Whispers in the Mist: Black Winter Book Three

by Coates, Darcy

Chapter Thirty-Six

  This time, the silence lasted much longer. Clare clung to the speaker, one hand held out to show the camera her USB. As the silence stretched out, doubts began to crawl back in.

  They’re ignoring me again. They don’t think it’s worth it. They don’t want us inside their institute.

  She looked at the shutter door. She wondered how reinforced it was and whether a bus driven at full speed could smash through it. They wouldn’t be able to turn her away then.

  Twilight doused the scene in its desaturated colours. Far in the distance, a hollow chattered. Probably one of the ones that had inevitably trailed Clare’s bus when she left the town. She hoped the reinforcements on the walls worked.

  She was preparing to reach for the button again when static hissed through the speaker. The woman’s tone was clipped. “If you have any weapons, discard them outside.”

  Clare wasn’t in a position to argue. She unhooked the knife from her belt, held it up for the camera to see, then tossed it aside. “That’s all I have.”

  “I am opening the door. Drive your vehicle into the parking area. Wait for me there.”

  The shutters rattled then began to rise. The metallic clatter matched Clare’s heartbeat as she ran for the bus. She fumbled the key in the ignition, turned it, and glanced into the rearview mirror as she put the gearbox into drive. She couldn’t see much of Dorran except one grey arm, which had been jostled free from the blankets.

  She eased the bus forward, through the concrete entrance. The ground tilted downwards, and she had to hit the brakes to stop the momentum from getting away from her. She hadn’t been looking at a building, Clare realised. She’d been looking at the entrance to an underground bunker.

  There were no lights in the tunnel, so Clare had to rely on the bus’s internal lights to guide her path. Concrete walls flanked an unmarked concrete floor. The tunnel carried her down at a steep angle before curving to the right. She tried to guess how far underground they were. She could no longer see the shutters behind her, but she heard a distant thud as they closed again.

  The passageway curved right a second time then flattened out into a carpark. The roof was so low that Clare was nervous it would scrape the bus’s top. Large, smooth pillars interspersed the space. Clare was shocked to see other cars parked there.

  It makes sense. If there are people living in this institute, they had to have driven here.

  There were only four vehicles. The space was easily large enough to fit a hundred. It left the garage feeling empty and abandoned, much like everything else in the world.

  At the garage’s back was a double-wide door. Guessing that was where she was supposed to meet her host, Clare pulled up in front of it. There were no door handles, but a pad beside the structure waited for a code to be entered.

  Clare put the bus into park, her breathing shallow, and stepped outside. The air tasted stale, but it was a few degrees warmer than the surface. Still, she wrapped her arms around herself, defensive, as she waited.

  It took nearly four minutes for the doors to slide open. Clare reflexively took a half step back. She felt naked without her knife.

  In the doorway stood a woman flanked by two men. They all wore light-grey clothes that looked as though they might be a uniform. The woman’s dark dreadlocks were tied back behind her head, and red-rimmed glasses rested high on her nose. She wasn’t smiling. One of the men, tall and tanned with a neat beard, held a rifle levelled at Clare.

  “What’s your name?” the woman asked. Clare recognised the accent from the speaker.

  “Clare,” she said. “Please, my friend’s sick. I’ll tell you everything I know. But you have to help him.”

  “Where is he?”

  Clare pointed at the bus. The woman nodded to her second companion, a younger man with lightly curling blond hair. He passed Clare and leapt into the bus. She wished she could follow him to check on Dorran, but the taller man kept his gun aimed at her.

  “You said you have information about the stillness,” the woman said.

  Clare held out the USB. “I visited ground zero, and I met the man who created the hollows. His research is on here. It contains a way to kill them.”

  The man with the gun snorted and sent his companion a displeased look. She scowled back at him then took the USB from Clare’s palm.

  A clatter from behind startled her. The younger man had reappeared in the bus’s doorway. He gave a nervous smile, and she saw he had a gap between his two front teeth. “I’ll need some help carrying him inside.”

  “Go on, Johann,” the woman said.

