Some bodies � those that have decayed more than Steadman's � are distracted from the survivor by the moment of other corpses around them. Steadman's corpse, however, has learnt to distinguish between the dead and other distractions. Although it will not hesitate to attack any cadaver that threatens it, Steadman's corpse no longer sets out to destroy other bodies. It concentrates on moving towards the source of the disruption, although it is not fully aware why. It is likely that it sees this disturbance � whatever is causing it � as a threat to its continued existence which must be destroyed.
The survivor is weak and, after a long period of frightened inactivity, he finds the sudden effort of moving at speed unexpectedly difficult. Just leaving the building has left him feeling light-headed and breathless. Already nervous and unsure, he has stopped in the shadows at the side of the building and is now trying to summon up the strength to make the hundred or so metre dash to the car he has left ready for such an escape. In amongst several hundred other cars it is indistinct and unnoticeable and he is hoping that this will allow him to escape successfully. He intends to return to this place once he has collected sufficient supplies. Steadman's corpse � along with almost a hundred others � is now less than ten meters away from the front of the office building.
The survivor is now aware of the sudden movement all around him but is unsure what to do. The poor weather has reduced his visibility and he is unaware of the level of danger he is in. His choices are becoming more limited as each second ticks by. He can now either retreat back into his hideout (as he did earlier in the week) or continue with his attempt to get out and fetch supplies. He knows that either option is equally dangerous � if he turns back he will starve and his sickness will worsen, if he leaves then he risks exposing himself to the immediate danger of attack from the hordes of bodies which are dragging themselves ever nearer. He knows, however, that he will have to leave eventually and that going back inside will only delay the inevitable. He decides to make a run for the car.
Indecision has ultimately proved to be this survivor's undoing. His brief but unnecessary delay has given sufficient numbers of bodies enough time to drag themselves into the narrow space between his present position and the car. Confused and bewildered, he begins to make a desperate and painful run towards the car. He attempts to swerve around the first few bodies which reach out for him and is successful. Another couple of meters forward, however, and there are too many for him to avoid. He tries to double-back on himself but once the first creature has caught hold of him he is trapped. He attempts to release the corpse's grip on him and has almost managed to do this when a further group of bodies close in on him and drag him down.
Amy Steadman's corpse is at the front of the crowd which swallows up and kills this survivor. With countless others it lashes out at the survivor's flesh and tears the helpless man apart. The survivor's bloody, steaming remains are dropped on the floor and discarded.
Half an hour later and the scene has begun to change again. With the survivor gone the crowds of bodies have started to drift away again in random directions. Amy Steadman's body limps alone through the mist along a wide and silent road strewn with corpses.
THE HUMAN CONDITION Part ii � GOING DOWN
Ten days.
That's how long we've been sat here now. That's how long we've been sat here doing nothing except shouting, arguing and fighting with each other. This can't go on much longer.
John Proctor slumped dejectedly against the wall and held his head in his hands. He watched the others through the gaps between his fingers. Christ, how he'd grown to despise these people over the last week and a half.
Proctor had always been taught (and had always taught others) to look for the good in other people. Trapped here on the top floor of the hotel, waiting to either starve to death or be flushed out by huge crowds of bodies, he couldn't help but concentrate on the faults and irritating personality traits which made the five other survivors trapped with him the worst cell-mates he could have imagined.
Barry Bushell. Now there was an interesting character. It had taken Proctor some time to work him out, and he still wasn't sure whether or not he understood him. Bushell had been understandably annoyed when the other survivors had arrived and had made such a mess of his precious hotel. Even now he'd maintained a slight distance between himself and the others. He spent a lot of time alone in the master bedroom. No-one else ever went in there. Proctor had initially admired his confidence in wearing women's clothing but he struggled to understand why he did it. There must be some underlying sexual issue or confusion, he'd thought. Whatever the reason, he'd been surprised when, a couple of days ago, Bushell had reverted to wearing more `normal' clothing. He'd plucked up courage to ask him why he'd changed his appearance again after being so defiant for so long. Bushell had explained that he'd done it to shut the others up. He'd said he'd had enough of the constant digs and jibes from Wilcox and Elizabeth , and tireless and pointless questions and sideways glances from that bloody annoying woman Doreen. Why didn't they just leave him alone? What difference did it make to any of them what he was wearing? That said, he personally found it easier to relate to Bushell when he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt rather than full drag. It really shouldn't have made any difference but it did. Bushell now sat on his own in the doorway of his bedroom quietly reading a book that he'd already read at least twice before in the last week.
Elizabeth and Wilcox had a strange relationship. They seemed to detest each other and enjoy each other's company in equal measure. One minute they were fighting, the next laughing. They were of a similar age and background, maybe that was the connection? Proctor sensed that the decision to fight or laugh was predominantly made by Elizabeth . She was fairly attractive (very attractive when compared to Doreen who was almost forty years her senior) and, although he hadn't seen or heard it for himself, he suspected she used her femininity to twist Wilcox around her little finger. Perhaps he was doing her a disservice? Perhaps he was jealous?
Now Doreen he couldn't stand. No ifs, buts or maybes, he simply couldn't abide her. He hated her grating voice and her witch's cackle of a laugh. He hated her smell and the cloud of cigarette smoke which followed her around the room. He hated her wizened, wrinkled skin and her yellow teeth. Most of all he hated the fact that she moaned constantly about everything, anything and everyone. She had more aches, pains and problems each day than the rest of them put together. No matter how low or desperate someone may have been feeling, Doreen had it worse. It had reached the stage where Proctor now tried to avoid all contact with her, which wasn't easy when they were trapped together in such a confined space.
It was interesting just how little the rest of them had to do with Paul Jones. Wilcox in particular hardly ever spoke to him. Perhaps there was an element of competition there? Perhaps they both considered themselves to be the all-important alpha male of the group? Whatever the reason they kept their distance from each other, although in all fairness Paul Jones tended to stay apart from everyone else. He both infuriated and fascinated Proctor. Such an isolated and solitary person who, when he could be persuaded, added so much to the group. He was obviously intelligent, perhaps too bright for his own good? His distance from the others came across as an unpleasant arrogance and superiority. Perhaps he just wasn't very good at relating to other people? On the other hand perhaps he really did consider himself to be better than the rest? Funny, Proctor thought, that these six people should find so many faults with each other. There they were, all living under the same cloud of uncertainty and fear, and yet they couldn't work together. He was as bad as the rest of them and he'd freely admit it. Shame though, that in the face of such uncertainty, they still preferred to splinter and fragment because of trivial differences rather than trying to work together for the common good.