by Darcy Coates
John shook his head. “We’ve got too many volunteers for that already. No, I think the best option would be to ask a traveller to take you with them. Someone with two extra seats in their car who won’t mind you tagging along for a while in exchange for whatever’s left in your tank, and any fittings from your bus that they fancy to take.”
Clare tried not to feel crushed. She’d grown fond of the bus; the idea of some stranger breaking it apart to scavenge for spare parts hurt her deep inside. Don’t be picky. You’re alive, Dorran’s alive, and you’re together. That’s all you need.
“Of course,” John continued, “you won’t have any say in where they take you. But they’ll usually try to drop you off somewhere relatively safe. There are some walled communes up north that’re still looking for able-bodied souls to work in the fields. It’s hard work, but honest, and you’ll be fed and safe there.”
Clare watched Dorran out of the corner of her eyes. His lips twitched, but he stayed silent. Like her, he must have been thinking about Winterbourne. Their refuge, their home, was feeling increasingly out of reach.
John swallowed the last of his coffee and set the mug aside. “The only question left is finding someone who’ll take you. You both seem respectable sorts, so it shouldn’t be too hard. Most people are decent about this sort of thing, and we usually have a couple of cars pass through each day. Sometimes they don’t stop long. I’d recommend taking anything you want to keep out of your bus and storing it with you. You can stay in the room we put you in, and we’ll come and get you when we’ve found your ride. All right?”
Clare licked her lips. She didn’t want to say it out loud, but the idea of throwing herself at a stranger’s mercy terrified her. It sounded like they wouldn’t even have a choice of who they left with. Once they were away from the safe haven, the strangers could ditch them at the side of the road without repercussions.
John says most people are decent. Most, not all. It was a roll of the dice. And they would have no choice about where they ended up, either. Clare tried to picture the communes John was talking about. She liked nature, and she liked gardening, but the phrase “working in the fields” conjured up a very different emotion. It would be long hours of repetitive labour. They would most likely have to share a bunk with other individuals, working only for food and shelter, nothing more.
Dorran reached out and touched her hand. In a reversal of their usual roles, he spoke when she couldn’t. “We are grateful for all that you have done, and continue to do, for us. Pardon me for asking, but is there any other alternative? A way in which we could keep our bus? We had a destination in mind before we arrived here. Somewhere with sentimental value. It would be difficult to give up on it.”
“I feel for you kids, I do.” John scratched a hand through his mane of hair. “If I had a way to give you some of our fuel without hurting our own, I would. But fact is, you’re not the first to ask, and you won’t be the last. This council voted on a set of rules to keep us from bleeding ourselves dry. You get food and water while you’re here, medical attention, and anything else that’s necessary to keep you alive. But as long as you’re capable of surviving in the stillness, you have to move on to make room for someone else.”
“Understood. Thank you.” Dorran met Clare’s eyes. His were full of a quiet sadness, a wordless apology. He regretted ever being lured in by the trail of chimney smoke. She did, too.
“Hang on.” Hex leaned forward, tapping her fingertip onto the table. She fixed Dorran with a hard stare. “There might be another way. Have you fought many hollows?”
“Yes.”
“Successfully?”
His lips twitched up. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“Right, that was a stupid question. What I mean is, can you fight them, not just react to them? Can you face a nest of the beasts and charge in?”
“I can do that.”
“And you’re not squeamish about gore? You don’t faint at the sight of blood or anything?”
Dorran wordlessly tilted his head towards his arm, where Patty was tying off the bandages.
“Yeah, okay, another stupid question.” Hex kicked back in her chair. “Right. Here’s the deal. A group of us are going out to a location where, we’ve been told, there might be more fuel. It’s at a shipping yard. Someone who used to work for the company says there will be containers full of two-hundred-litre drums. As long as no one else has raided it, and as long as we can get the fuel out, it will be enough to set up West Hope for at least another few weeks.”
Dorran tilted his head to show he was listening.
“It’s a dangerous job.” Hex flipped her fringe away from her eyes. “We’ll have two teams going in: one to fight the hollows that will inevitably be swarming there like the darkness-loving plague they are, and one to retrieve the fuel. We have enough hands to carry the fuel, but we could do with another body to fight off the creatures. Someone with muscles.”
“I can do that,” Dorran said.
“It’s not safe job,” Hex continued. “I won’t sugar-coat it. Based on previous recon jobs, there’s a one-in-three chance of significant injury and a one-in-eight chance of death. And that’s with a week of training, too, which you don’t have.”
Clare grit her teeth, trying not to interrupt. The idea of venturing into somewhere as cluttered as a shipping yard left her feeling queasy. And Dorran was handicapped; one arm swaddled in bandages, low on blood, tired from stress and lack of sleep. His expression didn’t waver, though.
“If you pull your weight, you’ll be paid a portion of whatever we bring out,” Hex said. “The goal is fuel, and if there’s food, we’ll grab some of that, as well. But like I said, we don’t know if it’s still there. We might come out with nothing, in which case, you get nothing. Or you might die. That’s a very real possibility, too.”
“I understand.”
