Marnie shuffled towards them. Her body was swollen, skin stretched to bursting point, bright red and shiny. The clothes, half torn, clung to her and swung about her with every hobbling step.
Her mouth opened. A deep, mournful bellow spilled out, shaking the skin around her throat. Her steps were uneven, lurching. A string of saliva fell over the lower lip, spilling onto the stains already coating her blouse. Engorged fingers reached forward, fumbling and grasping at air.
Dorran was speaking to her in short, sharp phrases. She couldn’t catch any of them. Her legs felt like they were made of paper and ready to crumble under the weight of what she was seeing. Marnie’s slow, shuffling steps were growing faster. She spilled into the entryway, her shoulders knocking trinkets off the closest shelves. Then Dorran’s arm moved around Clare’s waist and dragged her back, through the door, into the outside. Marnie’s lips shivered as she released another bellow. It sounded mournful. Pained.
Dorran slammed the door.
“No, no, no.” Clare dropped her crowbar and clasped her head in both hands as hot tears spilled out.
She’d known Marnie was likely dead. But she’d never properly been able to face the idea that her aunt might have become a hollow. It was worse than death. It was barbaric. Torture. She dropped to her knees, fingers digging into her scalp.
“Clare.” Dorran’s voice was gentle but held an undercurrent of urgency. He crouched beside her, close enough for her to feel his warmth. “We have to go, Clare.”
Marnie reached the door. Her fingers, painfully swollen, began to scrabble against it. Clare could hear the phlegmy, gasping breaths underneath.
“We have to go.” Dorran tried to pull her up, but she staggered.
Her mind felt like it was crumbling. Like a rock that had been squeezed too hard, fragments splintering off, cracks digging deeper, an insane idea entered. Maybe they could go back to that morning, just go to sleep, and when she woke up, she would be back to a point where there was still hope to look forward to. A world where Marnie was merely dead.
Dorran half carried, half dragged her towards the car. She could feel the stress bleeding out of him as he eased her into the passenger seat. Her door shut with a firm snap, then he took his seat beside her. He didn’t try to start the car.
Clare buckled over, palms pressed into her forehead, as she tried not to wail. That was my aunt. The thought swirled around in her mind, refusing to give her peace. That was my dear aunt. My aunt who loved her goats. My aunt who baked me cakes and sang out of tune to her favourite songs on the radio. My aunt who never had a harsh word to say about anyone.
Dorran stroked her back but didn’t try to interrupt her grief. She could feel him watching the house, though. Being so close to a hollow was making him uneasy.
That’s all she is now. A hollow.
Before, Clare had been able to separate the creatures from who they had once been. It wasn’t hard. They barely looked human. They were like some kind of monster out of a video game. Something she could hate. Something she could kill.
But this was Marnie. Not a hollow. Not a monster. Marnie. And she was in pain.
Clare had seen it in her face, heard it in her bellows. Her skin was bulging, filled with fluid, ready to burst. It was agony for her. And she no longer had a human mind to comprehend what was happening. She didn’t understand it. But she was trapped there and would remain trapped there, suffering. For how long?
“We have to kill her.” Clare lifted her head. Her voice was hoarse. She thought she might have been screaming, but she couldn’t remember the noise, only feel the rawness in her throat. “I—I have to. She’s in so much pain—”
Dorran looked back towards the door. Beneath the radio’s crackles, beneath Clare’s ragged gasps, she thought she could still hear the sad digging of fingers at the door.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Dorran said, “I’ll do it.”
“I can’t ask that of you.” Clare shook her head, but at the same time, a voice in the back of her mind whispered, If he doesn’t do it, can you?
She tried to imagine lifting her weapon over her aunt, looking into Marie’s eyes as she brought it down again and again. She retched and threw the door open just in time to be sick over the grass.
Dorran moved around her silently. She slumped back in the chair, shaking, and a moment later, she felt a cup being pressed into her hands.
“Drink,” Dorran whispered. “I will take care of it. Is there a back entry into the house?”
“Yes.” Bile smarted on Clare’s tongue, and she tried to wash it down. Her hands shook, spilling water across her lap. She closed her eyes and tried to focus. “In the kitchen. It’s a straight line from the front entry to the back door.”
“Stay here. Don’t try to follow. I will be back within five minutes.”
He pressed her hand gently then stepped towards the house. Tremors ran through Clare, and she couldn’t stop them. Dorran paused at the front door to retrieve the weapons they had dropped there, then he disappeared around the side of the house.
Marnie. You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve any of this.
The cup tipped in her hands, and cold water ran across the seat and into the still-damp carpet. Clare barely noticed.
What she’d asked of Dorran was more than should be expected of anyone. But she couldn’t leave Marnie there, trapped, in pain, and not understanding why, imprisoned until she starved or died from her injuries.
A muffled thwack echoed from the house. Clare dropped the cup and pressed her hands over her face as she moaned. The thwack was followed by more. Quick and harsh. Metal hitting flesh. Clare moved her hands to her ears. It wasn’t enough to block out the noise.
Marnie. Marnie. I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.
Five more sharp, short beats were followed by silence.
I’m sorry, Marnie. I’m so sorry.
The house stayed still. Its windows were dark. Clare’s stomach ached, but there was nothing left to bring up. She kept her eyes fixed on the farmhouse door.
A minute passed… then another. Dorran didn’t reappear.
Clare tried to count the seconds, but time felt distorted. How far past midday are we now? Is it close to night? Have we been here five minutes or an hour?
Perfect silence reigned over Marnie’s farm. Fear squeezed at Clare’s insides. She needed to look for Dorran. She didn’t think her legs would carry her. Her ears were ringing again, blending in with the radio’s static in a bleak, frightening song.
Then Dorran stepped into view, coming around the house’s side. He carried his jacket over his arm. His hair was wet and slicked back.
He washed up, Clare realised with a sickening jolt.
Dorran’s expression stayed impassive as he neared the car. He opened the door and slid inside, throwing his jacket into the back seat. It was wet, too, Clare saw.
“Everything is all right now.” His face might have been expressionless, but his voice was raw. “She is gone.”
Clare nodded, and Dorran turned the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled. He eased the car around to face the driveway.
Neither of them spoke or made any move to turn on the music. Dorran kept his eyes on the road. Clare glanced at him once, then leaned against the window, breathing deeply as she tried not to be sick again.