The Big Sleep of Los Angeles
The city was a neon graveyard, and I was the guy who dug the holes. My name is Jack, and in the 1940s, the world ended not with a bang, but with a cloud of yellow gas that turned half of LA into shambling corpses with a taste for human marrow. I had a gift—or a curse, depending on who you asked. I could hum a certain frequency, a low, vibrating thrum in the back of my throat, and the corpses...
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