by Darcy Coates
“No one knows. They’re hard to kill. You can hurt them—cut them open, bash parts of their heads in, whatever—but they’ll just keep walking for days afterwards. One man talked about a hollow he caught in his barn. He chopped it in half at its waist, he said, and it just kept dragging itself along the ground. After three days, its spine had started to grow… well, he described it as little claws. It was sprouting crab-like legs out of its back and was using those to scuttle around faster. He killed it properly before it grew anything else.”
Clare remembered the hollows she’d seen. They were monstrous, contorted beyond what a person should ever have to endure. Skin grew. Bones grew. They broke out of their confines, and somehow, the creatures neither felt pain nor collapsed from infection.
Beth chuckled. “They make us humans look awfully fragile by comparison.”
“They sure do.”
“Here’s everything I know about them. They’re like animals. They’re hungry, but they still have some kind of survival instinct. They don’t like light or fire, and they’ll hide if they think you’re a threat. So if you ever get trapped, make a lot of noise and use light to chase them away. But they won’t stay away for long, so safety—somewhere they can’t get to—is always your first priority.”
They won’t stay away for long. Clare knew that firsthand from her time in the forest. The hunger was always pushing them. Eventually, it won over caution. They would never give up until they ate.
“They don’t fight each other,” Beth continued. “But they don’t work together, either, thank heaven. They’ll eat another hollow if it’s already dead, but they always prefer warm-blooded things. Humans or animals.”
“They can’t infect you, can they?” Clare tried not to stare at the bandages on her wrist.
“People say they can’t. It’s not like a virus. It’s… I have no idea. Some people say leaking radiation. That hundreds of nuclear bombs went off without anyone realising, and that’s what’s deforming us.”
“But radiation would kill you long before anything like this happened.”
“That’s what I mean about the theories. Most of them are half plausible, but none really make complete sense. Aliens. Government experiments gone wrong. Some people say this is the rapture, except good people seem to be dying alongside the bad. But whatever it is, they agree that you have to be exposed to something to be affected. No one is immune; nobody’s come walking out of a city that was affected. If you come in contact with it, you become a hollow.”
Clare’s heart skipped a beat. “Whatever caused this… is it still out there? Could it change us, as well?”
The radio was silent for a moment. Clare stared at it, fixated, and felt Dorran lean in closer, as well.
“I don’t know.” Beth sounded tired. “I haven’t heard any stories of people surviving the event only to turn monstrous afterwards. But people are disappearing. Their radios just go silent. Are the hollows finally getting them? Infection, dehydration? Or are they changing too? I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t know how to keep you safe.”
Clare thought back to the two weeks she’d spent in Winterbourne. As far as she could ascertain, the stillness event had happened shortly before she entered Banksy Forest on her last day of freedom. She’d survived unscathed. But Winterbourne’s owner, Madeline Morthorne, along with her entourage of staff and maids, had all succumbed to the stillness no more than an hour outside the same forest.
The woman had been deranged, but she’d kept at least part of her mind from before the change. When Clare had asked her what the experience had been like, she’d said the air had turned sour. “Oh, it burned when it was swallowed.”
“Keep your air-filtration unit running no matter what. Whatever this is, I think it’s in the air. Your bunker’s filter might be the only reason you’re safe.”
“I’m all right here. I’m more worried about you.”
“We think…” Clare glanced at Dorran. His expression was grim. “Maybe this thing was targeted. You said it started in cities before spreading to rural areas. It’s like it was focussed on where people live. This house is in the middle of the forest, hours from any other kind of habitation. We think that might be why it’s safe here.”
“I hope so.” Beth’s voice sounded ragged. When she paused, Clare could hear the scratching sound again. This time, it was accompanied by a metallic banging. It sounded like some kind of lid being lifted and dropped repeatedly. “I need to go now. I’ll talk to you again soon, okay? Tomorrow, at the same time?”
“Those hollows outside your bunker…”
“They’ll give up after a couple of hours. They always do.”
“They don’t have any way to get in, do they?”
“Not right now. Goodbye, Clare. I love you.”
Clare opened her mouth to say it back, but the radio clicked off before she could. She sat back, blinking at tears, still staring at the little black box clasped between her hands.
Chapter Three
Clare held the radio for several minutes after it went dead. Her emotions rose like a tide, growing overwhelming. There was joy. Beth was alive and, for the moment, safe. There was hope. But dread and fear were growing, too, and they were swallowing the small patches of happiness until all Clare could feel was horror.
Dorran pulled his chair around to sit beside her, but he didn’t try to talk. He seemed to understand that Clare needed time to process what she’d heard. She pictured Beth, sitting in the lightless, lonely room, trying her hardest to stay silent for the hours it would take for the hollows to stop scrabbling at her door. I can’t just leave her there.
But Beth had been vehement. Hollows were everywhere. They were ravenous and hard to kill. Clare and Dorran had been spared the worst of them thanks to their location, but even then, they’d nearly lost their lives just by going to the forest.
