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an unholy stench. The living dead descended on the warm flesh with greedy mouths full of sharp, jagged teeth. Jamal stared up at her with lifeless eyes. She turned away, unable to watch as they tore chunks from his arms and chest. She heard Jacob screaming in terror as they ripped off chunks of skin and muscle.
    “Please! Oh God! Please kill me!”
    She felt no sympathy for him. He'd brought this on himself, on them, and being torn limb from limb was the least of the tortures she'd wish on him after taking away her protector. She listened with satisfaction until his cries became wet gurgles, and then there was only the sound of them —moaning, growling, and tearing at the remains. There was nothing left to do now and she knew it. Once they got wind of you they didn't leave. They waited you out. This was their world now, not hers, and they knew it.  
    “I'm a survivor,” she laughed. “It's what I do. I just keep on going no matter how awful things get. It's what I've always done.”
    But things were different now that Jamal was gone. Surviving would be much harder now, especially for someone like her, someone soft and weak and, worst of all, addicted.
    There is only one way—one easy way—out now.
    She went to the backpack and took out the block of brown powder they'd taken from her dealer. There was just so much of it left, more than she was used to seeing or having on hand, more than enough to last her until it was all over. The end was near now and she knew it, but that didn't mean she'd have to face it sober.  
    Death is scary enough without having to know that it's happening while you die, without rethinking all the mistakes you ever made in your life. I just want it to be over. I want to be as far away from this world as possible.
    She dug the cooking spoon deep into the bag of dirt-colored powder and scooped out a significantly larger than normal serving for herself, adding some bottled water to it and heating up the mixture with a Zippo lighter. Once the solution began to bubble, she took away the heat and stirred the concoction with a small red coffee straw. She loaded it up, still warm, into the closest syringe she could find and began tying off, trying not to think about Jamal being gone. She'd be with him soon enough and he'd understand. He'd forgive her. He always did.
    Everyone goes eventually. You can't trust people to stick around. Sooner or later everyone lets you down. Besides, what's left to keep on living for at this point?
    Her hands shook a little as she slammed the sharp needle into the crook of her sore arm, using her thumb to inject the thicker than usual sludge into her bloodstream. She was high in seconds, the drug lifting her up and away from the terrible world around her, a world where dead things came back to life to kill you and eat you; a world where no one could be trusted and nothing lasted.  
    This world is like a fever dream, she thought, like something from out of a child's nightmare . It wasn't where she belonged. It seemed so obvious now. It was her punishment from some previous lifetime, but whatever she'd done she was certain that she'd paid for it a million times over… and then some. She was going to her real home, lifted by wings of angels, all the way up to Yama. She closed her eyes and slipped into a soft puddle of warm, white light as the last of her breath left her body, and her heart stopped from the massive overdose. She was finally free.

    ***

    Pasadena was a city in Los Angeles County, California, located just north of downtown Los Angeles.  
    It was most famous for hosting the Tournament of Roses Parade on New Year's Day, which began in 1890 a few short years after the town was incorporated.  
    In 1902 the annual Rose Bowl football game was added to help offset the cost of the parade which by then had become part of "America's New Year Celebration" and drew in hundreds of thousands of spectators from all over the world.

    The parade included themed floats