by Darcy Coates
He must have shared some of her misgivings. When he opened the door, it was an inch at a time, with his weapon held at the ready. As the metal swung open, Clare saw the candle at the opposite side of the room. It acted as a beacon, its flame spluttering in the air that travelled through the hallway. Dorran hesitated inside the doorway for a moment, running his eyes from the wine cellar to the basement door. He finally nodded for Clare to follow him out and shut the door behind them.
Instead of turning back to the main part of the house, Dorran led her deeper into the stone chamber and towards a nook beside the garden. Shelves full of equipment lined the walls. He stepped beside them and sorted through the knickknacks until he came up with a padlock. They returned to the garden doors, and Dorran bolted it shut, using the ring of keys from the foyer to lock it.
“Not a perfect defence, but it will have to do.” He offered the key ring to Clare, and she tucked it into her gown’s pocket. “Those were the housekeeper’s. They can get into most rooms. I don’t know if those creatures are smart enough to use keys, but it would be wise to keep them with us regardless.”
They stayed close to each other as they reentered the hallway. Dorran moved into the kitchen, turning on the lights as soon as he opened the door.
The visit was brief. Dorran found a crate under one of the benches and funnelled supplies into it with quick precision—plates, cutlery, the jars of sprouts that hadn’t already been eaten, and most of the food from the pantry. He lifted the crate and led her towards their room.
Once they were on the stairs, they picked up the pace. Dorran was clearly battling with the idea of using light to ward off the creatures and the need to conserve precious fuel. He turned out lights whenever they left an area but always waited until the last possible moment.
Once they reached the third-floor landing, they had a straight run to their room. Dorran hit the switch beside the stairs. The bulb directly above them flickered on, but that was the only one that did. Dorran made a soft noise in the back of his throat and gently nudged Clare behind himself.
“That’s not a bad fuse, is it?” Clare asked.
“No.”
The closest light washed over them and lit the highest few stairs. Its sphere of influence ended just meters ahead of them. The remainder of the hallway was swallowed by shadow, with a sliver of light coming from under the curtain covering the window at the end of the hall. Between its refracted light and the traces echoing from the first bulb, Clare could pick out the corners where the cross paths intersected. Glittering fragments of broken lightbulbs were scattered over the carpet.
“Do you want to keep going?” Dorran asked. “Or would you feel safer turning back?”
Clare bit her lip. The door to their room was halfway along the passageway, before the intersection. “You know the house better than I do. What do you think?”
He took a slow breath. “My preference would be to continue. The room is still more easily protected than the dining room or kitchen. But I do not want to place you somewhere you will not feel safe.”
“Let’s go on, then. I’ll feel as safe there as anywhere.” As long as you don’t leave me alone.
Dorran shifted his crate and held it under one arm. Then he adjusted the fire poker in the other hand and began moving again.
A floorboard groaned as they passed over it. Clare alternated her attention between the closed bedroom door and the end of the hallway. The sliver of light trembled as the curtains moved. Clare tried to tell herself it was just an air current, nothing more.
Dorran pulled up short, and Clare nearly walked into him. She bent forward, around his arm, trying to see why they had stopped. He stared towards the intersection. Dim light ran over the hallway’s corners. One of the edges was straight. The other was ragged.
Clare’s heart missed a beat. She could just barely make out the edge of one long, limp arm. The stranger was horrifically tall. Its head nearly grazed the ceiling. A ringlet of stringy hair trembled as it breathed.
Dorran flexed his grip on the metal poker and took a step forward. As he did, the figure leaned farther around the corner, its elongated arm swinging.
It gave Clare the impression of a predatory animal. Its hunger drove it forwards while fear anchored it. As Clare and Dorran drew closer, it began to lose restraint over its impulses to hunt.
The door was only ten paces away. Dorran spoke in a whisper. “We will run for the bedroom. If we cannot make it, return downstairs instead.”
She nodded. He reached into the crate then moved forwards in three long paces.
The creature reacted instantly, lurching around the corner. Gangly arms swung aimlessly, but its legs were capable of phenomenally long strides that ate up the distance between them.
Dorran pulled the torch from the crate and let the box drop. It created a deafening bang as it hit the floor. The creature paused midstride. Dorran pressed the switch and lifted the torch in one motion. Harsh light burst down the hallway.
The creature came into sharp relief. It filled the passageway, its head grazing the ceiling. Its face was stretched painfully, an effect emphasised by its slack jaw. The thin, curved neck seemed wrong, as though it had been an accident to stick it between the jutting collarbones. Its eyes were round and shocked. It looked confused. The arms swung like giant pendulums as their momentum went unchecked.
“Go,” Dorran called.
Clare ran for the door. The creature had hesitated in the face of the light. It took a shuffling step forward, massive feet scraping over the carpet, but its eyes stayed fixed on the torch. Dorran followed Clare, holding the torch at arm’s length and directing it at the monster’s uncomprehending face.
Clare reached the door and wrenched it open. She threw her armful of necessities through, praying the blankets would buffer the radio enough to keep it safe, then she reached back out to grab the crate of food. As she dragged it inside, she called, “Okay!”
