by Darcy Coates
John’s smile was thin-lipped. “There are a lot of remarkable stories that pass through this safe haven. And a lot of sad ones, as well. If this world recovers, it will be a very different one to what existed before. We do our best for these kids. The ones without families are looked after by our caretakers.” He nodded towards the elderly men and women who watched over the children. “We give them love—and food, and shelter, and safety. It’s the best we can do.”
That’s all any of us can manage. The best we can do.
“Go on,” John said. “Eat. You’ll feel better for it.”
Clare tasted her stew. It was lukewarm, but the centre court was heated, so Clare didn’t mind. It still hurt to swallow, so she spoke to distract herself. “It must be a challenge to manage this place.”
“Oh, it sure is. That’s why we have the council. It’s a constant balance of compromise. The council votes on what’s worth it and what isn’t.” He pointed to the lights above. “The centre court stays lit. There are too many children here who are afraid of the dark, so we keep the lights on for them. But the lights in the hallways and stores have been disconnected to save power.”
“Because you have to keep the outside lights on,” Clare said.
“Exactly. Giant glass doors, glass windows… if too many hollows cross the parking lot, they could break through, no question. The lights keep most of them away, though. The stragglers who are hungry enough to approach are dealt with by the snipers before they can build up.”
“You have the heating on, too.”
John sighed. “Yeah, that was a tough one. Heating uses up more juice than the lights, can you believe? And this thing is two floors, and warmth escapes through the ceiling faster than I’d like. But when the snows set in, it becomes too cold to do anything. Too cold to stand guard, too cold to prepare food. The kids start crying. We start worrying about spreading infections. So the heat stays on constantly, keeping us a few degrees below comfortable, but warm enough that we can function.”
A girl bumped Clare’s chair as she ran past, chasing one of the dogs, her giggles infectious. Clare managed a smile. “I guess the animals are another compromise.”
“Yep. A lot of food goes to those pets. But they’re worth it. No matter what a child’s been through, they can find comfort in an animal. And some of those dogs have proved their mettle on the field. Several kids came to us after their pets defended them from dozens of hollows. They’ll be the last line of protection if our haven is ever breached.”
A sense of dread moved through Clare. Her mind flashed back to Evandale and the panic that had set in as the hollows poured through the open shutter door. She licked her lips. “Is that likely?”
“It’s a risk we’re prepared for. We have a plan. We’ve done drills. All the kids know what to do. If the haven is breached—if the sirens go off—everyone moves into the biggest store, the one down there.” He pointed to the hallway Clare and Dorran had come from. “It has solid shutter doors and food and water stores. If we can’t fight off the breach, we’ll be protected in there while we put out a call for help through the radio network.”
Clever. They would have made allies with the people who stopped here. A call for help would summon more than a few reinforcements.
Dorran spoke. “You said West Hope won’t be able to stand forever. What are you planning to do when you run out of supplies?”
“The fuel is likely to go first. When it does, West Hope won’t stand a chance against the horde—not unless we figure out some kind of new defence—or the hollows are killed, like you say. When that happens, we have buses and cars on standby to move our population somewhere else. Another safe haven. One of the communes. Perhaps another location where the resources surrounding it have been less aggressively scavenged. We won’t know until the days before our departure, when we’ll finally have to make a choice.”
“At least you have a plan,” Clare said.
“Yes. Though I’ll be sad when we leave this place.” John turned his eyes towards the glass panels lining the domed roof. “It’s the only safe haven in this region, and without it, traversing the area will become much riskier. Still. We can only do as much as we can do, and hope for the best.”
The conversation lapsed, and for a moment, Clare was surrounded by the sounds of their scraping spoons and the chattering children nearby. A girl screamed as she was caught in a game of tag. A dog, over-excited, released a gruff, booming bark.
Then Clare returned to a question that had been hanging over her, the mystery of the council. “You said Hex and Alden were promoted because of what they’d done.”
