`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, won't we?'
Next morning. First light. Proctor picked up his camera and nervously walked out of the main doors and across the landing, intending to carry out his self-imposed daily duty and ascertain how far below them the advancing bodies now were. He walked out to the staircase and leant over the banister. He immediately pulled his head back. There was no longer any need for cameras and fire-hoses. He could see them. They still had several flights of stairs to climb, but he could now see the first few dead. He ran back to tell the others.
`How far?' Elizabeth asked as he burst back into the room breathlessly.
`Not far.'
`How long?'
`Not long.'
`More specific?'
Proctor shrugged his shoulders.
`Couple of hours maximum.'
Doreen began to sob with fright.
`Shut up you silly cow,' Wilcox snapped with his characteristic lack of concern and compassion, `all you're going to do is get them up here quicker.'
`So what do we do now?' Proctor asked, his face suddenly ashen grey and emotionless. `Do we just sit and wait?'
`You might as well,' a voice suddenly said from behind him, `but I'm not ready to. Not yet, anyway.' The survivors turned around. For the first time that morning Barry Bushell emerged from his bedroom. He was dressed as a woman again, complete with blond wig, full make-up and high-heeled boots. He stormed into the main part of the suite with a bright confidence, completely at odds with the others who sat around dejectedly, each contemplating the decisions that they would soon have to make and the horrors they were about to face.
`So what are you planning?' Elizabeth asked, looking Bushell up and down and admiring his nerve if nothing else.
`I did a lot of thinking last night,' he explained.
`And...?' Jones pressed.
`I tried to see if I was wrong. I wanted to know whether I've been looking at everything the wrong way.'
`And?' he pressed again.
`And I think I'm right,' he sighed. `And the more I think about it, the more I realise that it's hopeless. We're really up against it and I can't see a way out. I'm not just talking about the hotel here, I'm talking about what's left of our lives in general.'
`What do you mean?'
Bushell thought carefully for a moment.
`Whatever we do, wherever we go, we're fucked.'
`Nice.'
`Seriously, just stop and think about it. I'm not being defeatist here, I'm just being honest. Whatever we decide to do, it's going to be a struggle. We're going to have to fight for absolutely everything, and that's bloody stupid when you think there's probably only a few people left. The world's our oyster, but I don't think we can take any of it. What does that say to you?'
Blank, confused looks. Silence.
`Like you said,' Elizabeth mumbled, `we're fucked.'
`Exactly. The end's coming and there's nothing we can do about it. The only thing we have any control over is what we do with the time we have left.'
`But we don't know how long that is,' Proctor protested.
`We never have done,' Bushell argued. `Seems to me that we can spend out last days and weeks hiding in the shadows out there, starving to death, running from place to place and freaking out every time someone farts...'
`Or...?'