by Darcy Coates
Something twisted stood at the top of the stairs. The flickering light grew closer, then it darted away. Clare could have almost believed it was a retreating shadow, except for the way its eyes had flashed as it turned.
They were at the stairs. Neither of them hesitated as they moved downwards, taking the steps two at a time. Speed was vital. They might have the advantage of surprise for only a few seconds. Moonlight lit the lowest steps and the foyer’s tiles. Clare focussed on it, feeling how close they were to the door, how close they were to escape. The retreat might sting, but the bus meant safety, and that was something they couldn’t afford to reject.
Her boots created echoes as they hit the tile floor. Dorran craned his neck, searching the darkness around them as they crossed the space. Moonlight ran across the hideous effigy, its arms spread, its presence overwhelming. The three skulls stitched together to form the head seemed to be watching them. Something chattered in the distance then abruptly fell silent. They were at the door. Dorran grasped the heavy bronze handle and pulled. Wood groaned as it rocked inwards, and a gust of snow-bearing air flowed around them.
Clare huffed out a quick, tight breath in response to the cold, but she leaned into it. Only a few shallow steps separated them from the courtyard and the bus. She was halfway down them before she felt Dorran’s hesitation.
He’d stopped midstep, his face contracting in shock. Clare followed his gaze towards the bus. At first glance, it had looked no different to when they had left it. The metal front was twisted, the glass cracked, and the wheels were muddy. Frost had settled across the bus’s side, and someone had scraped away the white to create stark, messy letters: I KNEW YOU WOULD COME HOME.
The painful, creaking noise of an open door repeated, and Clare realised it was coming from the bus’s hood. The metal hatch was open and bobbed in the wind, releasing a piercing whine.
Dark shapes, like rocks, were scattered across the ground in front of the bus. Light snowfall had nearly completely obscured them, but Clare recognised metal—engine parts, disassembled and scattered. Her heart dropped. “Oh.”
Dorran took her arm and pulled her closer to himself. They descended the steps and approached the bus. He pushed the metal up from the engine and muttered under his breath. The space was nothing but a tangle of broken wires and disconnected pipes.
“Can you repair it?” Clare asked.
“I… don’t know.” He used his boot to scuff snow off one of the metal lumps on the ground. “I don’t think so. They were thorough.”
Clare stepped back from him, squinting through the darkened glass of the bus. There could be an ambush waiting for them. She could barely make out the nearest few seats. Holding the lantern close, she approached the door and pushed on the handle.
The door slid open limply. Clare climbed the step, lantern raised to light the rows of seats.
Worry laced Dorran’s voice. “Clare, be careful.”
“It’s okay. It’s empty.” The lantern’s light caught on the lines of metal and covered glass. The unmistakable stench of hollows invaded the inside of the bus, but not strongly enough to make Clare retreat. The creatures had been through the inside of the bus, she suspected, pawing over their supplies and tapping at the windows, but they had left. More surprisingly, they hadn’t touched any of the clothing or food baskets.
Clare stepped back outside, shivering.
Dorran crouched between the discarded parts of the motor, his expression dark. He shook his head at Clare’s look. “They punctured holes through them. It will need a new motor.”
“Damn it,” Clare hissed. She glanced back at the house. The curtains in one of the windows swayed, as though something had raced past it, disturbing the heavy fabric.
Dorran crossed to Clare’s side. He held the hatchet loosely, but his eyes were constantly roving across the white field surrounding them, the ribbon of dark forest in the distance, and the countless black windows looking over them.
“She left the food intact,” Clare said. “I don’t understand why. They were inside the bus—it would have been so easy to ruin our food, as well.”
“No,” Dorran said. “She doesn't want to kill us. She wants to keep us.”
He faltered on the final word. Clare understood. Madeline didn't want to keep them both; she only wanted her son.
“What do we do?”
