The Dead World Ch. 03

Oz didn't remember how long it had been since he'd stepped into an actual shower. They bathed typically in or near rivers or lakes, with boiled water in a basin more often than not. If you wanted to take the time to invent something more luxurious you were more than welcome to, but they rarely stayed put long enough to do so.

As expected, some weeks bathing was more of a luxury than anything else. All of the men had known an uncomfortable time in the steady decline of humanity in which they had to lay their head down to rest feeling grimy, sweaty, bloody or just all around unclean.

The water flowed down his body from the point it struck him at his shoulders, palms of his strong hands resting on the back of his neck as his mellow blue gaze settled on the solid stone floor beneath, the glass door of the shower shut securely. It was nice, he couldn't lie. It felt oddly like a dream. The soft artificial lights, the shower with its steaming hot water—the entire suite felt fake, like something only sleep could fabricate.

Maybe the virus had made a comeback, and he had fallen ill and was hallucinating? Maybe he'd gotten shot in his sleep and died and gone on to whatever happened next. This room was some three hundred dollar a night beauty in a palace by the sea, he was certain it had drawn people year round in its glory days nestled snugly overlooking the ocean close to the quaintest locations of the Georgia coast. This had to be limbo, or a step below eternal paradise, right?

He remembered his family had visited Jekyll Island many times in his late teens and early twenties—his mother had family in Savannah who often vacationed here. He was almost surprised Colton had even remembered. He had only been a little boy back then and not long after, Oz was no longer in his life, having moved on to college endeavors like most young adults. The last reunion he could recall with them both here, Colt had been perhaps six or seven, and he had brought a new girlfriend which made for seldom encounters with his kid brother

He had waited until everyone else had taken their turn to shower to lessen the load on the generator and the pump system which filtered up from the hotel's deep wells. It was a fucking genius system. As his men settled into rooms on the first floor, he hoped they began to finally wind down. They'd been here at the resort for the better part of the day without so much as a peep out of their young host, Charlie. There was much more to that one than he let be known, but Oz knew better than anyone that everyone had their secrets here at the end of the world.

The wrong sort of secrets may get you killed, though. He didn't really have to tell Dog to keep an eye on him, the other youngster seemed to have taken a liking to Charlie, which was no surprise. They didn't come across too many younger people in their travels these days, so it was probably exciting for him to have someone he could relate to, for once.

He assumed Charlie to be at least eighteen... probably a late bloomer, seeing as Flinstone vitamins weren't readily available these days. He knew that encountering people this long after the fall of mankind with children was very rare indeed. Babies this day did not often fare well, or last long, especially on the road. They had encountered only two newborns this entire year.

The first was well guarded by mother, father and family. They were a fearful, quick moving group, who met them at a standoff traveling opposite directions down the highway. They moved on too quickly to be informed that there was nothing lying behind them, where they were headed. And not too long after, a lone woman and her baby who avoided them entirely. Dog had confirmed it after tailing her for a short while—they heard the baby crying all through the forest. He didn't doubt they were both dead now. It bothered him, very much so... the human race was on the brink of extinction, but what could be done?

A crying baby had no place in the dangerous, dead infested wilderness or ruins of civilization, the sound and scent would attract the reanimated like flies. You had to stay in one place to do that, and in order to stay in one place you needed manpower, supplies, structural integrity and defense against the enemies who sought to take all of that from you. He didn't much believe in a God anymore, but he prayed that Raleigh was the community they had been seeking for the better part of five years. The broadcast boasted a strong, secure community with armed presence and health personnel. He could only pray that they remained.

The men had arranged themselves on the ground floor, with a set of them setting up a post in a northern tower suite facing the street they had cleared out as best they could, that way they could pass the information along of anyone returning home—or another group of survivors approaching as well as keep an eye on the Humvee. The other vehicles at their camp just beyond the bridge had been camouflaged with foliage as safe measure, rather than stack all of them in the front drive and make it obvious someone was here.

