by Darcy Coates
Dorran rose gracefully and encircled one arm around Clare’s waist. “I think I know what you’re thinking.”
They discussed it while brushing their teeth, approaching at the issue from every angle and making sure they weren’t about to do something they might regret. By the time they found John in the meeting room, Dorran held a small slip of paper in his hand. He passed it to John.
“If West Hope needs a new base to settle in, this is an option.” Dorran cleared his throat while John examined the directions to Winterbourne. “The building is large enough for everyone currently staying here. It has a garden that will need to be expanded to handle a larger load, but if you bring food with you, that will buy us time to increase production. It is largely fortified against hollows and has an internal heating system. It is a day’s travel away. Currently, only Clare and I will be staying there, but if you become desperate, it is an option.”
John’s grey mane of hair rustled as he shook his head. His lower lip poked out, a thoughtful expression, and he sounded touched as he said, “I appreciate this. I really do.”
Dorran dipped his head. “And, please, one final thing. Keep that private. Don’t give the directions to anyone else. It is only for you and the people at West Hope if your situation becomes dire.”
“Understood.” John tucked the paper into his breast pocket. “You take care out there, both of you. Safe driving.”
They had their last meal at West Hope before stepping outside. The ubiquitous fog was still present, but the day was warmer and brighter than normal, and several of the parking lot lights had been shut off as they were no longer needed. The air tasted crisp and fresh, and Clare stretched her back, appreciating the touch of sun on her skin.
Their supplies had been set aside for them in a loading bay. Two men helped Dorran and Clare cart it to their bus: cartons of fuel, boxes of food, a new first aid kit, and a radio. Clare refuelled the bus while their supplies were stacked inside, and by the time she stepped back and realised there was nothing else to be done, she’d already started to miss West Hope. It was rougher than Evandale had been, with fewer comforts—a frontier settlement that welcomed strangers with a healthy dose of caution. But even that was something special in the silent world. There weren’t many survivors who would take strangers into their midst at all, let alone share their food and safety with anyone who passed by. In the silent world, that translated to an awful lot of kindness.
“Ready?” Dorran stood in the bus’s front step, one hand braced on the door, watching Clare as she watched West Hope. She nodded. As she moved to climb into the vehicle, a call halted her.
“Hey!” Hex’s voice was unmistakable. Her boots pounded over the asphalt. Her blue hair flashing in the light, she looked oddly different without the face paint, but she’d ringed her eyes in black liner to compensate. She slowed to a trot as she neared them. “Don’t think you’re leaving without saying goodbye.”
Clare laughed. “Sorry. I asked John, but you were busy with the aftermath of the raid and probably exhausted, as well—”
“Damn straight. But I wanted to thank you.” She lifted her chin to fix them both with a piercing stare. “I chewed you out, Clare, for breaking formation—which I’m not forgiving, by the way—but then you did us a real solid by stopping Marc.”
Clare shrugged, feeling awkward. “Anyone else would have done the same.”
“Nah. Not everyone.” Hex tilted her head. “There’s one other reason I wanted to catch you before you left. You’ve been inside the witch’s compound. Not many people can say the same. I put it to the council again, and as expected, they rejected my proposal to take down the cult. But, well, I earned some fuel with last night’s raid, and me and a few friends were talking about going for a drive. And I wanted to make sure we knew exactly what the compound looked like, so that we can avoid it if we run into it on accident.”
“Oh,” Clare said as realisation drew over her. She bit her lip. “Do you have a pen and paper?”
The three of them huddled around the bus, a piece of paper held against the plyboard covers as Clare and Dorran drew Mother Gum’s compound from memory.
“As far as I can tell, she lives in this house,” Clare said, tapping on a box shape. “But the rest of her followers seem to gather in a larger hall here. They kept the stolen cars in a cluster here.”
Hex worked her jaw. “Were there any other ways in or out of the compound?”
“There might be, but we only saw the main gate.”
“Huh. Hypothetically, if someone mistakenly threw some flaming bottles of fuel over the wall, what do you think their chances would be of catching those buildings on fire?”
Clare and Dorran raised their eyebrows at each other. “Pretty high,” Clare said. “The buildings were made of wood, and there was a lot of flammable debris around.”
“Well, let’s hope that doesn’t happen.” Hex took the paper, folded it, and tucked it into her pocket. “It would be a shame to make those nice folks run out of their establishment, especially if there was someone waiting outside to jam their gate open. There’d be no way to protect against the hollows then.”
“Be careful,” Dorran said. “She has a lot of followers.”
Hex waved him away. “I’m not actually planning to go there. This is all hypothetical, remember? Now, you two better scram, unless you want to pay for an extra night.”
“All right.” Clare chuckled. “Good luck, Hex.”
Hex raised a hand in goodbye as she turned back to West Hope’s reinforced glass doors. “Have a safe trip, you two. And hit me up if you’re in the mood for another raid. I can always do with more guards.”
