Secrets in the Dark

by Darcy Coates

  Clare and Dorran rarely spoke. It felt wrong to disturb the rhythmic tapping of raindrops on the upper deck, the nearly inaudible sloshing of water displaced around the boat, and the quiet hum of the motor.

  Then the boat left the outer suburbs and entered the stretch of river that passed through the city. Tall bridges arched overhead. Single-story shops became apartments then skyscrapers. The river was wider, but more crowded.

  Clare and Dorran stood side by side, staring past the leering captain to watch the boat’s course. Clare pressed her hand to her throat as they bumped into an abandoned motorboat. It hadn’t been moored—its owner might have been out on the river for an early-morning cruise when the city was enveloped by the quiet zone—and they knocked it free from the dock it had been snagged on.

  The Adelaide was still moving, but Clare didn’t know if they could get through the city without becoming caught. The docks and the boats weren’t the only hazard in their path. Branches, parts of swept-away houses, and even a few cars had been washed into the water. Their riverboat had a shallow base, but it was wide. All it would take was a large enough object in their path to bring them to a grinding halt.

  Then what? When I imagined leaving the boat, it was in a rural area. We could have seen what was coming towards us, at least. Here, even if we managed to find a car, there would be no way to drive it out of the city.

  She could see glimpses of streets between the high-rises and historic buildings. They were crowded with cars, like she’d expected. The unending wall of vehicles, banked up on each other, was impenetrable.

  Clare lifted her eyes towards the buildings. In the distance, a flash of colour made her breath hitch. She leaned closer to the glass, craning her neck as the captain tried to obstruct her view. An office building had blocked her view, and already, she was beginning to doubt what she’d seen. Then the office drifted out of the way again, and Clare saw seven blue letters, perched at the top of a dark-windowed skyscraper. They would have been nearly invisible against a clear sky, but with rain clouds thick above them, the name stood out in sharp relief.

  She clutched Dorran’s sleeve, breathless. “Helexis.”

  His eyebrows drew down. “I see it.”

  The tower was at least four blocks away. Close, but at the same time, painfully far. Clare lowered her eyes to the streets. They were chaos. The dim early afternoon light reflected off a dozen tangled vehicles and a felled crane.

  Dorran’s gaze followed the same dance hers had, flicking from the tower to the street, as he built scenarios and ran calculations in his mind.

  Already, in just those few seconds, Clare felt them start to drift away from the tower. The river’s flow had felt too slow when they were waiting for an escape. Now, it felt too fast. The building was four blocks away. If they waited even another minute, it would be five.

  “Are we going?” Dorran asked. He was tense, his dark eyes intent.

  She opened her mouth then closed it again. Beth would have had a reason to write the message into her bunker wall. Helexis Tower might be a safe haven. It might hold other survivors who could help them or protect them. Or it might be barren. Clare imagined running through four blocks of hollows only to meet a dead end. But they were so close to it. So close that it almost felt like fate.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Dorran snapped into motion. He darted across the boat to where they’d made their bed the night before and snatched up their jackets. “Masks,” he barked, sliding one over the table for Clare to reach. “Be quick but secure it tightly. We need to find a way around the captain too.”

  As Clare fit the dark mesh over her face, she glanced at the hollow. He watched them, curious, head tilted. The serrated knife glittered as rain dropped over the blade. He was too smart to be fooled by the masks. “I can buy us at least a minute.”

  “That is all I need.” He was already back at her side, fastening gloves over her hands then bending to check the pants legs were tight around her ankles. As he stood, he slid his own mask into place. “We don’t have much time. We need to go now.”

  Helexis Tower had fallen out of sight, masked by the myriad of buildings clustered between it and the river. Clare jogged to the door on the right-hand side of the boat, the side opposite to the tower. She unfastened the bolt and wrenched it open. The metal made a deep clattering noise as it slid along the runners, and Clare glanced over her shoulder.

