by Darcy Coates
“I want you to teach me things.” The words came out too loud, and Dorran, hunting through the overhead baskets for snacks, blinked at her.
“Things?”
Clare swallowed and brought her voice back to a comfortable level. “You know first aid. And how to repair the bus when it breaks. I want to know how, too.” I need to know what to do if you’re hurt again. If we’re stranded. If you need me, like you did before.
Dorran, looking thoughtful, placed a packet of toasted nuts in Clare’s lap. “That might be a good idea. I don’t have comprehensive knowledge on any topic, but…”
But it will be enough. “Teach me everything you know.”
He chuckled as he returned to the driver’s seat and put the bus into gear. “I’m not sure you’d want to learn everything. I have exhaustive knowledge of formal dining conventions, which, thankfully, I don’t think I’ll ever need to use again.”
Clare matched his grin. “Okay, maybe we can skip that.”
“Where would you like to start?”
“First aid.”
Dorran warm eyes caught in the headlights’ backwash as he smiled. “Good. Let’s begin with puncture wounds…”
Chapter Four
Night gradually morphed into morning while Dorran talked. He told her about compressions, about sunstroke symptoms, and about emergency surgery. Clare did her best to absorb it all. She didn’t realise how quickly time was passing until dawn lit up the edges of distant trees.
Dorran had driven through the night, and he looked it. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and his slightly too-long hair ruffled as he tilted his head to flex his neck.
“Ready for me to swap over so you can get some rest?”
“I’ll keep going for a while longer.”
“No, you won’t,” Clare said, and Dorran laughed as he pulled over to the side of the road.
“All right. I don’t have a good record of winning arguments against you. I’ll cut my losses this time.” Yawning, he rose then stretched both arms above his head.
They had parked in a marshy field that looked like it was only a few feet above the water table. The ground was clear and flat for miles around. Clare liked that; it saved her the worry that something might be able to creep up on them.
Dorran refuelled the bus while she prepared a light breakfast, then she took over the driver’s seat as Dorran adopted the passenger’s. He folded a blanket, propped it between his head and the window, and relaxed. He was asleep within minutes.
Clare held the bus at a steady speed to minimise the bumps and jolts for Dorran. She couldn’t help smiling to herself as she watched him; his long legs were askew, and one arm crossed his chest, which rose with deep, steady breaths.
The drive was hypnotic. Trees rushed past, thicker and lusher than those in other parts of the country. Mist, light and ethereal, wove between the trunks in mesmerising coils. Occasionally, Clare saw eyes flashing from between the trunks, but nothing tried to interrupt the bus’s passage through the forest.
Above, the sky was dull, but not quite as smoggy as it had been around Evandale. A hazy dark line ran across the horizon. Clare slowed the bus, squinting through the windshield. Dorran stirred beside her, blinking first at her expression, then at the sky. “What’s that?”
“Smoke.” She flexed her hands around the wheel. It wasn’t dense enough to be from a forest fire. It has to come from a campfire or a chimney. And that means humans.
They hadn’t spoken to anyone since leaving Evandale, and Clare had been prepared to continue in solitude until they reached Winterbourne. The possibility of a chat with other humans, even for just five or ten minutes, was tempting.
Dorran was looking to her. He’d only had a few hours of sleep and seemed to be struggling to rouse himself. “Should we stop?”
Beth wouldn’t have. She believed other humans were dangerous. And she had good cause to think that way. But they aren’t all bad. And we might regret it if we don’t at least try to make contact.
She chewed on her thumbnail as she weighed the risks. “Do we need any supplies?”
“We are low on fuel,” Dorran said. “We should have enough to get us to Winterbourne, but not much extra. And it seems prudent to gather more while it is still possible.”
“Mm. If fuel is growing as scarce as Beth said it would be, they might be reluctant to trade. We don’t have much of value except for food, and we can’t really spare that.”
“True. But maybe they could give us advice on the best places to search. And we can share what we know, too.”
