Secrets in the Dark

by Darcy Coates

  “On top of the sled,” Dorran said. They had packed the rest of their equipment flat, and Clare exhaled as the motor thudded into place. She was shaking and sweaty, and she unzipped her top jacket. The day wasn’t exactly warm, but their cautious dressing had left her wearing too many layers for comfort. She took off her outer jacket and tied it around her waist.

  Dorran bundled the cloth over the motor to keep its components together then tied it down with the rope. His movements were sharp and full of energy.

  He feels it too. Progress. A way forward. A way out.

  They took the ropes and pulled. Their feet sunk into the muddy, over-saturated ground, and the sled refused to move as smoothly as it had on the snow. Its runners cut up strips of grass and caught in every stick and rock. They were both panting as they cut across the field, towards where the driveway disappeared into the trees.

  To their left, Clare glimpsed the red-cloth dome they had brought on their previous trip to the forest. The fabric had been shredded, the wire dented. The hollows that had been frozen around it were gone. There was no room on their sled to take the dome, so they passed it without stopping.

  The pines’ shadows stretched across the field like jagged knives. Clare shivered as she approached the forest. In a strange way, it felt more alive than ever before. The branches rocked in the chilled wind, groaning, and Clare couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. They got the sled back onto the dirt track. It moved a little more easily through the mud, but Clare still wasn’t looking forward to the hike between the trees.

  She turned to give Winterbourne one final look. For a second, she thought she saw something in one of the upstairs windows. A curtain moved, gliding back into place, hiding the thin, pinched face. Clare swallowed.

  For a while at least, it will be nothing but a home for the hollows.

  She pictured them scuttling through the hallways. Intruding on the parts of the house Clare and Dorran called their own. Crouching on the kitchen bench, long fingers probing at the whorls in the wood that Clare herself had traced that morning. Sitting in their chairs. Climbing the same stairs she and Dorran were so familiar with. The garden’s door was bolted, at least, but Clare knew they could find a way in if they really wanted to. She tried not to think about it. Instead, she faced the forest.

  Dorran didn’t look back. That seemed strange to Clare. She’d only been in Winterbourne for a fortnight, but already, she felt reluctant to leave it. Dorran had spent his whole life there. She doubted that he could leave it—possibly for the last time, if their journey went badly—without any feelings of regret.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Hm.” He nodded but didn’t turn his head, not even to look at her.

  She was struck by the sense that maybe he didn’t look back because if he did, his steps would falter. Leaving their security was already hard enough for him. He couldn’t afford to let sentimentality creep through the growing cracks in his emotional armour. Clare moved so that she walked a little closer to him, wishing she could do more. But they were entering the forest, and as the trees engulphed them, it was wiser to keep silent.

  In the distance, something chattered. The crackling, bestial noise floated on the cold air. With the mask dimming the world, Clare’s other senses tried to compensate. She traced the noise to somewhere at their left. Not close. But close enough.

  A grating wail echoed from their right. Like a damaged foghorn, it broke and faded on its last notes. She and Dorran increased their pace. Clare’s muscles were already aching. The sled jostled on uneven ground, its contents threatening to shake free.

  Clumps of wet snow, sheltered by the trees, hung around roots and between piles of pine needles. Their boots plunged into deeper mud as the path turned downhill. It stuck around Clare’s feet, trying to hold her in place and making wet noises every time she pulled free. Hundreds of tiny streams washed between ancient roots, carrying away the slush.

  A dead branch the width of Clare’s arm plunged from the canopy, smacking into the ground ahead of them. They barely slowed their pace. Dorran kicked the branch out of the sled’s path. As they passed it, Clare couldn’t stop herself from looking up. A bow-legged shape clung to the trees above them.

  Not far. We’re nearly at the car. Then there is only four hours to Beth’s. That’s all. We can handle four hours.