  The captain was already gone. She knew he must have flattened his body to the ground as he raced along the deck. She left the door open as she and Dorran bolted for the exit the captain had stood by just seconds before.

  There wasn’t enough time to be cautious. Clare unlocked the door and threw it open. As they stepped through, she caught sight of the captain coming through the right-hand doorway. She wrenched her door closed behind them but didn’t lock it. “Try to find us a way to shore!”

  The captain hit the door. She felt the handle rattle under her fingers and held it tightly. It was a gamble, but it was the only way to hold him inside the room. Locking the door would only send the captain scuttling back through the cabin and onto the deck. Instead, Clare teased him, allowing him to pull the barricade open half an inch before slamming it closed again. He was stronger than she’d expected. She had to lean her weight into the metal to keep it shut.

  Dorran moved towards the ship’s front in long, fast strides. It only took him a second to return with a loop of thick rope carried on his shoulder. He leaned across the railing, watching the scenery passing them by as he waited for an opportunity.

  The door scraped back, and when Clare tried to shove it closed again, the latch failed to catch. The captain had thrust his knife through the gap, jamming it open. The wet blade jostled just below her elbow. Damn it. Be quick, Dorran.

  Almost as though he could hear her, he unslung the rope, braced himself, and threw the loop. She heard a faint thud as it hit something, then Dorran leaned back, muscles straining as he fought to close the gap.

  The knife slid back through the door. The captain tried to replace it with a hand, but Clare slammed the door into it, crushing his fingers. He pulled the hand back inside. Clare forced the door closed and felt the latch fall into place. “Dorran!”

  “Ready!” He turned back to her and stretched out a hand. Clare pushed away from the door and ran to him. He caught her up, lifting her, then together, they tumbled over the side of the boat.

  She took a sharp breath then pressed her lips together, expecting an icy rush of water to surround her. Instead, they hit a dock. Even cushioned by Dorran’s body, Clare had the air forced out of her. She couldn’t stop a cry as her shoulder jarred.

  They rolled to a stop. Clare prised open her eyes. Dorran had caught the rope’s loop on one of the dock’s pillars to pull the boat within jumping distance, but without the other end secured, the vessel was already drifting away.

  The captain appeared, crouched on the railing like a bird of prey, eyes flashing as he peered down at them. He looked ready to leap, but Dorran moved forward, blocking the end of the dock, hands raised in preparation to rebuff the attack. The captain’s teeth parted to release a hiss, and hatred flashed through his eyes. Then, reluctantly, he slunk backwards, disappearing into the ship.

  Dorran waited until the boat was out of reach then slumped back. He turned to Clare, his words a whisper that almost disappeared under the pounding rain. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She crept to his side. They waited a moment, listening. Nothing came down the dock towards them. Nothing appeared between the buildings. Clare could only hope the rain had masked the noise of their disembarking.

  The riverboat continued to drift, carrying its captain with it. Clare wondered where it would end up—trapped somewhere downriver, perhaps. Or the boat might make it all the way to the ocean, carrying its loyal owner onto far rougher seas than the ship had been designed for.

  Dorran’s hand wrapped around hers. Even with the gloves in the way, it was a
comfort. He helped her stand, then they turned towards the city and the tangle of metal and glass that hid Helexis Tower.

  Chapter Forty

  Clare’s breathing echoed inside the mask. She tucked at the fabric around her neck, making sure it was tight and that none of her skin would be visible. The rain had already soaked through her jacket, and her skin crawled as icy water ran over it.

  She followed Dorran along the dock. Its end connected with a concrete platform, with stairs leading up to a brick-patterned street. That part of the city had been designed for tourism. Overpriced eateries faced the water, and a small shack nearby offered to sell tickets to a river taxi.

  The area was showing its age. Water stains marked the concrete, and sun exposure had discoloured the eateries’ signs. As she and Dorran climbed onto the street, Clare saw dark stains scattered across the brown interlaced bricks. The frenzy of the quiet zones must have caused people to spill their drinks.

  No. Not drinks. Her stomach turned. Blood.

