Then she blinked and saw the car crashed outside Beth’s home. It had crushed her mailbox and ended its trajectory against the tree that shaded Beth’s living room in summer. The tree, a weathered old maple, stayed standing; the car’s driver seat was empty, but a thick streak of dark liquid smeared the windshield. Its tail hung onto the road, stopping her from parking directly outside Beth’s.
“Stop in the middle of the road,” Dorran suggested. “It will be easier to drive away quickly, if we need to.”
Clare nodded, feeling foolish. She’d been subconsciously looking for another parking space between the other cars. Old habits died hard. There was no one to care if she blocked the street, but she still felt like she was doing something wrong as she put the car into park.
Dorran turned in his seat to reach the car’s back storage supplies. He resurfaced with three masks: one for himself, one for Clare, and one for Beth.
Thank you, Dorran.
He couldn’t believe they would find Beth alive. But he was still going through the motions for Clare’s sake. A thin smile struggled to hold as she took her mask and stared at the slightly dented mesh.
She didn’t feel ready. She’d had two full days to think and worry and hope; it still hadn’t been enough. She pulled the mask on, and the world dimmed under the mesh and folds of fabric.
Dorran passed her the leather jacket and gloves. They were still grimy from their first trip to the car. She strapped them on, using their makeshift ties to fasten the gloves to the sleeves and cover every inch of skin. Dorran mimicked her motions beside her. His breathing was fast and faintly ragged. She wondered if he felt the same thrum of fearful adrenaline that was pulsing through her.
“Ready?” His voice was low and intense. One arm was poised to open his door.
Clare took a slow breath. “Wait. One moment.” She twisted around to find the radio she’d discarded in the back seat. She knew it would be futile, but she was too frightened to stop herself. She switched it on and checked it was locked into the right frequency.
“Beth? It’s me. We’re here for you. Please reply.”
Nothing but white noise responded. She hadn’t expected anything different; she’d only known that she had to try. She placed the radio on the dashboard, unwilling to shut it off, then turned towards Beth’s house.
Their path would lead them down the narrow passageway between the right-hand side of the house and the fence, through the side gate, and into the backyard. She twisted, scanning the street, looking for motion. It seemed clear. She didn’t expect it to stay that way for long, but they didn’t need more than a couple of minutes.
Dorran took a breath, and Clare felt he was on the cusp of saying something. Then he shook his head. Clare reached across the space between them and took his hand. He leaned closer, until their masks bumped together, and through it, Clare glimpsed his eyes. They were intense, filled with fear, sadness, and adoration.
“We’ll be quick,” Clare said. “Don’t worry. As soon as we’re sure Beth is gone—we’re leaving.”
He nodded. “Whatever happens… know that I love you. So much.”
He squeezed her hand. Clare held it in return, suddenly afraid to let go. Then they both turned towards their doors, and in unison, the latches clicked as they opened. Clare and Dorran stepped out into the silent world.
Chapter Thirty-Two
They each held a weapon of choice. Clare had lost her crowbar at the bridge, so she carried the fire poker. She hadn’t consciously planned it, but she gravitated towards long weapons. Knocking the hollows aside was easier than feeling a blade become buried in skin. Dorran brought his axe, its head already stained dark brown. He carried it one-handed, held at his side.
Beth’s front garden gate barred their path. Clare couldn’t shake the feeling of surrealism as she neared it. Beth had been pedantic about her gate; even though it was only waist height, she’d never left it unlatched. She’d been afraid of strangers breaking in and believed a shut gate would act as a deterrent. Clare had never bought into the theory. But Beth had been resolute about it. And here, at the end of the world, her gate remained shut.
The metal latch screeched as Clare opened it. She left it ajar, knowing their retreat was likely to be quick.
The small brick house stood ahead. Now-dead vines clung to the side walls. Plain cloth curtains blocked the front windows, hiding the comfy chairs and quirky paintings from neighbours’ eyes. Clare couldn’t count how many hours she’d spent inside the home with her sister, sometimes arguing about things that now seemed inconsequential, or laughing as they watched cheesy comedies. She’d known seeing Beth’s house would raise emotions for her. She hadn’t expected them to be so strong.
I came for you, Beth. I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner.
Down the side of the house, moving quickly and rolling their feet to minimise noise on the rough pebble path, Dorran and Clare hung close together. A low, steady chattering noise floated across the fence and manicured lawns. It wasn’t too close, not yet, but still closer than Clare would have liked.
A second latched gate opened into the backyard. Trees, shrubs, and flowers, Beth’s pride and joy, filled the area. They were looking worse for wear, just like everything else in the new world. But many of them were still green. It was a little spark of joy in Clare’s heart.
At the garden’s back, between two twisting crape myrtles, was the bunker. Its entrance was discreet, just a square metal door standing between the trees. A concrete tunnel behind it disappeared underground at a ninety-degree angle. The door was closed.
“Okay.” The lump in her throat was choking her, but she squared her shoulders. Seeing the shut door answered the question that had plagued her since she’d lost the radio in Winterbourne’s shed. Beth had chosen suffocation over death at the hollows’ hands.
Stay with the plan. The longer you spend out here, the more danger you’re putting the both of you in. See inside the bunker. It’s the only way you can be certain. But no matter what you find in there, you’re turning around immediately and going back to the car. There isn’t time to bury her. You can grieve on the drive home.
Beth had kept a spare key for the bunker in case Clare ever needed to use it in an emergency. When Beth had shown her where to find it, Clare had tried to turn it into a joke about paranoia. Now, she was only grateful for her sister’s forethought. She knelt at the stack of pots running along the back wall and pulled out the second-largest one. Wood louse and tiny pale worms squirmed away as she turned the pot over. Taped on the underside was a discoloured silver key.
Dorran stayed in the garden’s centre, turning in a slow circle as he watched the surrounding wooden fences and the main gate. Clare moved to the bunker’s door. She was shaking. Tears stung her face behind her mask.
See inside the bunker then leave.
She made to slot the key into the lock and felt a jolt of shock as the door creaked. Clare pressed her fingers to the cold metal and pushed. The door drifted inwards. Someone had opened the door then carefully closed it behind themselves.
Beth. So, you chose to let them in after all.
She felt Dorran watching her but wasn’t able to meet his gaze. A screaming, chattering wail came from somewhere near the road. Clare shook her head. She couldn’t afford to be wasting time. She stepped into the stairwell, taking a short, sharp breath.