Dorran turned to face the forest. The wind whipped at his hair, pulling it away from his face and leaving flecks of snow stuck to the strands. “I don’t have any replacement parts in the shed to repair the bus. At least, not the kind to fit this motor. If we need to leave, we will have to walk out of here.”
Clare closed her eyes. Winterbourne was almost exactly in the centre of Banksy Forest; there was an hour walk to the road that snaked through the forest, and an even longer walk out of the trees. “That would be… hours.”
“Six hours to the edge of the forest,” Dorran said. “Further to find a car.”
“And the trees are full of hollows. And we don’t have our masks.”
We’re out of options. We have to stay… and face Madeline.
Her own thoughts and fear were reflected in Dorran’s eyes. He found her hand and pressed it tightly. “Back to the room. Quickly, before they have a chance to intercept us. They won’t hurt me, but…”
But I’m fair game.
They turned towards the front door. They’d barely taken a step when Dorran yanked her back so suddenly that she nearly slipped on the icy ground. She clutched at him to keep her balance, the lantern swaying dangerously, then looked around his shoulder.
The curtains were no longer drawn over Winterbourne’s windows. They were peeled back, and through the dark glass were countless faces. Wide, staring eyes and spindly hands pressed to the panes.
Winterbourne’s front door groaned inwards. Hollows bobbed through the shadows inside, jaws opened in muffled hisses. Clare’s heart missed a beat. There were so many of them—so many more than she had thought was possible.
“Back,” Dorran hissed, tugging on Clare’s arm. “Get behind me.”
Hollows were creeping out of the front door. The nearest one shivered as it approached them, not from the cold, but from anticipation. Strings of saliva dripped from its jaws.
“Dorran, we can’t fight them.” She pushed the lantern forward with one hand, hoping the light might work as a disincentive, but the hollows barely flinched.
“Into the bus.” Dorran continued to push her back. “Quickly!”
Clare turned to the vehicle and wrenched its door open. Something fastened around her ankle. A skeletal hand protruded from underneath the bus. Clare cried out as it pulled her, stealing her balance. The lantern tumbled out of her grasp and extinguished in the snow.
More hands reached out of the dark space beneath the vehicle, with snapping jaws, ragged breaths, and eager chattering. The hands gripped her leg, pulling her under to join them in the darkness. She kicked and felt her heel connect with something solid, but they wouldn’t stop. Her hips disappeared, then her waist. She grabbed the bus’s edge, hands planted against the metal in a desperate attempt to keep herself from sliding farther.
“No!” Dorran dropped to his knees beside her and hooked his arms around her. He leaned back, trying to pull her out. Teeth pierced the skin just above her boot. Clare clenched her teeth to muffle the scream that ripped through her throat.
She kicked again, thrashing and panicked. The hands slipped on her blood-slicked skin. Dorran threw his weight back, dragging her out from the undercarriage. As her feet reappeared, red-tinged fingers scrambled after her, blindly feeling through the bloodied snow.
A hollow landed on Dorran’s back, biting into his shoulder. He gasped and twisted away from it. A scrap of his coat tore loose in its teeth. More eyes appeared behind it as the countless denizens of Winterbourne descended from the open door to encircle them.
Dorran leaned to the side, his arms still around Clare, and hauled her into the bus. She hi
t the driver’s seat with a gasp. The impact forced the air out of her, sending sharp pains across her shoulder and back. She rolled to her knees. Dorran was still outside the bus, and he had almost disappeared underneath a swarm of hollows.
No. They’re not supposed to hurt him.
They were in the thrall of a frenzy. The smell of Clare’s blood had overridden their instructions and filled them with nothing but blind hunger. She’d lost her weapon and her light. She looked over her shoulder, towards the steering wheel. The horn. It doesn’t need the engine to work.
She scrambled up the seat. When she tried to put weight on her injured foot, it collapsed under her. She clung to the seat to hold her balance then slammed her palm into the centre of the wheel. The horn was near deafening. The creatures ringing the bus pulled back like a wave. The effect lasted for no more than a second before their faces contorted into fury, and they surged forward again.
