“Hollows,” Clare said. The fractured bones rested not far from her feet. The cranium had been cracked open like a coconut. It hadn’t been clear while it was whole, but now she could see the calcified protrusions reached inside too. They would have been digging into its brain. “I think it died from the mutations. Something—probably things—ate it.”
He muttered something she couldn’t hear then said, “I had thought the barn would be secure.”
“There’s nothing alive up there. We should be okay.”
The radio crackled. Clare flinched. She’d left it switched on, but with its static muffled by the wind, it had been nearly forgotten on the table by the barn door. As Beth turned her half of the pair on, the volume spiked into a near-painful whine. White noise hissed through the barn. Then Beth said, “Clare? Are you there?”
She ran for the radio, swearing under her breath, and tried to turn down the volume. The dial was stuck. Something heavy hit the barn door beside her, and Clare held the radio close to her chest as she stepped away. Dorran didn’t speak, but he picked up a metal pipe from the nearest bench.
“Clare?” Beth’s voice was tight and far too loud.
She pressed the button to turn on her audio, and whispered, “I’m here. I can’t talk right now.”
“What? What’s happening?”
“Please! Be quiet!”
Another heavy thud came from door. The scratching sounds were growing louder. The wood trembled as hands pried at it. Do they know how to open it? Are they smart enough to figure it out?
Dorran backed up until he stood beside Clare. His dark eyes darted over the space, watching the walls. She couldn’t tell how many hollows were outside. But there were a lot. They were closing in on every side. Clare’s heart skipped a beat as sudden realisation hit her. She tugged on Dorran’s sleeve. “They’ll have a way in.”
The voice crackled through the radio again. “Clare, what’s happening? Are you all right?”
“Fine. Can’t talk.” Clare struggled with the dial, trying to turn Beth’s volume off without breaking the radio. It remained stuck. “The door was closed when we arrived, but if there are bones in the loft, there must be another way in.”
“Damn it,” he muttered. He flexed his hands around the metal pipe.
The front door banged again. A gap appeared along its edge. Long, spindly fingers poked through, feeling and squirming.
“Mask,” Dorran hissed, passing one to Clare. She braced the radio between her knees while she fit on her mask. She was under no delusions that it would shield her that day. The hollows had heard human voices. The creatures were in a frenzy, and the chance for Dorran and Clare to slip out unharassed had passed.
“Clare, I can’t hear you.” There was something strange about how Beth spoke. Something beyond the usual worry. If she’d had more time, Clare would have been able to focus on it—but the door grated in another inch, and she could see grey skin writhing outside as the creatures jostled for space.
“They might have dug a hole or broken through the walls,” Dorran whispered. “Look for the other entrance. We might be able to get out while they’re focussed on the main door.”
They moved away from the shuddering wood and silently stepped between the support beams and dividing walls. Clare cradled the radio against her chest as they passed Dorran’s motor. He’d placed it on the sheet, ready to carry it out, along with a stack of tools and supplies. She hated to think that they might have to leave it behind.
A cold breeze stung her cheeks. Clare turned in its direction and beckoned to Dorran. They stepped around the shell of a vehicle, its seats and innards gutted, and Clare caught the glow of pale light splashed across the floor.
In the shed’s corner, half hidden behind a tangle of barbed wire, the wood had rotted. Hollows had clawed at the decaying walls and floors, creating a hole that was just barely large enough for a person to squirm between. Clare crouched to look through. There was no snow blocking the other side. Cold light glared off muddy ground.
“Clare.” Beth was crying. “I need to talk to you.”
Biting her lip until it ached, Clare fumbled with the radio’s settings. She couldn’t answer; the noise would give them away. Instead, she flipped a switch, muting Beth.
Dorran held up a finger for her to wait, then he dropped to his chest and crawled beneath the barbed wire. He moved quickly but carefully, pipe held at the ready, as he approached the gap. His forearms passed through, then he froze.
“Dorran?” Clare whispered.
He lurched back, pulling away from the splintered gap too quickly. The barbed wire caught across the mask. A long, bowed arm shot through the hole after him, snatching at his face.
Clare moved without thinking. She smashed the radio down onto the hand, hard enough to crush bone. The tough plastic case fractured, and the volume boomed. Suddenly, Clare couldn’t hear herself underneath the popping, hissing white noise.
“Go!” Dorran yelled, shoving her. He wrenched himself out from the wire, leaving the mask behind. Specks of blood flecked across Clare’s arm. She turned and ran deeper into the barn as an elongated, hissing face peered through the opening.
“No, no,” Clare whispered. She pressed the volume buttons. It wouldn’t quieten. Beth’s breathing echoed around them.
“Clare.” Magnified, the regret and sadness in Beth’s voice was unbearable.
The hollows responded to the word. Metal scraped as they fought to get through the barbed wire. Up ahead, the sliding door jumped on its runners. Arms stretched through the gap, blindly grasping at the air.
The radio wouldn’t turn off. She had no choice. She dropped it and flinched as it hit the wood floor with a clatter. Dorran grasped her hand, and together, they ran for the stairs leading to the loft. Their footsteps were drowned out by Beth’s echoing words.
“I really need to talk to you, sweetheart. Please.” She took a tight breath. “It’s… things… things aren’t great here.”
They were halfway up the stairs. The door shuddered as it was nearly wrenched off its frame. Clare kept her eyes ahead, focussed on the upper landing, the graveyard for the unknown hollow.
As they gained the loft, Dorran tugged her downwards. They dropped to their knees and crawled through the bones and dried gore to reach the back wall. They didn’t stop moving until they were under the window. Out of sight of the main floor, they pressed their backs to the wall and watched the top of the stairs, their legs pulled close to their chests.
The door banged again. Then the struggling noises transformed into something much worse. Flesh rubbing over flesh. Clare imagined them pouring through the gap, tumbling over each other in their eagerness for food. How many? her mind asked then answered itself with, Too many.
“I don’t have long, sweetheart.” Beth’s voice carried clearly through the building, even under the pattering feet and scrabbling fingers. “The… the ventilation system went down this morning. The bunker is airtight. I can’t…” She took another ragged breath. “The only way to get fresh air would be to open the door. And…”
No. No. Clare shook her head, her heart hammering. The fencing mask was suddenly suffocating her; she wrenched it off.