by Darcy Coates
Despite all of that, the freezing temperatures had preserved him better than Clare would have expected. And he didn’t look the way she’d imagined.
Ezra was large—probably over six feet—and stocky. That was clear even after the decay. His cheeks had lost their tautness, but she thought his face would have been round in life. Black hair lay in a limp side-part across his olive forehead. Full lips hung open, giving her a glimpse of the still-white teeth inside. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five.
When she’d pictured Ezra, she’d imagined a wiry, tense man. Someone ruthlessly efficient. Someone who fit her idea of an obsessed, delusional scientist. But Ezra’s clothes, stained by decay, were casual. An oversized sweater hung over a T-shirt and jeans.
Why, Ezra? Clare tilted her head back, being careful to breathe through her mouth. You knew the thanites better than anyone. You could have helped reverse this. Is the situation really so impossible that you believed the only way out was death?
The hollow’s fist landed on the glass. Each slap sent reverberations through the room, jangling Clare’s nerves and making her skin prickle. She couldn’t stop staring at the dead scientist. The man had killed her aunt, her sister, and nearly everything good.
Peter had said he was trying to save the world. She didn’t know if she should pity him or hate him. Part of her wished he’d stayed to salvage what they could of the ruins. Another part of her knew, if he had been alive, she would want to see him dead.
His ID tag peeked out from under his sweater. It lay face-down, half buried by the folds of decaying skin and fabric. She braced herself and reached down. The corner of the badge was clean. She dragged it out and flipped it over.
The plastic shimmered in the harsh white lights. Clare took a step back and stared down at the picture on the placard. Like she’d guessed, he’d been plump in life. He was smiling. The picture had most likely been taken on his first day at Aspect, and she could feel the nerves and excitement radiating out of it. He looked like he’d probably been a cheerful soul in life.
Beside the photo was a name. Peter Wiesner.
Clare closed her eyes. That can’t be possible. Her heart thundered. The sick, squirming uneasiness that had kept her from sleeping redoubled until she felt like insects were crawling underneath her skin.
Oh no, no, no…
The man she’d known as Peter carried an ID tag that didn’t belong to him. He’d borrowed it from one of his neighbour’s desks. She’d been so wrapped up in the stress and hope of reaching the tower, it hadn’t occurred to her to question why Peter hadn’t been using his own badge. Her subconscious had picked up on it, though. It had picked up on a lot of things.
Peter had given her Ezra’s room. A coffee mug sat on the sill. If it had been there since the stillness, the coffee would have long evaporated. But it was still half full. Because it had been sipped from just that morning.
Peter’s desk held a binder of notes on the bionic eye—not because he was lamenting his lost project, but because he needed to learn about it to make his backstory credible.
Stupid. Stupid. There were so many clues. So many slips. How could you have overlooked them all?
She opened her eyes. Her vision had blurred. She looked down at Peter, the real Peter, the one who had befriended Ezra and had been present to witness the disastrous results of his companion’s trial.
In those earliest hours of the stillness, as Ezra listened to humanity dismantle itself on the back of his mistake, he would have faced a choice. He hadn’t wanted to die. But to live would make him the most hated man in the world. No survivor would have welcomed him into their home. Most would have wanted to see him dead.
He could have fled the city, adopted a new name, and buried his secret. Only one person knew he was responsible for the thanites. That person was in the same room as him, and Ezra had access to a gun. Perhaps that was the moment he’d killed Peter, likely in a desperate bid to hide his crimes.
But leaving the tower would mean abandoning his research and living in a world overrun with hollows, scrambling to find food and shelter just like every other survivor.
Ezra was smart. Through the panic, a solution would have presented itself. With Peter gone and the city fallen, everyone who had known his real identity was dead. He would stay in the tower and continue working—because he thought he knew how to fix his mistake. He wouldn’t be known as the man who destroyed humanity. He would be the one who saved it.
Peter afforded an easy identity to adopt. They were friends; he knew a little about Peter’s research and Peter’s life that he could use to make his story more plausible. He could recount the experience through Peter’s eyes, acting as an innocent bystander. As Peter, he was blameless for the stillness. But he still had the skills to understand the thanites—and disable them. He would be hailed as a hero. Humanity’s saviour. The identity he’d yearned for when he first conceived the miracle cure.
Clare shook. She backed away from the body and felt behind herself to open the airtight door. As she moved back into the labs and the door slid closed, the reek of rotting flesh faded and breathing became easier.
We can’t stay here. Clare kept her head down as she moved through the empty work spaces. She hated herself for bringing Dorran to the tower. She hated herself for believing Ezra’s lies. And she felt sick to her stomach as she tried to imagine the very few options they had to leave.
Clare stopped at the metal doors, her breathing ragged, and fumbled for her ID tag. In the distance, the lab’s resident hollow moaned and slammed a fist against its glass prison. The door’s panel beeped as Clare held the ID up to it. She paused just long enough to scan the lab, searching for any way she might have disturbed it or left a trace of her presence, then she switched off the lights and stepped into the stairwell’s landing.