“That’s right.” John leaned back, bowl held in one hand. “We met Alden the day after the stillness happened, when things were still chaos. Patience and I were trying to find somewhere safe to go, but the roads were blocked, and we’d been funnelled onto a major freeway. Not a great place to be, as I’m sure you’ve figured out. It was a mix of cars that had been there when the stillness occurred, and survivors who were trying to get into the city to look for lost family—or simply just trying to get somewhere safe, like us. Something had gone down ahead on the road. Cars were piled up; most were on fire. The people—the ones who were human—were all just trying to get past, even if it meant shoving cars out of the way. There were still hollows lurking about, most of them disoriented and staying away from the fire, but still dangerous enough if you became stuck. And in amongst it all, there was one man who was trying to get into a car.
“Alden?”
“Yep. The car’s roof was crushed. The driver was dead, I could see that straight away, blood sprayed all over the windshield. But there were two children in the back seat. And Alden was reaching through the open window to pull them out. He was the only one who was even trying. But the fires were out of control. The fuel tank of the car next to him exploded, and this ball of flames just engulphed him. It was bad; I think I might have screamed. And he staggered away from the car carrying this little boy in his arms.”
John lifted his own hands, mimicking the motion. “You saw the burns on his face. It was so much worse at the time. His skin—it was melting off of him. I don’t think he could even see properly. But he saw us. We were the only ones who had stopped, who were even paying attention to him. He staggered to us, and when Patience opened the door, he passed the boy to her. Then he turned around and walked straight back into the fire. Back to get the second child.”
“Oh,” Clare moaned.
“I thought, ‘This is the calibre of man I want with us.’ When he came back, we pulled him into the car with us. Bandaged him as best we could. He didn’t speak for two full days. We thought he was going to die, but he pulled through. Even got his vision back—most of it, anyway. And when he came back, the first thing he asked about were the children.”
John lifted a hand and pointed to a boy and a girl sitting in the duck-duck-goose circle. Old, faded burn marks ran along the boy’s neck. “And that’s why he’s on the council. Because he’ll put other people ahead of himself, every time.”
“Wow.” Clare thought of the man who had appeared so mild mannered, almost sleepy. She had a new respect for him. “And what about Hex?”
John chuckled toothily. “Hex is a whole other kettle of fish. You’ll be working with her at the shipyard, and I suspect you’ll find out her deal for yourselves. Speaking of—if you’ve eaten your fill, I’d recommend you get some sleep. It’s a long trip there, and the more energy you have, the better your chances.”
Chapter Fifteen
Morning came faster than Clare would have liked. Early light filtered through the glass ceiling. The thousands of tiles and store windows glittered in a sedated kind of way, as though the shopping centre itself was only just beginning to wake. Voices and laughter came from the food court. Heavy cardboard boxes slammed into the floor as supplies were ferried about. Clare passed a greasy, dust-covered man speaking to Patience and caught a fragment of the conversation: “Been driving sinc
e Tuesday. Will twelve packs of batteries be enough for a night here?”
She and Dorran pushed through the thick plastic drapes to the centre court. They were running on just four hours of sleep, but it was hard not to feel the electric trepidation thrumming through the safe haven.
The sudden barrage of motion and noises was overwhelming. A toddler screamed, hands clasped over a bruised knee as an older couple hurried to help him. Two of the guards, older men wearing rifles slung across their backs, yelled over the commotion while they waited in line for food. A thermos boiled in the background, punctuated by shrieks, clattering crockery, laughter, and scraping chairs.
Tables had been lined up to support three pots of rich soup, and servers doled out portions into Styrofoam cups and distributed buttered bread to the recon teams. It was hearty food, meant to give them energy through the day. Hex flitted amongst them, easily identifiable by her blue hair, her lips moving as she counted heads.
“It’s busier than I expected,” Clare said. There was too much movement to get an accurate number, but she thought there were at least thirty people gathered.
Dorran nodded as he accepted a cup of soup. He still looked tired, and his hair was rumpled and damp from a shower. Clare moved closer to put her arm against his, and he leaned into her.
“Oi, recon teams. Sun’s up; that means we’re moving out,” Hex yelled. “Eat on the road.”