He guided the complimentary hotel bar of 'moisture infused bullshit' soap over sun-kissed flesh still lingering from the hard and hot summer, all along firm muscles of a fit physique, with dedicated focus to his groin and underarms.

After shampooing his hair, the flecks of silver easily telling of his age and the stressful existence after the fall of mankind, he rinsed himself thoroughly and stepped out of the shower, rubbing the lengthy bristles along his cheeks and chin contemplatively.

He had only just turned forty-six this past summer. He had always kept himself in good physical condition. He wiped the condensation from the large mirror, a fluffy white towel draped over his shoulders, mellow blue eyes traveling the variety of silvery scars that marred his torso.

Not all of them had come after the virus surged through the country, the newest still tinged red and raw as the scar tissue settled. Diablo had dug bullets out, stitched him up, helped him reset a dislocated shoulder and then some... far more of these scars had been inflicted by the living than the dead.

He quickly reached for the clean white cotton shirt, a bit too snug for his toned physique. Beggars couldn't be choosers... There was a lot of luggage left behind, but not much worth wearing inside.

Colton was probably waiting for him, and he knew how his brother could be if made to wait for too long. He slid into a pair of black boxer briefs quickly, habit driving him to slip back on the same pair of relaxed fit jeans he had on the night before.

He was unsurprised that most everything in the luggage had been beach attire and Hawaiian shirts. Who brought jeans to the beach? He laced his boots, put his leather coat on, and set out for the basement where the generator was.

The generator room was loud, as to be expected, maybe even louder because the generator parts were in desperate need of lubricant and maintenance. It was massive. Oz didn't know much about this sort of machinery, but he knew enough to make out the key components—the exhaust system, the compressed air tank which helped to start and keep the generator running smoothly, and the fuel intake.

It seemed better suited to supply a small hospital facility with power, and reminded him of an educational trip to a nuclear plant he had taken a long, long time ago—only there was not just one diesel generator in a nuke plant, there were several of these rooms. It smelled of fuel, and something old and harsh like burning kerosene.

No doubt, the youth who resided here probably didn't know much about the generator other than it was big, it needed compressed air to start and so it needed to stay running, and the fuel barrels needed to be in a specific place in order for it to run correctly.

There were many, many barrels—not six years worth of them in the slightest but he assumed with only two people living here, it would stretch a long time—it couldn't be too much trouble to refill them either if one could find a still existing supply of diesel fuel. And as expected, Skully was waiting on him, standing aside the diesel barrels.

"It's in decent condition—I'm guessing that smell is from the exhaust pipes. They look bad, they definitely need to be cleaned." Skully began impatiently, "Judging by what it's got in there already, it's gone from here—to here—since we arrived. I've done the math. Hot water and lights every day for about two weeks, on half a barrel."

"How many are left?"

"Not many... maybe enough for a few months if we're careful. The Kid's telling the truth judging by this room. Couldn't have been many people here, otherwise there wouldn't be anything left unless they go out often looking for fuel... that'd be a hell of a trip. They got into the habit of rationing and probably only used the power when they really needed it. The entire resort runs on this generator..."

Oz crossed his arms gently, examining his brother's expression. There was a certain air of discontent to Colton. He hadn't seemed to relax much despite the ample luxuries they had been beyond fortunate to encounter following his own idea on their way east from the fallen community in New Mexico. They were more comfortable than they had been in years, and here his brother was... antsy, impatient and irritated.

"This isn't a bad thing, Colt. The odds of finding a place like this unoccupied were slim to none, and here we are... it's got hot running water, Egyptian cotton sheets, safety and security with the ocean at our backs. What's got you bothered?"

"I really don't want to get into it..." The low mumble of words left his brother's lips. Skully huffed as he pushed a hand through his hair, sliding back to massage his neck in irritation, his eyes meeting the older man's.

"We didn't need to stop here. Raleigh's our destination, it might actually be a decent fucking community, and I want to be back into actual fucking civilization. Living out here, constantly on the move with little to hunt or scavenge while dodging fucking lunatics at every potential rest point? It really starts to fuck with you, after a while. You see it. We all feel it. I can't get comfortable in places like this... because it won't last—it never lasts."

