MUNCHIES IN THE HERO ZONE

Nightfall happens fast here in The Hero Zone, and with the darkness comes the harsh reminder of poverty and hunger. The worst part is lying there alone in the darkness, listening to your stomach growl and twist in protest at the rich smells wafting over from the other side of the wall, or snaking upwind from the pleasure yachts cruising the waterfront.
Immense, gleaming white vessels full of clean, healthy passengers with all their shots and teeth tucking into platter after platter, stacked high with lobster, vegetables, steaming loaves of soft bread, pies, cakes, fruits, and expensive crystal pitchers of clear, safe drinking water. If you strained your ears, you could almost hear the ice cubes tinkling softly in the distance, and the soft buzz of pleasant dinner conversation.
But if you listened too long, you could hear the screams of the starving people who could stand no more; the ones who waded out into polluted water and cut themselves on the jagged barnacles which grew on the pilings. The ones who get slapped around by the wake of these big boats as they swam out close enough to beg for a few morsels for themselves, their starving families, their hungry children. Usually, they drown or get shot by the security details assigned to guard the rich from the poor, and preserve the \"purity of their experience\". Sometimes, the people on the boats will pretend they’ve already tossed something in the water, and point off after it, laughing, like a man playing catch with his dog.
Fat chance of getting a bite to eat around here; the wall dividing The Hero Zone from the rest of the world encloses 133 blocks; it’s 20-feet high, and topped with broken glass. You could try knocking on the hood of the burned-out car at the end of the block; sometimes, the lady who hides in it will have an extra chunk of old bread, or a half-gnawed rat. Vets and retired government workers get what\'s called a \"Card of Gratitude\", which entitles them to three hots and a cot in a heavily fortified part of The Zone; tiny apartments complete with electricity, running water, and a toothbrush.
But tonight I’ve got an ace up my sleeve, and I’m headed toward the end of town to play it.
Monday morning, I was diving through one of the dumpsters behind Val-Mart-- the new one on Cheney Boulevard-- looking for something to drink out of, when I saw something on the ground a few feet away. Even though it was covered in grime, I knew what it was the instant I looked at it: a Pink Dot. You know, one of those plastic gizmos with circuits and whatnot inside of \'em. You break one in half, and it sends out a signal to the nearest Pink Dot franchise. If you’ve got the credits, they’ve got whatever you want. Food! Cigarettes! Bottled water! Rolls of clean, unused toilet paper! And I just happen to have the credits. I worked my ass off this week, peddling cardboard boxes, aluminum cans, broken radios... anything I could get my hands on. My reward was 43 credits, three slightly-used phone cards, and a brand-new pack of AA batteries some fool tossed out, still in the blister pack.
I reached a vacant lot and looked around. This was unoccupied turf; there was nothing here to fight over. I put my back to the wall of crumbled building, pulled out the Dot, and snapped it in half. It started flashing immediately, which meant it was working. They’d home in on this signal and be here in a minute. My mouth began to water; I was going to eat!
Presently, I could hear the whine and roar of powerful jet engines. And then I saw it: a giant gunship, gliding over the treetops. Twin searchlights cut the fog, looking for a safe place to land, looking for the flashing Dot I held in my hands.
It kicked up a wind something fierce, but I held the Dot up, identifying myself as a potential customer. As soon as the craft touched down, they hauled me in, and lifted off again. You gotta buy everything while you’re in the air, because they can’t risk getting overrun on the ground. Besides, if you try anything funny, they’d just shove you out the door. No skin off their nose.
Anyway, I spent my money wisely; two packs of smokes, a roll of TP, three MREs-- the fancy kind you add water to-- and a big bottle of water with the seal still on it. They keep all this stuff sealed in giant ammo cans, lashed to the deck inside the ship.
I got my stuff, and when the door gunner hollered, \"Go!\" I jumped off the skid, and ran like hell toward a dark alley, taking lefts and rights and lefts until I thought I might get lost. More than likely, the whole damn city had seen the lights, which meant I needed to find a place to hide my stash. I could eat some of it tonight, and bury the rest in a box for Sunday.
That’s the Lord’s Day, you know.