There were bodies everywhere. The ones still clinging to life moaned in agony. He moved through the swampy valley with caution, trying not to step on the tangled extremities of the corpses. It felt like the earth was trying to inhale him, the thick mud sucking him in with every step he took. He was sure that if he stood still, it would swallow him whole.
It wasn’t exactly a nightmare. But it was the last dream Cooper Thomas would ever have.
He woke up late in the afternoon and scrambled to get ready. Like all of the ceremonies, tonight’s was taking place in a walled-off compound in the Hollywood hills. He drove the Maserati there. He had a dim recollection of once enjoying the narrow, twisting hills from behind the wheel of a zippy sports car. So now, whenever he knew he’d end up in the hills, he took the Maserati, unconsciously trying to recreate a dopamine rush that seemed forever out of reach.
He showed up late. In the early days, showing up late meant you couldn’t get in. But they’d …
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