Chapter Thirteen
Clare, unable to stay silent any longer, cleared her throat. “Hey, Dorran, mind if we have a word in private before you make any promises?”
He sent her an apologetic smile. “Of course.”
John waved a hand, indicating it was fine, and Clare scraped her chair away from the table. Dorran followed as they moved deeper into the store, until they were half-hidden among the shadowed mannequins and dusty clothing racks. Clare folded her arms across her chest. “You’re certain you want to do this?”
He glanced back towards the meeting table, and the lamplight played across his sharp features. “I feel as though I have to. As dangerous as it is, it seems to have better odds of success than striking out on our own and hoping to find a replacement vehicle and fuel.”
“Yeah. And I don’t want to be part of a compound.” Clare took a slow breath. “We’ll both go.”
He chuckled as he tilted his head in the way she loved. “You knew I was going to suggest you stay here, didn’t you?”
“It’s only an argument we’ve had—what? A dozen times before?”
His smile faltered. “In this case, I hope you will let me win, for once. I cannot risk losing you again. You don’t understand how desperately I need to keep you safe right now.”
“That’s the thing. I do understand.” Clare stepped closer, until she was nearly standing on Dorran’s toes. “It’s why we’re having this argument. What gives you the right to assume I’m okay with being left behind?”
He closed his eyes and dropped his head, until he was exhaling into her hair. Clare waited, knowing he needed a moment to process his thoughts. His fingers traced across her shoulders, then he raised his head again.
“You’re right. And I should apologise. I have this… overwhelming belief that it is my responsibility to keep you safe.”
Clare pressed her lips together. Dorran’s mother, Madeline, had controlled him with a mixture of violence and threats towards his younger cousins. He’d been cut off from the world, his entertainment restricted, and his only friends being staff who had an unwavering loyalty
to the matriarch. Since leaving Winterbourne, he’d grown remarkably, but he still struggled with relics from his adolescence. But he was growing. Clare didn’t know if she could have adapted to such a different world as readily as he had.
Dorran drew a ragged breath. “That impulse to protect you… that it is my job, my duty… it is not an easy mindset to change. Especially when changing it involves placing the one thing I value above all else in danger.”
“But that’s not always going to be a choice.”
“No. And you are capable. Unexpectedly so.” The hand moved from her fingers to her wrist, tenderly tracing up her arm, exploring, almost wonderingly. “I don’t think you see yourself the way I see you. My darling, so much of you is soft. And I don’t mean that as a criticism.”
“I’ll try not to take it that way.” Clare was chuckling, but something about Dorran was so sincere that the laughter faded. He was making himself vulnerable, exposing his innermost thoughts, and Clare knew how hard that was for him.
“Your skin is soft. When you look at me as you’re falling asleep, your eyes are so soft that it hurts. And you have so much empathy. In this brutal, unforgiving world, you never lost your ability to care. The stillness has sharpened everything into edges, and you, alone, are soft.”
“Dorran…”
He blinked, and a shaky smile grew. “And I suspect that is why I am continually surprised by how fierce you are. You do not wither in the face of danger; instead, you blaze like wildfire. You remain soft, but you are just as capable as I am, perhaps even more so. And you have proven that to me, again and again. At Winterbourne. On the road. In Evandale.”
Clare reached her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down gently, until his forehead touched hers. His black lashes framed flickering eyes. She searched them and saw trust. She smiled. “Will we go together?”
“Yes. Let us go together.”
Clare tilted her chin up to taste his lips. He sighed then shivered as he wrapped his arms around her. She rested against his chest and felt his heart under her ear.
“But, please… I must beg a concession.”
Clare looked up, surprised by the raw note in his voice.
“I know you are capable, but I fear I am not. If you are in danger, at least half of my focus will be on watching you. Would you be a part of the team that does not fight?”
“Ah.” Clare chewed on that. Hex had said there was a second team that would be focussed on retrieving the supplies, while the first team guarded them. It might not be a bad idea, she realised. Dorran said his attention would be divided if she was in the guard team, and she could say the same in return. Being a part of the retrieval team would make it easier to watch Dorran’s back. “Yeah. Okay. I can do that.”
He released a breath. “Thank you.”
Dorran held her hand as they returned to the gathering. Hex looked impatient, rocking her chair so far onto its back feet that it was a wonder she didn’t fall. Patty was packing away the last of the medical equipment.
Clare spoke first. “We’d like to take you up on your offer. As long as I can come as part of the retrieval team.”
Hex glanced across her then shrugged. “A’ight. But we don’t need any more volunteers for retrieval. I’ll let you come, but if you’re not a part of the guard segment, you’ll still only get one portion of the loot.”
“That’s fair.”
“We’ll be leaving once the sun rises, in about five hours.” John stood. “Get some food and rest before then. We’ll brief you on the drive there. And, Dorran, Hex is running the defensive group. You’ll follow her instructions to the letter.”
Dorran nodded, first to John then to Hex. Clare tried not to let her surprise show. The girl looked young, and although she talked with confidence, it had struck her as false bravado. John and Patience made sense as council members, and even Alden looked as though he had enough experience to make calculated choices. Hex, still a teen, seemed to be the odd person out, but she was clearly more than a token member.
