I follow my three young tour guides, struggling to keep up on foot behind their bikes. They navigate the campus with ease, occasionally jumping over a fallen branch or piece of trash. We’re on our way to the old infirmary, or the “X” building as David, the apparent group leader, calls it. He’s about sixteen years old, wearing a black and lime green Adidas sweatshirt and shorts. A white snapback hat rests backwards on his head. The snow is melting all around us in the day’s unseasonable warmth, and we avoid puddles across the ground. They lift their bikes over their heads as they walk through large patches of snow, and eventually, we arrive at the entrance to the building, a doorway of pitch blackness on the facade of a building that has seen better days.