Chapter 223: Claiming Atlantic City [4]

As we rounded the mall’s eastern corner, the Whitesun Hotel finally came into view.

It was an impressive structure—a twenty-three story building that had probably been a mid-range business hotel before the outbreak. The exterior showed its age and abandonment through broken windows, stained concrete, and hanging debris, but the structural integrity appeared sound. No obvious signs of collapse or catastrophic damage.

“There’s our new home,” Rachel said quietly, staring up at the towering building.

“Assuming we can clear it,” Christopher added pragmatically. “That’s a lot of building to secure.”

Martin’s group had caught up with us now, and they too stood staring at the hotel that would hopefully become their permanent residence. I could see a range of emotions playing across different faces—excitement, fear, determination, exhaustion from the fighting we’d already done.

“The exterior looks secure enough,” Martin observed. “I don’t see signs of major breaches or structural failure. That’s good—means the interior might not be completely overrun.”

“Or it means nothing got out once it got in,” Brad’s voice rang sourly. He’d managed to survive the advance without incident, though I’d noticed he’d spent most of the time toward the back of Martin’s formation rather than actively engaging Infected. “Could be packed to the ceiling with those things for all we know.”

“Only one way to find out,” I replied, refusing to let his pessimism dampen the moment. “But first, Martin, your people need to establish the perimeter security. Start clearing the buildings immediately surrounding the hotel—that apartment complex over there, those retail spaces, that parking structure. Create a secure zone around our main objective.”

Martin nodded, already turning to organize his people. “You heard the man! Teams of four—we’ve got approximately eight buildings in the immediate perimeter to clear. Move systematically, don’t rush, communicate constantly. I want zero casualties, understood?”

His people responded with determined affirmations, breaking into their pre-assigned teams and moving toward their designated targets.

I turned to my own group. “Ready to see what’s waiting for us inside?”

“As ready as we’re going to be,” Cindy replied, checking her weapon one final time.

Sydney smiled. “Let’s go make ourselves a home.”

We approached the hotel’s main entrance—a set of ornate glass doors that had somehow remained intact despite months of abandonment. Through the dirty glass, I could see the lobby beyond, shrouded in shadow and impossible to fully assess from outside.

Rachel reached the doors first, testing them gently. They swung open with a protesting squeal of neglected hinges, the sound echoing into the dark interior.

The smell hit us immediately—the odor of decay and stagnant air, but not overwhelmingly strong. That was actually encouraging. A building absolutely packed with Infected would reek far worse.

“Flashlights,” I said, pulling out my own and clicking it on.

Five beams of light lanced into the darkness, illuminating a lobby that had clearly once been quite elegant. Marble floors, ornate columns, a grand staircase leading to the upper floors, a massive reception desk dominating one wall. Now everything was covered in dust and debris, furniture overturned, plants long dead in their decorative pots.

But most importantly—no immediate sign of Infected.

“Let’s sweep the lobby first,” I said quietly. “Check behind the front desk, behind the pillars, under the staircase—anything large enough to hide something that could move. Once the lobby is confirmed clear, we’ll start going floor by floor.”

The grand lobby of the Whitesun Hotel looked like time itself had paused during the first days of chaos. The air was thick and stale, filled with swirling motes of dust that caught in the narrow beams of our flashlights. Massive chandeliers hung above us—some intact but most broken or sagging under their own weight, the crystals dulled by grime. A few pieces of furniture remained roughly upright—a cracked leather sofa, a once-luxurious rug—while the rest had been overturned or shoved aside hastily, as though people had tried to barricade themselves in here once.

It was eerily silent except for our footsteps and the occasional creak from the building settling. Somewhere in the distance, something metallic clattered faintly—probably a loose piece of debris shifting. I ignored the instinctive tightening in my chest. That sound could’ve been anything.

“We’d better split up,” Christopher suggested. “It’ll go faster if we cover more ground.”

