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“There,” breathes Marlin as they crest the rise, and Cam sees below a vast, teeming gated community. Hills shield it on every side.

“The Preserve,” Marlin grunts, unwrapping the first oilskin bundle. “All the lowest denominators, Cam–everyone we had to remove from human society. People who trust marketing campaigns absolutely, who use words like ‘carb’ and ‘CPU’ and can’t define them. People whose cell phones play ‘Für Elise’ at eighty decibels. People who’ve tried to power a surge protector by plugging it into itself.

“And why are we here?” asks Cam.

“Overpopulation.” Marlin smiles, slotting barrel to stock. “And sport.”