“Good call.” Clare saw motion out of the corner of her eye and pushed their bus back up to speed. “No one except us and the Evandale team knows about the thanites yet. They might have information to help us, too. It could even be a safe haven.”
“Will we take a chance, then?” Dorran asked.
“I’m game if you are.”
“All right. Let’s see if we can find our way there.”
The road curved gently, weaving between shallow hills. There were no crossroads, but every few kilometres they passed a gate edging a dirt road or a fenced-in patch of cleared land. There were no houses in sight. Clare guessed the area had to be remote enough that anyone living there would have escaped the thanites’ mutations.
Will it be a house? A campsite? They must know that anyone travelling through would see the smoke, so hopefully, they won’t mind visitors.
The smoke came from the road’s right and didn’t seem too far away. She slowed their pace as she hunted for a way to reach it. As it turned out, the side path advertised itself.
An old metal gate had been left open, tied to a tree by lashes of rope so that the wind couldn’t blow it shut. A wooden sign had been attached, with a pond-blue title hand-painted on it: Mother Gum’s Nest. And then, in smaller text that seemed to have been added hastily: Weary travellers welcome.
“Mother Gum?” Clare smiled despite herself. “Odd name.”
“At least she’s not hostile to guests.” Dorran tucked the blanket underneath his seat then ran his fingers through his hair in an effort to make it more presentable. He ended up looking even more dishevelled. Clare loved it.
The road became narrow and bumpy, and Clare gripped the wheel more tightly to brace against being shaken. Trees and shrubs grew on either side of the road, so close that their branches scraped across the bus’s sides. The sun felt muted. It was only allowed through the canopy in scraps and flecks, like confetti caught in the mist. Clare tried to see where they were headed, but the road kept moving in erratic curves, hiding the trail ahead. The path seemed well-used if a little neglected, but she managed to avoid the worst of the potholes.
All of a sudden, the road straightened, and Clare found herself facing a wall made of wood.
Mother Gum’s Nest had been such a charming name that the blockade gave Clare a sense of cognitive dissonance. Built at least twelve feet high, it was more than a simple fence. Its surface was covered with poles pointing outwards and angled downwards. Their ends had been sharpened into spikes. They glistened, almost as though they were wet.
They’ve been waxed, Clare realised. If a hollow tries to climb them, they’ll slide back down.
Constructing it must have been a herculean effort. The wall wound away to either side, curving gradually before the ends disappeared from sight, sheltering the unseen home. Clare saw no way to get inside.
Dorran made a faint noise of unease. He leaned forward in the seat, his expression dark as he surveyed the structure. Clare took his hand, a silent confirmation that she was feeling the same misgivings as he was.
“Perhaps we should keep driving,” Dorran said.
Clare was about to agree when motion ahead silenced her. A section of the wall slid aside, creating a gap in the structure. Through it, Clare caught a glimpse of a clearing.
She rested her hand over the gearstick, ready to shift into reverse at the first sign of danger. The gate shuddered away from them until the
opening was wide enough for their bus to fit through. Then a figure stepped into the opening.
Tall and thin, he brought up instant memories of the stretched hollows Clare had seen. But the man was very much human. His face was pink from the effort of opening the gate, and he stood with human uneasiness. He looked young. Early twenties at most, Clare thought. Baggy, dirty clothes hung loose on him. Sweat stains marked the singlet’s sides, and the grease on his jeans was noticeable. His limp hair needed both a cut and a wash.
It was not the sort of welcome Clare had expected from Mother Gum’s Nest. She looked at Dorran again, waiting for his reaction. He worked his jaw, his eyes narrowed, but didn’t make a noise.
The gormless man lifted an arm, the hand flapping as he beckoned them forward. Then he stepped aside, granting them passage inside.
Dorran’s inhale sounded uncomfortably tight. “Should we?”
Clare hated the idea of the gate shutting behind them, blocking a possible escape. But they were being welcomed into what she assumed had to be a safe haven. And isn’t it worth the risk if these strangers can help us?
