“Ah—I suppose?”
“Well, either way, you’re intimidating enough that most solo travellers won’t even try.” Beth shrugged. “He’s the best choice to stay guard.”
Dorran gave a small nod. “That makes sense to me.”
“Clare, you should stay with him,” Beth continued. “I’ve done this kind of supplies run before. I know how to avoid the hollows.”
“You shouldn’t go alone. Especially in the fog. You need someone to watch your back.”
“Don’t you worry about me. I can handle myself around those monsters.”
Clare looked over her sister—the scars on her face and the scars on her hands—and knew Beth was telling the truth. But a horrible sense of misgiving had solidified in her stomach. “You keep saying we need to minimise risk. Don’t gamble. Well, going in there alone is gambling. We stack the odds in our favour if we go together.”
Dorran touched her shoulder. “Clare, I agree with your sister. You’d be safer in the bus.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What was that about letting me make my own bad decisions?”
He half sighed, half laughed. “Well…”
Beth rolled her head, stretching her neck muscles. “Okay, Clare. You can come. But you have to follow my instructions. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Beth stood and fished through one of the compartments near the driver’s seat. She passed Clare a pair of thick gloves and a wooden mask that looked like it had once been a part of a theatre production. The eye holes, already small, had fabric glued over them. When Clare put on the mask, it was like staring at the world through a dark, blurry filter. “This isn’t great for visibility.”
“Yeah. But you won’t need perfect sight. You only need to be able to watch where you’re walking.” Beth put on her own protection, a beekeeper’s helmet, and checked both of them to make sure no skin was exposed. Then she opened a box near the driver’s seat and retrieved two objects: a small red stick, which she pocketed, and a large hunting knife.
“Just in case,” she said, as she passed the knife to Dorran. “We’ll be back within the hour.”
Dorran tucked the knife into his jacket pocket then took Clare’s hand. He pressed it gently, his eyes earnest. “Be safe.”
“You too.” She didn’t want to let him go, but Beth was already at the door. Reluctantly, she released his hand then stepped up behind her sister. Beth, her face inscrutable under the mask, unfastened the lock and pushed open the door. Clare sucked in a lungful of mist as they stepped outside.
Their boots crunched over dead grass as they retraced the path to the road, staying close to the sparse trees, then began following it as it trended downhill towards the town. As far as Clare could tell, Beth was right. She couldn’t see or hear any trace of the hollow ones amongst the trees. They had parked far enough out from town that nothing living there would hear them. As far as remaining discreet, the plan seemed to be working.
Clare wished she could see more easily. The mask was more stifling than the fencing guards she’d worn when leaving Winterbourne, and it only took a few minutes for its edges to stick to her face from condensing mist and her own warm breaths.
Beth walked at her side, hands thrust into her jacket pockets. “The masks will buy you time, but don’t rely on them to keep you safe,” she whispered. “If we’re spotted by a hollow, we either kill it—silently—or run. If it makes any noises, our time is up, and we get out and try a different town. If we become split up for any reason, we meet back at the bus. Understood?”
“Yes.” Clare kept her voice low. The mist seemed to swallow any noise she made, which meant it would mask any other creatures around them as well. She didn’t like the way it isolated them.
Winter had set in weeks before, but the days still felt abnormally cold. She hoped they wouldn’t have to deal with any more snow on their trip. It could close up the roads within hours, and even the bus wouldn’t be able to ford the snowdrifts.
Beth’s mask hid her face perfectly. Clare wished she could see her sister’s expression. That morning’s argument had left her uneasy, and she couldn’t shake the feeling. She cleared her throat. “Apparently the thanites were responsible for destabilising the weather and bringing on early snows. I wonder what they will do to summer. Will it be warmer than usual or colder?”
“My bet is on colder.” The path was growing steeper, and Beth kept her head tilted to watch her feet as she navigated the debris cluttering the asphalt. The fog became thicker the farther into the valley they walked. “Not all of the weather’s issues would have been caused by those machines. We were spared the worst of it in our colder areas, but I’ve heard stories of immense fires in the regions that didn’t get snow.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Entire towns and forests burning. People thought it might be a way to kill the hollows—which, technically, it is. But it kills everything else at the same time. The urban fires especially were devastating—all of that plastic turns into black smoke, which chokes the sky. I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of this”—she indicated towards the pale sun—“is smog from those fires.”
Clare shivered. She didn’t like to think about what summer would be like with the sun dampened like that.
She tried a different topic, one she’d been curious about since being reunited with her sister. “Did you meet up with many other survivors on your way into the city?”
Beth was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was oddly devoid of emotion. “I stopped at a couple of safe havens. We traded stories.”
“You didn’t want to stay at any of them?”
“No.”
A note of terseness had entered her sister’s voice, and Clare knew she was pushing a line of questioning Beth wanted to leave dead. This is why she’s so hostile. This is why she mistrusts Dorran and why she doesn’t want to meet any other humans. Something happened at that safe haven.
Beth had talked about how democracy was in short supply in the new world and how friendships counted for nothing. Clare’s stomach coiled. She wanted to press Beth for more, but she sensed any further questioning would be rebuffed with increasing sharpness. Give her space.
