Sarge and Adelaide, late
(About an hour before this.)
The chapel is filled up with patients, bandaged and sleeping or hanging on moaning or silently staring upwards in thoughts Adelaide can't even imagine after the horror of the day. It has grazed her, but she is left intact, which is more than she can say for many.
Still, what can be done has been done, and there are people assigned to stand watch for the night, medical people taking it in shifts to cover any emergencies and drones to change bandages or bedpans where needed. Adelaide doesn't feel compelled to stay through the night, to work herself beyond reason. She has plans to make something hot for Jims to eat, but first -
She approaches the spot where the RPG blasted through the wall, the Ground Zero of the Dog Park's personal horror story, and the progress that has already been made is astounding. Half of the towering reinforced structure is already back in place, high enough now that they don't need to worry about walkers or anyone just strolling through, and by tomorrow she's willing to bet that it will be entirely closed in. Patches and prospects have been working in shifts through the entirety of the day like muscle-bound ants, one crew replacing the next so that work need never stop, and now that it's dark there are generators and floodlights going. Now and then there's an example right in front of Adelaide of just how useful all these damn people can be, and she can't deny this is one of them.
She shields her eyes against the bright glare of the lamps, skimming over silhouettes until she finds the one she's looking for. Sarge's outline appears to be working at a full tilt, just like she knew he would be, just like he was when the three of them separated that morning for the jobs that suited them best. She doubts he's stopped at all in between, and it brings her mind sharply back to the cave where he worked himself half to death.
"Don't you have minions to finish this sort of thing, Sargent?" she asks without preamble, coming up at his elbow after he sets down massive steel plate at the base of the wall. The tshirt she'd been sleeping in when it all started is blood-smeared, the jeans ripped at the thigh where jagged sharp metal sliced through when she waded, half-delirious with fear, into the wreck of his house before remembering he wouldn't be there. She had her first ever seven stitches put into that leg just hours ago, and her hair is pulled back but still she looks somehow tidy and calm even with the grime of the day on her while she searches his face.