The new PRU doesn’t look much like the old one: no more uniforms, no more offices, and even less funding than before, if you’ll believe it. We’re more like wild west deputies nowadays: a guy has a weapon and knows how to use it, you give him an badge and shake his hand. Can’t be too choosy.

Hoshi was one of the new breed, and despite her name, she was as white as a lily and as blonde as Norma Jean. Apparently her parents named her after the Japanese word for “star.” Not sure why.

We were heading through Pasadena on a daylight sweep for survivors: I was carrying this forty-five that probably saw action back in World War II, Hoshi had a scoped rifle. I didn’t really like scoped rifles: too much of a chance to see the whites of their eyes. But Blights weren’t the only predators in the ruins of the city of roses, and some of them walked on two legs.

We were moving through the parking lot of the Paseo Colorado when Hoshi put up her hand. “I hear something.”

“Blight?”

“Not sure, I’ll take a look.”