The Human Condition

here is talking about Winnipeg. That's miles away. And Seattle, and Portland. They're talking about a massive part of the country. Bloody hell, what's going on here...?'

    `Are they saying anything about what's happened, Jake? Do they know why...?'

    `Christ, Mum, they've put a map up. It looks like it's spreading out from the west. It looks like...'

    `Where are Lucy and the boys?'

    `Lucy's here in bed with me, the boys are asleep...'

    `You should lock your doors. Don't answer the door if anyone comes. Wait until we know what's...'

    `What's the point of locking the door? Mum, this isn't anything to do with...'

    `Jake...? Jake, are you still there? What's the matter, son?'

    `Nothing. Thought I heard something, that's all.'

    `What?'

    `Thought I could hear...'

    `Jake...? What's happening, son?'

    `Sorry, Mum, I'm going to put the phone down. Look, I'll call you back as soon as I...'

    `What's wrong?'

    `Something's happening on the other side of the river. There's a fire. It looks like something's gone into the front of one of the buildings on the waterfront by the... Don't know what's going on. I can't see much from here... Hang on a second and I'll try and... Shit, that's all I need, the kids are awake now. Bloody hell. Lucy, could you go and...? Lucy...? Honey, what's wrong?'

    `What's the matter, son?'

    `Lucy? Don't struggle, honey, lie back and I'll get you a...'

    `Jake? Jake... are you still there?'

    Over five thousand miles away, Mrs Humphries listened helplessly to the muffled sounds of her son, her daughter-in-law and her two grandsons choking to death. Within hours both Mrs Humphries and her husband were dead too.

DAY ONE

AMY STEADMAN Part i

    Amy Steadman is a twenty-four year old graduate who is the manager of the lingerie department in an exclusive women's fashion boutique located in a busy out-of-town shopping mall. She lives on her own in the town of Rowley in a small one bedroom flat above an antiques shop on a narrow road just off the main high street.

    It's five-thirty in the morning. Amy's alarm has gone off, and she's just dragged herself out of bed.

    This morning Amy has to make her quarterly sales presentation to the company's senior management team. She dreads these presentations. She doesn't have a problem with standing up and talking to these self-important, vacuous, grey-suited people, she just doesn't feel comfortable with the way they stare back at her. They are smarmy, lecherous old men and she can feel them undressing her with their eyes. She hates the way they don't listen to anything she says, instead they just watch her. She knows that they fantasise about her. She finds their unwanted interest and their cheap, double-entendre laden conversation offensive and unnecessary but she puts up with it. It's all part of the job.

    In Amy's line of business appearance is absolutely everything. She walks the shop floor as a representative of the store and the numerous expensive labels it stocks. She knows that she must be perfectly coiffured and immaculately presented at all times. Customers directly associate her with the products she sells. The better she looks, she often thinks, the more chance she has of making a sale.

    After a quick breakfast (she doesn't feel like eating much this morning) and a lukewarm shower (she needs to get a plumber in), Amy dries her hair and sits down in front of the mirror to apply her make-up. An exercise in precision application, the make-up is crucially important to her. Far more than just another part of her perfect appearance, it is a mask. She is painting on her work personality and her customer-facing smile. In fifteen minutes she creates a character far removed from the real Amy Steadman who sits in front of the television most nights, eating chocolate and relaxing in old jeans and baggy jumpers. More importantly, perhaps, the face becomes something she can hide behind. The senior managers who stare and leer at her see only the fixed smile, the white teeth and the flawless complexion. They are unaware of the disinterest and contempt she keeps hidden from them.

    Less than an hour after getting out of bed, Amy is dressed, psyched-up and ready to go. She leaves her flat and crawls through the early morning traffic, arriving at work in just under fifty minutes.

    It is almost eight o'clock, and the store is just opening its doors to the first customers of the day.

    `These shoes are killing me,' Lorraine moans.

    `Well what do you expect?' I