Secrets in the Dark

by Darcy Coates

“I could have killed it for you, though. Protected you.”

  She tried to smile. Her muscles seemed to have forgotten how to. “It’s okay. It was over fast.”

  “My poor Clare.”

  She couldn’t look away from her hand. The blood was slick. It stained her clothes, where she rested it in her lap. “I have to get used to it. I have to be stronger than this.”

  Dorran turned another corner. Without the map, he was driving blind, but Clare still had a sense of their direction. They were getting close to the end of the suburbs. More hollows were creeping out of the houses as they passed, none yet eager enough to approach the car. Dorran was quiet for a moment, then he spoke, his voice low and careful. “Do not mistake hardheartedness for strength. To live in this world and to hold on to your humanity, your compassion, your joy—I believe that is strength. And more valuable than being callous enough that death never haunts you.”

  She clenched her teeth, trying to keep her emotions inside, but they escaped as a whine. Dorran’s spare hand came over to stroke her hair as she cried. She leaned into the touch.

  It only took a few minutes for Dorran to navigate out of the suburb. A marshy area, the ground glistening with water and ragged with weedy trees, separated them from the next town over. Dorran slowed the car to a crawl then turned to feel in the back seat. Their radio still spat static, so he turned it off. When he came back, he held one of the bottles of water, which he offered to Clare.

  “Open your window and lean out to wash your hand.”

  She rubbed her sleeve over her face to wipe away the dampness. “We shouldn’t waste water.”

  “This isn’t a waste. Go ahead.”

  She took it and wound down the window. It only made it halfway before becoming stuck, but it was far enough. She washed as much of the blood from her hand as she could manage. Flakes still stuck under her nails and stained her sleeves, but it was better.

  “Thanks.” She smiled, and he smiled back. A distant howl echoed from the suburb behind them, and Dorran turned the car back on and pulled down the road. The headlight washed over the black, shrubby trees, and in the distance, more buildings blocked out the speckled stars. “We’ll need to stop for the night, won’t we?”

  “Well—” He lifted one shoulder in an apologetic shrug. “I was hoping you would have an idea of somewhere nearby we could stop. Somewhere safe from the hollows. We could have spent the night in the bunker, but—”

  “Yeah.” Clare thought of the decaying bodies and shook her head. “No.”

  “Hah. That is how I felt, as well. Take a moment; breathe deeply, try to release some of the tension. I can continue circling as long as needed. When you are ready, see if you know of any locations nearby that we could secure well enough to sleep.”

  Clare chewed on her lip, her mind working. There were endless houses around, but she didn’t trust any of them. Even if they found one with intact windows and enough material to barricade the glass, she couldn’t be sure it would be secure. The hollows had wormed their way inside Winterbourne through the roof; a locked door was relatively little disincentive.

  The caravans the previous day had been a lucky find. But that had been in the country, where habitation was scarce and the picturesque mountains attracted tourists. Now that they were past Beth’s house, the area became more densely populated. It wasn’t as bad as the city would be, but it was bad enough that they couldn’t drive for more than a few minutes before passing through clusters of buildings.

  They needed somewhere remote. Preferably somewhere that would have been abandoned before the stillness even occurred.

  Clare found the map under the radio and unfurled the well-worn paper. She frowned at the patches of brown and green. Dorran said he could keep circling as long as she needed, but Clare knew he was being more generous than he should. They couldn’t afford to waste fuel, but at the same time, they couldn’t sit still. She needed a destination.

  If Beth did get out… where would she have spent the night?

  Clare shook her head, trying to push the idea aside. She knew it was nothing but a desperate bid to escape her grief that made her imagine her sister’s safety, and she couldn’t lean on hypotheticals to make decisions for her and Dorran’s safety. It didn’t matter whether Beth might have driven towards the mountains or towards the river—

  The river.

  “I have an idea,” Clare said. “Turn right at this intersection.”