  Every fear and doubt that had plagued Clare during the last days rushed back in, redoubled. Will Beth still be there? Will the masks be enough to reach her bunker without being attacked? And what if the air is toxic outside the forest? What if we get ten minutes away and start turning into hollows? Will it hurt? Will I know what’s happening? What if I stay conscious after the change, like Madeline Morthorne? I couldn’t live as a monster… or stand seeing Dorran become one beside me.

  Dorran was breathing heavily. She didn’t think it was just the exercise, either. The stress was getting to both of them. She wanted to talk to him, to tell him everything would be all right, to thank him for coming with her. But every second, the creaking noises around them seemed to be growing closer.

  How many are there?

  The mask was too thick, and the clothes were too heavy. Sweat trickled down Clare’s cheek. It itched, and she shook her head but had no way to scratch it. The lowest layer of clothes was starting to stick to her back. She didn’t think she could go much farther without resting. But if she stopped, the hollows would converge on them, creeping nearer, their wild eyes trying to see through the mesh.

  Then all of a sudden, they were on the main road. Even without the snow disguising it, the entry came up unexpectedly.

  They turned left. A figure stood in the middle of the road. Patches of hair sprouted from its body, the strands growing as long as the sparse hair on its head. It trailed from its arms, torso, and legs. Gossamer thin and straggly, it had already become tangled by mud.

  Clare looked up at Dorran. She wished she could see his face. He held still for a moment, watching, then tugged on the rope again. They were going to try to pass it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The creature held perfectly still, except for its head. Its long neck turned so that the unblinking eyes were always fastened on Clare and Dorran. They kept as close to the road’s edge as they could manage. The sled scraped painfully against the asphalt, and the noise keyed Clare’s nerves tight. Her weapon was on top of the sled, but she didn’t dare reach for it. She clamped her teeth together until her jaw ached.

  Beyond the hollow, she could see the car. Her poor red hatchback was suspended on the side of the road, passenger door hanging open, front end crushed from where it had impacted one of the massive pines. The rain hadn’t been kind to it. Water glistened over its roof and dripped out of the crumpled bonnet, and she could already see that the seats would be drenched.

  Can he really get it working again?

  Dorran’s attention was focussed on the hollow. They were so close to the road’s edge that one side of the sled was threatening to tip into the ditch. The creature’s neck continued to swivel, holding them in its sights, and its lips parted to exhale a low, rumbling hiss.

  The sweat coating Clare had turned cold. She kept her head down, but out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement ahead. A new hollow stood on the road just twenty meters past her car. This one was missing ribs. A gory hole in its chest gaped every time it breathed through ruined lungs. Bloody froth beaded at the corners of its mouth, but like its companion, it didn’t seem to feel the deformity. Its attention was directed wholly at Clare and Dorran.

  Focus on the car. We just need to get it to work. Then there’s four hours to Beth’s. That’s all I need to think about.

  The chattering in the forest grew louder. Clare knew that if she looked, she would see their eyes shining in the gloom. Every breath hurt her lungs. Every beat of her heart felt too hard, too pressured.

  But they were past the first hollow and closing in on her car. Mud squelched behind her. S
he looked, and the hollow froze, its mud-caked hair swinging at the sharply aborted movement.

  Damn it.

  The masks were confusing them, but not deterring them. Clare reflexively checked the cloth around her neck. Underneath the fabric and metal, sweat trickled into her eye, and she blinked furiously, trying to clear it.

  The sled ground to a halt beside the car. The noises around Clare seemed magnified. The chattering now came from half a dozen directions. The hollow ahead breathed heavily as red-flecked froth dribbled over its lip. Behind them, the other hollow took another scraping step closer.

  Dorran bent close so that his metal mesh bumped against hers. At that proximity, she could see his dark eyes and long lashes, damp with sweat. He kept his voice soft enough that only Clare could hear it. “Move the supplies into the car then get into the driver’s seat and lock the door. When I wave, try the key in the ignition.”

  “I can help with the motor.”

  “No. I need you to start the engine. Do not argue.”

