"There's no yeast," he says, slipping back to the pantry to find the strange, crumbling bread put out each day. "But it's not bad, really, and there's jam and eggs."

Probably going to be less of both if too many people divert to fixing buildings, but the bread's enough if they keep bringing in some meat each day. On his way back out, his arm cradles a helping of bread, a jar of dark preserver, and two of the eggs from the basket. He rations himself a little more sparingly, but she looks like she has some catching up to do. "All that stuff in there's just there, you can come take from it any time."