  The taller man glowered then begrudgingly handed her his gun. He slouched as he followed his younger companion into the bus.

  The woman didn’t try to direct the gun at Clare but instead hooked it over her arm as she tilted her head to one side. “You look a mess.”

  Clare felt it. Her headache throbbed, blurring her vision and making her eyes sting. Grime was caked into the creases of her clothes. She hadn’t washed her hair since their stop at the shopping centre.

  Since Beth washed it. Since she gave you a final warning of what she truly was.

  “Ugh, he’s heavy.” The two men stumbled through the bus’s door, carrying Dorran between them. They had wrapped him in blankets to immobilise him, but he didn’t respond to the movement at all. His face was slack. There was no colour left in him, and Clare’s heart faltered.

  “Please be careful.” She reached towards Dorran but pulled back when Johann, who was supporting his upper half, glowered at her. “He—he’s hurt. A bite wound in his arm. And… and other injuries.”

  So many. I failed you so many times, Dorran.

  Her pulse echoed in her ears, disorienting, and she felt herself tipping to the side. A hand took her arm. The woman’s voice, clipped but not unkind, said, “Come along. Niall and Johann will take care of him. When was the last time you slept? Or drank anything?”

  Clare shook her head. The hand on her arm pulled her forward. They were following in the men’s wake as they passed through the doors and into a stark white hallway.

  The woman pressed, “Can you tell me what happened?”

  Clare was so tired that she couldn’t get her vision to focus, and her throat ached with every breath. But this was the trade she’d promised. She had to give them information. Dorran’s treatment relied on what and how much she could share. She started talking about Ezra’s tower, his biological nanobot inventions, and his lies. She explained how the code on the USB could be used to detonate the thanites. How Ezra had tested the cure on Dorran. How that had made him sick.

  The woman didn’t try to interrupt but kept one hand on Clare’s shoulder as she pushed her through a maze of passageways. Ahead, the men stumbled under Dorran’s weight, their hair shining in overhead lights. They turned in to a room. Clare’s chest ached as Dorran left her sight, and she quickened her pace to catch up. Lights blinked on. They were in a starkly bright room. A hospital, she thought; beds with white sheets lined both walls. The men laid Dorran on the closest bed. One arm dropped free from the blankets.

  Clare clasped both hands ahead of herself as she moved closer. She was scared. She needed to help him. She didn’t know how. She didn’t think he was breathing.

  “Excuse me,” the younger man said, slipping around Clare’s side to reach Dorran. He held a flashlight above Dorran’s head and peeled back one of his eyelids to shine the light in his eye.

  “Don’t—don’t do that—” Clare struggled to get the words out. “He needs to rest—”

  The woman pulled Clare away. “Let Niall work.”

  Maybe he’s a doctor. He could still be able to save him.

  The back of Clare’s legs hit the edge of a bed. She collapsed down to sit on the crisp sheets. The fear wouldn’t release its grip. She didn’t know if she’d done enough, if her information had been valuable enough to buy Dorran’s life. She charged on, forcing her leaden tongue to recount more. When she couldn’t rem
ember anything else about Ezra, she told them about her sister. About how she’d been infected. About seeing her crouched over Dorran, blood spilling from her mouth. About how Clare had driven across the country to find them, because she didn’t have anywhere else to turn.

  The younger man, Niall, kept moving around the bed. His fingers pressed against Dorran’s throat as he searched for a pulse. Then he picked up Dorran’s hand and tried to find one in his wrist. His eyes seemed grim. Clare wanted to yell at him, to tell him to stop seeming so sad, to do something to help instead. The woman was trying to push her back onto the bed, but she refused to lie down, not when Dorran needed her, not when Dorran was so sick—

  The taller man, Johann, had his arms folded as he loomed. He asked something Clare couldn’t hear. Niall exhaled and shrugged.