Beth tapped Clare’s arm. Buildings were emerging from the fog. She nodded to let Beth know she understood and began stepping more carefully.
If the hollows were staying indoors, then the walls and windows would muffle sound, but even one slip—a rock kicked accidentally or a snapped branch—could end their sojourn in Little Leura.
Clare alternated her focus from the ground ahead and their surroundings. Houses drifted in and out of the smothering white. There was no sign of motion. She squinted at the buildings, searching for names or designs that might be familiar. Ten years had passed since they’d stopped in Little Leura to buy a giant tub of ice cream, and her memories of its layout were sketchy.
Beth tugged her sleeve and pointed to the left. Clare squinted through the rolling white. There was a curb. Beyond that, some kind of sign. And…
Petrol pumps. The service station.
She moved towards it, but a hand on her chest halted her. Beth backed up as she pulled the red cylinder out of her pocket. Clare realised what it was: a flare. This was one part of the plan Beth hadn’t thought to share with her. She backed up, frowning.
The fuse hissed to life. Beth turned, wound her arm back, and hurled the flare away from the station. It arced through the mist, and bright-red light burst from its end as it bounced across the street a dozen meters away. It was a clever plan, Clare knew. The flare would act as a distraction: noise to attract any nearby hollows and light to keep them at a distance until the flare burnt itself out.
They backed towards the service station, moving carefully in case hollows emerged from behind them. Clare finally had a chance to see the station properly. Two wrecked cars were crumpled near the door. Empty containers lay across the ground near the pumps. Other survivors had come to the station, looking for fuel.
Clare glanced behind them, towards where the fuse hissed in the street. Dark shapes darted around it. None were looking in their direction.
Beth reached the station doors and pulled on the handles. They shifted half an inch then froze. Something metal clinked on the inside. Chains.
The station’s still locked. The stillness must have passed through here before its owner opened for the morning.
Beth backed up. Clare wished she could see her face to know what she was thinking. They stared at the door for a moment, then Beth crossed to the cars. They lay butted up against the pumps, fracturing the concrete around them. Beth crouched and picked up one of the loose concrete pieces.
Clare held out a hand, but it was too late. Beth slammed the concrete into the nearest window. The glass shattered. Clare flinched as the jarring crash of breaking glass echoed around them. She twisted to look towards the flare. The shadowy shapes had frozen. She thought they might be staring at them.
Beth paid the hollows no attention. She used her elbow to knock panes of glass free from the window frame, then she jumped through. Glass crunched under her shoes as she landed inside the store. Clare swore under her breath and leapt in after her sister.
The store was dark. Empty fridges lined the back wall. Magazine racks flanked the door, and bare shelves still held stickers advertising discounted snacks. In the rear corner, near the backroom door, stood a rack filled with maps and tourist pamphlets.
Yes.
Clare took two steps towards the maps then stopped. The hairs rose across her arms. Something was wrong about the service station.
The doors had been locked. She’d assumed the station had never opened on the day the stillness spread. But that couldn’t be right, she realised. The town was small. The thanites targeted heavily populated areas first. Based on Little Leura’s size, it wouldn’t have fallen until near midday.
Someone was working in the morning, then, and saw what was happening on the news. They left the store and locked the doors behind them.
She blinked at her surroundings. The magazine rack was overflowing. But the fridges and the food shelves were all empty. The store had been raided for supplies, probably many times, just like how people had tried to get fuel from the pumps.
Except looters wouldn’t lock the doors when they left.
Beth yanked her back. A gunshot exploded through the room. The flash came from the back corner, near the maps. The staff room.
Someone lives here.
A click. The gun was being cocked. Beth’s hands were on Clare’s back, forcing her to the window. “Run!”
Clare skidded over broken glass. Through the window, she saw the flare spluttering in the distance. She prepared to leap. Silhouetted shapes appeared in the opening. Bald heads, painted red by the flare’s glow. Grasping fingers. She reeled back, trying to stop her momentum. That was the only thing that saved her from the next bullet. It went past her shoulder, so close that she felt a tug as it pierced her jacket sleeve. One of the hollows jerked back as the bullet entered through its open mouth. The others scattered at the gun’s crack. Clare leapt, clearing the window, and staggered over the broken curb.
“Run!” Beth yelled again.
There wasn’t time to look back. Clare held her body low, but she no longer tried to be stealthy. Gravel crunched under her feet. Her breathing was ragged. She aimed for the brick wall at the edge of the service station’s parking lot, knowing it would give her at least a little cover. Beth’s footsteps rang out just behind her. The gun went off again. She flinched, but there was no sting of being hit. They were at the wall. She dove around it but didn’t dare stop moving. She kept the pace as she dashed past the houses on the town’s outskirts and along the road.
Clare’s lungs burned. She dragged in gasping breaths. They were all she could hear, mingled with the crash of her feet across the ground and the stress-fuelled ringing in her ears. She couldn’t hear the hollows. She couldn’t hear the stranger. There was no time to look back to see if they were even being followed.
