Stooped low, we walked along the edge of the roof of the abandoned power plant, following the steady crunch of gravel on the road below. The sound of small stones and glass under tires has become something that surges adrenaline into my bloodstream after so many close calls (and the few unlucky situations); it can be the only warning sign you'll get until a moment later when the patrol car comes around the corner. It can also be a haunting sound when you know the person in the vehicle is searching for YOU.
The state trooper slowly crept around the building, splashed through a deep puddle, and disappeared behind the myriad of dilapidated wards. Even though he wasn't seen again that day, the campus was busy with the usual security patrol, and a fire truck on what might have been a training run.
The power house was relatively clean and modern, and didn't hold many things of interest, so we quickly moved in an aimless direction through the old wards of the hospital... almost everything here was simply stunning.