Silence settled between the brothers after Colton's ultimatum. Oscar leaned to rest his weight to the right leg, and nodded his head gently in understanding.

"I know it was my idea to head up the coast, but I feel like you're pushing staying here because you're expecting we might still have some family, or some of your childhood friends are hanging around—it's not happening, Oz. You came down from Washington for Christ's fucking sake—I came across from South Carolina!—Not one fuckin' person I've ever known has ever crossed my path only two states over so what makes you think—"

"You're wrong, that isn't why I stopped us here—and this was your idea, Colton. I didn't stop here for any other reason than it was what you suggested we do, travel up the coastline... less people, less biters, and look at what we found!" Oz cut the younger man off sharply. The tension seemed to rise there as Skully narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, holding his brother's gaze.

"No one we knew is still here. Our mother? Dead. Father... dead. All our aunts and uncles? Dead." Skully kicked over an empty barrel as the situation escalated, seemingly more aggravated by the moment that Oz was ever so calm, and fucking smug over there with that ever condescending look on his face. "That bitch you liked to hang around when we vacationed every other summer in Savannah—Kathryn? Dead."

"I'm not looking for anyone." Oz stated firmly.

"Could've fuckin' fooled me—why are we still here, then? Why are we even down here, and not gearing up to move on? The diesel here can run the truck for miles and get us close to where we're going. I need space... we're a good team but there needs to be more than life than having a group ready to lay down cover fire while you risk your neck shooting it out with living psychopaths over scraps of the past."

"We found a kid here, and supplies—good supplies, Skully, that will get us where we're going. We're not here for no reason. Something in you wanted to be here... I don't know what, maybe you don't either. Maybe you just needed some nostalgia? Maybe you needed to find something good for a change--we don't have to stay... but it doesn't make sense to just rush off, either," Skully groaned, raising his hands into the air and dropping them down onto his head.

"So what the fuck are we now, the national guard?! Search and rescue? One kid we don't even know isn't worth the shit storm we could have walked into. You're getting reckless, old man... I hope you know that."

—————

Charlotte was up entirely too early, having slept rather... unusually the night before. Her head was still reeling a bit at the phantoms of her dreams and the still healing injury to her temple... her heart was fluttering with adoration, while in painful agony simultaneously. Her pretty mocha colored eyes were puffy and swollen from crying.

It had been an incredibly long time since she dreamt of Matthew in any way but panicked and terrifying final moments, or watching him walk back through the gates anxiously, rushing down to hug him only for him to disappear in her arms. She felt in her mind the chaotic throws of morality that her dreams had delved into such a lascivious direction. She missed him, oh how she missed him, and to wake feeling as if he had been holding her in his arms all night was bittersweet. Almost sickening. Waking with wet panties and a longing for human contact she hadn't felt in an incredibly long, long time could only be considered disrespectful to her husband with a group of men now present in her home.

She used her discomfort as fuel. As she shook sleep and lusty thoughts from her consciousness she realized how genuinely shitty she felt all on her own. She was stiff and sore, with her shoulders tense, and a throbbing headache... but still, this was a perfect opportunity to get out and retrieve her personal effects from her getaway car at the least.

Perhaps she could get away, entirely?

She welcomed the distance between herself and the men camped out in her home, helping themselves to her storage of food and supplies. Charlie knew the resort far better than these men, and dressed in black under the cloak of early morning darkness, she moved in swiftness and stealth.

Oz had yet to return her weapons, but Charlie still had a few last ditch tricks up her sleeve yet. She stopped at the weak link in the old car barricade she had earlier pushed aside, climbing in and reaching into the pocket along the back of the passenger seat. A 9mm pistol had been stashed with a full magazine here should something go wrong while Matt tended the moat, placed there a long time ago. She had almost forgotten. Upon retrieving it she tucked it carefully into the breast pocket of her leather coat in the event she would need it.