Dorran kept the torch up as he sidestepped into the room. He slammed the door, turned the lock, then stepped back. With one hand resting on the wood, he listened. The hallway outside was silent, almost quiet enough to make Clare believe they were alone.
But she only had to look at Dorran’s expression to know she hadn’t imagined the monster. Dorran’s eyes were tight, and his jaw was tense. He stepped away from the door, crossed to the fireplace, planted his hands on the couch, and began to push. Clare guessed what he was doing. She dragged the crate out of the way then joined him, and the couch’s feet scraped across the carpet as they pushed it across the room. It thudded to a stop as it hit the door, barricading it.
Clare, her pulse galloping, sank onto the seat. Dorran slid down beside her and ran his hand over his forehead. He looked ashen.
“She was hungry,” Clare said. She wrapped her arms around her chest and rocked gently. “She was frightened of us, but she was starving.”
Dorran rested his hand on her shoulder. A moment later, chills ran through Clare as something brittle scraped against the other side of the door. The sound started high then moved lower, digging into any crevice it could find.
Dorran’s hand tightened over Clare’s shoulder. The creature kept clawing, digging around every seam and crack. Clare held her breath. A moment passed, then the noise faded, replaced with heavy, thumping footsteps moving back down the hall.
Chapter Thirty-One
Dorran exhaled and let his eyes fall closed. He looked exhausted. Clare didn’t feel much better. The bedroom had been their choice, and it was supposed to be their safe haven. But with the creature prowling the hallways, it felt closer to a prison.
Then Dorran’s head snapped up. A look of alarm flashed over his features, and before Clare could ask what was wrong, he darted away. Clare rose onto aching feet to follow him as he moved into the bathroom. As she entered, she saw the second door in the room’s opposite wall, and her stomach flipped. She’d forgotten the bathroom connected them to the hallway through the second bedroom.
Clare tried not to think about what they would do if it came to that.
“Would you start the fire, please?” Dorran’s smile was tired but resolute. He stepped past Clare and back into their room. “I will make fully certain that we are alone.”
Clare lowered herself to the rug in front of the hearth. She kept one eye on Dorran as he searched the room, opening wardrobes and checking under the bed. She’d managed to get the kindling lit by the time he returned to her. He carried their crate of supplies and placed it on the edge of the hearth before sitting at her side.
“We are alone as best as I can tell.” He flexed his shoulders and winced. “But if you ever feel that we are not—if you hear something or sense something—please tell me. I will not doubt you again.”
She nodded and poked more sticks on top of the little flaming pile. Dorran fished supplies out of the crate and used a knife to cut through the top of a tin of soup. Once the fire was large enough, he set the pot at the edge of the flames to heat, bending forwards to stir it every few seconds. They didn’t try to talk. Clare was wrapped up in her own thoughts, and she knew Dorran was as well.
Whatever had changed the people in the forest had been spreading across the world. That had been two weeks ago. The last experience Clare had with the outside world had been on the day of the crash when the helicopter passed overhead and disturbed the monsters gathered around her car. Since then, the sky had been bare. No planes. No drones. Nothing that could hint at a military operation. That made it a challenge not to assume the worst.
Marnie was probably gone, either killed by the creatures or swallowed by the quiet zone. That realisation hurt like a fist slamming into Clare’s stomach, and the ache was excruciating. Clare had been responsible for picking up Marnie. Beth had called their aunt to make sure she knew Clare was on the way. She would have waited—probably by the front door, with her luggage at her feet, wearing her favourite floral shirt and knit cardigan—for a rescue that would never come.
The pain was almost unbearable. Clare choked on it.
A second later, Dorran’s arms were around her, and he pulled her against his chest. “Here,” he murmured as he stroked her hair. “I have you. Let it out.”
Burning-hot tears came like a wave. Dorran held her and brushed his fingers over her hair as she gasped and shook.
Marnie had deserved better. Beth deserved better as well. She, at least, had a better chance of survival. Her bunker was reinforced and stocked with food. As long as she’d made it there on time, as long as she’d locked the door as soon as she saw the storm clouds building on the horizon, she might be safe. But her existence couldn’t be a happy one. She would think Clare was dead. The last time they’d spoken, right before the call dropped, she’d been yelling at Clare to turn back. She must have been watching the news reports and seen a quiet zone appear over the road between them. She’d tried to save Clare.
If Beth was still out there, she would have spent the past two weeks alone in her bunker, grieving and terrified. Clare couldn’t stand to think of her like that or of how much longer the state might continue. She pulled out of Dorran’s arms and stumbled across the room to find the radio amongst the bedding. Dorran let her go, but he watched her closely. She brought the radio back to the fire and wiped tears off her cheeks as she turned it on. The crackling noise floated around them as she adjusted the signal to pick up Beth’s frequency. There was only white noise.
Dorran silently divided the soup into bowls while Clare fiddled with the radio’s settings. He placed a bowl at her side but didn’t try to interrupt her. She continued turning the dial, trying to find anything except incessant static.
There has to be someone else out there. We survived. We can’t be the only ones. Please, please, let us not be the only ones.