And even if she could get through the hollows, the fear of becoming just like them made Clare’s stomach turn. Beth didn’t know if whatever had changed them was still out there. From what Clare had gleaned from the few radio broadcasts she’d caught, people were travelling across the country. They were surviving—at least for a couple of days. She didn’t know if that meant the air was safe or whether the effects were simply delayed.
And if the air isn’t safe, can it blow over Winterbourne? Are we going to be exposed to it, no matter how cautious we are?
She felt herself starting to hyperventilate and pushed away from the table. She crossed to the sink and splashed water over her face. It was cold enough to make her skin sting. It helped, though. She gave it a moment then returned to the table, where Dorran waited.
“What do you think?” she asked, desperate for someone else’s thoughts to distract her from her own.
Dorran faced her, one elbow resting on the table and his hand running over his mouth. He watched the radio, like Clare, almost as though it might come alive again.
“I think your sister has good advice. Knowing what the outside is like, Winterbourne is probably the safest house we could find. And we have the garden. As long as we can find fuel to keep the lights on, it will be sustainable. We could conceivably live decades by harvesting new seeds from the plants we grow.”
Clare imagined spending the rest of her life in Winterbourne. She wondered if she could ever feel comfortable in it. The mansion was towering and imposing. Every item cluttering its endless rooms had been chosen for its prestige. And now, at the end of the world, it was all worthless. The gild-framed paintings. The ornate furniture and brushed rugs. They were living surrounded by unimaginable wealth but with no one to care about it.
Dorran lowered his hand and let his fingers trace across the wooden table. “Your sister also advised us to be cautious. And as sturdy as Winterbourne is, it is still far from completely safe. Hollows were able to get inside once. They can do so again, easily.”
Clare nodded. “The passageways.”
“I have no idea how many they are or where they le
ad. Until they are sealed, we must be on guard.” He took a slow breath and closed his eyes. “But I would also like to try to find a way to bring Beth here.”
Clare’s heart jumped. She clenched her hands, but it wasn’t enough to stop them from shaking.
“It won’t be today. It might not be for a while. But we will know soon whether the hollows can starve. If they cannot, we must try to find a way to get Beth out of where she is. It is not a life fit for any human.”
“Thank you.” Clare dropped forward, resting her head against Dorran’s chest, and he wrapped his arms around her in return.
She’d been so afraid that he would take Beth’s side and refuse to leave Winterbourne. Dorran liked to be cautious. She knew he was pushing himself to even make the offer. “Thank you so much.”
“Shh. Don’t thank me now. There is a long way to go yet.” He kissed the top of her head. “But we will make it possible.”
They sat together, wrapped up in each other. Clare struggled to get her emotions back under control. Dorran’s knit jacket was warm under her cheek, and it moved subtly as he breathed. He felt as steady as ever, but she could feel conflict under the surface. He was worried.
A loud thud echoed from the floor above them. They both turned to stare at the ceiling. A trail of dust, jostled free, trickled through the dimly lit air. Dorran tensed. “Stay close to me.”
Clare kept at his side like a shadow as he lit a candle and collected two fire pokers from beside the stove. He passed one of the pokers to Clare, then they left the relative security of the kitchen and crept into the foyer.
The noise had sounded like it came from the second floor. Above it was the third floor—where she and Dorran had their room—and the attic. At that moment, Clare hated how rambling the house felt. The dizzying number of rooms were crisscrossed with roving hallways, and she still didn’t know where all of them led.
Dorran moved with purpose. He gave the foyer a brief scan then led the way to the stairs, keeping their backs to the walls. As they climbed, he tilted his head towards her and whispered, “If it is a creature, I want to either drive it out or kill it. Stay behind me and watch my back. But if there are more than one, we retreat. We get to the bedroom, if we can. Better to be safe and live to fight another day.”
Clare nodded. The stairs creaked under their feet, the noise muffled by thick carpet. On a normal day, morning’s light would have glowed through the windows, but the manor had been swallowed by a perpetual haze that dampened the sunlight and dimmed the sky. Clare had the sense that more snow would be arriving soon. The weather had been increasingly unpredictable since the world had gone silent. They could have clear weather, immense hail, and a snowstorm all in the same day. She didn’t know how the hollows were managing to survive the brutal conditions in the forest, except that they didn’t seem to feel the cold like she did.
She and Dorran stopped on the landing. Clare waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. The hallway stretched in both directions. With no maids flitting through the space each day, dust had started to accumulate on the frames and furniture. Wood panelling filled the spaces between the pillars embedded in the walls. The hallway’s runner, a dark maroon, complimented the narrow tables and displays arranged in the area. It somehow managed to feel cluttered and refined at the same time.
Dorran waited, listening to the silence, then led Clare right. She tried to visualise the house’s layout. She thought, if they continued on a little farther, they would be standing directly above the kitchens.
Blurred shadows lingered over the furniture. Clare fought to make out shapes as the thin light from the window and the gold glow from Dorran’s candle played tricks on her eyes. Dorran moved steadily, each step measured, his centre of gravity low and his weapon held expectantly. Closed doors bracketed them on both sides, leading into dark rooms with thick drapes and heavy shadows.
