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... r the faint, sour musk of the undead pressing at the doors. For the first time since any of them could remember, it smelled like smoke and grease, like meat on fire. The kind of smell that belonged to cookouts, to weekends that had slipped into memory.

It had been Riku’s idea—or maybe not exactly an idea, but a compromise. They had pork sitting in the basement freezer, thawing every hour the power stayed off. By next week it would spoil, and rotten meat in close quarters meant sickness. ...

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