by Darcy Coates
They had to leap over a cascade of rotting fruit to escape the closed-off market street. On the main road, cars became a hazard. They had to split up to weave between the vehicles. Guttural chattering followed them. Two cars had collided ahead, hedging Clare in, and she leapt onto the bonnets to slide over. Dorran reconverged with her. The hollow thudded into a car behind them, and Clare clenched her teeth as nails scraped over metal.
Up ahead, the blue Helexis sign loomed out of the sky. Two blocks away. A stitch was forming in Clare’s side as she struggled to draw air through the wet mask. She could make it two blocks. They were close.
Close to what?
She tried not to obsess over the thought, but it was the only thing her mind could focus on. Helexis Tower might be their salvation, but it could just as easily be an abandoned building. A locked door. Or worst of all, a tower full of nothing but hundreds of closed doors, all holding a single hollow impatiently scrabbling to be let out.
Stop thinking that. It’s too late to go anywhere else. Just get to the tower. Beth had a purpose in sending you there.
In the desperate part of her mind, she imagined Beth pulling the tower doors open and beckoning her inside. She tried to tell herself it was a fantasy, that she couldn’t believe Beth was still alive, and that she was setting herself up for disappointment, but the idea stuck in her mind like a fiery beacon, bright and tantalising.
They were a block closer, and the sidewalks were clear. To their right, boutique clothing stores sported immense display windows. Clare gasped as something hit the glass. Two hollows pressed against the window. Fractures already ran across the surface from repeated beatings.
Keep running. Don’t look back.
The distinctive slap-scrape-slap noise was now mixed with other pounding feet. She couldn’t see them, but at least half a dozen of the creatures had joined in the pursuit. Some gaits were staggering. Others were long and gaining.
One block. Just one block.
She kept her eyes switching between the road under her feet and the blue letters marking their destination. Breathing was painful. A dry, tacky film was developing in her throat.
They rounded the final corner. Only a four-lane road separated them from Helexis Tower. The blue letters shimmered high above them. Her eyes followed the building’s length. It was dark stone, built within the last ten years and designed to be minimalistic. Hundreds of large, blank windows were the only relief in the smooth walls. Buried in the tangle of stylised architecture and classical buildings, it was plain enough to avoid almost all attention. Clare could have walked past it a hundred times without giving it a second look.
Then her gaze reached the juncture where the building connected with the sidewalk, and Clare choked on her own breath. Before, she’d marvelled at how empty the city was. She’d thought that perhaps the quietness had passed over it while most people were still inside their buildings, or that the hollows had been killing each other.
Now, she saw she’d been wrong. The city wasn’t empty. The hollows weren’t dead. They had just been distracted.
The tower’s base teemed like a beehive. Thousands of bodies pressed together, climbing each other, scrambling to reach the stone walls. The entire lower floor had been engulphed. An eerie noise rose from the swarm. Hands patting stone. Hands patting flesh. Rasping breaths, so many that they merged into an unending whirr.
Clare’s feet faltered. She stared at the tangle, her mind freezing as shock and panic swallowed it. The nearest hollows, the ones on the fringe, turned. Eyes flashed. Jaws widened.
Dorran pulled on her hand, dragging her to the side, towards one of the shops. Clare felt the tug of fingernails snatching at her jacket as the hollow from the telephone box caught up to them. The shock got her moving. She matched Dorran’s pace as they raced towards one of the window displays. It had been a high-end accessories store, full of mannequins brandishing purses that had probably cost more than Clare’s car. Dorran aimed for the window and twisted his body as he neared it. His shoulder hit first. A jangling crack rose from the glass as it shattered. Clare followed in Dorran’s wake, relying on the layers of clothes and the mask to protect her from the razor-sharp edges.
She landed on the platform inside the window and staggered. Dorran, still holding her hand, pulled her close to keep her upright. He reached for the nearest mannequin and wrenched off its arm. Its wig went flying as it tumbled back. Dorran turned and swung the limb like a club. The hollow was already halfway through the hole he’d created. The impact was fierce enough to crack the ceramic arm and force the hollow into the shards of glass still protruding from the window’s frame.
