The loud report made the silence that followed seem even more silent. The men who had come to their feet stood like statues of a mad sculptor, watching the black hole turn red and gush. Then it came, dawning in their eyes. The hungry, frightened, hopeful fascination, the impact of conflicting thoughts. It grew stronger and burned in the sunken eyes of these dead men who wanted to live. There was no mistaking the intent, no mistaking the _desire_. McBride saw it and understood. "Good Lord, no!" he said. He tried to keep saying it, thinking it. But he was as near death as the others. The mutual thought bloomed in his mind like some evil flower. It made him tremble. Sweat suddenly stung his eyes, ran into his mouth. Food! Slow miserable death on one side and food on the other! A chance to live a little longer. Maybe Flaunders would find something in another week, and one meal might make the difference between seeing that and not seeing it. One wanted to live! You couldn't bring Heinie back anyway, so why not live? Heinie had wanted it that way. A human is an animal as much as a pig or a cow. A chance to live, to hope again! Some part of his mind screamed at him. "Cannibal!" "The only chance!" cried another part. "Vulture!" said the soul-part with unnerving keening. "Will you have loin? Or perhaps the rump?" His flesh prickled, the sweat flowed in streams. Unheard murmurings distorted his mind. "Only this once, for a little more time!--Maggot! Dungworm!--Only another week and maybe the Venus II, months ahead of time--Fool! Not a chance! Die now, quickly!--No, no, no! Still some hope! Never give up. Never say die! Oh, God, Heinie! Why did you suggest it?" Gibbering conflict, a trend to insanity. The voices inside beat his brain against his temple and raged. The civilized man went to his knees and drew back. The beast man thumped his chest and screamed. "Alright!" McBride shouted, wondering why his voice sounded so angry, why his face felt distorted. He drew his feelings within himself. His voice grew flat and quiet with bitter irony. "Alright," he said. "Go ahead. Undress the main course." * * * * * When the meal ended the Hell came. Full stomachs restore sanity. The beast man lay down, well fed and sleeping, to leave the civilized man awake with his thoughts. A new kind of Hell, this one that started with a gun. You could see the fires of it burning the face of every man. Like the extra-animated Henry Higgins. He sat with unnaturally red cheeks puffed out beneath his beard, eyes glassy wet, looking at McBride as if harboring some question too awful to ask. There was something of the frightened, wild animal about him as his eyes left McBride and jerked around from one face to another. Then he was up and awkwardly running in among the trees.