  The hollow at their backs took another step nearer. Grey flesh emerged from the trees to their left; an arm with three joints, feeling along the ground.

  Dorran wrapped his arms around the cloth-covered motor and pulled it off the sled. It hit the ground with a thud, making Clare flinch. She opened the back door and began ferrying their supplies inside.

  Metal screamed as Dorran forced the car’s bonnet up. He was moving quickly, and although every motion was carefully controlled, there was no way to be silent. Clare felt more eyes fixing on them.

  As she bent over the rear seat, shoving the blankets into a spare nook, motion through the opposite window made her look up. A hand slapped the glass. A face loomed. Flabby skin drooped over where its lower jaw had once existed. The upper teeth, all it had left, clicked as they bumped into the glass.

  Please, Dorran, be fast. Be safe.

  She backed out of the car, one eye on the hollow peering through the window and the rest of her attention spread over the road. The creatures were growing closer. Dorran gasped as the old motor, twisted and broken, clattered onto the road. Then he bent to pick up the replacement.

  The sled was empty. Clare left one of the jugs of petrol and the axe beside the front wheel for Dorran. He’d braced the new motor on top of the car’s crumpled bonnet and was using a jack to force the space back open so that it would fit. Clare reached towards him, but he motioned her back. She swallowed, opened the driver’s door, and slid inside.

  Icy water flowed from the saturated seat as Clare dropped into it. The front window had a jagged crack running across it, but at least it seemed stable. Dark stains bloomed across the seats—old blood from the crash. The car wouldn’t smell good once it warmed up, but that didn’t matter. They only needed it to work for eight hours. Four there. Four back.

  Dorran had told her to lock the door, but she didn’t. It would keep her safe but leave him vulnerable if he needed help. She found the key in her pocket, fitted it into the ignition, and waited.

  One at a time, with stuttering steps and tilted heads, the hollows were drawing closer. Some were focussed on Clare, but the majority were fixed on Dorran, their eyes boring into his back as he bent over the motor. He’d completely removed the crumpled hood and worked on the connections with efficient, sharp movements. Clare tightened her hands over the steering wheel, silently urging him on.

  He lifted his head and waved. Hope jumped in Clare’s throat. She turned the key. Nothing happened. He waved again, asking her to stop, then put his head back down.

  What if he can’t fix it? What if it’s too broken to ever work? He only knows mechanical cars. Mine has digital parts. What if water got into one of them and fried it? There’s no way to fix that.

  He waved again. Again, Clare turned the key. There was no purr of a motor, no life. Undeterred, Dorran returned to the task.

  More of the hollows were coming out of the forest. One ran its fingers across the car’s passenger door as it circled towards Dorran. The scrape of nails on metal was physically painful.

  She squeezed the wheel until her knuckles ached. The first hollow, the one with stringy hair drooping from its skin, was at Dorran’s back. It tilted its head, teeth bared, as it tried to see around the mask.

  Can they smell us? Can they feel our body heat? Will that be enough to make it attack?

  Its head stretched forward, moving past Dorran’s shoulder. Clare couldn’t breathe. It was close enough that it should have been able to see through the mesh. Dorran lifted one gloved hand, blocking that side of his face, as his other hand turned a wrench.

  Clare was frozen, gripping both the key in the ignition and the door handle. The hollow’s bulging eyes rolled slowly as they followed the lines of Dorran’s jacket. It pressed against him, the greasy hair dragging over his arm. Clare could imagine how it felt. How it smelt. She didn’t know how Dorran could keep his focus on the car.

  Then the hollow’s hands came up. Wrinkled fingertips prodded along the edge of the mask, dragging in his hair, feeling at the corners of his face.

  No, no, no, no. Don’t touch him.

  Dorran tried to lean away from the contact. The hollow’s jaw widened with growing excitement, blue lips stretching back as it chattered at him. The fingers had found the mask’s straps. They curled under them and began to pull.

  Clare did the only thing she could think of. She smashed her palm into the steering wheel. The horn blared.

