“Then we’ll be really careful and not attract attention,” Riley snapped. “I didn’t have time to grab anything, thanks to your and Ember’s little disappearing act, and I didn’t want to risk carrying a duffel bag of guns through the casino. So no, we don’t have any weapons this time. Get used to the idea.”

“And the Order?”

“Wes is hacked into a couple traffic cams around the block,” Riley answered, making a vague gesture at the street. “He’ll let me know if there’s trouble. Don’t worry, St. George.” He gave Garret a cold smile. “I’ve got it all figured out.”

Before either of us could protest further, he turned and leaped gracefully to the top of the fence, then dropped noiselessly to the other side. Without a word, he spun and strode away into the darkness. Garret and I exchanged a glance and then hurried after him.

It was eerie, being on this side of the fence. My shoes raised small poofs of dust as we walked. Stacks of rotting wood, iron and huge cement tubes were scattered about the barren landscape, like modern skeletons in the dirt. There were no signs of life. Even the eternal sound of traffic faded, red taillights becoming distant mirages, leaving us in a bubble of darkness.

The entrance of the hotel loomed ahead, the strangely elegant front marred by a crown of jagged beams and unfinished upper floors. Again, I was struck by the eerie silence as we approached the shattered lobby doors and stepped carefully over the threshold into the darkness of the dead hotel.

The first thing I noticed was the heat. The second was the smell. The air through the doors was hot and stale, and reeked of piss, sweat, puke and general human disgustingness. I gagged and pressed closer to Garret. Who, of course, seemed unfazed by it all. Damn soldier unflappability. Riley, clicking on a small flashlight, wrinkled his nose, then turned to us.

“Stay close.” His voice, though soft, echoed in the emptiness of the lobby. “Looks like there are people here after all.”

“Ya think?”

There was a shuffle in the darkness, and Riley swept the flashlight around, pinning a thin, almost skeletal figure in the glare. A woman, her shirt nearly falling off her bony shoulders, gave us a glassy, deer-in-headlights stare before shambling away. My skin crawled, and I crossed my arms to hide my fear.

“Oh, that’s great,” I whispered, as the shuffling footsteps faded away in the darkness. “We’re in a zombie movie. I swear, if I see any walking dead, I don’t care who’s around—they’re all getting a fireball between the eyes.”