When just about everyone turned to look at him after he pulled the door shut, Rodeo raised his hands in the air in apology, mostly to keep anyone from firing a shot his way for it. From the look on the others' faces-- especially Leah and Brandon-- Rodeo had a feeling they might have considered it. He chose not to offer up the explanation behind his choice, figuring they could piece it together for their own damn selves. He followed when the others turned to continue up the stairs to the tower, keeping his footsteps careful as if afraid to create any more sudden noises in the quiet of the staircase.
Rodeo wasn't surprised to see the dead guard. When Otisville fell, there were those men who chose to end their own lives before the waves of the infection encroached on their cells. Most of the suicides had been prisoners, but Rodeo had seen a guard or two that had called it quits when he finally did escape from his cell. He absently bumped the toe of his boot against the guard's shoe like a child prodding roadkill with a stick, then bent down and collected the guard's keys and baton off his belt. He stuffed the baton into the back of his belt, oblivious to any issues the others might have had with him stealing off a dead man. Unlike Charlie, he had no pity for the man's choice. He'd been backed up into the same corner-- locked in a cell with no way out, nothing but geeks for company, and ending it hadn't been an option. Anything less than going down fighting was never an option for him.
After he took his loot, he turned to the windows of their perch, looking out with the others. Even without the binoculars, he could see the grimy orange jumpsuits as the shufflers wandered through the yard. His lip curled faintly at the sight, goosebumps pricking along his skin at the memories it conjured up. He wasn't sure he'd been the last man alive in Otisville, but it had certainly felt that way when he left it. The sight of the maggotbags dressed in garish orange roaming across the grounds stirred up the memories of those final months, but he valiantly attempted to cover up any discomfort he felt over that fact.
"Once we get inside, you'll probably get some still locked in cells," Rodeo said, figuring now was the best time to strategize. "Those'll be like fish in a barrel. What got me when I was on my way outta Otisville was the second level. I reckon this has the same layout on some cell blocks, where you got a second level of cells above the first. Leaper came down on my back, knocked me flat on my face. Reckon if we encounter two-story cells, we oughta have folks split the levels so someone can be up above watchin' out. Also, the blocks ain't all the same. You got SNY, that's all folks who got their asses kicked too bad to stay in the main cellblock. Child molesters, rapists and shit. On the grounds we got a mixed bag, but I reckon most of 'em stayed close to their blocks. SNY will be a cakewalk. PHU is protective housing, more folks who got their asses kicked, just for different reasons. High-profile guys, any marked men. The main blocks have the bigger guys, that's where we really gotta watch. Ain't much to do inside but bulk up and jerk off. Gonna be some big rotbags out there."