The binoculars were held gently before her eyes as she observed the men begin to close in and form a line up against the southern barricade. It stood as a collection of old rusted cars that had been meticulously pushed back and arranged to block the road from a potential herd of dead... or slow down a large group of unwanted visitors.
The spike posts assembled between the dilapidated vehicles to catch the straggling few stumbling, rotting monsters left in the area had been taken down by the advancing party overnight, which eliminated her hopes of them simply being a small gathering just looking to pass through. She watched as they examined the handiwork of whoever had claimed the Oasis Palms Resort—the 'moat' constructed of all the dangers that had once been inside of the two towers of the hotel, herded into a formidable sea of bodies between the barricade and the make-shift fence.
The crowded channel of slow-moving rotting corpses had been placed there to dissuade any unwanted company, and had been plenty enough to do so, in the past. The seventy or so feral, lifeless beings had been enough to ward off many groups of survivors from trying to loot the resort, in the past. But they had been far more lively a few years back, and were now much slower and far less menacing as they starved and wasted into nothing. Barely flesh creatures which had baked beneath the sun of several summers, stumbling about blind, aimlessly snapping their jaws at anything they came into contact with.
The resort itself did not look like much, but stood as a promising structure atop a cliff with its two towers reaching into the sky along the rocky Georgia coast. Nestled beneath it was a golden beach decorated with shells and driftwood. It had been certainly the jewel of this location once upon a time.
Beyond the beach out in the waves in the deeper surf lay jagged rocks, which prevented any hope of safe water evacuation. There was only one way in, and one way out of Jekyll Island... the road down to the final barricade of construction barriers leading to the bridge just beyond it.
She tried to count them—somewhere between six and eight people. For all she knew, they could've only been a reconnaissance team. Charlotte drew back into her sanctuary slowly, keeping low from the tinted windows of the trashed and dark hotel lobby. As soon as she felt safely out of sight she hurried down into the darkness alongside a massive chain of luggage, once assembled as a crude attempt to keep the dead from over-running the lobby some horrid night many, many years ago.
As she disappeared into the dusty, once luxurious halls of the resort, she swallowed the lump in her throat as her heart pumped wildly beneath her breast. Matthew had knocked out windows, he smeared the blood of the dead in menacing threats on the outside walls, and stacked burned corpses along this foyer to ward away intruders.
All of this had been a valid attempt to keep away any curious or desperate groups looking to brave the resort. If it looked as if it had been ransacked long ago. No one would even bother. But it seemed the day had finally come when someone was just desperate enough to try.
She hurried to the farthest hall of the building, knowing well it would only be a day or so before those men came inside, and perhaps even claimed her quiet Eden as their own. The gardens she kept, the crops and fruit bearing trees within the greenhouse were well tended to. She grew enough to feed herself easily through most mild winters and now, six years into the downfall of the human race, she knew well enough judging the late summer and fall whether she should ration provisions. She stored and pickled what she could. The handful of chickens she kept clucked eagerly, trailing along behind after her as she crossed the foyer and moved out into the courtyard, making for the southernmost tower of the resort.
It took Charlotte and Matthew an entire year to get the generator started. The trek for fuel for it was their longest and farthest trip, and at last she was nearing the end of the precious supply. She was down to about seven diesel barrels—which if she acted sparingly could last a good three or four months. The hot showers, heat and air conditioning, the flat screen smart televisions with her expansive DVD collection were all the company she had for years now, here at the end of the world.
You would think that Charlotte would be happy to finally have contact with other people. That was hardly the case--not anymore. Before Matt disappeared, he had become less and less conversational about his foraging attempts. It seemed to be wearing him down. He kept less and less associates in the area, and more often returned with news of the untimely demise of some of their 'neighbors'. He had tried to protect her from sharing the grim details, but she insisted that he get it off of his chest.
As the stories transformed from 'camps overtaken by the biters' to 'butchered while asleep in their beds', she knew that the world was changing. She didn't ask anymore, after that. Mankind was changing... and it was not for the better of the world.
Charlie paused, moving beyond the desk to grab a few things vital to her initial escape plan. Provisions, ammunition, transportation. She gathered the inventory list to both the pantry and the store room, as well as the keys to several of the maintained vehicles in the basement garage. Every few weeks she went down to run them for a while to keep their aging batteries active. She'd take whichever had the fuller tank.
It would take her longest to move her provisions and secure enough fuel to get to the mountains of northern Georgia. Matthew often spoke of a cabin his family kept and visited every reunion that was cradled by the stream of a natural spring, with plenty to hunt and fish for, secluded and secure enough that they would be safe. Above all, it was private and off the beaten path, equipped with similar systems in place for sustainability off the grid.
It wasn't the average Atlanta woman's dream come true, but it had become her mental paradise, some grand place to run away to once they finally exhausted the resort and moved on to more peaceful grounds. It was the place she expected to encounter at the very least the essence and soul of her husband, and if she were so lucky, she would find him there in the flesh waiting for her. It was supposed to be someplace permanent for them.
With haste she made her way to the elevator, and pushed aside the gate of the lift to the right that had been designated for service. She pulled the cardkey from the pocket of her jeans and placed it in the slot before pressing the button for the fourth floor. Up the elevator went, far from as smoothly as it did the day the resort had opened.
Matt had a habit of being able to figure anything out with the proper resources, and it so happened the resort was made complete with a library, so when it stalled or a cable needed replacing he took care of it... but he wasn't here anymore. She reserved the elevator for times of dire need, and this was one such time.
Self-sufficiency was a luxury, but in the end it saved money, so it was a smart play on the billionaire asshole who had once owned the place to make certain that it could function independently. Despite the protest of the slow moving lift in need of repair, she needed to move quickly, and taking the stairs with supplies would not only wear her down quickly but take far too long.