That second was all Dorran needed. He leapt into the bus and wrenched the door closed. Fists hit the other side of the glass; the monsters hissed and howled. Dorran engaged the lock. The door rattled with each pounding fist, but held closed.
Clare sank back to the ground, panting. Dorran crawled to her. His hands reached for her leg, hovering over the bloodied skin without touching. “Oh, Clare. No.”
“I’m okay.” She was faintly aware that shock was setting in. Her whole leg throbbed like it had been dropped into a fire, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been a moment before.
“Shh. Hold on. This will be all right.” He stayed just long enough to run his hand across her cheek, brushing wet hair away from her sweaty face, then he turned to dig through their supplies.
A scream rattled their enclosure. Four of the hollows poised on the windshield above her. They slammed their fists into the glass, fingernails digging at the cracks, dark blood oozing from their battered fingers.
Dorran returned to her side, the first aid kit open. His hands shook as he sorted through the supplies.
“Dorran.” Clare pointed towards the glass.
He barely spared them a glance. “That’s okay. Try not to move, my darling.” He found a syringe of a clotting substance to stem the flow. Clare flinched as he pulled the saturated boot off her leg. The hollows continued to beat on the glass above her, smearing blood and grease across the pane, and she flinched at the unrelenting drumming noise. Fingernails dug around the door. Teeth chewed at the plywood fastened over the windows. They were clawing at every angle, ravenous to get in.
“Shh,” Dorran whispered as he pressed the syringe into her. The sting was barely worse than the burning throb. Clare leaned her head back against the seat. Her heart felt like it was running too fast, fast enough to kill her, and when she looked at the bus’s floor, it was awash with her blood.
“Dorran, we can’t stay here. They’ll get in.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of everything.” His voice shook, though, almost as badly as his hands. He used the full syringe to stop the bleeding.
Clare tried not to look at the scores in her leg. But when she turned away, her eyes landed on the staring faces above her.
“Everything will be all right.” He took a clean cotton pad, pressed it to the gash, then wound bandages around it to hold it in place.
She caught sight of the rip in his jacket. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. They weren’t trying to hurt me. They were trying to hold me down.”
He dug a packet of painkillers out of the kit and handed her two, then he stood and approached the window. Shutters had been installed above it, and Dorran wrenched them down, blocking out the light and the chattering, mad creatures beyond.
As darkness rushed around them, Clare finally felt as though she could breathe again.
“Clare.”
She could barely see him, but she could feel Dorran at her side again. She reached out and found his face, tracing her fingers across the beautiful planes of his features. “Hey. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He turned his head far enough to kiss her fingers. “I’m going to move you. Is that all right?”
She nodded before she remembered he probably couldn’t see her. “Yeah.”
His arms scooped under her then lifted her off the ground. The noises continued, scrabbling, clawing, and panting breaths interspersed with furious chatters. But it was easier to ignore them when Clare couldn’t see them.
Dorran carried her along the length of the bus. He moved carefully, holding Clare tightly against his chest and walking at an angle to make sure he didn’t bump her against any seats. He moved her to the back row, where blankets and pillows had been used to construct a bed.
Clare clutched at his shirt, afraid he was going to step out of reach, but he settled onto the edge of the bed. He pulled blankets over her, being careful around her leg, then found her hands and held them.
Feet pattered over the metal above them and dug at the edges of the plywood. There was so little light that Clare couldn’t see anything except the ghost of the driver’s seat at the other end of the bus.
“What are we going to do?” Clare asked.
“Wait,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Clare tried to sleep, but the noise surrounding them made it impossible. As time went by, the throbbing in her leg returned. She lay as still as she could, chewing her lip until it was raw to stop herself from fidgeting. Dorran was like a statue at her side. His only movement came from his hand, which ran over hers, reassuring her that he was still there.
