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.
