“Ah, but did you also learn that Napoleon had his Waterloo—and his Elba?” Doc asked. “The ultimate fate of any and all who become crazed with power.”
“Well, he had a triple-good time while it lasted, Doc,” Dean retorted.
“Napoleon, Boss Larry and now Rollins—sounds to me like another tin-plated, swaggering asshole with delusions of grandeur,” Ryan commented.
Bill laughed heartily at that comment and slapped his bony thighs in delight. “Aren’t they all?”
IRONICALLY ENOUGH, after passing the varied amusements, then hanging a left at Centerpoint, Bill took the group to the Gator Motel, the very same place they had stayed during their last visit.
The building had once been cruciform in shape, with a central lobby at the midpoint of the four arms. A fire from long ago had destroyed three of the arms of the cross, therefore effectively leveling three-fourths of the motel.
The surviving section was known as the Gator Wing. The motif was pure jungle, with once bright hues of shocking purple and pink and blue. The carpet had been nearly trod through, but enough remained in places to hint at the sea green color the floors of the hotel had once been.
Still, despite the run-down appearance, the place was dry.
“I would love to grab a shower,” Mildred said. “I haven’t felt so sticky in I don’t know when.”
“You’re in luck, my good woman,” Bill said. “Place still has running water, but don’t overdo it with the hot. The heater’s been moaning and groaning something fierce. The emergency generator’s still up and sparking, so there’s electricity for lights as long as we don’t overdo it.”
“A bath! Man, that’ll be a hot pipe!” Dean said. “Maybe they’ve still got some of that Prince Mayakovsky Splash On smelly stuff!”
Remembering the rancid odor of the long gone bad after-shave, Krysty wrinkled her nose. “Gaia, but I hope not,” she said with a laugh.
“How many rooms do you need?” Bill asked.
“Four, if you can spare them,” Ryan said, glancing over the faces of his companions. That would provide a double for J.B. and Mildred, Jak and Dean and him and Krysty. A single would suffice for the companionless Doc, who deserved a reprieve from putting up with the younger and more rambunctious Dean and Jak. “But I guess three’ll do in a pinch.”
Bill laughed softly. “Four shouldn’t be a problem. Plenty of space in the Gator Wing here at the finely appointed Gator Motel. I’m here all alone.”
THE HOT WATER of the shower felt good on Ryan’s skin. After waking up soaked in the gateway chamber that morning, and then being sodden for hours during the rainy trek into Greenglades, with the added bonus of the dunking courtesy of those giant leeches, he’d debated subjecting himself to yet more water by bathing, but was now glad Krysty had insisted.
First he shaved with good hot water in the salmon pink sink—shaving cream courtesy of the medicine chest in the room’s bath—then he discovered actual toothpaste in the same chest, as well as a pristine cake of soap, still shrink-wrapped in the original wrapper. A worn but clean Gator Motel washcloth from the storage closet outside the room would help top off the experience.
As he turned his back to the showerhead and allowed the soothing warmth to massage his shoulders, Ryan decided he could get used to staying in motels when traveling. Large red welts left from the leech along his right side from under his armpit to his buttocks were already starting to fade. He’d been lucky.
The battle could’ve gone much worse if he hadn’t been quicker with the panga, and he might be carrying oblong scars permanently or have been sucked dry by the freakish creatures.
What had caused something like leeches to mutate into eight-foot-long monsters like that? Exposure to radiation?
Ryan sighed and decided he didn’t know or really care. He pushed the memory from his mind and blanked his senses, enjoying the warm water beating down.
“Room for one more?” a feminine voice said from the other side of the thick shower curtain.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On who that is behind the curtain. I don’t want any old dried-up wrinklie in here with me.”