  She did her best to navigate them away from anywhere that was likely to be choked: strip malls, business districts, and town centres. The area gradually became more closely packed as they moved towards the city’s outer suburbs. But Clare was leading them to one very specific location, a place she’d visited with Beth several times as a teenager.

  “It should be somewhere close.” Clare squinted from the map to the street ahead. “Beth and I had a tradition. Twice a year, we spent the afternoon on a riverboat. The Adelaide. It runs tours along the river, but it always moored here, in Glenbrook.”

  “A riverboat?” He sounded intrigued. “If it’s separated from the shore…”

  “The hollows won’t be able to reach us.” Clare nodded, switching her attention from the map to the road. “Remember when they fell into the pond at Winterbourne? They thrashed, but they couldn’t swim. Unless these ones have learned somehow, the river should be moving too quickly for them to get close to the boat.” Clare indicated a turn, and Dorran took it.

  “It’s a good plan.”

  Clouds dulled the moon’s light, and the car’s single headlight didn’t show the road as clearly as she would have liked. Still, she thought she could recognise some of the businesses they passed. The town was old, its strip mall shabby and its houses leaning towards run-down, but at least the streets were wide. Dorran didn’t have any trouble getting around obstacles. Clare caught glimpses of the river through the buildings. Occasionally, twisted shapes darted between the houses, barely catching in their headlight.

  Unlike the earlier stream they had forded, this one was naturally wide and slow-moving. She was crossing her fingers that the wider banks had contained the extra water, and that the flow would have started to slow as the melted snow washed out to sea.

  She wasn’t disappointed. As they turned down a narrow street lined with weatherboard houses, Clare caught sight of an empty parking lot to their right. A brightly painted sign on the street corner advertised the Adelaide. A cartoon duck pointed down the lane, exclaiming, “Fun for the whole family!”

  “Down there.” Clare leaned close to her window, hoping her instincts hadn’t led them to a dead end. She had faint memories of the boat’s timetable. On Sundays, the day the quiet zones had started overtaking the world, the Adelaide didn’t begin its tours until eleven in the morning. If she was right, it would have been close enough to the city that the area would have gone quiet before any passengers had the chance to board.

  Dorran let the car slow as they neared the grassy river edge, and Clare grinned. The two-story boat was exactly where she’d hoped to find it, drifting at the end of a wide wooden pier. The Adelaide seemed to have survived the bad weather with minimal damage. White-and-blue paint sparkled in their headlight, and a bright-red paddle wheel stood out behind it like a cheerful marker.

  Dorran parked the car facing the boat. Their headlight washed over the dark windows and open upper deck. Clare watched for any sign of movement inside, but it seemed vacant. There was activity behind them, though; through the mirrors, Clare could see hollows creeping out from between houses.

  “What do you think?” she asked Dorran.

  He flashed her a warm smile. “I think you are brilliant. This will be more secure than anything on land.”

  “And it should have running water and heat.”

  “I may never want to leave.” He glanced behind, towards the eyes that caught in the red backwash. “Gather anything you want to bring. I will use the horn to buy us some time, and we will run for it.”

&nb
sp; Clare pulled her mask on and reached into the back seat. The riverboat should have most of what they would need to make their night comfortable, so Clare only brought things that would be in short supply: food, flashlights, their toiletries, the radio, and bedding. Then she picked up her own fire poker, as well as Dorran’s axe. “Ready.”

  The hollows scattered as the horn blared through the still night air. They threw their doors open and leapt out. The pier wasn’t long. The riverboat’s side hung close to it, bumping against the wood with every gentle swell of the water, and Clare felt a spark of doubt as she searched for a way onboard. Normally, the boat had a ramp to climb up. But with the tour never started, the ramp hadn’t been deployed.

  Dorran took it in stride. He didn’t slow down as he neared the end of the dock, but increased his speed and sprang for the railings. The river was engorged, and the boat floated more than a foot higher than it normally did, but he managed to hook himself on the white metal bars and haul himself over. He moved to the gate, kicked it open, and crouched down to offer Clare his hands.