As the door shut behind her, Clare tried to slow her breathing. She needed to get back to Dorran. Leaving him alone had been a mistake. As she blindly felt her way towards the stairs, her mind ran through a hundred awful possibilities. Ezra knew the tower. He controlled it. He would know where the weapons were hidden, including the gun he’d used to shoot his best friend. He controlled the lights and radio that would allow them to leave. And he controlled the thanites.
It’s okay. He doesn’t know what you know.
Clare’s feet slipped from step to step, moving as silently as she could. Her heart seemed too loud. She prayed the noise was only in her ears, not echoing through the stairwell like it seemed.
She turned the corner, and her steps quickened as she approached the hall connecting the offices and bedrooms. She just needed to get back to Dorran. No matter how bad the situation, they could get through it as long as they were together.
Clare stumbled to a halt three steps from the hall. The red lights from the exit sign washed across the space. A figure stood in the hallway, silhouetted but familiar. Ezra stared up at Clare. She couldn’t see much of him except for the blood-red light shining off his eyes.
Clare froze. Every atom in her body felt like it was recoiling. Her mouth opened, a reflex more than a choice.
Ezra tilted his head, and the red glow brushed over his cheek and lips. “Where have you been?”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Ezra’s words sent chills running across Clare’s back. They were spoken lightly, with almost a sing-song cadence, but with no genuine friendliness in them.
She felt as though she were standing on the edge of a cliff, fighting to keep her balance. She had to speak but didn’t know if she was physically capable. Ezra watched her, head tilted, red-washed eyes unblinking. She couldn’t see his hands.
There’s a gun somewhere. The gun that killed Peter.
“I… I was hungry.” Her voice wavered. She didn’t know how well he could see her in the stairwell, but she didn’t dare step any closer. The perspiration and shaking lips would give her away.
“Ah.” Ezra’s face tilted in the opposite direction, hiding his expression
again. The silence was so complete that she could hear his breathing, featherlight. There was no trace of kindness in his voice. “But there was food in the office.”
“I…” Her voice threatened to break. She swallowed. “I wanted an apple. I thought there might be some in another floor’s vending machine.”
Ezra didn’t move. Clare wished she could see his face. The silence terrified her, and she rushed on, desperate. “I miss fresh food so much. It’s been weeks since I’d had any. I know I shouldn’t have left my room, but I couldn’t sleep, and I thought… if I could just have one more apple…”
“Did you find one?”
The words were a whisper. Clare’s stomach tightened. Her nerves were prickling, on fire, her subconscious screaming at her to run, that something bad was coming, that she was in a cage with a tiger. “I… I…”
A click made her flinch. One of the bedroom doors opened, and bright white light washed across Ezra. Finally, she could see his face. The harsh lines around his mouth. The way his bronze hair had been combed back. The tightness in his features.
Dorran stood in the open doorway. His expression was unreadable as his dark eyes moved from Ezra to Clare. “Is everything all right?”
“Hah.” Ezra’s pale face twitched, and a crooked smile grew. “Of course it is. Your companion decided to go for a midnight roam. You should keep a better eye on her.”
Dorran held his hand towards Clare. She hurried to him, grateful. Ezra blocked the hallway, and she had to pass so close to him that she could smell the tang of aftershave. She kept her head down, but she felt his eyes following her. She took Dorran’s hand and slid close to him, half hidden behind his arm.
Ezra blinked slowly. His smile hadn’t budged. “Best not to do any more exploring tonight. There are too many rooms with hollows inside. If you want apples, tell me, and I’ll get them for you.”
“Yes,” she managed.
The smile widened a fraction then dropped. “Sleep well.”
Clare tugged on Dorran’s arm, pulling him back into their room. The door clicked closed. Clare released her breath and keeled forward to rest her forehead against Dorran’s shoulder.
He wrapped his arm around her. “Are you all right? What happened?”
Clare took a breath to answer then bit her tongue. She reached around Dorran to turn the room’s lights off. As darkness swallowed them, she looked towards the base of the door. The red emergency light sent a thin band of colour through the gap between the door and the carpet. The line of red was interrupted by a shadow. Ezra stood outside, so close that she could have touched him.
“I went looking for an apple,” Clare managed.
Dorran followed her gaze. She could barely see him in the light coming through the window, but his eyebrows lowered. Clare lifted a finger and pressed it over her lips, and he gave a single nod.
His voice was relaxed and easy. “You shouldn’t explore alone. Stay here with me for the rest of the night.”
Thank you, Dorran. “Yeah.”
They crossed to the bed, and Dorran shook out the sheets. They sat on the edge of the mattress, facing the door. Dorran’s arm circled her to hold her possessively. Clare clung to his hand. Together, they watched the door. Minutes ticked by. Thunder crackled. Clare flinched, and Dorran squeezed her hand, wordlessly reassuring. Then the shadows outside the door shifted as Ezra paced away. Clare waited, straining to listen, but she didn’t hear Ezra’s bedroom door open.
Dorran dipped his head so that he could whisper into her ear. “What happened?”
“That’s not Peter. It’s Ezra.”
The hand holding her twitched. She heard him open his mouth, but he didn’t immediately speak. Clare knew he must want to ask, Are you sure? But he didn’t.