Hex had been borderline abrasive the night before, but her demeanour had changed that morning. She wasn’t short-tempered or snappy, but her movements and voice were infused with intense purpose. Focussed, Clare thought. She’d smeared lines of grey war paint on her cheeks, an effect that would have been comedic in any other situation.
They moved towards what would have been an entrance to the shopping centre before the stillness. Massive glass doors, which would have once been motion-activated, had been boarded over with thick pieces of wood and reinforced with heavy furniture. The group aimed for the fire door at the side, the only part of the entryway that hadn’t been blockaded.
Hex shoved it open and led the way outside. Mist clung to the scene. Rings of bright lights worked to cut through the haze, illuminating the carpark surrounding the safe haven. As Clare followed the group along a pedestrian crossing, she tried to get a proper look at the area. More than sixty vehicles were parked in a cluster, grouped in a way to avoid providing shelter to any hollows that wanted to pass through the lights. Near the back of the cluster, she saw the bus she and Dorran had arrived in. It stood above the others like a hulking monster.
Straight ahead, two vehicles waited: a school bus and a removalist’s truck. A driver already waited at the wheel of the truck. Hex waited outside while the crew boarded the bus. Clare and Dorran were last to enter, and it was impossible not to feel self-conscious as they faced the rows of occupant.
The bus was nearly full. Most of the passengers—a mix of men and women, most young and fit—were engaged in quiet discussions. Clare, clutching her cup of soup, moved along the aisle until she found two empty seats, thankfully together. She gave Dorran the window seat then tucked herself in beside him.
Hex stood at the front of the bus, counting the occupants. A frown descended, and she leaned back out of the bus’s doors, hollering, “Marc!”
A moment later, a thin man stepped onto the bus. His skin was tanned until it was almost bronze, but his hair and eyebrows were so strikingly blond that, in the glow from the overhead lights, they almost looked white. He slipped into the nearest empty seat, holding a cup in one hand, and the bus’s doors clattered closed.
“That’s everyone. Let’s go.” Hex remained standing at the head of the bus, holding on to one of the ceiling straps as the vehicle lurched into motion. A rumbling noise started behind them as the truck came to life. The bus’s occupants fell silent.
Clare leaned across Dorran to see outside. Mist swirled around them as the bus coasted through the parking lot. The illumination strengthened and waned as they passed under each lamp, then they rocked over a speed bump and cruised out of the shopping centre’s boundary.
The bus’s headlamps turned on as the mall’s lights faded behind them. Something hit the bus’s side, not far from where Clare and Dorran sat. Then the vehicle rocked as another two impacts collided with the opposite side. Clare, her throat tight, found Dorran’s hand. He squeezed it. A hollow one screamed. After another impact, and then another, the bus picked up speed, and the hissing, chattering noises faded into the distance.
The bus turned onto a main road. Debris and cars had been shovelled out of the path, piled up in gutters and sidewalks. The shopping mall was surrounded by smaller businesses: accountants, takeaway stores, and hairdressers. Within a few minutes, they gave way to residential lots. The road curved gently, and the driver navigated it faster than Clare would have felt comfortable with. Evidently, he knew the route well.
“All right,” Hex said, swaying lightly with each bump the bus traversed. “We have a five-hour drive ahead of us. So… get comfortable. I’ll go over the location and plan in a moment. But first, we have some new faces with us. Dorran and Kent are new additions to our defensive team. Clare will be joining the movers. Keep an eye on them, make sure they’re not getting overwhelmed. You all remember what your first times were like. And Marc”—she indicated to the pale-haired man near the bus’s front—“is our guide. He gave us the tip about the shipping yard and knows it pretty well since he used to work there. He won’t be joining us for the raid, but he’ll give us directions on where to go.”
Marc drained the last of the soup from his cup, sullen eyes scanning the crowd. He didn’t look too enthused about going back to his old place of business. Clare wondered if he dreaded what he might find there. His old co-workers, maybe some of them friends, horrifically transformed…
“We know the shipping container we’re after,” Hex continued. “It’s dark blue and fairly old, so the paint might be discoloured. Its identification number ends in 4148, and there’s a logo on the side that looks like this.”