Then the gun cracked again. It was no longer on their heels. In fact, the noise was nearly swallowed by the mist. It sounded like it was still in the service station. Clare finally allowed herself to slow, shaking and gasping as she tried to get oxygen into her lungs. She pressed one hand to the stitch in her side as she turned to face Beth.
“Are you okay—”
The road was still and quiet, save for the rustle of a cold wind shaking the trees. She was alone.
Chapter Eight
“No, no, please, no.” Clare moaned as she pulled her mask off and dropped it to the ground. Trees banked both sides of the road. Mist drifted between the trunks, leaving a bright dew on every surface. There was no sound of footsteps. No sign of Beth.
Where did I lose her? I was sure I heard her footsteps just behind me as we rounded the brick wall. Clare tried to swallow. Her throat was raw and held a bitter taste.
Were the footsteps even Beth’s? There were hollows everywhere. Some of them might have been dogging me. What if I left Beth in the service station?
The gun had fired four times. One bullet had grazed Clare. The stranger had been shooting to kill. Or at least to maim. Clare wrapped her arms around her chest as terrified shivers rocked her.
No one was coming up the road. No noises came from the town. Clare looked behind herself. The bus was waiting for her just fifteen minutes away. Ten, if she jogged.
If we become split up for any reason, we meet back at the bus.
That had been Beth’s instruction. But what happens if I return to the bus and Beth never shows up? How long would we wait in that little alcove, listening for footsteps that might never arrive? What would we do then? Go on a search party to the town to see if Beth was still there, to see if Beth could be saved?
“No,” she moaned again, digging her fingers into her sides. “Please, Beth, please.”
If her sister had been shot… if her sister had been caught by one of the hollows… there would be a limited time to help her. Minutes. Seconds. Clare’s heart thumped painfully. She scooped the mask back up and fit it on as she retraced the path she’d just taken.
Her lungs were dry, and her legs ached, but she moved as quickly as she dared. If the flare hadn’t woken up every hollow in town, the gunshots certainly would have. It was near suicide to use such a loud weapon in the stillness. But then, the person in the service station obviously hadn’t been thinking rationally.
We rattled the chains on his doors. We broke his window, breaching his security. We don’t know how long he’s been alone there or whether he was starving or whether he’d lost his sanity in the new world. Even a normal person could become paranoid under that kind of pressure.
That didn’t absolve Clare and Beth of the blame. They’d inadvertently breached his home. Perhaps he’d attached chains to the doors after being looted, but he’d had no way to board up the windows without making noise.
Clare was forced to slow down as she reached the outskirts of town. Her breathing was too loud. Her legs were unstable, and it was harder to place each step carefully. Through the mist, she thought she saw shapes moving between the buildings. The flare had gone out.
Clare retraced her steps around the brick wall. As she moved, she hunted for any sign of a body lying on the ground, splatters of blood, or signs of life. All she saw were her own shoeprints in the mud, left during her escape. One pair. Beth hadn’t made it that far.
She passed the wall and approached the service station. A glimpse of movement startled her. She froze, breath held, as she watched shapes dance inside the broken window.
Please, no, not Beth.
Clare crept nearer, rolling her feet. The station was full of hollow ones. Wet smacking noises floated towards her through the cold air. Chattering. Hissing. Chewing.
Her ears were ringing. Dizziness rose over her like a wave. She forced herself to take a breath. It whistled through her too-tight throat. The nearest hollows heard. They l
ifted their heads to stare at her. Clare froze. A second passed. They dropped their heads back down.
Down to eat from their feast.
It was a man. The gun lay, useless, forgotten, near the counter. One of his legs was being shared by two of the creatures near the rack of magazines. An arm and shoulder were being dragged away to the store’s opposite corner. The rest of the hollows bent over his open stomach and face. The body twitched, shivering, and for one horrific second, Clare thought he might still be alive. But it was only the hollows jostling his body as they tore lumps of flesh free.
I’m sorry. She felt on the verge of being sick. She couldn’t afford to be.
Something large bumped her arm. She flinched. Fingers, coming from behind, fell over her shoulder and tightened. A hollow one stepped into her narrow band of vision. Its distended mouth widened, elongated teeth glistening as it stared at her. Clare didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. The creature locked eyes with her for a second, then the hand moved off her shoulder as it turned towards the thick, sickly smell of blood. It crawled through the open windows. A fresh set of snapping jaws joined the muffled cacophony.
Clare turned. She’d pushed her luck as far as it was ever going to go. Her legs were like paper, ready to crumple, as they carried her back past the brick wall and onto the path that led out of town.
The service station had been drenched in blood. She’d seen the man’s head but not her sister’s. How many limbs were there? Just four? Or were there more?
“Please, Beth, please.” Her tongue felt too heavy to form the words. Her sister had said to meet back at the bus if they ever became separated. She needed Beth to be there. She didn’t know what she would do otherwise.
Her unsteady steps lengthened as she exited the town. She was exhausted, but she made herself move faster. Uphill. Through the mud. Towards the little offshoot where Dorran would be waiting. Her vision was blurred, her thoughts a mess. She didn’t allow herself to cry. Crying would be an acceptance of grief.
Whispers in the Mist: Black Winter Book Three Page 6