  She threw the supplies at him first then risked a glance over her shoulder. The hollows crept after her, their overgrown nails clicking on the wood. Clare swallowed thickly and jumped. Dorran caught her, throwing his body weight back in the same motion so that he ended up on his back with Clare sprawled over him. They lay there for a moment, laughing giddily, Dorran with his arms around her, before the chattering broke through their relief.

  Dorran rolled to the side, carefully lowering Clare onto the wooden deck. He gained his feet in a graceful rolling motion, pushed the gate shut again, and peered over the boat’s railings. Clare joined him, and they watched the monsters pace along the pier’s edge, clawing at the painted walls whenever they drifted close enough.

  “I don’t think they know how to get up,” Clare said. One of the hollows reached forward and tried to dig its nails into the boat’s side, but only succeeded in scraping it.

  Dorran watched them for a second, his lips twitching, then walked along the boat until he found the immense rope mooring it to the dock. He unravelled it, spooling out as much length as he could, and let the river’s slow current carry them downriver. By the time he tied it off again, the Adelaide no longer touched the dock.

  “Better not to have to worry at all,” he said and helped Clare pick up their supplies. “We could both do with some undisturbed sleep.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The Adelaide hadn’t changed since Clare had last seen it. The upper deck was partially covered with rows of plastic benches bolted into the floor. Clare remembered sitting there with Beth, who had chosen seats as far from the railings as possible, despite how phenomenally safe the boat was. It had a wide, flat base, moved at a molasses pace, and barely even rocked on the water. Clare was glad to be able to visit the boat again, even under their current conditions.

  She turned on her torch and led Dorran through the door to the lower deck. Rounded windows overlooked the river on all sides, though with the moon half-obscured by clouds, she glimpsed only glimmers of light on the rippling water. Most of the floor was taken up by tables and chairs, and a bar with a large freezer chest stood beside the staircase and hallway at the room’s back. Clare pointed out the areas she remembered. “Bathrooms are down that hallway. The captain drives from the little room up top. I think there are kitchens somewhere—probably not large, but they should have running water and maybe some other supplies.”

  “I’ll make sure we’re alone,” Dorran said. “Stay here. I will be back soon.”

  Axe in one hand and torch in the other, he disappeared down the hallway that led to the bathrooms. Doors creaked as he searched inside. Clare exhaled and stretched, flexing muscles that hadn’t seen much use over the previous days. The lower deck had carpet that might not have been the cleanest but was still better than the car’s. The riverboat was virtually immobile in the water, which was a mercy, because the slowly moving shadows left Clare unsteady enough as it was.

  She approached the bar and glanced across the supplies. A chest freezer had been positioned against the wall. She tried opening the lid in case the food inside might still be good, but it was locked.

  Probably for the best. Its contents would be thoroughly thawed and rotting by now.

  Clare placed her supplies on top of the freezer chest then returned to the floor. She found an area she liked in a corner and pushed the chairs out of the way, then she began shaking out their bedding. With only two pairs of arms and the need to carry food, as well, they hadn’t been able to bring much. Still, two quilts were better than nothing—and they were the ones from Beth’s house, which hadn’t yet had a chance to become dirty. She laid one out as a cushioning underlayer and reserved the second for a blanket.

  Dorran returned from the hallway. He shot her a quick glance before turning to the stairs leading to the upper floor. Clare didn’t like his expression. It had lost the easy relief from just a moment before. She followed him to the narrow metal stairs and stared up them, listening as he moved through the second deck.

  Did he see something? She looked right. The hallway held four doors: two bathrooms and two doors simply labelled Staff. She opened both bathroom doors, but they were empty and unremarkable. She tried the room at the end of the hall.

  Inside was a kitchen, just as narrow and poky as she’d expected. The ship must have brought most of its food pre-prepared. The stove was tiny and wouldn’t have been able to serve a quiet day’s worth of customers, let alone a full one. Four microwaves stacked on the shelf gave Clare a clue of how the food was really heated. A bench ran along three walls, cluttered with bowls and utensils. And blood.

