by Darcy Coates
Peter’s eyes flicked between them, then he leaned forward and pushed the vending machine food a little closer. “Don’t panic. It’s not too late. There are pockets of people surviving, and we’re going to give them the best damn chance possible. Humanity can recover from this. But only once the hollows are gone.”
“People were hoping they might kill themselves.” Clare’s tongue felt stiff, but she forced it to move. “That they might starve or…”
“Yes. Eventually, they would die out. But… not quickly. They are capable of surviving with shockingly poor nutrition. The thanites make them almost immune to injuries, since it fast-tracks healing and destroys infection. Now, the thanites will eventually be deadly. The mutations will continue growing and spreading, unceasing, until it kills them in some way or another.”
Clare remembered the hollows with bones growing into their skulls. She grimaced and nodded.
“It’s already killing some of them,” Peter said. “But not fast enough. I ran some calculations. At the current rate, it would take close to a year until the hollows stop outnumbering humans a thousand to one. At least five years until there are more humans than hollows. Perhaps twenty before the creatures go extinct entirely.”
Five years until they stop outnumbering us. The queasiness crawled back up Clare’s stomach.
“I don’t know how many people are still alive, but it’s not a lot. And less every day. We can’t afford to wait until these creatures kill themselves. But maybe we don’t have to.”
“How?”
“I’m trying to create a code that will, in layman’s terms, detonate the thanites. Wherever they’ve clustered in the body, I can make them react with each other and self-destruct. Done all at once, the chain reaction should be enough to kill the hollow host as well. Imagine a billion tiny explosions running through the body like a shockwave. Any hollows that survive the initial deactivation will be left vulnerable to infection. Theoretically, the world would be safe again in as little as a week.”
“What’s the but?”
Peter chuckled. “Hah. You’re right, of course. There’s always a but. I’m doing my best. I’ve been spending all of my time on it since the stillness event. But I’m still not there yet.”
“What do you need?” Clare asked.
Dorran’s hand found her arm and squeezed lightly, his attention still fixed on Peter.
Peter took a slow, deep breath then let it out gradually. “I believe there is a research institute still functioning. In Evandale. From what I’ve gathered, there are five or six scientists still living there since the station was an airlocked room during the stillness. If I can get my research to a useable point, they might be able to take it, check it, and enact it. Something like this… it’s not the kind of thing you want to launch unless you’re absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, certain that it will work the way it’s intended. If it goes wrong, even just slightly, it could kill every single survivor.”
“So you want to get your research to them.” Clare chewed her lip, thinking. “Are they listening to the radio? Can you send your data to them through it?”
“I’ve never heard them on the radio, though they may be listening. But either way, it would take months to verbally communicate the code to them, as well as introduce a huge margin of error. No; it needs to be through USB. I have a drive with everything on it. I need to pass it to them somehow.” Peter glanced between Clare and Dorran. “I would have tried to take it myself, except the stakes are too high. If I were to die, the research would be lost with me. It probably sounds like I’m being selfish, but the truth is, without me, there is no cure. I have to avoid risks at any cost. Someone else needs to take the USB.”
Dorran’s hand tightened on Clare’s arm. He wasn’t happy with the turn of events.
“Oh…” Clare glanced between the two men. “I know this is important, but—”
“Don’t worry! I’m not dumping the responsibility on you!” Peter chuckled and shook his head. “I’m not that mean. I know it’s a big request. All I’m asking is that, when you leave the tower, you to take a copy of the code with you. If you encounter any other survivors on your way home, tell them where it needs to go. See if you can pass it along until it reaches the Evandale station.”
Dorran’s hand finally relaxed. Clare nodded, relieved. “That might be easier.”
“Thank you. Truly. If anyone else arrives here, I’ll make a duplicate USB and ask them to do the same. That way, even if one copy is lost or damaged, there should be backups.” Peter beamed at them. “I’m still a couple of days away from my data being ready. Would you mind staying here for at least that long? There are bunks you can sleep in. Once the code is finished, you can leave any time. Or stay a while longer, if you need the rest. To be honest, it’s nice to have company after so long.”
The tower felt precariously unsafe with hollows clustered around it and the storm raging outside the windows. But despite that, Clare knew they would struggle to find a better situation between there and Winterbourne. As little as she liked the tower’s clinical feel, at least Helexis had water, food, and the first human they had met since the stillness.
Peter clapped his hands on his knees. “You don’t have to decide right now. Eat some food. I’ll see about finding you something more comfortable to sleep in. And maybe some toothbrushes as well.”
He left the room at a brisk trot. Clare waited until the door clicked closed behind him, then she turned to the man at her side. Dorran stared at the wall opposite them. He wasn’t a chatty person by nature, but he seemed even more withdrawn than normal.
Clare rubbed his arm. “What are you thinking?”
He pressed his lips together, seeming to measure his response. Thunder rumbled, and the lights above them flickered. “I really do not know.”
“Something’s worrying you.”
“Yes.” His eyes looked sad. “Clare, this is so far beyond what I am familiar with. Tiny machines. USB drives that need to be delivered to parts of the country I have never heard of before. And this man, Peter…”
Clare waited patiently, knowing he needed a moment to collect himself.