A glut of blood spilt from the hollow’s face. Her business jacket trembled as she tried to squirm free, and fresh blood ran from where a jagged piece of glass cut through her cheek. Dorran lifted the ceramic again, but he didn’t need to use it. As the woman slid free from the glass, she crumbled to the ground, lifeless. Clare could guess what had happened. The cranium bones were growing out of control through the empty eye socket. They had probably already been putting pressure on the brain, and the impact had been enough to sever something important.
Dorran looked down at the mannequin’s limb, crackled and marred with a splatter of red, then dropped it. He was breathing quickly and still kept a tight hold on Clare, as though he were afraid he might lose her if he didn’t.
A deep, screaming howl echoed from the street. It was repeated then joined by chattering screeches. The hollows around the tower had heard the commotion. Clare could imagine the swarm turning to face them. Scrambling forward. Teeth bared, arms outstretched. Riled by the smell of blood.
“We need somewhere to hide,” Dorran hissed. “Somewhere defensible—”
Clare was already moving. She pulled him deeper into the store, past the display stands and around the counter, which held a box of new shipments not yet unpacked. The store would have some kind of back room—something with a lock, she hoped.
The space was larger than it had looked from outside and, despite the wall-length windows, dark. She had to squint through the gloom, hunting among the stacks of displays and the deceptive shimmers from a dozen metal embellishments and chains. Glass scraped as bodies crawled through the broken window. Low, eager chatters cut the still air.
There! A narrow door, neatly hidden behind a jewellery stand, was tucked into the back of the room. Clare ran for it. A heavy thud behind them told her a mannequin had been knocked over. Clare grabbed the door handle and wrenched it open. She’d only managed one step into the room when a shape lurched out of the darkness. The hollow slammed into her, knocking her back.
The light was too poor to see anything of it, except for the dirty-blond hair around its face and the knobbly fingers that scraped over Clare’s mask. It had to be the store’s employee, Clare thought; she’d become trapped in the storage room after retreating there during the stillness.
The impact pushed Clare backwards, into Dorran’s chest. They both staggered. Then Dorran yanked her aside, pulling her out of the hollow’s grasp. Clare hit the ground. Cold, fresh air grazed across her sweaty cheeks as the mask was jolted free. Frantic, she grabbed it and tried to pull it back on.
Dorran grunted as the woman bit into his arm. His jacket was thick, but the creature wasn’t deterred. She clung on as he grappled with her.
The crowd from the street had caught up to them. As Clare tried to tuck the mask’s cloth back under her jacket collar, hands wrenched it free. She gasped as something heavy landed on her chest. Dorran yelled. She couldn’t see what was happening to him, only that the room was a mess of limbs and unblinking eyes. She tried to roll away from the hands she knew would be coming for her, but they tangled in her hair and yanked her back.
Static boomed through the space. It was so sudden and so loud that Clare’s first thought was that it was inside her head—that she’d fractured her skull, maybe, or that the pain had broken something inside of her. But the hollows froze, their chatteri
ng falling quiet, their glinting eyes all flicking towards the store windows.
The static was replaced by a young girl’s voice. “Please.”
It was loud enough to make Clare flinch. The hollow holding her hair shrieked, and its fingers loosened. The pressure on her chest relented. The voice was replaced by more static, and the chattering returned. This time, it was furious—bordering on panicked.
Something grabbed Clare’s arm, and she reflexively pulled away.
“Shh,” Dorran hissed, bending low over her.
The static transformed into a scraping noise. It reminded Clare of a spoon being swirled through a metal bowl. It only lasted for a second, though, then it was replaced by the static again.
It’s the radio station. The one that only plays fragments of noises. Someone’s broadcasting it over the city.
