They couldn’t be berserkers because I knew one of them. He was called Bodie. I’d talked to him no more than a few hours ago, just before we’d made our bid for freedom up the elevator shaft. He’d been a boy then, not a wild, slavering beast hammering across the hot tarmac too fast for a human, hands like claws held out to our throats, eyes promising not just violence but a painful and bloody death.