At last, he shrugged, exhaling deeply. “It does not matter.”
“Hey, I’ll be the judge of that.” She squeezed his hand. “You know you can tell me anything.”
A thin smile ghosted across his lips then vanished. “I used to rely on instincts at Winterbourne. I could tell when someone was in a bad mood; I could tell when someone was lying to me. But here, in this foreign world, surrounded by new concepts and new faces, I cannot know what to believe. And I am afraid jealousy is manifesting as hostility.”
It took Clare a second to understand, and when she did, she blinked in surprise. “You’re jealous of him?”
“Of course I am.” He let her hand go. “He talks so easily. He is charismatic and intelligent. And he is adept at this world; he may even be capable of saving it. Looking at him is like looking at an exhibition of my inadequacies. And I wish I were handling it more graciously than I am.”
Clare crept closer and wrapped her arms around him. She rested her head against his shoulder, trying to spread some comfort to him through touch. “You have so many strengths of your own. If I had to pick someone to cross the country with, I’d choose you every time.”
“You are kind.”
“I’m honest.”
Dorran chuckled and kissed the top of her head. He rested there for a moment, and Clare listened to his heartbeat, steady and reliable.
“What do you want to do?” Dorran asked. “About this USB drive and the research institute.”
It wasn’t an easy question. Clare pressed her eyes shut. “I know where Evandale is. But I’ve never visited it. It would be a long drive.”
“Longer than what we’ve already crossed?”
“Yeah.”
Dorran’s finger grazed Clare’s cheek, brushing stray hair behind her ear. “How do you feel about his other suggestion, t
hat we pass the drive to another traveller?”
“I mean… we could probably find someone eventually, but…”
He nodded, but Clare had the sense he wished he didn’t agree. “It feels negligent.”
“It doesn’t seem right to carry the answer to the world’s problems in our pocket and not do everything we could to get it to Evandale. We could pass it to another survivor, but it might take days to find someone, and they probably wouldn’t want the responsibility any more than we do.”
“He still believes other people may come to the tower. But his signal has been broadcasting for weeks, and we are the first to find him. How long would he wait for another traveller?”
The door beeped. Clare jolted and looked over her shoulder. Peter had returned, beaming as he carried two thick bathrobes. “Good news. The social media company two floors below us was also in the habit of spending nights in the tower. And apparently, they were accustomed to luxury. I even found an unopened pack of toothbrushes.”
“Oh, now that’s some good news.” Clare took the bundle of items from him.
“You remember where the bathrooms are, right? Just across the hall.” Peter was already backing towards the desk with his laptop. “Otherwise, make yourselves comfortable here. I’m going to try to get ahead on my work. Meeting the pair of you has restored some enthusiasm, so I hope you won’t think I’m too rude if I take advantage of it.”
“Of course not. Do you need quiet while you work?”
“No, not at all.” He laughed. “I’m used to being in a room full of people. It might actually help me Zen into it if I have some background noise. Help yourself to dinner, such as it is. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
He sank into the desk seat and pulled the laptop an inch closer. Clare watched curiously. A change passed over Peter as he began to work. He opened a chart filled with numbers and fractions, and within seconds, the animated smile faded into tight-lipped focus. His eyes developed a glaze as he tapped at numbers. Clare had the impression that he’d tuned them out. It was fascinating, if a little unsettling.
She crossed to the window and nudged the blinds back. The sky was hidden by clouds, but Clare guessed it had to be night. The storm hadn’t lost any of its ferocity. When she pressed close to the glass and angled her chin down, she could make out the edge of the horde assaulting the building. Very little of them were visible between the dark sky and heavy clouds. But occasionally, she saw distant glints as they tilted their heads back at the perfect angle to catch some of the window’s light on their eyes.
Chapter Forty-Nine
She let the blinds fall back into place. Dorran stood by the chairs, watching her. She tried to shake off her uneasiness as she crossed to him. “I could do with a shower. How about you?”
“Mm. Very much.”
Clare led the way, weaving between the desks to reach the hallway and the bathrooms. They took turns using the shower. Helexis’s amenities were vastly more spacious than the riverboat’s, but the water heater had been turned off as part of Peter’s efforts to conserve fuel. Clare stayed in the freezing water just long enough to rinse the shampoo out of her hair, then she rushed through the towel-drying to get the dressing gown around herself. She was still shivering when she stepped into the main part of the bathroom, where Dorran had finished brushing his teeth. He swept her into a chair, pushed the bath mat under her feet, and grabbed a fresh towel to dry her hair for her.
“I miss Winterbourne’s fireplaces.” Clare, teeth chattering, clutched the dressing gown’s lapels as Dorran squeezed moisture out of her hair.
He chuckled. “It had some attractive features.”
“Do you miss it?”
She watched his expression in the mirror. He took a breath but didn’t speak immediately, instead keeping his eyes focussed on her hair as he combed it. “Sometimes. A little.”
“You grew up there. It’s normal to be homesick. Especially when the outside world is so much different to what you’re used to.”
“Do you miss your home?”