As she scrolled through the frequencies, something organic rose out of the static. Dorran took a sharp breath and moved closer as Clare rewound the dial. She held the radio between them and pushed the volume up as they tried to pick out the words. It was a man’s voice, deep and rough, buried inside the never-ending white noise. Clare had to strain to make out the words.
“… and now my gasket’s blown, so I’m scavenging through cars, trying to find one that will fit.”
Silence stretched for a moment. Clare tugged on Dorran’s sleeve. “He’s talking to someone else, but we can only hear his side.”
“Ah, yeah, I’ll give that a shot. Gotta wait ’til morning. Hollow ones are everywhere.” After another stretch of silence, he said, “Hell if I know. If I can get to Clydesdale, I might try to make a permanent refuge. Or I might keep moving. Depends on how occupied it is. They’re starting to rove, though, so even the middle-of-nowhere places aren’t so safe anymore.”
Clare and Dorran exchanged a look. The audio was nearly impossible to make out through the static, but Clare guessed hollow ones referred to the infected creatures.
The man exhaled a long, drawn-out swear word. “Ain’t seen a dead one yet that wasn’t deliberately killed. If they can die from sickness or hunger, they’re taking their sweet-ass time about it.” A short pause. “I don’t buy that. It’s a growth stimulant, one that affects the bones. A disease won’t do this.”
Clare pressed the volume a fraction higher. The man’s voice became less and less clear as he and his companion delved into an argument, both trying to talk over the other. “Nah… nah… it’s man—I said it’s man-made. Get your hippy-ass theories out of here. How’s a fungus doing this? Nah, listen. Something like this—it’s chemicals. Government bombing. Hell if I know. Population control gone wrong? But I’m telling you, this ain’t no virus.”
The silence lasted a very long time. Clare desperately wished she could hear the other side of the conversation, but she didn’t dare risk losing her current feed looking for it. Then the man exhaled a deep, weary sigh.
“Whatever. I’m heading in for the night. Got a lot of driving to do in the morning if I can get a new gasket. Talk tomorrow, same time, assuming we’re not dead?” His laughter was raucous. “All right. All right. Be safe, buddy.”
Clare lowered the volume as static replaced the voice. She sat back on her heels and bit her lip. “We’re not alone.”
“No,” Dorran said. “But it doesn’t sound good.”
Clare knew the location the man had talked about—Clydesdale. The tiny village was a six-hour drive from her home. He’d made it sound like the place would be unoccupied by humans. Like everywhere would be unoccupied. That didn’t bode well for the human population. She was suddenly very, very grateful for having found Winterbourne Hall. The building might not be the cosiest or the most inviting she’d ever visited. But it was safe… relatively speaking. It was safe enough that she and Dorran had survived before they even knew what kind of threat they were facing.
She wound the radio back to Bethany’s frequency and waited, holding her breath, for any noises coming through. If Beth was still alive and still had her radio, she wasn’t using it. Clare turned down the volume and placed the box on the ground beside the fireplace, where she could continue to listen for noises, then pulled her knees up under her chin.
“Eat,” Dorran murmured. “You’ll feel better with food.”
She knew she should be grateful for what she had. A home. Company. Food. Warmth. They were all luxuries she might otherwise have had to live without. But as she picked up the bowl and stirred the medley of vegetables inside, her stomach revolted against the idea of eating. She put it back down. “What are we going to do?”
“I have been considering the
same question.” His expression was strained as he stared into the fire. “It would not be safe to leave Winterbourne.”
“No,” she agreed.
“And if we did, where would we go? Until the world is returned to some kind of order… until there is a safe haven that offers better chances of survival than Winterbourne…”
“We’re better off staying here.” Clare ran her hands through her hair. “Yeah. At least we have the garden and water.” She blinked as she watched the crackling fire. Her throat still ached from crying. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally, but her mind wouldn’t let her rest.
Dorran’s dark eyes lingered on her, then he turned to the crate of supplies and fished out the doctor’s medical equipment. Dorran sorted through the bottles, pulled out a roll of bandages, then held out his hand. “Let me see your wrist.”
“It’s not so bad.” She tugged the sleeve over it again. “You’re tired. You must be ready to drop.”
“Hah.” He shuffled closer, worked his fingers under her hand, then gently coaxed it out from where she cradled it against her body. “I won’t rest easily if you’re in pain. Let me fix it first.”
He eased the sleeve back and hissed as he saw the red skin. He tilted it, examining it, then placed it back into Clare’s lap as he went to fetch water from the bathroom. As he set it to boil over the fire, he laid out his supplies on a clean towel. “Does it hurt?”
“Not much.” That was true. The torn skin still burnt whenever Clare moved it or touched it, but otherwise, it had dulled to a steady ache.
Dorran still gave her two of the pain tablets then adjusted his position so that Clare could lean her head against his shoulder as he worked. He dipped a cloth into the boiled water and touched it, very gently, to the edge of the cuts.
“We cannot remain locked in this room forever.” His warm breath ghosted across her temple as he focussed on his work. “Somehow, we will have to either kill the creatures or drive them out of the house.”