While they were still in Winterbourne, he’d made a promise to never doubt anything she told him again. He hesitated for only a second before asking, “What did you see?”
She briefly told him about the things she’d uncovered in the labs above them: Peter’s body, his ID badge, and the hollow kept alive in the observation room.
“Damn it,” Dorran muttered.
“I should have known he wasn’t being honest,” Clare said. “Remember when he was telling his story, and he mentioned hiding his neighbour’s body? When you called him out on it, he backtracked and tried to say he was just hiding her from sight. I bet he only said that because he realised it put him in a bad light. He would have covered up her death if the stillness hadn’t interrupted him.” Clare shook her head, incredulous. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.”
“You had no reason to doubt him before this. Nor did I.”
Clare tilted her head up to see Dorran’s expression. He was frowning. She wondered if he was thinking along the same lines she was—that he’d been mistrustful of Peter. Dorran had discounted it as jealousy, and Clare had assumed he was just uncomfortable around strangers, but she wondered if his instincts had been picking up on the things she hadn’t noticed.
“He said he spent the morning of the stillness calling news stations,” Clare said. “He claimed he tried to get the word out and tell people to find an airtight place to hide. But I watched the news that morning. So did my sister. No one had any idea what was happening. I bet he never called anyone. He wasn’t focussed on saving people; he was in damage-control mode, which meant keeping quiet. He just edited that part of his story because he knew it would sound bad.”
“Which also explains why he was so unconcerned about how quickly the USB would reach Evandale. People are dying every day, and he pretends to care, but the truth is that he is more concerned with shoring up his own position. It does not matter to him whether the stillness is ended in a week or six months, only that he comes out of it blameless.”
“Did you notice, when he spoke about Ezra, he praised his brilliance and tried to mitigate his faults? Even when he was trying to paint Ezra as another person, he couldn’t stand to speak badly about him.”
Dorran was silent for a moment. His fingers traced over hers, creating soothing patterns. Clare tried to focus on them and not on the red glow seeping under the door.
“He will be dangerous,” Dorran said.
“Yeah. He has a gun. And he used it once before to keep his secret. Dorran…” She swallowed. “I don’t think he believed my excuse. At best, he had doubts. I think he’s paranoid.”
A hint of terse protectiveness entered Dorran’s voice. “I only caught the end of your conversation. Did he say anything to threaten you?”
“No. But I don’t know what he would have said if you hadn’t come out then.” She remembered the intense, almost unnatural look on Ezra’s face. “I think he’s afraid of you.”
“As he well should be,” Dorran muttered. “I will see him thrown through a window before he lays a hand on you.”
Clare chuckled, but then her smile dropped. The extent of their situation was starting to dawn on her. “I don’t think we can leave Helexis Tower without his help. He controls the speakers and the spotlight. There’s no way to get through the hollows without them, and I don’t know how to turn them on.”
“And he will not let us go if he thinks we know his secret.”
The stress was almost unbearable. Clare wanted to move about to expend some of the overflowing energy, but she made herself keep still. Ezra wouldn’t hear their whispers, but he might hear footsteps.
“We can’t leave the room again tonight,” she said. “We can’t give him any more reason to doubt us.”
“Is there any way to regain his trust?”
“Maybe.” Clare chewed on her lip, her mind racing. “He’s paranoid, but he has an ego too. He doesn’t just want to destroy the hollows; he wants to make sure people know it was his doing.”
And for that, he needed witnesses, people who would know him as Peter, watch him work on the cure, and help deliver it to the Evandale research station. That was why he’d sent out the broadcast and why he had been so friendly, so ki
nd, and so eager to please. Clare and Dorran had been intended to carry accounts of him across the country as they journeyed home.
Dorran said, “We are the only people to arrive in the weeks he has been broadcasting.”
“Right. And that’s probably the strongest factor in our favour right now.”
Dorran rested his head next to hers, his eyes still affixed to the door. “What do you propose?”
“We stay here tonight. Tomorrow, we walk into the office as though nothing happened. I’ll try to find a way to talk about other survivors we met on the way here and how we’re hoping to meet up again when we leave. If I can do it in a natural way, it will put the idea in his mind that people will be waiting to hear us talk about him.”
“And imply that word of his cure will spread quickly if he entrusts the USB to us.”
“Exactly. He’ll be more reluctant to kill people who promise to sing his praises to the world. That might be enough of a temptation to outweigh his doubts.”
They shared a look. In the dim light, Clare hoped Dorran wouldn’t notice the fear she was trying to hide behind confidence. The plan was weak, but they didn’t have any alternatives. It was their only card to play.
Too much depended on factors outside their control. How paranoid Ezra truly was. Whether he still had enough morals to shy away from killing innocents. How desperate he felt. Clare tried for a shaky smile, and the smile she received in return was just as unsteady.
Dorran said, “As long as we can get out of the tower, we can get to the river or onto the rural roads, and we should be all right.”
Clare nodded. “We can do it. We can make him think we’re his allies.”
“And until then, we stay close together, yes?”
“Yes.”
He kissed her lightly. “Try to get some rest. I’ll keep guard.”