[ Hickey's already making notes in his mind. Fat's flammable. The fat on that man he butchered and buried in the woods is probably long useless, but if this happens again. If the hunger keeps going, if this damn night doesn't cease...he'll need more fuel. He'll have to do the deed again. Which really, Hickey's fine with, there's too many people here anyway. But that's not something you say out loud. ]

The people here still hang onto their morals, [ Hickey points out, with a little shrug. ] We've got a god picking us off one by one, lunatics in the woods who leave corpses as a threat, the threat of starvation on every corner and they're worried about morals. They don't want to take food from the lunatics in the woods because 'we can talk to them' or some nonsense.

[ Hickey shakes his head. As he talks, his gaze never strays from what Scratch is doing with the body. ]

Morals don't mean shit. People let them get in the way of the practicalities of living.