Clare climbed into the bus. The door slid closed behind her, a gentle mechanical noise that blocked out the distant sounds emanating from the shopping centre. Dorran fit the key into the ignition and waited for her nod before starting the engine.
Loose gravel crunched under the wheels. Their wheels. They had fought hard for the right to keep their bus and their agency, and despite the bruises forming across Clare’s body, she didn’t regret it.
They slipped through a gap in West Hope’s temporary fence. The hollows outside the boundary attacked them just like they had attacked the convoy the day before, slamming fists onto the doors and scrabbling at the walls, but Dorran just increased their speed until they were weaving through the streets that led out of the town. West Hope’s lights took a long time to disappear, fading gradually until the buildings blocked them from sight. Clare turned her eyes forward, towards Winterbourne.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Clare held the map in her lap as she pored over the pages. “As long as there are no obstacles, we should reach home just before sundown.”
“That’s good news.” Dorran adjusted the visor to keep the sun out of his eyes. “Home isn’t quite safe, but it still feels more secure than the road.”
“Exactly. Though, it’s been so long since we left Winterbourne that I’ve started to forget what it looks like.”
“Imagine something between a vampire’s palace and a dungeon,” Dorran said, pulling laughter from Clare.
“It will be nice to build towards something, though.” Securing the hallways, reviving the garden, and turning Winterbourne into their own personal fortress—it would take work, probably more than Clare felt prepared for, but she knew it would be rewarding. She’d spent the previous weeks relying on others’ protection. Beth’s bus, Evandale’s bunker, West Hope’s fortifications. It would feel good to have something of her own.
“We should try to find some food before we arrive at Winterbourne.” Dorran’s eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror, which was angled to see the bus’s insides. They had stacked their purchased food in the overhead baskets. It seemed horribly scant compared to the stores Beth had accumulated, but it would be enough for at least a few days. Clare knew what he meant, though. Once they were at Winterbourne, they would need long-life food to last them until they could get the garden pro
ducing again.
“I know the area,” Clare said. “The towns around here are all small. They shouldn’t be overrun like the cities were, but they still won’t be empty.”
“Do you have any ideas?”
Clare chewed on the corner of her thumbnail. Her house was only a few hours away. There were several small shopping malls nearby, but those would have been cleared out by scavengers already. Their best chance probably lay in raiding houses, as she and Beth had. “Maybe… maybe… Holgate? It has wide streets.”
“That sounds good,” Dorran said. “Tell me where to go.”
“Follow this road for a while.” Clare pulled one leg up underneath herself as the bus rattled over a pothole. “Holgate is one of the poshest suburbs around here. It’s funny; I used to be grateful I didn’t live there. All of those big houses with their manicured gardens, every one trying their hardest to conform, to be as expensive as possible without being garishly expensive.”
Dorran chuckled. “I can’t imagine you living somewhere like that.”
“No. I lived in a cheap area, where none of the buildings matched and people grew gardens in their front yards.” She grinned. “And I loved it. There was such a sense of community. Twice a year, the family a few houses down from me would have a street party. They would bring their barbeque out and cook sausages for everyone who stopped by. The people across the road brought their home-brewed ginger ale. I loved it.”
Her smile fell. It made her uncomfortable to realise that she would never attend another one of those street parties… or to think about what had likely happened to her neighbours.
Dorran reached across the aisle and squeezed her hand. “Community will be important in the new world. They will need people like you, who value it.”
Her throat didn’t want to work, so she squeezed back to show her gratitude.
They were leaving the bare, rural roads and nearing the suburbs. Houses became more common. Abandoned cars littered the area, though most blockages had been shoved out of the way by previous travellers. Large oaks flanked the roads as the small farmhouses were replaced with millionaires’ estates. Once, the fields around them would have held thoroughbred horses, though the stillness had emptied them and let them become choked with weeds.
Clare didn’t suggest stopping at any of the rural buildings. Being on the outskirts of suburbs meant they were more likely to have been looted, and every stop increased their risk. They would have more luck if they travelled to where the houses were built more closely together. She had one very specific street in mind. One of its sides held a row of houses. The other let onto a field belonging to a private school. She hoped the stretch of clear land would be safer than stopping somewhere wholly surrounded by houses.
“Did you have a plan for how we should get our supplies?” Clare was growing fidgety as they approached Holgate. Unlike the time when Beth had stopped to search for a map, there was no quiet space for them to leave their bus while they walked to town. The hollows would hear their engine. “Should we go slow and cautious or fast?”
“Fast, I think.” Dorran’s eyes had darkened as he scanned the cross streets they passed. “The hollows tend to be wary around anything they don’t understand. Plus, the sun is out, which will make them reclusive. I say we pick a house, take what we can in the span of a minute, and leave before the creatures grow bold enough to approach.”
“Okay.” The anxiety was churning her insides. “We don’t have the masks this time.”
“No. That will be a risk. That’s why I want you in the bus, watching the street. Hit the horn if you see anything approaching the house.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why do all of your plans involve me staying behind?”
“Because they’re good plans.” His smile was wolfish.