  The stains were the only remnants of what must have been a massacre. She held Dorran’s hand. He squeezed back. They couldn’t risk speaking, but she was grateful to have him at her side. She didn’t think she would have had the courage to step into the city otherwise.

  The brick street ran along the river’s edge, sometimes widening to make room for a children’s play area, sometimes being encroached on by overturned plastic restaurant chairs. Seeing it empty felt strange. Straight ahead, the bricks led between two apartments to reach the first proper road. There wasn’t much light with the angry clouds choking the sky, and the towering apartments conspired to block out what little there was. The walkway between them was dark enough to be night.

  Dorran bent close so that she could hear his whisper over the drumming rain. “I think speed will be to our advantage. We stay together but move quickly. Agreed?”

  Clare nodded. She wanted to keep holding his hand, but it would slow them down too much, so she reluctantly let go. Her fingers felt empty. She flexed them, wishing she had some kind of weapon to hold, at least. She might find something inside the restaurants if they took the time to search them. But that carried too much risk. Every minute they were exposed only invited more danger.

  Was this a mistake? Helexis Tower was only five blocks away. She had to keep her eyes fixed on it and not look back. We didn’t have anywhere else to go. This is our best chance. Isn’t it?

  She was acutely aware that the tower had the ability to save them or destroy them. They were too deep into the city to walk out intact. Five blocks to the tower was likely all they could manage, and even that was a terrible risk.

  Dorran was silent at her side. She had led him further than either of them had planned. He had never even wanted to leave Winterbourne, but he had, for her sake. Every step of the path had been her decision. Clare prayed she hadn’t brought him to his death.

  Their pace quickened from a walk to a jog as they crossed the stained bricks. They put their heads down as they passed between the buildings. Clare could feel their presence over her, smothering her like a heavy blanket. She hazarded a look towards the structure at her right.

  Faces pressed against the windows. Emaciated bodies bobbed as the apartment’s occupants, trapped inside their rooms and without enough wits to know how to open the doors, paced. They watched the two humans below them, hands slapping the glass, hungry and frustrated. Clare’s eyes moved higher up the building. There were dozens of them. Never more than one per room, though. It was like what she’d seen in the cars; the hollows would hunt in loose packs in the wilderness and forest, but when trapped in close quarters, the weaker members were eaten.

  Those would have been family, once. Best friends. Parents and children on a holiday, excited to visit the city, enjoying their views over the water.

  She turned to face the road again, eyes burning. Cars blocked the street. Two had crashed, their tyres riding up onto the sidewalk and their crumbled bonnets hanging through a store window and bending around a streetlamp.

  Clare stopped at the intersection and looked in both directions. It was impossible to hear or see clearly through the mask and the rain. Motion drew her attention towards a store window, but it was only a plastic shopping bag caught on the shattered glass and swinging as the wind tugged at it.

  Maybe the city won’t be as bad as I thought. Maybe the quiet zone moved over it very early in the morning, and most of the hollows are trapped inside their homes.

  Helexis Tower should be a block to their right and five ahead, if she hadn’t lost her orientation. Straight ahead, the road was littered with remnants of a broken jewellery store. A car had run through the corner window, and sparkling glass shards were jammed into cracks in the road. Rings, necklaces, and bracelets, all worth a small fortune, lay ignored among the once-white stands and scraps of pamphlets. Clare cautiously approached the street. Glass crunched under her boots. She stopped beside a streetlamp, scanning the environment, breathing heavily.

  A hollow chattered, but the sound was muffled and came from above. One of the apartment dwellers. They turned right, circling the wreck of the car that had broken the store, and followed the sidewalk.

  That road had been closed off to cars and converted into a market. Clumps of something black and sticky stuck to bright sheets of plastics. Decayed flower bouquets, she thought. Clare recognised food stands, including one that had been knocked over. Its vat of deep-frying oil had spilt across the road, but the worst of it had already been washed away, and what remained was turning dark as it absorbed grime and grit. Beyond that, a collection of mannequins stood guard. A telephone box had been set up as a kitschy changing room for a street fashion display.

