Beth’s voice echoed in Clare’s mind. If you want to survive, don’t take risks.
“And we don’t know what we would find when we arrive there.” Clare’s voice had lost its energy, but she tried to smile. “It might be a safe house. Or it might be nothing.”
Underneath was an unspoken implication: Whatever is there, it won’t be Beth.
It hurt. She shook her head as she tried to focus on something more immediate, something more actionable. “What supplies do we need?”
“Clare…”
“What supplies?”
“We are low on all necessities, including petrol, bandages, antibiotics, and food. We have enough water left for a day if we only drink it and don’t use any for washing.”
“And I would like a bath. I never realised what a luxury running water was until we didn’t have any.” Clare looked down at herself. On top of every other layer of grime, blood, and sweat, Clare now had cranial fluid sticking on her hand. She felt repulsive. The fact that Dorran still sat so close to her reinforced what she already knew: he was halfway to being a saint.
“I would not disagree with a bath, either. I feel as though I am barely a step above the hollows I am fighting.” Dorran chuckled.
Clare joined in, and the tension between them dissipated.
“It is in your hands.” Dorran’s voice was so soft she could barely hear it. “You know how I feel, but this is still your choice. I promised I would follow where you led, and I will. If you wish to travel to the city, if you feel you cannot return to the house without doing so, I will be there with you.”
The city would be dangerous. She knew that without a shadow of a doubt. The streets would be worse than the freeway. The buildings would be many-storied death traps. The cities had been the first places to change, and their high-density populations meant there would be precious few chances to slip past the hollows unobserved.
They had made it through so much already. They were both injured and worn down. Ready to return home. Ready to consolidate and recover.
Dorran was watching her, his dark eyes filled with grief and love. She had lost her sister. She had to protect what she had left. Clare smiled, and this time, it didn’t hurt as much. “Let’s go back to Winterbourne.”
He kissed her forehead, a soft murmur in the back of his throat, and she could feel the relief running through him.
“We don’t have to give up entirely,” he whispered. “We still have our radio. Beth knows your frequency. If she is out there, she will make contact.” It was a promise without hope, but it was all he could give her.
Clare nodded. He pulled her closer and rested his head on top of hers. The bunker was cold, but Dorran was warm and safe. Clare closed her eyes. Her heart hurt, but she knew it wouldn’t last forever. She just had to get them home.
Low on food. Low on water. Low on medicine. She turned the radio over in her hands. At the opposite wall, the fractured supplies shelf covered a plethora of tins and bottled water. Some had become broken during the scuffle, but there was still more than they could carry. “We can take some of Beth’s food with us, at least. And… I think I know how to get more bandages and antibiotics, as well.”
“That would help. The antibiotics, especially, are a priority.” His eyes flicked down to her shoulder, and she knew he feared that they might make it home in one piece only to succumb to infection. Even if the condition inflicting the hollows wasn’t contagious, that didn’t mean their bites were free of bacteria.
Clare nodded. “Beth will have a first aid kit in her home. I don’t know where she keeps it, but it’s probably either in the kitchen or the bathroom. And I think we can use the radio to buy us a few minutes.”
“Good. I’ll collect the food.”
Dorran left Clare beside the door as he stepped around the dead hollows. He found a discarded blanket, shook it out, then moved through the food, picking out tins that weren’t damaged and placing them in the blanket one at a time to avoid noise.
Clare squinted through the low light to see the settings on the radio. During her time at Winterbourne, she had scrolled through some of the frequencies, looking for other survivors. Their numbers had grown fewer with every day, but some broadcast regularly, sharing advice or simply looking to meet up with others to trade supplies. In amongst them, she’d found one channel that was unlike anything she’d heard before. It was a jumble of sound—white noise, interspersed with second-long clips of songs, sound effects, and voices. It felt uniquely like a product of the stillness, something that shouldn’t have existed in the world before. It made her feel cold and unsafe.
She still didn’t know exactly what it was or who broadcast it, but she had some guesses. The clips, even the voices, all sounded pre-recorded. She thought it might be a radio station left running after the world went quiet, and its system had malfunctioned to play each automated segment for only a second or two at a time.
Clare scrolled through the channels until she found it. Even with the radio’s volume turned to its lowest setting, the noises were unmistakable. She heard a laugh track, followed by a single beat of a song, then a man cheerfully saying “Teeth—!” interspersed with static.
Dorran had returned, the blanket tied together at the corners to hold their supplies. Clare stood to take her place at his side. They exchanged a look, then she slowly, carefully opened the door. Fresh air rolled through as the seal broke, and Clare breathed deeply as she leaned into it.
They waited there a moment, watching the block of light at the top of the stairs for any sign of movement. It stayed empty. Clare swallowed then pulled her mask back over her face.
The hollow she’d killed lay just outside the door. The axe was still embedded in its skull, and its eyes stared up at them sightlessly. Its lower half had been completely devoured. Clare gagged and looked away as Dorran bent and wrenched his axe free. He lifted the bundled supplies onto his shoulder while Clare found her fire poker near the wall. Together, they stepped over the fallen hollow to ascend the stairs.
Daylight was running out. Clare guessed they had less than ten minutes of visibility left. That wouldn’t be good for getting out of the suburb, but she was sure they could make it work as long as they could reach the car. The garden seemed empty, but it was hard to be certain when the plants had lost their tones in the neutralising dusk.
They moved quickly and quietly, creeping along the house’s side. As they neared the front garden, Clare caught motion in the shadows around the silhouette of her red hatchback. She put her hand out to stop Dorran, and they held still, not even breathing, as they watched the creatures clawing at their vehicle. Clare waited until she was certain they weren’t looking in her direction, then she moved forward again, bent low as she sprinted around Beth’s fence to reach the neighbour’s yard.
Shapes appeared in the gloom ahead, stepping out of the plants, from around the cars, and through the open doors lining the street. Eyes glinted in the low light. Clare wondered if, like animals, the hollows were more active at dusk. She ran, Dorran keeping pace behind her with long, nearly silent strides. They only stopped at the stairs leading to the neighbour’s front entrance. A hollow set up its chattering cry, and the sound danced through the cold night air. Clare looked up at Dorran, a silent request for confirmation, and he nodded in return. She turned the radio’s volume up to its maximum level.