“All right, counter-argument. We stay together, like we promised, and we clear out the cupboards in half the time.”
“Tempting, but I’ll have to insist on the original plan. It won’t take me more than sixty seconds to fill a backpack and get out. I need you in the bus, keeping watch, and ready to drive if anything sneaks up on us.”
“What if there are hollows inside the house?”
“Then I’ll behead them and keep moving.”
Clare bit her lip, trying to keep her frustration in check. “What if that doesn’t work? What if they disarm you, and you’re stuck in there?”
“If I’m not back in two minutes, you can come after me.”
She didn’t like it, but Dorran was right. They would both be safer with someone standing guard. And between the two of them, Dorran possessed the bulk of the muscles—which meant he could break in more easily and carry more out.
“One minute,” Clare conceded. “And you’ll be careful.”
“Excessively.” Dorran turned the wheel, carrying them onto the sprawling street edged by the school grounds on one side.
It was a good location to attempt a raid. Only a few vehicles lined the road, and the trees were sparse. The houses were clustered a little too close together for Clare’s liking, but the wide road left plenty of room for a quick escape.
Clare grabbed the backpack from under her seat and held it out for Dorran. “Be safe. I love you.”
“One minute,” he promised. He swung the wheel sharply, pointing the bus’s front towards the house he intended to break into, and turned on the high beams. Circles of harsh light splashed over the wooden door. When it was open, the light would flood the entryway, discouraging any denizens that lurked inside.
He left the motor running, slung the backpack over one shoulder, and bounded out of the bus’s door. Clare slid into the driver’s seat and rested one hand over the wheel, ready to press on the horn if she saw anything approaching. Dorran was already at the front door. He smashed it open and disappeared inside.
Clare ran her attention from the houses to the banks of cars lining the street. One, in the distance, still held a hollow inside of it. The woman’s skull had been broken like a ripe melon that had been dropped. She faced Clare, beating her smashed face against the gore-smudged windows. Clare swallowed thickly and kept her eyes moving.
A sedan was parked not far down the road. It had stopped at an angle, the front facing the curb, the rear jutting into the street.
I know that car.
Her mouth dried. She’d seen it twice. Once, they’d passed it on the road. But the second, more vivid memory came from when the driver pulled up beside their bus and risked his safety to help Clare.
His name had been Owen. He’d had stubble coating his face and two young daughters in the back of the sedan. The car was unforgettable. A fresh, curved mark scarred the hood.
Clare’s heart felt ready to burst. From her angle, she couldn’t see inside the tinted windows, but the vehicle was uncomfortably still.
You have a job to do. Focus!
She forced her eyes away from the sedan. Figures crept through the gaps between nearby houses, not yet bold enough to step into the light, but closer than Clare would have liked. She couldn’t tell how many seconds had passed. It felt like an eternity. More than a minute, at least, and Dorran still hadn’t returned. Bitter fear coated her tongue. She felt for the tire iron stored above the driver’s seat, still not moving her eyes from the open door illuminated by the bus’s beams.
He’s been gone for too long. Something happened. He’s hurt. He needs me—
She was out of the bus, her breathing strained and her paces long as she raced for the house. There was no time to scope out the situation when seconds could make the difference between life and death. She ran through the open door.
Dorran gasped as she slammed into him. He reflexively grabbed for her arm, but they were both off-balance, and staggered into the closest wall.
Clare, breathless, stared at him. “You’re okay?”
“Perfectly. This house is empty.” He raised his hand, where an over-laden backpack was suspended. “And I found supplies.”
“Don’t
scare me like that. You promised you’d only be a minute.”
An unsteady smile broke through his shock. “I am only five seconds late.”
Is that all? Clare dropped her head, relief making her legs weak.
Dorran put his spare arm around her shoulders as he led her back outside. Eyes flashed in the low light. They were growing closer, but the path to the bus was clear. Clare broke into a jog to match Dorran’s pace but stopped several steps from the open bus door.
“Clare?”
Her eyes were fixed on the sedan. It was hard to tell through the gloom, but she thought she saw a shiver of motion inside.
Dorran hesitated, one foot on the bus’s step, eyebrows low with concern. “Clare, what’s wrong?”
“Wait in the bus. I’ll only be a second.” She had to see. She had to be sure.
The car seemed painfully quiet. Its lights were dead and its engine silent, just as void and lonely as the rest of the vehicles lining the street.
She moved towards it, her breath shallow and her heart fast. The back tyre had been wrecked, the rubber halfway torn off. Something white was still embedded in the material. A tooth, Clare thought. The car had been driven off the road. Or perhaps it had been at a stop when the occupants were attacked, Owen risking the houses just like Dorran had, searching for supplies.
A scattering of small leaves lay across the car’s roof. They twitched in the wind, threatening to tumble off. Heavier twigs lay between them. The car had been dormant for at least a day or two.
Clare’s mouth was dry. She was nearly at the driver’s window. One of the doors was bent. It had been pulled closed, but the metal around the window was twisted by unforgiving hands, leaving a gap.
