The Human Condition

likely that this was their last chance to get food before the dead reached the Presidential Suite.

    `Come on,' she mumbled.

    The two survivors crept through the fire door (leaving it propped open with a fire extinguisher) and moved slowly along the corridor to the first corner. Jones put his head around the corner and shone the torch down its length.

    `Clear,' he said, the relief in his voice obvious. `Let's stick to this end of the corridor and stay away from the stairs.'

    `Suits me,' Elizabeth replied.

    The layout of floor twenty-seven was different to floor seventeen. This floor bore more of a resemblance to the luxurious twenty-eighth floor than any of the lower levels. There were several large suites on this floor and Jones was immediately hopeful they'd find some food and drink at least.

    `Got a key for an executive suite?' he asked. Elizabeth worked her way through the huge bunch of keys she carried. The door was quickly opened and the two of them slipped inside.

    `So what are we looking for?' Elizabeth asked. `Anything,' Jones replied, `and make sure you split what you find into two piles. Keep one for yourself and we'll share the rest with the others.'

    `But that's...'

    `...completely fair. How many of those fuckers are down here with us? If they want more they can come and get it themselves.'

    He turned round and began to ransack the room.

    A little under an hour later Elizabeth and Jones returned to the Presidential Suite. They had with them the entire contents of the drinks cabinets of the Executive Suites on the floor immediately below. They'd found very little in the way of food, but that didn't seem to matter anymore. The survivors gratefully took what they were given as they listened to what the others had seen on the other levels. Regardless of their nerves and uncertainty, what food they were given was eaten quickly.

    `Feels like a last supper, doesn't it?' Bushell said quietly. He didn't know who was listening. No-one had lit any lamps this evening.

    `So what do we do tomorrow?' Proctor asked, sitting a little way behind him. `Do we just sit here and wait for them, or do we run?'

    `We've been through this before,' Elizabeth sighed.

    `Wilcox will run,' Jones smirked. `You're good at running, aren't you, Wilcox.'

    Wilcox switched on a torch and shone it around the room until he found where Jones was sitting.

    `Shut your fucking mouth,' he hissed angrily, shining the light directly into the other man's eyes. Jones laughed at him.

    `Thanks for your help back there,' he smirked, referring to Wilcox's sudden disappearance on the fire escape stairs. `Couldn't have managed without you.'

    Wilcox switched off his torch. He didn't know how to react. He was angry and he didn't like Jones mocking him, but he didn't feel able to retaliate. What was going to happen tomorrow was much more of a threat than Jones and his snide comments.

    `So what do we do tomorrow?' Proctor asked again. `Do we run or...?'

    `Let's just think about it logically, shall we,' Bushell suggested. `They're still coming in through the front door, aren't they? And they're climbing the stairs because of the growing pressure from other corpses behind them. So what's going to happen when they reach the top of the stairs? They're not going to turn back round and start heading for the ground floor again, are they?'

    `They're going to keep coming,' Jones said ominously. `When they can't go up, they'll start spreading onto the landings like they did on the other floor.'

    `And even when there's no more room on the landing up here,' Bushell continued, `they'll keep coming. Before we know it they'll be up against our door and then, when the pressure gets too great, our door will give and this place will be filled with the damn things.'

    `Lovely,' mumbled Doreen. `So you don't think there's anything we can do?' asked Elizabeth .

    `It's like I said earlier,' Bushell replied, `what's coming is coming. I think we're all going to die. The only choice we each have left is how we do it. Now I don't personally intend being torn apart, but I also don't like the idea of running either.'

    `So what are you going to do?'

    `Not sure yet. I haven't decided.'

    `You haven't got long.'

    `I know.'

    `I'm running,' Wilcox muttered.

    `You would,' laughed Jones. `I'll probably run too.'

    `What about you, Doreen?' Elizabeth asked.

    `Too tired to run, too scared not to,' she answered dejectedly. `We'll just have to see what tomorrow brings,