  Droplets streaked across the walls. A bloody handprint marked the fridge. A pool of it had collected on the floor and dribbled down the drain. Clare’s heart missed a beat. The blood looked dry, but she knew that didn’t signify any kind of safety around hollows. She tilted her head up, to where Dorran was searching the upper floor.

  A sudden, deep rumble rose from under her feet. Clare yelped and pressed her back against the door. It took her a second to understand what was happening. Lights blinked on through the kitchen, and the fridge started rumbling. Dorran had turned on the power.

  She hoped that as a good sign and moved back along the hallway and towards the stairs. Dorran was already coming down, his movements relaxed. “It’s clear.”

  Clare released a tense breath. “You saw the blood in the kitchen, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” He nodded to the space above them. “There is also blood in the captain’s room. Some of the staff must have been onboard when the stillness moved through. With no other food to hunt, they must have killed each other. I cannot find any sign of a final survivor. My guess is it might have climbed over the side to find better hunting grounds in the town.”

  “That would make sense.” The staff had probably been on the barge for hours before the cruise started, prepping the area. Clare wondered how many there had been. The captain, almost certainly. A cook. At least one or two assistants. She moved to look into the bar and found a speck of blood on one of the bottles. At least it wasn’t as gory as the kitchens.

  “Do you feel safe enough?” Dorran asked.

  Clare nodded. Her mouth was dry, but Dorran had searched the ship, and she knew him too well to think he wouldn’t be thorough. Despite the signs of violence, the riverboat was likely the safest place they could stay that night.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you for a moment to wash up,” Dorran said. “The bathrooms are small, but they will probably be easier to clean in compared to the kitchen.”

  “Definitely.” Clare went to their bundle of supplies and found their spare clothes. With the promise of running water, she suddenly cared about the gory kitchen a lot less. She split into the women’s bathroom while Dorran took the men’s.

  The taps gurgled for a moment before releasing a stream of water. Clare placed her fresh clothes on the closed toilet l
id and stripped out of the dirty ones. The bathroom was cramped, and she had to come up with some creative contortions to wash herself, but at least it had almost everything she needed, including soap and a hand towel. The first step was to scrub the red stains out from under her fingernails, rinse them, and scrub again. Finished, she bent over the sink, shivering, as she doused her hair under the tap. They didn’t have shampoo, so she had to use soap to wash the grease out. It wouldn’t be great for her hair’s health, but she didn’t care. She was clean.

  When she emerged, Dorran already stood at the other side of the boat, staring through a window at the moonlight glittering across the water. He looked good with his wet hair slicked back and clean, if not crisp, clothes. He’d washed the old ones and draped them over the back of a nearby chair to dry. Clare came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him.

  He hummed lightly as he rested his hands over hers. She kissed his back through his shirt then let him pull her around so that he could hold her properly.

  “How is your shoulder?” he asked.

  “Fine. It’s not hurting anymore.” That was almost true. It had stung like a nightmare when she washed it, but otherwise, it wasn’t bothering her as much as she would have expected.

  “You are very pretty,” Dorran murmured.

  She grinned against his chest. “I don’t know about that. But I don’t look like a human garbage truck anymore, at least.”

  “You were also very pretty before you washed,” he said.

  “Liar.”

  Dorran laughed and rested his head on her damp hair. “I would not lie to you. My beautiful Clare.”

  The rest of that night was the happiest Clare had felt since leaving Winterbourne. Dorran braved the kitchen to heat their food over the stove. Since they’d found Beth’s supplies, there was no need to ration it. Clare ate the creamy pasta dish until she thought she couldn’t eat any more, took some of the antibiotics she had found in Beth’s bathroom, then settled into the bed, warm and curled up at Dorran’s side. The engine rumbled below them, a gentle melody that meshed with the lapping water. They turned off the lights in their section of the boat but left the heating on.