by Darcy Coates
“Well, truth be told, I was looking for you. Unofficially. Have been for a couple of weeks now.” Johann tilted his head back to admire Winterbourne. “Didn’t expect your home to be this bloody big. What, are you rich or something?”
“Ah.” Dorran shrugged, faintly embarrassed. “I… suppose I was. Not that it matters much now.”
“No, I guess not, not now.” Johann brushed his hand through his beard, clearing snow from it. “No one uses money now, since there was so much lying around to be looted. Hey, do you mind if we come in? The cold’s killing me.”
“Of course.” Dorran placed a hand on Johann’s shoulder, guiding him towards the house. “Did you say… we?”
“Oh, yeah, Becca came with me.” Johann waved to the van. “C’mon! We’re going in!”
Clare squinted through the snow. A small face peeked out of the van, grey hair whipped about by the wind, mittens held over her red nose. She gingerly climbed out of the vehicle, shut the door behind herself, then jogged through the snow to reach them.
“Hello, hello,” Becca squeaked. She was clearly suffering in the cold.
Clare put an arm around her shoulder, and the four of them ascended the stairs to Winterbourne.
“How are the others?” Clare asked, stomping her shoes in Winterbourne’s entrance to clear the snow off them.
Johann rolled his shoulders, stretching. “Pretty good. Niall’s healing. It’s slower now that we destroyed so many of the thanites, but he’s walking. Somewhat. Unathi has been making contact with survivor groups around us. We’ve been careful not to share the location of our bunker, but that’s become less of a worry now that the hollows are gone. There’s more food, more places to shelter, more of everything.”
“What happened on the day you activated the code?” Clare asked. “What made you move the timeline sooner?”
Becca shuddered. “Those hollows heard our radio broadcast. Or, at least, some of the smart ones did. And they realised what it meant for them. Within the span of an hour, we had thousands of them swarming over our compound—so many that we couldn’t see anything through the cameras except for a blanket of skin.”
“The bunker’s meant to be impervious to attacks, as long as we don’t unlock the doors,” Johann said. “But we still didn’t want to put it to the test for too long. Plus, we could hear them screaming, even two floors underground. It made it hard to sleep. Or think. Or do much of anything, really.”
Clare shook her head, thinking of the days of work it had taken to scrub the living areas of Winterbourne. “That must have left you with a mess to clean up.”
“It sure did,” Johann said. “Miserable things were piled up against the door, and we had to dig our way out through the bodies. Clean-up is keeping us all busy. I had to wheedle at Unathi for days to be allowed to look for you. Before you left, you promised you’d come visit once the stillness was over. We waited for weeks, but you never came. And the whole time, we were hearing more and more horror stories from people we met. It was starting to freak me out. What if I’d sent you to your death? Eventually, I got permission from Unathi to drive around and see what I could find.”
“I’m glad you did,” Dorran said. “We lost our bus. We’ve been trapped here.”
“I saw. When I pulled up, I honestly thought you might have gone up in flames inside it. I was trying to get up the courage to step out and check when you appeared.”
They led their guests up the stairs, Becca still shivering under Clare’s arm. Both of their friends were staring about the ornate building with the same sense of self-conscious awe Clare had felt when she’d first arrived at it. Even Johann’s voice had taken on a subdued tone.
“Bartering has become common now that cash holds no value. And Niall’s doctoring skills are in high demand, as you can guess. We jokingly call him the golden goose. We got that van and fuel in exchange for medical treatment for a small settlement. Fuel is running out, which made it pretty valuable.”
They had reached their bedroom. Dorran ushered the party inside, shutting the door behind them, and Clare took a deep breath as the warmth washed over her. Dorran knelt beside the fire, rebuilding the coals, before setting a pot of water over it for drinks.
Clare brought out a spare quilt for the still-shivering Becca. “Does Niall travel to wherever he’s needed, or do people come into the ship?”
“He travelled, at first.” Johann settled into one of the chairs, with Becca next to him. “Now, he’s set up a makeshift hospital in an old church hall. He has assistants—people who know first aid or want to learn. He’s been working like crazy, just trying to do what he can, even when people don’t have anything to trade. Luckily, the thanites help. Chronic conditions like diabetes and arthritis are essentially gone. Most of Niall’s work is advising on malnourishment and deficiencies, and stitching cuts.”
“That’s good news.” Clare sat and pulled her legs up under herself. “Becca’s idea to leave a portion of the thanites intact has probably saved a lot more lives, too.” Like ours. Her fingers traced over the bandages on her wrist. Except for the thanites, she likely would have succumbed to infection long before.
Becca smiled at the compliment. “We intend to wipe out the remaining thanites in stages. Niall thinks it’s dangerous to leave any inside the body permanently, but we can afford to take it slow at this point. Another fifty percent in a few weeks, and fifty percent more a month or two after that. There are so few hollows left that they’re not a serious danger.”
The pot clanged as Dorran bumped it. Clare blinked at her friends. “There… are still hollows?”
“A few.” Johann shrugged, apologetic. “Not all of them went down when the code was activated. Possibly for the same reasons some humans survived when the thanites were originally released. They lived in places the code couldn’t reach.”
