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“In y’ hand, nigger, what is that?”

The junkie looked up at his hand. “It’s a food can. Take a look.” He bent over and rolled it down the cracked pavement toward Peanut.

It hit a pothole and stopped. “Cover me, yo,” Peanut said to Bee, and he ran forward to grab it.

The can was pristine. The label wasn’t faded or ripped or nothing.

“The fuck you find this?”

“There’s a whole store full of ’em, yo, I ain’t playin’ you.”

Peanut raised his MAC-10. “Where?”

“Look, I’ll tell you, I promise, I ain’t playin’ you, but you gots to be givin’ me somethin’, a’ight?”

“Only thing I’m givin’ yo’ ass is a bullet in the brain, you feel me? Now, tell me where, motherfucker!”

“I’ll tell you,” the junkie said, “but you gots to be lettin’ me in.”

“No fuckin’ chance.”

“Then shoot me, ’cause I ain’t telling you fuck-all ’til you get me inside. I can’t be livin’ out here no more. Ain’t nowhere safe from them zees.”

Bee cocked his Glock. “Nigger, shoot his ass.”

Peanut turned around. “This a fresh can, yo!”

“So?”

“So it means this nigger found himself a mother lode!” They had plenty of water and guns and ammo, but the food was starting to get light. Fewer pigeons came by lately—in fact, the only one they’d had in a month turned out to be that crazy bitch with the Prius. Only thing she did to help was give ’em two less mouths to feed. Last ones to come by were those people in that minivan. Lotsa food, no guns. Peanut shot their leader in the back of the neck his own self.

But they needed more food.

This needed to go to the Council. “Keep y’hands in the air, and move yo’ ass inside.”

The Council consisted of the five people who’d been with the group longest. With Motown dead (Cowboy wasn’t on the Council), that meant Peanut, Snoopy, Riot, String, and Dog Meat. The chairmanship rotated, and right now it was Dog Meat. LaWanda had gone out to join Bee on sentry duty, which meant that Bee’d spend the whole time staring at LaWanda’s ass, but that was LaWanda’s problem.

With Motown, Cowboy, and Yolanda dead—Yolanda got bit by a zee that broke through the perimeter—they was only twelve now. Pretty soon there’d be more Council than no Council.

The junkie, whose name was Andre, was in the meeting, too, telling everybody about a deli that they couldn’t get into for the longest time, but he’d found a way in. “Don’t nobody know about it ’cept for me, and it’ll stay that way. You got my word.”

“Yeah,” Riot said, “’cause your word means so much shit, don’t it?”

String said, “Look, we need food. We can’t be hopin’ more pigeons’ll show up, that’s a forlorn fuckin’ hope. Ain’t nobody left.”

“We ain’t the only ones left,” Snoopy said with his annoying lisp.

“Maybe not,” String said, “but by now? Only folks that ain’t zees are gonna be like that bitch the other day—hard. Only ones left’ll be survivors, and—”

“And if they come by,” Riot said, “we’ll shoot they asses. Fuck this shit, let’s just get the food and go.”

Peanut asked, “What about this motherfucker?”

“I’ll take you there,” Andre said.

“You can’t tell us where it is?” Snoopy asked.

“I could. But I ain’t gonna. ’Sides, you ain’t gonna know the way in ’less I tell you.”

Dog Meat finally spoke. “We vote. The motion is to let this junkie motherfucker into the group if he shows us where to find this food. All in favor?”

Riot kept his hand down, but everyone else raised theirs.

“A’ight.” Dog Meat looked around. “We send six. One to keep an eye on this motherfucker.” He pointed at Andre. “Three to gather the food. Two to keep an eye out for zees.”

“No,” String said. “Nigger, that’s almost half’a what we got left.”

Andre said, “You gonna need at least that many to carry the shit.”

“Safety in numbers,” Dog Meat said. “Anybody else disagree?” He looked around at the Council.

Peanut actually thought they should take more, but he wasn’t about to say nothin’ to piss off String. If he did, Peanut’d be sleepin’ alone tonight, and he didn’t want that. String was the only one who could suck him off right.

Nobody else disagreed with Dog Meat. String sighed. “Fine, what-the-fuck-ever,