The man stepped back into view, eyebrows squeezing together to crease his forehead. He waved again, more urgently this time. He didn’t like leaving the gate open. Clare couldn’t blame him. Dorran made a soft noise in the back of his throat then gave her a stiff nod.
They coasted through the opening. Almost as soon as they were inside, the man was back at the gate, pushing furiously to roll it across mud-clotted tracks and close it.
The space inside the fence was big enough to hold a small village. Three buildings stood about, all made of wood and seemingly constructed by hand. One looked as though it might have been a small meeting hall. Plain fabric curtains had been pulled over the windows. Another of the buildings looked a lot like a worn-down, broken version of the sheds behind Winterbourne. The third building was unmistakably a house; a column of thick smoke rose from its over-sized chimney. The house looked like a jigsaw puzzle put together incorrectly. Three and a half stories, it had rooms and verandas jutting out at odd angles, and in some places, age-bowed support beams held up expansions that looked as though they shouldn’t have been possible.
More than a dozen cars and vans in various states of road-worthiness were scattered about the field. Some looked like they might have been there for a decade and were little more than rusted shells. Others were more recent, and some even had modifications for the stillness, like Dorran and Clare’s minibus.
Clare drove slowly, creeping along the dirt path towards the main house. Figures were appearing between the buildings—more young men and several young women, all with the same tall, thin appearance, all wearing old, grimy clothes. Clare couldn’t tell if they looked similar because they were dressed alike and all had long, straight hair, or whether they were actually related. She was leaning towards the latter. Adam’s apples stood out on their throats, and their eyes were almost universally deep in their skulls, leaving thick lids hanging over them.
We shouldn’t have come here. It was too late to turn around, though; the gate had shut behind them. But Clare’s instincts were screaming. Her mind leapt to their choices for defence. They still had axes, knives, and implements for bludgeoning.
She had killed plenty of hollows, but murdering another human was a different matter. The fear in the back of her throat tasted like a thick, bitter ooze. Dorran’s breathing was quick and shallow.
The door to the main house groaned open. The hinges were audible, even inside the bus. Clare squinted to see the figure in the doorway’s gloom.
Chapter Five
An old, wizened woman stood there. She would have only come up to Clare’s shoulders, even though Clare herself wasn’t especially tall. Her long, pure-white hair had been braided tidily, and the thick plait ran over her shoulder and down to her waist. The skin around her eyes crinkled as she smiled, and she lifted a hand in a cheerful wave.
She looks nice. Some of the fear ebbed. Clare relaxed her grip on the wheel and pulled the bus to a halt near the house. Dorran kept his attention moving between the elderly woman and the young adults who watched sullenly from the buildings surrounding them. “Stay alert. Be prepared to run if things turn sour.”
She gave a short nod and took a small blade from where they stored it beside the driver’s seat, tucking it into her pocket as insurance. Then she pressed the button to open the bus’s door.
The scents of mud, decaying hay, the crisp freshness of pine trees, and the sharp chill of mist all swirled together. A bird sent up a chattering call from somewhere outside the walls, and dripping sounds came from many directions.
“Welcome, friends.” The woman’s voice sounded like a cooing bird. It warbled, shaky and dainty, filled with cracks from age. “I’m Mother Gum. Why don’t you come in for a cup of tea?”
When she spoke, Clare saw she was missing her front teeth. Her lips stuck to the gums, faintly concave, adding to the creases around her mouth. She had warm eyes, though, and the layers of shawls and cardigans she wore looked hand-knitted.
Mother Gum turned and shuffled back into the cottage. The door, not entirely straight, began to glide closed. Clare hurried to catch it and hold it open.
Inside the house was cosier than she would have thought. Bunches of drying herbs hung across the walls. An odd assortment of china and crockery in at least a dozen different patterns was stacked on hand-carved shelves. A large fur rug covered most of the floor ahead of a rough wooden table, where Mother Gum was setting out three mismatched cups.
“Have you driven far, lovelies?” she asked.
Clare squinted as she stepped inside. A fire kept the room warm, though the chimney must have been choked. A thin haze of smoke tickled her throat. “A way, yeah.”