  They all jumped, including Dorran. He gripped the edge of the motor, his head down. The hollow released a pained screech and stepped back as its eyes twisted to stare about itself.

  They hate loud noises. Clare leaned on the horn again, grimacing, and watched as the tightening circle of hollows widened. The ones that had pressed against the car’s windows retreated to the shadows at the forest’s edge. The one with blood frothing at its mouth stumbled back.

  Dorran brought both hands back to the engine. Clare kept on the horn, trying to hold the creatures back for him. Some disappeared entirely between the trees. Others began circling, holding their distance, their distorted faces pinched with frustration.

  The nearest ones began creeping forward again. Clare’s heart dropped. Their hunger was winning over their repulsion.

  Dorran’s head appeared above the engine, and he waved. She twisted the key. The engine turned over, spluttered, then died again. Clare tried the key again, holding it, desperate. It wouldn’t catch.

  No, no, no, come on.

  Dorran grabbed a fresh tool off the sheet beside the car. The closest hollow was nearly at his side again. Clare hit the horn. The creature barely flinched.

  Metal thudded above her, and she looked up. Feet slapped over the roof, tracing a path above her head, creeping closer to the engine. She felt sick.

  Dorran had twisted his body to hide his face from the monster looming over him, but it was no longer staring at his mask. Its eyes had fixed on his wrist, twitching as they followed every movement. Clare’s heart turned cold. They had rushed through their routine that morning, and he hadn’t tied his jacket sleeves in place. It had ridden up, and a sliver of flesh was visible above the glove.

  “Dorran!” she screamed.

  The hollow lunged. Teeth fastened over the exposed skin. Dorran cried out and pulled back, one hand pressed against the hollow’s face, trying to force it off, trying to pry its teeth free. It clung on.

  Clare wrenched her door open, and the metal hit a hollow that was trying to lunge past. Before she could step out, Dorran yelled, his voice full of pain and urgency, “The motor!”

  Help him, one half of her mind screamed. Trust him, said the other. She had one leg out of the car as she reached back inside and turned the key.

  The engine roared into life. The headlights burst on, bathing Dorran and the hollow in a harsh glow. The creature released its grip on him, screaming, and staggered back. Blood glistened over its jaws.

  More were coming, attracted by the commotion and the
smell of blood. Dorran snatched up the axe and swung. It impacted a hollow’s skull, sticking there as the creature screamed at him. Another latched on to his back, pulling him off-balance.

  Door still open, Clare put the car into reverse and hit the accelerator. The car was trapped on the side of the road, facing the tree it had hit, balanced precariously. The wheels skidded in the mud, seeking but unable to find traction, and Clare felt a stab of panic. Then Dorran threw his weight into the bumper, shoving the car back, and the wheels caught. Clare gasped as the car dropped onto the road. Her chin hit the wheel, and she tasted blood.

  The car jolted as she reversed over a hollow. She slammed on the brakes, switched to drive, and twisted the wheel as she powered forward.

  Two creatures disappeared beneath her front wheels. The one on the roof scrabbled as it tried to keep its perch. Clare hit the brakes again, stopping right beside Dorran. He grappled with a hollow, fighting to keep its grasping fingers away from his head.

  Clare leaned across the passenger seat to throw open the door. “Get in!”

  Dorran fell back, hitting the car’s side, and lifted a foot to kick the hollow. His boot impacted with its skull, splitting the bones. Its jaw rolled free as it screeched at him. Clare reached through the open door, wrapped her arms around Dorran, then pulled him back. He fell inside, half in the passenger seat, half in her lap.

  She didn’t wait for him to right himself or even try to close the door. She just pressed her weight into the accelerator, throwing them both back. The car shuddered as it hit the screaming, scuttling creatures blocking its path. Clare’s heart missed a beat as she thought the car might become stuck on them. But her beloved hatchback powered on, tumbling over them as though it had been born for it, and then, before Clare could even draw breath, they were on clear road, monsters fading in her rearview mirror.