The hollows would leave if they were quiet enough. It might take time, though. Beth had said it took two hours for the creatures to abandon her bunker. They just had to keep quiet for a little while longer.
Occasionally, the scratching was interspersed with cracking as a layer of plywood fractured. The hollows weren’t able to break through, despite how persistently they tried. They roved across the bus, probing at any sign of weakness. The scrape of nails against metal was unbearable. Her need to move became stronger with each passing moment.
Just a little longer. They’ll lose interest soon. Every time the thought passed through her mind, it was quickly followed up with: And then what?
She’d known hollows were living in Winterbourne, but she’d never expected there to be so many. She should have been more prepared, though. Even without Madeline, Winterbourne was an attractive home for them: darker than the forest and full of the tunnels and crevices they liked. And the price they paid for their home came in the form of obedience to its mistress.
They weren’t perfectly under her control—they had attacked Dorran when the scent of blood put them into a frenzy—but they were operating under Madeline’s intelligence, with Madeline’s plan in mind.
That led to an awful thought. Maybe they weren’t attacking the bus on instinct, but under instructions—which meant they would never give up. She swallowed around the lump in her throat.
How long have we been here now? Two hours? Three? She wanted to ask Dorran, but she couldn’t afford to break the silence. Not just yet, not until they were certain it wouldn’t work.
That hope grew thinner as minutes ticked by. Dorran continued to stroke her hand, but he seemed distracted. The darkness began to lessen. Gradually, the blueish hue that slipped under the shutters and caught on the driver’s seat changed to an orange glow. Clare realised she was able to see the edge of Dorran’s face, his strong nose, his eyelashes, and his lips set tight. Dawn.
His silhouette turned to look at her. For several minutes, the silence was broken only by the incessant scrabbling nails, then he said, “They’re not going to leave.”
“No.” A horrible resignation filled Clare. She blinked furiously, trying to keep the growing dread in check. “Help me up?”
“Of course. Here.” He wrapped his arms around her and helped lift her.
Clare flinched as she lowered her leg to the floor. She shuffled around to rest her back against the wall and sigh
ed, grateful to finally move tired muscles.
The fingernails continued to pick at the window behind her, inches from her shoulder.
“I suppose this removes all doubt,” Dorran said, settling at her side. “My mother still rules over Winterbourne.”
Clare remembered the words written on the outside of the bus. I knew you would come home. “We were surprised by how healthy the garden was. I bet Madeline kept it going. Making her subjects water it and add fuel to the fire each day.”
He glanced at her. “Because she hoped I would return. And she knew I would need food—human food—if I were going to live here.”
“Yeah.”
“I am sorry, Clare. I never should have asked to come back.”
“We didn’t think she was still alive. If she wasn’t, this would have gone down very differently.” Clare adjusted herself, grimacing as the foot moved. “We’d be facing maybe a couple dozen hollows. Mindless ones that could be frightened off and outsmarted. If Madeline hadn’t been here, this would have been perfect for us.”
His smile was bitter. “I should have turned us around as soon as I saw the bone statue of her. I was so complacent—”
“We,” Clare corrected. “We made that decision together. I know you want it all for yourself, but you’re going to have to share the blame, okay?”
“Hah.” His shoulders shook, but he was smiling. Guilt had been one of his mother’s favourite weapons, and for all of his progress in the outside world, Winterbourne was trying to drag him back into his old self-loathing mentality. Clare was powerless over a lot of what Madeline did to them, but that, at least, was one thing she could fight.
They sat, shoulders touching, watching the sliver of light coming from under the shutters as it brightened.
What do we do now? In a bus that doesn’t run, surrounded by monsters, what are our options?
“We have food, at least,” Dorran said, nodding to the baskets above them. “We were lucky not to move all of it inside last night. I’ll get you some breakfast.”
“I’ll help.”