  No, no, no. We came so far. We made it. It has to be enough—

  Niall saw her staring. He grabbed the curtains that hung by the wall and dragged them around the bed, blocking Dorran from sight. Clare felt herself falling, and she no longer had the will to fight it.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Clare’s dreams came sharp and bitter. She ran through a forest, lungs starved of oxygen. She’d lost Dorran. He’d been sleeping beside the fire, and she’d only turned away for a second, and when she looked back, he was missing.

  And now she had to run, to get back to him, to save him, to protect him from what she knew was coming. Up ahead, their firelight licked across the trees. Clare tried to call out, but her tongue wouldn’t move. She spilled out into the campsite.

  Beth crouched near the fire. Her sister’s sweet face looked exactly like the Beth from Clare’s childhood, except now, blood dripped off her chin and stained her hands.

  “I took care of him for you,” Beth cooed. “It’s better this way.”

  Bones surrounded her. Red bones, fresh bones, scraps of flesh still hanging from them. All that was left of Dorran.

  “No!” Clare bolted upright. Blankets, sticky with sweat, dropped away from her as she blinked at the stark white walls surrounding her. The lights were dimmed but still bright enough for her to see the space’s features. There were no windows. The floors were tile, and the walls were covered with some kind of glossy paint. Four beds filled the room, two on each wall, each with its own privacy curtain on standby.

  That’s right. Evandale. I made it after all.

  Memories came rushing back. The drive. Breaking through the chain fence. Being afraid to look at Dorran in case she was already too late.

  Dorran!

  Clare turned, her voice sticking in her throat. She’d last seen him in the bed beside her. The curtains had been pulled back, but the bed was now empty, its sheets stripped off.

  No.

  She slowly extended her feet onto the tile floor and stood. Her body was turning numb as she stared at the empty mattress. She had to hold on to the wall to stay upright.

  No.

  She blinked and saw Dorran’s beautiful, dark eyes, his always-gentle hands, the secret smile he saved just for her. Then she blinked again and saw Beth crouched over him, his blood running between her teeth.

  No.

  Beth’s voice floated back to her. “He’s going to die. You’ll need to grieve, but you have to keep moving.”

  “No.” This time, the word croaked out of a parched throat. The inside of her mind was screaming. No words. No images. Just a constant stream of noise trying to drown out reality.

  A door creaked open. It sounded distant, like a memory. Then she heard a voice, deep, soft, and warm. “Clare?”

  Dorran stood in an open doorway leading to what seemed to be a bathroom, bathed in gold light. His beautiful dark eyes. His strong neck turned to tilt his head in the way Clare loved. She couldn’t breathe.

  This is a dream. Dorran was standing, awake and aware. His eyes were sharp and clear. He was dressed in one of the grey uniforms, and his hair was swept back. The sweat, blood, and grime were gone.

  She ran for him. His mouth lifted into a smile, and warm arms surrounded her. Her cheek pressed against a clean cotton shirt, and beneath that, she felt the heat from his body, shifting slightly as he breathed. He smelled like himself again, instead of the awful scent of blood and sickness. Warm hands ran over her back and tangled in her hair.

  “My dearest Clare,” he whispered.

  He wasn’t a dream, and he wasn’t a fantasy. Everything about him was real. Clare broke into deep, wrenching sobs that shook her whole body. She couldn’t keep her hands still; they roved, touching every part of him that she could reach. His face. His throat. His arms. His strong, broad back.

  Dorran held her, murmuring as they rocked together. Clare clutched at him. They toppled and ended up on the floor, their legs tangled. Dorran laughed. It was a good sound.

  “Shh, shh.” Still chuckling, he adjusted her so that she could sit on his lap. His thumb brushed moisture off her face as he smiled at her. “You don’t need to be afraid any longer. We are safe, my darling.”

  “I thought—” Clare refused to loosen her hold on his shirt. She was scared that if she let him go, he would vanish forever.

  “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” His hands kept moving, brushing through her hair and tracing across her jawline as though he were as hungry to touch her as she was to hold him.

  The awful grey shade had left his skin, but she could still see traces of the sickness. Shadows clung around his eyes. His cheekbones, always sharp, were more pronounced. He’d lost weight. She detected a slight tremor in the hand that rubbed her back.

