Cheyenne Country Club was notorious for it's size. That much was a given, Lucas thought to himself as he stood at the beginning of the property, what was once an entrance kiosk. His arms were crossed over his chest and there was a look of determination dark over his features. The tall, dark haired man seemed to be staring off into the horizon. Only, he wasn't, he was taking in as much of the expanse of land as he could. Â He knew it would be foolish to try to block off the entirety of the property. The size alone promised that there was already un-dead wandering it, which would prove a danger to even trained professionals, much less the citizens that resided here. But he also knew that he needed to do something to provide more security for those citizens. More security for the crops and animals they could potentially farm here. This substantial landscape had to be good for something, after all. They'd need wood, a damned lot of wood. Any kind of fencing they could find with their meager status of a handful of people. Lucas would even settle for barbed wire.
He was so lost in his thoughts, his planning, that it took him a moment to register what the person approaching him was saying. With a sharp exhale, the man was brought back to the present, arms still crossed, his head turned slightly. "...What was that?" Though his tone was brusque, there was no malice or hostility in it, simply the practiced, straightforward demeanor of a well-seasoned soldier.