Dorran’s expression had darkened. He poured their hot water into mugs then passed them out. Clare felt vaguely sick. She’d imagined the code would have annihilated the monsters, that she would never have to fear them again. To know they were still out there, that she still shared her world with them, felt like a bitter slap.
“Sorry,” Becca whispered. “There aren’t many. They don’t outnumber humans anymore. And the ones that are left seem to hide. We saw some on our drive here, but they ran away when the van got close.”
“Oh, wow, did we see some stuff.” Johann stretched, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “Unofficially, I was looking for you two. But, officially, I’m supposed to be re-establishing contact between groups of survivors. We’ve been zig-zagging between safe havens and known survivor groups, passing out directions to our town for anyone who wants to see a doctor or who is looking for a new home. For groups that are settled where they are, we leave a two-way radio to stay in touch with us. It’s slow work, but progress.”
When night set in, Clare and Dorran harvested vegetables from the garden for their guests. Johann and Becca had their own stores of food and brought in pasta, stock, and dried spices. Clare had never imagined it was possible to miss seasoning as much as she had, but it made a world of difference to their food.
They chatted as they ate. Clare listened as Dorran told the story of what had happened since their return to Winterbourne. It was heavily tied in to his past, something he had been trying to escape, but he seemed more willing to talk than he had to anyone other than Clare.
Johann listened to the tale of Dorran’s mother and what had become of her, nodding, then simply said, “What a mess.”
Dorran laughed.
In return, Johann told them about his own journey across the country and the people he had encountered. He told stories of farmsteads that had become involved in multi-day standoffs against the hollows, their homes fortified, the owners standing on rooves and using rocks, sticks, and boiling water to deflect the siege of monsters. He talked about a farmer who, on his own and with nothing but a gun and a stack of ammo, had defended his fifty head of cattle from
the horde.
“He did it because he loved his cows,” Johann said. “But now, those fifty animals are almost priceless. They’re probably some of the last cows left in the country.”
A woman had survived with her cat on an island in the middle of a river. She had built shelter out of debris that floated by and lived on the fish she caught.
“Hollows kept trying to get to her, but the water moved so fast that they would be swept away before they could make it to the island. She’s back into her home now and still has her cat, which is a small miracle. Ah—that reminds me. There was this miserable old ginger cat at West Hope. It bit me when I tried to pet it. John said it would be significant to you, though. Something about, uh, a nest…?”
“Mother Gum’s Nest,” Becca supplied.
Clare’s head shot up. She remembered the ginger cat blinking at them as Mother Gum served them poisoned tea. “What did they tell you?”
“Yeah, apparently one of the council members burnt the whole place down. Set fire to the forest around it, too, which caused smog through the area for weeks. She seemed pretty pleased about it, even though John was grumpy the whole time she told the story. Apparently, they rescued the cat from there, along with a whole group of kids who couldn’t talk. The cat lives in the council room now, even though it hates everyone.”
“Good,” Clare said. Johann didn’t seem to know the whole history of the compound, and she didn’t feel ready to tell him, but she shared a private smile with Dorran. “That’s probably the best outcome it could have.”
As the shadows grew longer, Becca curled up in her chair, looking sleepy but content. Clare covered her with a blanket.
“We should probably work out what we’re going to do,” Johann said at last, stretching his legs out towards the fire. “I’d be awfully grateful if you let us sleep here tonight. Even the floor will be a million times more comfortable than those van seats.”
“We can do better than the floor,” Dorran said. “I’ll get a bedroom set up for both of you.”
“That’d be nice. I miss real beds, and it’ll be good to have more time to talk tomorrow. But we can’t stay forever. Unathi has us on a strict deadline, and we’ll need to be back home within five days. The dictator.”
Becca chuckled. “You say she’s a dictator, but do you know what I think? She’s more like a mother hen. She can’t stand letting us out into the world for too long. She wants us back where she can watch over us and make sure we’re safe.”
“Eh, well, that dictatorial mother hen said I wouldn’t even have the responsibility of tying my own shoelaces if I didn’t get back by the deadline. So… we’ll need to be moving on tomorrow.” He squinted at Clare and Dorran. “What do you think? You can come back with us, if you want. There’s room in the van, and now that the ship’s gardens have established, you’re more than welcome to live there. Or we could drive you somewhere else if you wanted. There are plenty of new settlements forming. Or if you wanted to stay here, we have a whole stack of two-way radios in the van, and we can leave you with one. That way you won’t be cut off any longer, and you can ask for people to visit and whatnot.”
Clare swallowed and looked up at Dorran to gauge his reaction. They had gone from having no options, to having every option. It bordered on overwhelming.
“You don’t have to decide right away.” Johann scratched his beard, smiling contentedly. “But the way I see it, humanity owes you one. We never would have gotten the code if it weren’t for you two. Whatever you need, whatever you want, we’ll make it happen.”
Chapter Forty-Five
The store smelt of many good things. Grains filled tubs along one wall. Soaps and wools left their distinct scents along the hand-crafted wooden shelves. Bulbs of drying garlic and herbs hung from string along the ceiling, and home-made candles caught the light near the window.