Dorran came to a halt. His hand shot out to hold Clare back, and she took hold of it, anchoring him to her side. Ahead, shapes cluttered the hallway. Chairs. Pedestals. Narrow side tables. Shelves. In amongst their straight lines and symmetrical designs, something organic stood out. Something jagged. Clare stared and realised the shape was staring back.
The creature was invisible except for its silhouette and one rounded eye, which glinted in the light. Clare tried to trace its outline, but it was maddening. What should have been its arm split into two. The place where its hand should have been had too many knuckles. Too many fingers. Twelve of them, Clare thought, splayed at its side. Matted, thin hair cascaded over its shoulders and draped down, passing the shredded ends of its maids’ dress, to brush against the floor. Clare’s eyes flicked from the hair to the elongated feet with a multitude of toes.
Dorran slowly nudged Clare back until she was sheltered behind him. The poker glinted as he adjusted his grip on it.
The creature’s head tilted back. The lower jaw stretched farther than Clare would have thought possible, exposing rotting teeth in black gums. A hissing, chattering noise ripped out of its throat, then the monster slid into the wall and vanished with a sharp bang.
“Ah—” Dorran moved forward with smooth, quick steps. Clare, knowing she was supposed to watch their backs but incapable of looking away from where the woman had stood, followed. The candle’s glow flowed over uninterrupted panelling. Dorran handed his light to her then felt across the wood. He paused at one place near a pillar, gave it a hard shove, and stepped back as the concealed door rocked open.
Clare had to give credit where it was due. Madeline Morthorne had hidden the compartments well; the door’s edge lined up with the panelling in a way that made it nearly invisible. They had been disguised well enough to make Clare doubt her own sanity. Even Dorran, a prisoner in the building for his whole life, hadn’t known they existed.
“So, here is another one.” Dorran took the candle back and reached it through the opening.
Clare felt a squeeze of panic as she watched his arm disappear inside, the fearful part of her mind jabbering that it might never come out again. But Dorran only stayed inside the passageway long enough to make sure it was empty, then he stepped back and let the door creep closed again.
“At least now we have our answer. There are hollows left inside the building.” His eyes were hard as he turned from the concealed door to the window at the end of the hall, where the sky was steadily darkening. “We must make the doors a priority. Sealing them is the only way to ensure we will be safe.”
Clare nodded slowly. She thought she could hear distant noises moving through the house. Their sources were hard to pinpoint. It could have been wood flexing under the biting wind, hurried footsteps, or even her imagination.
In the two days since facing Madeline in the basement, they hadn’t seen or heard any sign of the hollows. She and Dorran still moved cautiously, bringing weapons whenever they ventured out of their room and locking doors behind themselves, but the monster was the first to actually show itself.
Dorran rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I suspect the only way to seal them effectively will be from the inside.” He sounded tense. His narrowed eyes flitted across the exposed wood.
The idea of creeping through the lightless, musky passages left her clammy. But she understood why it was necessary. Dorran didn’t know where the doors led out. Without seeing the inside of the passageways, their only alternative would be knocking against every square inch of the building—and that would take months. “It’ll be dangerous.”
“Yes. I’ll take precautions. You should—”
She knew what was coming and narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sitting in the bedroom.”
They glared at each other, both trying to win the war of wills. Dorran took a breath, and his voice softened. “Let us make a compromise. I will go in. You stand at the doors and mark their locations on a map.”
Clare gave his chest a light prod with the tip of her poker. “How about this for a compromise? We both go into the secret passageway
s, and neither of us dies.”
“That is not a compromise.” He was trying, and failing, to hide his laughter. “That is you winning yet another argument.”
“No, that is me not going insane because my Dorran selfishly keeps all of the danger to himself.” She reached up and pressed her hand to his cheek.
He was warm and solid, and he closed his eyes as he leaned into the touch.
“We agreed. We’re in this together.”
He tilted far enough to kiss her palm then sighed. “Very well. Together.”
Chapter Four
How many of them are there? The question had refused to leave Clare since she’d discovered Madeline and her maids had taken up residence in the secret parts of the house. Clare had thought she’d killed the woman. But when Dorran had gone to bury his mother’s body, he’d found it missing.
No one could survive a metal rod through the head, Clare kept telling herself. She was dead. The other hollows took her body away. That’s all.
But her doubt still lingered. The monsters could withstand incredible damage. Their own bones shredded their flesh, and they continued moving as though nothing were wrong. They could die. But they didn’t go down easily. And in the back of Clare’s mind was still the small terror that the matriarch continued to stalk the halls after she and Dorran went to bed. Maybe she watched them. Maybe she had plans for them, some plot to punish them for what they’d done to her.
Even if Madeline was gone, her memory certainly wasn’t. The figure they’d seen in the hall proved at least one of the maids lingered. Possibly more. Clare’s mind chewed over that question again and again. How many? How many?
Clare knelt by the fire in their bedroom and rekindled the embers. Out of every room in the house, it was the most secure. They had checked the walls to make sure there were no secret compartments. They had bolts on the doors. They kept their food there in case they weren’t able to reach the kitchens. The adjacent bathroom supplied water.