The hollows around them were moving. Miserable howls filled the space as they tried to escape the noise. They bumped into each other, clawing at the walls, at the floors, and at the displays in their urgency to hide. Clare saw her mask near her foot and snatched it up. She pulled it over her head and held it in place. Dorran lifted her to her feet. He kept one arm around her as they moved through the shop.
They bumped into countless bodies. Cold, clammy, still damp from the rain, the hollows barely paid them any notice, though. The noise was painfully loud, even through the mask. A second of music, the bass shaking the floor. A second of a man’s voice: “Today—” A second of howling dogs.
She and Dorran blindly pushed their way through the creatures, aiming for the broken window. As they neared it, sudden, bright light burst across the street. Clare squinted but didn’t stop moving. She stumbled over the windowsill, the wet glass threatening to slip from under her boots, then caught herself against the wall. She turned towards the source of the noise.
Helexis Tower stood on the opposite side of the street. A floodlight on its roof pointed down towards the boutique store. The radio station blasted from it, deafening but effective. The hollows that had been clustered around the building were scattering. Some ran wildly down the streets. Others hunted for peace inside the buildings, seeking out open doors.
Someone is in there. Holding on to her mask with one hand and Dorran with the other, Clare couldn’t stop grinning. Beth knew what she was doing. It’s not a dead end.
The spotlight’s angle adjusted to surround them in light. Clare held up a hand to shield her eyes, blinded. She felt Dorran squeeze her shoulder. Together, they began moving forward. It was impossible to see properly. She nearly tripped as she stepped off the sidewalk and onto the road. The spotlight followed them, surrounding them like a halo.
Hollows screamed, but the noises seemed to be growing more distant. It was drowned out by the incessant, deafening radio. A second of laughter. A second of a classical composition. A second of a woman saying, “Power.” Clare had thought the station was disturbing when she’d first heard it, and it still creeped her out. But she didn’t stop smiling, not even when her feet got caught on the curb outside Helexis Tower. She couldn’t see, but she could feel Dorran holding on to her, and she knew the tower had to be straight ahead. She reached out and touched the bronze door under her glove.
Chapter Forty-Two
Clare squinted her eyes open. The floodlight’s angle meant window ledges cast shadows over tower’s base. They stood at a windowless bronze door. A bar ran across its front, and Clare pressed on it. The bar shifted a fraction then stuck. Clare pushed harder, leaning her weight on it. The door remained locked.
Dorran turned to face the street and raised a hand to shield his eyes. She couldn’t see his expression under the mask, but she could hear the tension in his voice as he yelled over the cacophony. “They are still out there.”
“The hollows?”
“Yes. Most are trying to hide. But some are moving closer again.”
“Damn.” She tried the handle again, rattling it, then beat her fist against the door. She thought she heard something clattering on the other side. Then the bar dropped under her hands, and the door swung open.
Clare sucked in a sharp breath. Through the glaring light and the mask’s haze, she saw her sister waiting on the other side of the door, her arms held out in an invitation. Beth, golden hair pulled back into a bun, smiled, and dimples formed in her cheeks. Clare reached towards her. Then she blinked. There was no Beth. Inside the building stood a man.
He took Clare’s outstretched hand and pulled her through the door. Dorran followed. Then the stranger shoved the door closed, enveloping them in darkness.
“One—uh, one moment—”
Clare blinked furiously. After the harsh light, the building’s inside was dim enough to make her blind. The windows had been blacked out, she realised. She heard the scrape of metal as the door’s lock slid into place, followed by quick footsteps moving away from them.
“Clare?” Dorran asked.
She reached towards him and found his hand. He gripped it tightly.
Then suddenly, the lights above them flickered to life. Clare inched closer to Dorran as she stared about the space. They were in a vast foyer. At their feet, marble tiles had lost some of their gloss, but none of their importance. A half dozen matching marble pillars rose up to meet the high ceiling. A reception desk—easily wide enough to hold four staff without crowding them—stood not far away. On either side of it, security gates blocked them off from the elevators and a wide stairwell.