Clare loved the store. She and Dorran spent a part of each day restocking it and handling trades. Dorran leaned over the large wooden counter, one hand braced on the table and the other running a pen down columns on a logbook as he tallied entries. The light caught his features in just the right way, running across his strong bone structure. Bent over like that, he was the perfect height for Clare to steal a kiss on the way past, so she did.
Dorran’s surprise turned to laughter, and he caught at her jacket as she tried to skip past, pulled her back, and took a kiss of his own.
Johann’s visit had left them with a difficult choice. The Evandale bunker had always presented a temptingly luxurious future: air-conditioned rooms, clean linens, a garden designed around science, and machines to lessen the workload. But Clare wasn’t sure it would be right for them. Sequestered away underground, sheltered from the harshest parts of the world but taking up a space that might be needed by someone more vulnerable—she would be comfortable, but she needed more.
And then she had considered Winterbourne. Won through a hard-fought battle, it was a hostile home, but a home nonetheless. Its thick walls, well water, and internal garden made it an invaluable stronghold. But not one she wanted to spend the rest of her life in. She had never felt truly welcome in the ancestral estate.
She and Dorran had talked late into the night. Their final agreement had been that they could not abandon what they had built at Winterbourne… but that it would be a temporary home. Johann had left them with a two-way radio and a promise that he would return.
When he came back three weeks later, he brought new occupants for Winterbourne. A family, feeling displaced in the world, seeking security above all else. Winterbourne had not been an ideal home for Clare or Dorran, but it was for other people.
Five months after the end of the stillness, Winterbourne was known as a popular communal home. It housed more than sixty individuals. Once the snow melted, the ground around it had been converted into gardens, including fruit trees and livestock brought by the new occupants.
Madeline would be turning in her grave if she knew how many muddy boots stomped through the doorway or how many shrieking, laughing children ran along the halls. Clare hoped they could visit it soon. She thought she would like the ancient building a lot more now that it was filled with life.
She and Dorran had travelled for a while. There had been an emotional visit with the staff at Evandale, then they had spent several days in West Hope, which still functioned as a meeting point for separated families. Finally, they had settled in New Climate, a frontier town.
Clare liked the location a lot. The village held only six hundred homes and was nestled in a valley circled by mountains. The weather was pleasant through most of the year, and the town was only a two-hour bike ride from several other outposts, including Evandale, where Niall’s hospital flourished.
The new world was vastly different to the old one. Real estate was free. Clare and Dorran had walked through the town until they found a house they wanted, then claimed it by painting the new universal sign for “occupied” on the front door.
Those signs were appearing everywhere, helping travellers navigate the world. Occupied, building contains no more resources, dangerous environment, meeting point. Anyone searching for food or shelter could walk along a street and know which buildings to try first by the marks on the door.
Clare loved their new home. At first, it had been hard to forget that it had belonged to someone else just months before. But with each new piece of furniture they moved in and each new day spent there, it felt a little more like her own. She had a reading nook near a window that overlooked the front garden. The bedroom had a fireplace, and some nights, she and Dorran fell asleep in front of it, a habit that had stayed with them from Winterbourne.
Dorran and Clare had only been living in New Climate for a few weeks before they were inducted into the committee overseeing the town. Dorran thrived in the role. He helped decide which utilities were most needed and how the store was run, and he was a mediator in disputes. He had earned a reputation for having a fair hand and a good mind for solving problems.
As part of their roles, he and Clare spent time in the central store—a trading post of sorts where visitors could exchange supplies. Each town ran slightly differently, but New Climate had adopted a system very similar to West Hope’s. They had a set of guidelines for each item’s value depending on its supply and demand. Any visitors who didn’t have anything to trade could pay with labour. There were always projects that needed an extra set of hands: wells to be dug, defensive walls to be built, and greenhouses to be constructed. Anyone who wasn’t able to handle the labour-intensive tasks could help in the communal gardens. Three hours of hard work could be exchanged for a meal and a place to sleep that night. It was a simple system, and one that was as fair as they could make it.
Every occupied house in New Climate had its own garden, but the town also had a communal plot of farmland that was designed to be harvested on an as-needed basis. Everyone helped out in it, so if their own crops failed, they would not go hungry.
The town also had a growing trust of livestock. During the months they had dominated the world, hollows had eaten anything that moved. There were not many surviving animals. A woman had arrived at New Climate with five hens and a rooster, which was a huge boon. The eggs weren’t being eaten yet. The council had helped devise a plan where the chicks would be raised and slowly gifted to different families in the community. Once they had enough, they would trade a small flock of the young chickens to a neighbouring town in return for several cows. The goal was that, eventually, each home would have its own supply of eggs.
Clare stacked bottles of oil on a wall. Someone had brought in a drum of it that morning—a trade that had earned them a carton of the increasingly rare petrol. These days, most people rode bikes for transport, but fuel was still valuable for various machines. Clare had spent the last hour dividing the food-grade oil into more manageable bottles for the rest of the town. It would make cooking easier.