  But he was awake. His eyes held life and light in a way they hadn’t since leaving Helexis Tower. When he smiled, it no longer seemed to be an effort.

  “I can’t believe it.” Clare shivered and pressed closer to Dorran. “They really helped you.”

  “They did.” He kissed the top of her head. “Apparently, they gave me blood transfusions. They were working on the belief that my thanites had been destroyed and that a healthy person’s blood would contain some and that they could transplant them to me through a transfusion. And it seems to have worked.”

  Clare shook her head. “That’s incredible. I didn’t think the thanites would be powerful enough to help you in just one night.”

  “Ah…” His thumb nudged her chin with a tender, apologetic touch. “It was a little longer than that. You have been asleep for nearly two days.”

  “What? Really?”

  “Mm. You needed it. Speaking of which—you will also need something to drink. Wait a moment.”

  Dorran gently eased her out of his lap and stood. Clare, shaky but still unwilling to let him out of her sight, followed him through the door he’d appeared in.

  It led to a bathroom. Like the bedroom, it was clinically white. Large, glistening tiles framed a double vanity with foggy mirrors. A towel hung on a railing, damp from Dorran’s recent shower.

  Dorran took a glass from near the sink and filled it. “Here. You will feel better with this.”

  She hadn’t realised before how desperately thirsty she was. Clare took the water and downed the glass in one go. She tilted her head back and exhaled deeply as the liquid filled a craving in her stomach. “Thanks.”

  Dorran took the glass back and re-filled it. He was trying to watch her without being obvious, and Clare detected a hint of concern in his eyes. “Unathi told me some of what you went through to get here.”

  Clare frowned. “Unathi?”

  “She said you met her when you arrived. You gave her the USB.”

  “Oh!” Clare had a hazy memory of a woman with bright-red glasses and dreadlocks speaking to her in a clipped tone. “Yes. I remember her. I didn’t get her name.”

  “She runs the Evandale Research Institute. I had a chance to meet with her briefly this morning.” Clare had let her hand rest on the vanity bench while she drank, and Dorran traced his fingertips across it. He was picking his words carefully. “She told me… what happened. With Beth.”
>
  Clare’s stomach dropped. Her exhilaration at seeing Dorran had dulled the pain to the point that she could almost forget what had happened. At Beth’s name, it came pouring back over her like a deluge of chilled water. She tried to speak, but her voice caught. Dorran no longer smiled. He stood close, near enough that she just had to lean forward and she would be resting against him, but his eyes were sad. Clare swallowed around the lump in her throat and tried again. “I am… so, so incredibly sorry.”

  “Clare—”

  “I put you in danger. I let you be hurt.”

  “Oh, Clare.”

  The words tumbled out of her, unstoppable. “I was selfish and stupid, and I asked more than I ever should have. You deserved better. I don’t know how I’ll make it up to you. I—”

  His mouth was on hers, cutting her off midstream. His fingers tangled in her hair, and warm lips pressed hard then softened, roving gently, tasting, until Clare was breathless.

  Dorran drew back slowly, and as he did, he pressed his fingertips across her lips. “Let me speak.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled around his fingers.

  He was laughing, but moisture shone in his eyes. His head tilted to the side in the enchanting way Clare had always loved. For a moment, he only looked down at her, adoring and sad. “I am so proud of you, my darling.”

  Clare tried to look away, but Dorran’s hand moved to rest against her cheek, holding her close.

  “Unathi told me what you went through to get here. What you endured. I always knew you were strong, my darling. Strong and brave. But you were forced to demonstrate that beyond what I could have anticipated or ever wanted to ask of you.” His smile faded. The sadness thickened. “And I am sorry for it. For what you had to go through. For losing Beth.”

  Clare let her eyes close. The final memories of Beth would always hurt. And she would always have regrets over them. But Dorran was still with her, and at least for that moment, that was everything she needed.

  “You said you had a chance to talk to Unathi.” Clare suppressed the waver in her voice. “What’s she like? Did she say how quickly we would have to leave?”