"Corporal Garcia, you know this town, don't you?" I call out to a young man who was currently talking to a few of the people gathered by the street.
"Yes sir. Born and raised."
"Good, take a team of medics down to the Sunrise Motel or whatever. STAT."
"Yes, Seargent."
Garcia runs off, and a moment later a car carrying the sole squad of medics speeds away. Hopefully, they arrive too late to do anything, if not...we'll see.