She held up a sheet of paper with a hand-drawn image of a wave-like design inside a circle. She kept the paper still, waiting until every person on the bus had examined it, then re-folded the sheet and fit it back inside her pocket.
“Marc says this was a bi-monthly delivery. It should have been unloaded from the ship the day before the stillness hit, and usually spent a couple of days in the loading dock before a truck picked it up. We know the area it’s likely to be in, but not its exact location. So there might be a bit of hunting involved.”
Clare lifted her cup and swallowed some of the stew, trying to be discreet while all eyes were fixed on Hex. The bus’s wheels shuddered as it took a corner a little too fast, but Hex seemed to be expecting it and held her composure as the bus rocked around her. Clare wondered how often she had been on missions like this. She was so young that she looked like a child playing at war, but she spoke with conviction.
“We have our two snipers, Bill and Charlene. As soon as we arrive, our first action is to get them into some kind of high position that the hollows will struggle to reach. Maybe on top of a shipping container. Hopefully we won’t need them, but if we do, they’ll provide coverage from the sky. Bill was in the army, and Charlene hunted deer for a living, so they’re pretty damn good at what they do. But, as you know, when you make a noise, every hollow that can hear it will come to check it out. The louder the noise, the greater the area you draw them from. A gunshot will bring in everyone in a two-kilometre radius. Which, obviously, is not what we want to happen. They’ll be a last resort only.”
Tyres screeched as the bus slowed to navigate an obstacle. Two more heavy thuds came from the left-hand side as hollows threw themselves at the vehicle. Clare flinched, but Hex barely paid attention to them as the bus picked up speed again.
“We have our two teams: the movers and the guards. You might be tempted to help out someone on the other team if you think they’re having a tough time,
but trust me, everything goes more smoothly if you focus on your own job. Movers: stick in a tight group. You’ll be following me. We’ll go through the shipping yard in some kind of logical pattern as we look for our container. Once we find it, we’ll break it open, check it has what we need, then your job is to move as much back to the truck as quickly as you can. The fuel should be stored in barrels, and they’ll be heavy, so you might want to roll them. Hold your formation at all costs. If someone falls behind, we wait for them to catch up. Don’t rush ahead, no matter how bold you’re feeling. Remember: anyone on the fringe is going to be picked off first.”
Tightly packed townhouses had given way to single-story residential homes. Speckled sunbeams flitted through the old trees, painting stripes across the asphalt and bricks. Resentful eyes watched them from the shadows, but the hollows seemed less willing to attack. The bus began to slow to a more moderate speed.
Hex continued, “Guards, you’ll do whatever it takes to keep the movers safe. They’ll have weapons, but remember, most of them aren’t fighters. You’ll form a circle around the movers. Keep an even gap between yourselves, avoid the temptation to cluster, go at the movers’ pace—no matter how slow it is—and don’t ever let your guard down.”
Dorran sat still, gripping his empty cup, intent as he listened to his instructions.
“If you notice a mover having trouble with their load, don’t try to help them. Hollows will see an exposed back and jump you, and then no one has a good day. Let the movers do their thing while you focus on yours: keeping them safe. Hollows can come from above, not just the sides, so stay alert.”
Hex took a deep breath then let it out slowly. “We’re very likely to be swarmed at some point. That’s when the hollows just pour out of every nook like cockroaches in a feeding frenzy. When that happens, I’ll yell defend. That’s your cue to drop everything and clump together. Movers, bundle in close to each other. Guards, tighten your circle around them. You should be standing shoulder to shoulder. Face outwards, hold your position, and slash at anything that comes near. It’s going to be hell. You’ll feel like you’re being smothered. Like the hollows will never end and you’ll be crushed under the weight of them. But you must hold your position, because it won’t last forever. Eventually, they’ll run out, and you won’t have anything left to stab at, and you can pick yourselves up and keep moving.”