Like Clare had guessed, the windows had been covered, some with cloth painstakingly taped over them, others with cardboard. Comfortable waiting chairs were arranged on a thick rug, and modern paintings—the kind that were mostly shapes and splashes of colour rather than pictures—had been arranged tastefully over the otherwise-empty walls.
The broadcast continued to boom, but it was mercifully muffled inside the building. Clare hunted for their companion and found him near the reception desk. Everything in the foyer seemed sleek and discreet, expect for the black wires running to a laptop resting on top of the desk. The man bent over the computer, clicking feverishly. The radio abruptly fell silent. A second later, a whine came from outside as the spotlight shut off. After being drowned by noise, the silence was almost overwhelming. Clare took a deep breath and heard it echo in the cavernous room.
The man straightened and turned towards them, hands clasped ahead of himself, and Clare was finally able to see him clearly. He stood a little taller than her but couldn’t be over thirty. Bronze hair was brushed into a tidy side part, though it was reaching the point where it needed a trim, and strands had been knocked out of their careful arrangement. He wore a crisp white shirt and beige jacket, both a few sizes too large. Pale skin and sloped shoulders made him seem much less threatening than he might have otherwise been.
A nervous, frightened smile cracked over his face, and Clare thought she saw moisture shining in his grey eyes. “You came.”
Clare didn’t know what to say. She was acutely aware that she was dripping all over the elegant marble floor. In the back of her mind, she kept hunting for signs that there were more people in the tower—noises, the sound of footsteps, or voices—but all she heard was silence.
The stranger unclasped his hands then pressed them back together again, swallowing thickly. “Uh, may I—if you don’t mind—could I see your faces?”
Clare realised she was still wearing her mask. She pulled it off and brushed wet hair away from her forehead. A second later, Dorran removed his.
The stranger’s smile widened, his eyes creasing nearly closed, and he stepped forward. Before Clare knew what was happening, arms were around her, pulling her into a fierce hug. Ragged breathing filled her ear. It had been a long time since Clare had felt contact with a human other than Dorran, and her instincts were to flinch back. At the same time, her subconscious wanted to lean forward. They had found another human. And that was something incredibly rare in this new world.
Dorran made a faint noise in the back of hi
s throat and reached towards Clare, but before he could do anything, the man let go. He held his arms towards Dorran, who had no chance to react before he was pulled into a hug of his own. Shock flickered over his face. He sent Clare a desperate, confused glance then awkwardly reached up to pat the man’s back.
“You’re here.” The stranger only came up to Dorran’s shoulders, and the words were muffled in his coat. Then the man stepped back, his face damp from their clothes, but his grin as wide as ever. “I was starting to give up hope—thank you. Thank you so much.”
“I…” Clare felt lost. She didn’t know what they were being thanked for, but the man had obviously been expecting someone. The idea that they were about to disappoint him made her nervous. She latched on to the question that had been lingering at the forefront of her mind. “Is… is anyone else here? Anyone by the name of Beth?”
“Oh, no, sorry. Just me.” The man knit his hands together, his smile twitching. “Were you hoping to meet up with someone here?”
Clare’s throat was tight, so she only nodded. She’d known Beth was gone. That had been obvious since the moment she stepped into the bunker and saw the pool of congealed blood saturating the floor. And despite all of that, she’d held on to the tantalising hope beyond all reason. Part of her wished she’d never been forced to find out the truth. She choked, and Dorran’s hand found her arm. Still, she refused to let herself cry.
“Ah, gee, wow. I’m sorry.” The infallible smile finally dropped. “Well, they might still be coming. Don’t give up hope. That’s the real killer in this world. You’ve got to stay optimistic, stay hopeful, no matter what, right? Heaven knows it’s been hard enough these past few weeks. Some days, I just wanted to sit down with a bottle of whiskey and let the despair eat me. But I knew someone had to come eventually. And you did. Here you are.” He folded his arms over his chest as the grin broke out anew. “You really came. Sorry—I still can’t get over it—”