of caviar and oysters!

Crossing Western, he had almost reached the far curb when he saw some of
_them_. He dropped immediately to his knees behind the rusting bulk of
an Olds 88. The rear door on his side was open, and he cautiously eased
himself into the back seat of the deserted car. Releasing the safety
catch on the automatic, he peered through the cracked window at six or
seven of them, as they moved toward him along the street. God! Had he
been seen? He couldn't be sure. Perhaps they were aware of his position!
He should have remained on the open street where he'd have a running
chance. Perhaps, if his aim were true, he could kill most of them; but,
even with its silencer, the gun would be heard and more of them would
come. He dared not fire until he was certain they discovered him.

They came closer, their small dark bodies crowding the walk, six of
them, chattering, leaping, cruel mouths open, eyes glittering under the
moon. Closer. The shrill pipings increased, rose in volume. Closer. Now
he could make out their sharp teeth and matted hair. Only a few feet
from the car ... His hand was moist on the handle of the automatic; his
heart thundered against his chest. Seconds away ...

Now!

Lewis Stillman fell heavily back against the dusty seat-cushion, the gun
loose in his trembling hand. They had passed by; they had missed him.
Their thin pipings diminished, grew faint with distance.

The tomb silence of late night settled around him.

* * * * *

The delicatessen proved a real windfall. The shelves were relatively
untouched and he had a wide choice of tinned goods. He found an empty
cardboard box and hastily began to transfer the cans from the shelf
nearest him.

A noise from behind--a padding, scraping sound.

Lewis Stillman whirled around, the automatic ready.

A huge mongrel dog faced him, growling deep in its throat, four legs
braced for assault. The blunt ears were laid flat along the short-haired
skull and a thin trickle of saliva seeped from the killing jaws. The
beast's powerful chest-muscles were bunched for the spring when Stillman
acted.

The gun, he knew, was useless; the shots would be heard. Therefore, with
the full strength of his left arm, he hurled a heavy can at the dog's
head. The stunned animal staggered under the blow, legs buckling.
Hurriedly, Stillman gathered his supplies and made his way back to the
street.

How much longer can my luck hold? L