KaneAbout forty minutes later, we rolled into the parking lot of the Inca's clubhouse. Shutting off our bikes, I looked back at the big steel gates that had been left standing open and an ominous feeling settled down over my shoulders. Suppressing a shiver, I got off my bike and took off my helmet, putting it down on the seat. I looked over and saw Drew doing the same.
It was silent as the proverbial tomb in the parking lot. The building standing before us looked like it had once been a large, two story home. But the paint was peeling, cardboard had been taped over some of the broken windows, and there were large holes in the stucco walls.
Empty beer cans and bottles had been discarded all over a yard that was mostly brown and dead – save for a few stands of weeds that were six feet high
