Elena’s thumb cracked the plastic belt-clip as she ripped the trauma pager off her waist.
“Mac, fire the diesel!” Elena yelled across the front registers, her voice cutting through the chatter of two hundred refugees like a gunshot. “Julian, grab your coat!
St. Jude’s is getting cleared out!”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She sprinted for the double front doors.
Behind the checkstand, Sammy Chen took a step toward her, his face pale. “Elena, what about the store?”
“You’re in charge of the counter, Sammy,” Julian said, grabbing his heavy wool coat from the employee coat rack. He turned to Dr. Beatrice Hahn and Old Man Kowalski.
“Hold Store #04. Keep the battery inverter running. If a warden even looks at that glass, Novak and Doyle know how to switch the cells.”
“We’ve got the floor, Julian,” Kowalski said, slamming his tire iron against his palm. “Nobody crosses this threshold while Local 402 is on the clock.”