The stench of decay, of long rotting flesh of the corpses that had been mowed down earlier, was cause to want to grab the emergency weapon and be on her way quickly. Charlie covered her nose with the sleeve of Matt's leather coat in a futile attempt to block out the stench. It was almost eye watering. It had been too long since she'd been near one of them, they reeked far more than she recalled with years worth of decay... granted, there wasn't much left but flattened puddles of old blackened blood and rubbery flesh where the reanimated had fallen. The hummer rolling over earlier definitely didn't help.

With that she was out, navigating her way down the long paved road, the remnants of an old waterpark off in the distance and the sound of the ocean forever comforting at her back. She got over the bridge just as the sun began to tease the sky with streaks of goldenrod, pastel pink and rich orange hues. She cast a wary eye behind her at regular intervals. As quiet as she had been sneaking out, Charlie was almost certain someone knew she was out here, and she needed to be quick if she wanted to avoid causing alarm.

As she came upon the campsite she was relieved to find all vehicles still as they were left. The driver's window of the Prius was still down thankfully, and everything was still inside, it appeared—except for the weapons. They, along with the keys, had been removed. A moment of disappointment crossed her only to be quickly extinguished as she remembered the car, once a rental, had a spare set of keys in the glove box. If they hadn't checked and took them, there wasn't a damn thing to stop her from speeding the hell off right now!

The woman rushed to the Prius and craned inside, stopping suddenly as she saw the small indicator flash. They'd set the alarm back... of course they had. They probably expected Charlotte might make an attempt to leave especially with how paranoid they had been over her being here with a group. A frustrated huff escaped her lips as she debated the likeliness of fitting herself inside by climbing through the half open window, shifting to place a hand on her hip—ugh, she already felt uncomfortable just thinking about it. The glass was valuable so she decided against busting out a window to have an easier time.

Behind her she heard the rustle of leaves, the crunch of gravel. She'd felt eyes on her the entire time and so she knew what it was immediately. She righted her posture. Her head was covered by the beanie, the goggles absent today and slim fit jeans perhaps a bit telling--but the leather jacket and the few layers of shirts beneath a sports bra that was a tad too snug, and tape she had wound around her chest helped her play her role well. Again, a well placed smudge of red clay on her cheek offered a bit more realism to her disguise, along with soiled palms and fingernails.

She kept the gun tucked away securely, turning a bit to watch her tail draw near. Part of her had been anticipating the youngest member of the group... she wouldn't be so lucky. The man approaching now looked a lot different, so much she almost thought he was yet another member of the group she had yet to meet.

It wasn't as if she had gotten too good a look at him the first few times they 'met'. She knew his hair was blond, and so light it looked almost silver which was not only long, but ever so slightly unruly. He'd trimmed it a bit so the wild waves flowed freely, pulled back into a bun. He had taken clippers to the sides of his head, and got rid of the rough beard he'd been sporting. His eyes were startling, almost a translucent shade of green which seemed even more wild not buried beneath jagged spikes and locks of silky silvery hair. Being clean shaven, he now looked to be close to the age of the younger of the brothers she had become well acquainted with the day before.

The hatchet with the bison bone handle hung at his hip along a black gun holster. The firearm itself had been left behind in what Charlie could only assume was the only pacifistic invitation she would receive to return to the group. Odd choice of diplomat, she found herself thinking begrudgingly, her expression giving her thoughts away with how intensely her dark eyes watched him close the gap. She slowly stepped away from the car so as to not be trapped against it should he try to suddenly attack her. His posture was lax, a languid slightly crooked grin tugging his lips as he rose thin fingered hands into the air in mock surrender.

"Easy there, kid—man I'll tell ya, if looks could kill! My ass'd be dead on the ground! Chill pipsqueak, I ain't gonna hurtcha... wasn't even nothin' personal first time, just had to be sure ya weren't on some psycho kamikaze blowin' up bridges shit." He tried not to laugh as the boy narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. He had damn near an entire foot of height over the little guy! What did he really think he was going to do to him in return for those couple stitches? Laughter threatened the man's throat but he swallowed it down and curled his thumbs at his belt loops. The dog tags around his neck jingled gently as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.