“You look it.” Mother Gum winked. Her eyes were a watery green, the same shade as the herbs she tipped into the teapot. A cast iron kettle was already boiling by the fire, and she crossed to it. “I can tell when people come from a long way. They have a look about them. A look that says they’re missing home.”
Clare exchanged a glance with Dorran. His smile was thin. Even after Evandale, he was still uncomfortable talking to strangers.
“Find yourselves a seat. Move the cat if he’s in the way.” Mother Gum shuffled back towards the table, the teapot sloshing with each step. She poured the liquid into the cups she’d laid out. “I make this from my own garden. It’s good for the body and good for the soul.”
“Thank you.” Clare gently sat in one of the wooden chairs. It had a thick, quilted cushion on the seat, and the legs were so short that she had to stretch her feet out to one side to get comfortable. Dorran sank down beside her. Lounging on the chair to his other side was a massive ginger cat. It was so still that Clare would have thought it was a toy, except for the way one eye lazily drifted open to fix on them.
Dorran made a soft noise as he held one hand out for the cat to smell. The black of its eye narrowed into a slit, but it didn’t try to greet the offered fingers.
“Don’t hope to be too friendly with him.” Mother Gum chuckled. “He’s a sour puss. He’ll shred your fingers before he lets you pet him.”
Dorran withdrew his hand.
Clare took one of the cups Mother Gum pushed towards her. Steam rose off the swirling green liquid, carrying the faint scent of herbs and flowers. She wrapped her fingers around it to keep them warm. “I hope it’s okay to stop. We saw the sign—”
“Of course, my lovely.” Mother Gum took her own seat, her lips puckering as she smiled. “I welcome all visitors. It’s the only way we’ll make it out of this dark time.”
“That’s very kind. It’s nice to talk to another person.” Clare glanced at Dorran, who remained quiet, letting her take the lead in the conversation. “I noticed some other people outside. Are they family?”
“Oh, yes. Not all are my flesh and blood, but they’re all my children, regardless.” She bobbed her head in a happy nod. “My daughter says I
have a compulsion to take in strays. Both the animal and human kinds. People who weren’t well-liked by the rest of the world, but who just need some love.”
“They’re lucky.”
“We all are. There’s nothing better than family. And my family is very good.”
Clare glanced at the teacup. Beth would have cautioned her about accepting food from strangers, but as she watched, Mother Gum lifted her own cup to her lips.
She’s nice. And I can’t survive by being as hostile as Beth was. Clare sipped the tea. It made her throat tingle and had an unpleasantly earthy taste. She tried not to cough. “How many live with you?”
“Nearly twenty now. It is such a blessing.”
Clare tried to hide her surprise. Twenty is a lot. They must have found a way to get enough food for everyone. I didn’t see any farms inside the compound.
Mother Gum blinked then laughed. “Silly me, you’d probably like some biscuits with your tea. Luckily for you, I baked some just this morning.”
Dorran tried his drink. His expression remained perfectly passive, but as Mother Gum turned to look at the cabinet behind them, he grimaced. He carefully leaned over the ginger cat to empty his teacup into the potted plants on the windowsill, then he sat back, lips pressed tightly together.
Clare bit down on her laughter as Mother Gum turned back to them, carrying a metal tin. “Here, my special biscuits. Take some.”
“Thank you, I’m fine,” Dorran murmured as Mother Gum shook the tin under his face. Evidently, the tea had been more than enough for him.
Clare took one to be polite, but they smelled like grass. She placed hers on her saucer and hoped it wouldn’t be too rude if she left without sampling it.
Mother Gum pulled her shawl higher around her shoulders as she reclined in her seat, a biscuit perched on the edge of her own saucer. “Where did you come from, darlings?”
“Evandale. And that’s actually part of the reason why we stopped here…” Briefly, Clare told Mother Gum about the thanites, the medical nanobot invention that had been designed to treat disease but had gone rogue. How it had lived in the air and, upon activation, had infected human hosts and indiscriminately grown stem cells that caused drastic mutations.