Charlie’s perception of time had seemed somehow altered. For one moment, he’d been alone as the situation around him transformed, then the next he’d been standing amid a crowd of other people. His initial reaction had been to get away from them, but upon looking around at them he’d realised they were just like him. Scared, confused, terrified and upon visual inspection, free from the Plague. He’d assumed in that instance that they’d all been like him, that they were to some degree at least, still themselves unlike those that had fallen to the nightmares and given themselves to the pus of humanity. They’d all been gathered in this horrific landscape of pain and agony together by some means that eluded him, and most probably any kind of logic or means familiar to humans all together.