“I can defend myself,” Becca said. “It’s not like they’re gonna knife me right here.”

Raya snorted. “That’s what you think.”

Her comment was enough to rattle Becca as she considered the reckless nature of what she was doing. If the Tribe or whatever the hell they called themselves really did those terrible things, there was no reason to think Becca and Raya weren’t danger. But she had come this far; there was no way she was backing out now.

They walked through a deserted industrial area, filled with abandoned buildings, all waiting for a crafty developer to turn them into loft apartments and event spaces.

Becca was profoundly aware of the sound of their footsteps as Raya led her toward Alameda and Seventh. Rats skittered past them, unfazed by human interactions. The empty streets grew more and more crowded, now thick with dozens of homeless, many roaming the streets aimlessly, talking to themselves or huddled in groups, chain-smoking furiously. Others were fast asleep on the hard concrete or wrapped in sleeping bags.

“We’re close,” Raya said. They turned right and kept going down another alley and then a side street, past a produce wholesaler. Becca stepped around a single orange in a white plastic bag, noticing the sun bouncing off the yellow and green buildings, the unmistakable smell of McDonald’s sausage wafting from the nearby corner.

“That’s it. That’s where they stay,” Raya said, pointing to the street where a row of tents were arranged, backing up against a chain-link fence and covered with blue tarps. It was a makeshift village encompassing nearly an entire city block. The surrounding area appeared relatively free of trash, several brooms propped up nearby, a stark difference from the area across the street, practically bursting with garbage, the surrounding area empty and deserted, everyone still hibernating.

“Looks like they’re all still sleeping,” Raya said.

Murder wears you out, Becca thought. She glanced around, eyeing the McDonald’s a few hundred feet from the encampment. “Are you still hungry?” Becca asked. The restaurant would provide the perfect vantage point to wait.

Raya’s eyes lit up. “Hell yes. I would love one of them breakfast egg muffin things,” Raya said excitedly. Becca ordered coffee and hash browns, knowing she needed to eat something. Raya ordered two Egg McMuffins, two orders of hash browns, and a Coke. They both took a seat at one of the colorful booths closest to the window. Raya unwrapped her first sandwich and ate greedily, her eyes never leaving Becca. “You must’ve been young when you had your kid?” Raya said.

Becca took a sip of coffee. “She’s not my biological daughter. Ash is my foster kid.”

“Foster kid, huh? I bet she’s seen some shit.”

“More than any girl her age ever should,” Becca said.

“You think maybe that boy broke her heart and your girl said fuck it, and took off?” Raya asked.