I hesitated for a moment—we all knew splitting up was risky—but the sheer size of the lobby warranted it. Time mattered, and we needed to secure this floor before Martin’s team could start bringing people closer. “Alright,” I said after a moment’s thought. “Christopher, go with Rachel. Cindy, you and Sydney take the other side. I’ll check the rear offices and whatever maintenance hallways these are on my own.”

I rested my hand briefly on the axe at my side. “Quick sweeps only. Don’t wander too deep into any corridors we can’t see the end of. If you find anything you can’t handle alone, call out…”

I think they could mostly handle everything but it was just in case.

Everyone nodded and fanned out into the shadows.

I moved alone toward the rear section of the lobby—the part beyond the reception desk where a few service hallways branched off. My footsteps echoed faintly against the tile, the only sound in that cavernous space. The smell of decay was stronger here.

I could never get used to that stench honestly.

I passed behind the front desk, sweeping my flashlight across the long, curved counter. Papers were scattered everywhere—guest ledgers, pamphlets for local attractions long irrelevant now, and small dust-covered trinkets guests had probably left behind in their flight. A brass bell sat crooked on its mount; on impulse, I reached out, flipped it upright, and then immediately regretted that impulsive instinct to restore order. Its faint ding echoed far too loudly in the silence.

I froze, listening.

For several seconds there was nothing, only the faint rasp of my own breathing. Then—buried somewhere deep in the hotel—something shifted softly, a wet dragging sound. I tightened my grip on my axe and turned off the flashlight for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the ambient dimness.

Nothing approached.

Maybe it was just a curtain moving in a draft, or the building settling again.

I continued to move on.

The first of the side rooms I came to had once been a small café adjoining the lobby. The glass walls were shattered inward, the counters behind the coffee machines cluttered with very likely expired supplies, rusted milk tins, sugar crystallized into solid lumps in soggy containers.

Well I think some things might be salvageable.

I approached the counter slowly, eyes scanning for movement behind it. Nothing stirred except roaches scurrying for cover when I directed my light downward.

Satisfied it was clear, I turned back toward the hallway nearest the reception area.

That was when I heard a groan.

The flashlight beam swept to the left toward a service corridor leading deeper into the administrative section. Five meters down, a shape stirred in the gloom: the slouched silhouette of an Infected.

It turned its head toward the light and let out another moan before stumbling forward with unsteady steps.

“Quietly now…” I murmured to myself, stepping sideways to draw it out. The narrow hallway was lined with half-open office doors, shadowed interiors I couldn’t see fully.

Regardless I waited, letting the creature draw closer until I could strike cleanly.

As it lunged, I stepped in, the axe arcing upward in a tight motion. The blade split its skull soundlessly, momentum carrying the corpse sideways into the wall. I pulled my weapon free quickly and scanned both directions down the corridor.

Two more shapes began to emerge from a doorway at the far end—drawn by the faint sounds of impact. Older Infected, judging by their rot and sluggish pace. They shuffled unevenly down the passage, bumping into the walls as they came.

I moved forward quickly before they could close the distance.

The first one died with an upward strike under the chin that cleaved through the jaw into the brain. The second stumbled into its companion’s falling body, losing its balance long enough for me to grab it by the shoulder and jam the axe into the temple in one smooth motion. Both crumpled noisily to the floor.

I exhaled slowly. Three so far, likely the remnants of whatever staff or guests had been caught here on the first day of the outbreak. I checked the nearest office door, pushing it open with my foot.

Inside, sunlight filtered weakly through half-broken blinds, catching on motes of dust dancing in the stale air. A desk stood against the far wall with a toppled computer monitor beside it, and on the floor next to the chair sat another body. This one was long-dead—rotten skeletal remains wrapped in half-dissolved fabric. Whoever it had been died here quietly, probably long before infection could reach them.