  The cluttered stalls made Clare anxious, but the road was free from cars. Dorran led the way, weaving between the stands. Something scraped beneath Clare’s shoe. She looked down, expecting more glass, but saw she’d stepped on a gold coin. A woman’s purse lay nearby, dropped mid-transaction. The markets must have been open at the time the quiet zone had passed through.

  But the streets seem deserted. Are the masks working? Did something chase the hollows away? Or are we just lucky? It feels like we’ve already pushed our luck as far as it will go, but I won’t complain if it holds even a little while longer.

  Dorran’s mask kept moving in steady arcs, scanning the streets, but Clare noticed he kept glancing up for a second at a time before pulling his attention back down. He hadn’t seen the city before, she realised. Or any city. She didn’t know what the family’s Gould estate was like, but if it was as secluded as Winterbourne, his only exposure to the outside world would have been through books, stories from his uncles, and the views he had on their bi-yearly pilgrimage between the properties. Her heart ached for him. She wished she could have shown him the world the way it had been before the hollows.

  Sticky noises rose from their shoes as they stepped through the oil. Up ahead, the mannequins blocked their path. Clare hated the way the bald heads were tilted at angles, as though listening to the rain. Hands were raised into inscrutable gestures. Smooth indents marked the places where their eyes belonged. Their poses were elegant, but their clothes weren’t. Bohemian styles and pastel shades were discoloured. They hung off their mannequins awkwardly, wet, sad, and torn. Clare wondered where the rips had come from. Humans grasping and writhing in agony as they tasted the stinging air Madeline Morthorne talked about? Hollows scrambling after their prey? More than half of the statues were overturned, their poses still elegantly classy as they lay facedown in the puddles.

  Clare shivered as they passed the figures. They didn’t have faces, but they still looked too human. Then behind them, hinges whined. Clare froze. Their luck had run out. A low, sickeningly familiar chattering noise floated through the air.

  She and Dorran turned. The changing booth, a repurposed telephone box with blacked-out windows, had an Occupied sign hanging from the door. The wooden plaque rattled as the door swung outwards.

  C
hapter Forty-One

  The woman inside the booth fixed Clare with her one remaining eye. It was bulging and red, and Clare thought she knew the cause. Sharp bony spikes, like stalactites, filled the empty socket. She’d lost her blouse and pants, but her business jacket still clung to her narrow shoulders. It flapped as she lurched forward. One leg had grown longer than the other, giving her an exaggerated limp. The bloodshot eye moved from Clare to Dorran, and the jaw widened as she chattered.

  Dorran tapped Clare’s forearm. It was a small touch to shake her out of her shock and get her to move. She pressed her lips together and gave a tiny nod, and together, they began backing away.

  The hollow took another staggering step forward. The jaw worked, and her head tilted curiously. Clare risked a glance down to check that the gloves were still tucked into the jacket sleeves and her socks covered any trace of skin. She was hidden under the layers of clothes. But the hollow was growing excited. Its chattering became louder, and the jaw moved faster, swivelling in loosened sockets, as she stumbled forward recklessly.

  Can it tell we’re human? Can it hear our breathing? Smell us? Recognise the way we walk?

  Dorran gave another subtle tap. They were backing away, but the hollow’s unsteady gait was closing the gap. They needed to run. She shot Dorran a final look, wishing she could pick out some expression under the mask. He tilted his head in her direction, the only response he could give. Then they turned as one and began running.

  Mannequins skittered across the street as they were kicked out of the way. The hollow howled. Through their own pounding footsteps and the steady pattering rain, Clare heard the creature’s feet slapping on the ground as it chased them. Its limp gave it a distinctive, nightmarish gait. One loud smack, then a quick scrape, repeated. Clare focussed on their path, squinting through the fabric, mesh, downpour, and thin fog to see their path ahead. A deep fear of becoming cornered had taken root in her.