Clare still thought of her cottage occasionally, though it encroached on her thoughts less and less frequently with each passing day. She lifted her shoulders in a shrug then let them drop. “I miss what it represents. My old life, where I could sit in the garden when it was sunny and wave to the elderly couple across the street when they went out for walks and buy a new book each Friday then try to find somewhere to fit it on my bookshelf. But I wouldn’t want to go back there.”
“No?”
“I can imagine what it must look like. The plants would all be dead. The neighbours would be gone. I don’t think there would be any life or joy left in it at all. This way I can preserve it, whole and undamaged, in my memories.”
“I can understand that.” Dorran put the brush aside and handed Clare a hair tie. As she pulled her hair into a ponytail, Dorran opened the first aid kit on the table. He cut off the wet bandages marking her body, discarded them in the bin, and began redressing the ones that needed it.
The cuts on her stomach and thigh, less than four weeks old, had almost completely healed. Red lines marked where the skin had once been torn, but even they were fading. The bite on her forearm, still recent, was knitting together.
“I saw you were healing quickly, but I did not suspect it was tied to the stillness,” Dorran murmured. “No sign of infection. No delays to progress, even after extensive blood loss and less-than-optimal nutrition. No lingering effects from the cyanide. I am not a fool enough to be grateful for the stillness, but at least this is one result in our favour.”
A side effect of an infection I can’t escape. Clare’s fingers twitched. She clenched her hands into fists in her lap.
Dorran lowered his brows, his eyes sad. “I am sorry, my darling.”
“It’s—it’s fine.” Clare hoped, if she repeated it often enough, she might actually believe it. “We’re safe, and we’re still together, and that’s the most important thing, right?”
He bent to kiss the top of her head, his fingers lingering over the tape holding a bandage in place.
Clare brushed her teeth while Dorran showered. When he emerged two minutes later, he was shivering almost as badly as she had, the dressing gown tied tightly around himself. He patched his own scrapes and bandages quickly, closed the kit, then held out a hand. Clare took it as they returned to the office area.
She used her badge to open the door. The space felt vacant; Peter was still at his desk, head down, fully absorbed into his formula, but he looked painfully small compared to the breadth of the room. The rapid key tapping blended with the drum of falling rain. Clare hesitated as the door swung closed behind them, but Peter didn’t even seem aware that they were there. It felt wrong to interrupt him.
They resumed their spots on the couch and picked through the vending machine food. The apples went first; Clare and Dorran were both starved for fresh food. They split a packet of salty peanuts. Clare’s stomach had finally quietened enough that she could eat, but she tried to moderate what she had. The foods were all high in salt and sugar. She pitied Peter for having to live off it for a month.
Clare tried to rest, leaning against the chair’s corner and stretching her feet in front of the heater. It was like trying to take a nap with a beehive directly above her head. Her mind whirred, frantic and confused, and the more she tried to ignore it, the worse it became. She needed something to do.
Peter had told them to make themselves at home, but she didn’t like the idea of encroaching on any of the other desks. They held too many memories from their past owners. Just looking through the papers and touching the discarded jackets and trinkets would build up an idea of the man or woman who had marked that area as their own. Clare didn’t want to let that into her head. It would hurt too much.
The bookcase behind them held novels and games. Clare loved reading, but she didn’t think she could fall into any of the books that night. The fantasy escape they offered felt hollow. She lea
ned close to Dorran and whispered, “Bed?”
He nodded, smiling, and Clare felt some relief. It couldn’t have been any later than eight, but she thought sleep might at least soften the anxiety. Morning would bring a clean slate and, she hoped, a clearer mind.
Clare rose and approached Peter. He hunched forward, his face intensely focussed on the screen. Every few seconds, he tapped a key, toggling different cells and entering new numbers. Clare wondered if he had always been that intense. The way he stared, unblinking, made her think it was a lifelong habit.
An open binder stood on the desk’s edge. The name on it was familiar: Dr Peter Wiesner. He’d left his research notes for the bionic eye out on the desk. She guessed it really was difficult to let go of the past. The eye must have been his passion for more than a year. She knew it would have been a challenge to pick up a different scientist’s work at a moment’s notice.
Clare rubbed the back of her neck, uncomfortable with interrupting him when he was so involved with the spreadsheet, but he seemed oblivious to her. She waited until the silence was unbearable then cleared her throat. “Peter?”
“Oh, hey, how’s it going?” He leaned back, and immediately the grin brightened his face.
“Sorry, I hope I didn’t disturb you—”
“Nah, it’s fine. I could do with some distraction from this mess. It’s enough to fry my brain.”
Clare chuckled. She tilted her head towards Dorran, who stood beside the chairs, patient but watchful as always. “We were thinking we might head to bed, unless you needed help with anything?”
“That sounds like a plan. I could probably do with some sleep too.” Peter stretched as he stood. “I’ll show you the bunks. Open the door for me, would you? I need to put out the light.”
Clare pushed on the door to the hallway and waited. Peter tapped some keys on the computer. Every bulb went out—not just in the work room, but in the hallway, as well. The only light came from the emergency exit sign above the stairs. Clare flinched as the red glow doused the space in a sickening ambience.