I lingered for a second longer than I meant to, staring the scrawl on the wall above the skeleton’s desk. Written in dried brown streaks—blood were the words: “NOTHING LEFT TO RUN FOR.”

I suppose things didn’t turn out good either in this hotel…

A voice called faintly down the hallway, breaking my grim reverie. “Ryan? All clear on your end?”

It was Sydney.

“Almost,” I called back, stepping away from the desk and back toward the corridor. “Three Infected down, no others moving.”

“Same here,” she answered. “Cindy thinks she found some kind of emergency elevator key system near the concierge desk. Rachel and Christopher are checking the lower hall near the restrooms; looks quiet so far.”

“Alright, regroup in the lobby,” I replied, starting toward the open doorway that led back to the main hall.

Before reaching it, I noticed another door slightly ajar on my left, the sign beside it reading Manager’s Office. Something about it made me hesitate—the way it was almost closed, yet not entirely, as if nudged by something from within.

I pushed it open carefully with the shaft of the axe, the hinges groaning softly.

The office beyond was shadowy but clutter-free, desks, filing cabinets, a long cracked mirror along one wall. For a moment, I thought it was empty. Then my flashlight beam swung toward the corner.

An Infected crouched there, half-hidden behind a toppled chair. It must have been sitting silently while I passed earlier. One of its arms looked broken and twisted, but its remaining strength was intact, the thing sprang with chilling speed the moment light touched it.

It lunged forward, shrieking. Its hands clamped onto my jacket.

“Ryan!” I could hear Cindy’s voice.

I brought my knee up sharply, hitting its chest just enough to shift its balance. The axe handle wedged between me and its snapping mouth, teeth scraping wood. Then, I twisted the weapon sideways and forced it away, feeling its filthy breath against my cheek. Then I slammed the axe’s blunt end upward beneath its chin to make space and rolled free.

Before it could recover, I rose to one knee and brought the blade down with a full overhead swing. .

I stayed crouched for several seconds listening to confirm no new movement followed.

“Ryan,” Rachel’s voice called again, closer this time. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” I said finally retrieving my fallen flashlight I had let go. “I was just taken by surprise, but it’s clear now.”

When I emerged back into the lobby, the others were already gathering near the grand staircase. Sydney had both hands on her hips, looking unreasonably cheerful given our situation. “Nice of you to finally join us,” she said. “We thought for a moment mighty Ryan had fallen.”

“Not yet,” I said, brushing dust off my jacket as I rejoined them.

Rachel cast me a quick once-over, confirming I wasn’t bleeding. “Did you check the offices in back?”

“Yeah. Three moving Infected dispatched, one long-dead skeleton, one that got a little too close for comfort.” I paused, then nodded at the locked double doors behind the reception desk. “Beyond that looks like access to the service tunnels and maintenance corridors—we’ll seal it from this side for now until we’ve secured the main structure.”

Christopher nodded. “Clear on our end. Storage closets empty, restrooms just smell bad.”

“Reception’s clear too,” Cindy added. “We found a few useful supplies—flashlights, batteries, even some unopened bottled water. Someone must’ve stored emergency rations behind the front desk before everything went bad.”

That was good news; every little resource helped.

Sydney twirled her bloodstained knife with an impatient flick of her wrist. “Alright, floor one is ours. So what’s the bet on the second floor? Five Infected? Ten?”

“Let’s hope fewer,” Rachel said, exhausted. “There’s probably a break area and conference rooms up there before we get to the actual guest floors.”

I took one last look around the lobby, mentally marking the cleared zones. “We’ve secured the ground floor. That’s already an excellent start.”

I turned to the staircase leading upward, flashlight sweeping along the railings and landing above where shadows pooled thickly. Beyond that lay floor after floor of silence and dust, perhaps a labyrinth that might hold dozens more Infected…

“Alright,” I said quietly, gripping my axe. “Let’s start climbing.”

It wasn’t to insult these Infected but honestly we have gone through a lot worse.

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