“Come with me,” John said, dusting his jeans. He took one of the lanterns from the table and held it high as he led them through the shop and into the mall’s main hallway. “I’ll show you where the kitchens are.”
“I hadn’t realised it was night,” Clare said, tilting her head back to see the glass ceiling two floors above them. “I thought it was just storm clouds.”
“They can be hard to tell apart sometimes,” John agreed. “Especially since West Hope never sleeps. We need guards to watch the perimeter, especially at night. And those guards need food and water and backups to replace worn-out equipment, so those parts of the haven have to run constantly. We work on twelve-hour rotations.”
Their feet made empty ringing noises with each step. Clare spoke, just to break the awful noise. “Even so, I hope the others on the council didn’t have to wake up just for our sake.”
“Oh, nah. The four of us are constantly on, just grabbing a few hours of sleep when we can. Hex and Alden have been up for a few hours already, preparing for the raid.”
Clare tried to poke around the source of her curiosity without sounding rude. “Did you know them before the stillness?”
“Nope.” A lopsided grin developed, showing rows of molars with stains around their roots. “They’re not what you’d expect on a council, are they?”
“No,” Clare admitted.
“Patience and I founded West Hope, which meant we made the choices about how it ran. And we’ve always been of the mindset that power has to be earned. Lots of people know how to say the right thing and play the political game, and that might have been fine in an office, but the new world isn’t so forgiving. We picked our council members because they truly deserved it.”
Clare wanted to ask more, but they had arrived at thick sheets of black plastic draped from the ceiling like a curtain to form a temporary wall. At first glance, Clare had assumed it was a dead end, but now that they were closer, she could hear noises coming from the other side. John moved forward first, sweeping an arm out to force a gap through the sheets of plastic, and all of Clare’s previous questions died on her tongue.
They had reached the food court. The atrium formed a circle of fast-food stores, their lights all dead, ringing around chairs, tables, and live palm trees in planter boxes. Above, a massive domed roof looked into the night sky.
The shopping centre had felt near empty up until then. But as she stared across the scene, she realised West Hope was more alive than she could have ever imagined.
Chapter Fourteen
“Figured the centre court made the most sense for a food hall, since it has all the implements already,” John said mildly. “By the time Patty and I arrived here, the meat had mostly gone rotten, but there were still boxes and boxes of long-life food in the cold rooms.”
Clare couldn’t take her eyes off the occupants. Despite it being the middle of the night, they were loud, almost raucous, and moving with seemingly endless energy.
The food court was full of children. A boy who couldn’t have been more than four ran past her, chased by an older girl with an action figure. Two preteens sat nearby, chattering over each other while simultaneously biting chunks out of fresh bread slices. Another group of children had pushed chairs and tables out of the way to play a game of duck-duck-goose in the middle of the floor.
There were animals, too. No less than eight dogs romped among the children, sat patiently at their sides, or dozed nearby. She saw a couple of cats sitting on unused counters at the other side of the hall. There was even a duck eating beans out of a girl’s hand.
Clare’s heart felt as though it were overflowing. The room was full of life. More than that—it was full of hope. Children, so many of them, alive and safe. She squeezed Dorran’s hand. He pressed back, fingers trembling.
John tilted his head towards her, his voice soft. “You see why we can’t take in every traveller who stops here. Why we have to keep West Hope open as long as po
ssible.”
Clare nodded, unable to find her voice. The children weren’t alone at West Hope. In among them, watching over their play and holding young babies, were a mix of elderly men and women. John’s words came back to her. If you’re capable of surviving out there, you have to move on. Those who weren’t strong enough or fast enough to fight stayed behind—and cared for the children.
John indicated a sandwich shop counter. Two older women stood behind it, crushing tinned tomatoes and scooping them into pots. They smiled when John approached.
“We’re after some food for our visitors,” John said. “Something with meat in it. They have a long day ahead of themselves.”
The shorter one, who had tightly cropped grey hair and moles dotting her face, ladled three generous portions of the stew into ceramic bowls and passed them over the counter. Clare and Dorran took theirs with muted thanks then followed John towards one of the tables.
Clare couldn’t keep her eyes off the activity around her. As they sat in the hard plastic chairs, she asked, “Do these children… have family?”
“Some do. Not all.” John stirred his stew, nudging around portions of tinned carrots and beef. “Here is safer than being on the road, so some parents will leave their children with us. They come back every few days or weeks, bringing scavenged food and petrol to help out, and to visit their kids. Sometimes they don’t come back at all. That’s always hard.”
Clare pictured how it must be for a child, waiting for their parents to return, counting off the days, clinging to hope even when it ran thin.
“Others lost their family before they came to us. Some parents would barricade them in wardrobes, hide them in basements, just do anything they could to keep them safe. And strangers would find them while looking for supplies in the home. They know we take in children, so they bring them to us.”
The sounds around her were still happy, but now, Clare could detect the undercurrent of loss, grief, and confusion contained in the room. She put her spoon back into the bowl, her appetite vanishing as her stomach turned to ice.