The Rattlesnake Hotel had been built in 1996, originally planned as part of the Rattlesnake Complex, which would have included a casino, racetrack, and water park. Financial backing for the complex suffered a setback when a major investor was discovered to have links to a Mexican drug cartel. The hotel had already been built by this point, and for twenty-four years it struggled alone. It survived the Great Recession, and was partially rebuilt after a fire in 2011, but it could not withstand the economic fallout of COVID-19.

It was a midscale establishment, 108 guest rooms and an outdoor pool. The lobby was wide and welcoming, blending seamlessly with the restaurant, gift shop, and a sports-themed bar called Rattlers. Other amenities included a function room and an air-conditioned gym.

At its busiest, the hotel was a whir of activity, sound, and light, never something in itself, but close to something, a middle ground for those who wanted to play the casinos in Laughlin or Needles one day, then hike the Dead Mountains the next. Now it was spiritless and dark, accommodating only the whistling desert winds and the wildlife.

Nothing could be done about the emptiness and disrepair, but Xander had dealt with the darkness—at least for now. On arrival, he’d ventured into the mechanical room in search of a generator, and had found two: a main unit, hooked up to the gas line, which had been cut off, and a small diesel-operated backup, with just enough kilowattage to power the emergency systems and very few of the lights. Xander got it running, then he and Ruben had walked the hotel, shutting down anything unnecessary, centering all the power on the lobby.

Xander claimed there was enough diesel to last a few hours, but the lights burned at half their brightness and flickered constantly. There was a contingency plan: park Ruben’s Tundra in the lobby and turn the single working headlight on. The battery would last until morning. More than enough time to do what they wanted, as slowly as they wanted.

For Kitty, the stuttering lights were in keeping with the erratic nature of her thoughts. She glimpsed memories, faces, dreams, and deaths. In clearer moments—such as they were—she focused on the faintly glowing exit sign at the end of the nearest hallway, trying to convince herself that it was a promise, not a taunt. A tough sell, although she had spent the past hour twisting and flexing her wrists, gradually loosening the knots in Johan’s belt.