She hoped that as a good sign and moved back along the hallway and towards the stairs. Dorran was already coming down, his movements relaxed. “It’s clear.”
Clare released a tense breath. “You saw the blood in the kitchen, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” He nodded to the space above them. “There is also blood in the captain’s room. Some of the staff must have been onboard when the stillness moved through. With no other food to hunt, they must have killed each other. I cannot find any sign of a final survivor. My guess is it might have climbed over the side to find better hunting grounds in the town.”
“That would make sense.” The staff had probably been on the barge for hours before the cruise started, prepping the area. Clare wondered how many there had been. The captain, almost certainly. A cook. At least one or two assistants. She moved to look into the bar and found a speck of blood on one of the bottles. At least it wasn’t as gory as the kitchens.
“Do you feel safe enough?” Dorran asked.
Clare nodded. Her mouth was dry, but Dorran had searched the ship, and she knew him too well to think he wouldn’t be thorough. Despite the signs of violence, the riverboat was likely the safest place they could stay that night.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you for a moment to wash up,” Dorran said. “The bathrooms are small, but they will probably be easier to clean in compared to the kitchen.”
“Definitely.” Clare went to their bundle of supplies and found their spare clothes. With the promise of running water, she suddenly cared about the gory kitchen a lot less. She split into the women’s bathroom while Dorran took the men’s.
The taps gurgled for a moment before releasing a stream of water. Clare placed her fresh clothes on the closed toilet lid and stripped out of the dirty ones. The bathroom was cramped, and she had to come up with some creative contortions to wash herself, but at least it had almost everything she needed, including soap and a hand towel. The first step was to scrub the red stains out from under her fingernails, rinse them, and scrub again. Finished, she bent over the sink, shivering, as she doused her hair under the tap. They didn’t have shampoo, so she had to use soap to wash the grease out. It wouldn’t be great for her hair’s health, but she didn’t care. She was clean.
When she emerged, Dorran already stood at the other side of the boat, staring through a window at the moonlight glittering across the water. He looked good with his wet hair slicked back and clean, if not crisp, clothes. He’d washed the old ones and draped them over the back of a nearby chair to dry. Clare came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him.
He hummed lightly as he rested his hands over hers. She kissed his back through his shirt then let him pull her around so that he could hold her properly.
“How is your shoulder?” he asked.
“Fine. It’s not hurting anymore.” That was almost true. It had stung like a nightmare when she washed it, but otherwise, it wasn’t bothering her as much as she would have expected.
“You are very pretty,” Dorran murmured.
She grinned against his chest. “I don’t know about that. But I don’t look like a human garbage truck anymore, at least.”
“You were also very pretty before you washed,” he said.
“Liar.”
Dorran laughed and rested his head on her damp hair. “I would not lie to you. My beautiful Clare.”
The rest of that night was the happiest Clare had felt since leaving Winterbourne. Dorran braved the kitchen to heat their food over the stove. Since they’d found Beth’s supplies, there was no need to ration it. Clare ate the creamy pasta dish until she thought she couldn’t eat any more, took some of the antibiotics she had found in Beth’s bathroom, then settled into the bed, warm and curled up at Dorran’s side. The engine rumbled below them, a gentle melody that meshed with the lapping water. They turned off the lights in their section of the boat but left the heating on.
Cradled at Dorran’s side, she could forget all of the painful parts from the previous few days. Marnie. Beth’s bunker. Annie. Each time one of the memories encroached, Clare pressed her face into Dorran’s shirt and focussed on how warm and solid he felt. He seemed to know what she needed and responded by sleepily running his hand across her back until she relaxed.
The hollows returned several times that night. They paced the shore and the docks, chattering, searching for a way to reach the riverboat. They never lingered more than a few minutes, though. Occasionally, the riverboat creaked, its motor clicking over and old metal joints flexing as it warmed. Even knowing that they were safe, Clare still slept lightly enough to startle awake at the noises.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Morning came too soon. Clare emerged from sleep to the sound of rain pattering over the boat. Dorran was already awake, lying on his back and staring at the water-flecked window above them as he played with her hair.
“Morning,” Clare mumbled. “Bad weather, huh?”
His smile was full of a good mood. “Not the nicest. Did you want to wait for it to clear or have an early start?”
She rubbed sleep out of her eyes and sat up. The idea of staying in the riverboat was tempting. It was warm. It was safe. Clare could easily picture them turning it into their private oasis, but she still felt the faint squeeze of pressure. They had to get back to Winterbourne’s garden before the plants died from cold or lack of water. The riverboat was a beautiful, seductive limbo. Unlike Winterbourne, though, it was not sustainable, and any loss of momentum could be disastrous.
Well, I just called an outdated riverboat seductive. That has to be a new low. Clare smiled to herself. “I’m ready to leave now, if you’re up for it.”
Dorran looked pleased. “Of course. With luck, we will be home before nightfall.”
She stretched, popping some of the tension out of her back, and flinched as the bite in her shoulder flared. Dorran noticed. He reached for the jacket draped over the nearby chair and pulled the bottles of antibiotics and painkillers out of its pocket. “Here. I’ll get you some water.”
“I’ll get it.” She took the tablets he tipped into her hand and rose, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. “It would be nice to have another wash before we get back to the car.”
“Good idea. Take your time.”
Clare made her way across the dining area and into the hallway while Dorran began rolling up their bedding. She shut the bathroom door behind herself and squinted at her reflection. The day was early, and the bulb above her felt insipid. But the sleep had done her good. She looked less haggard.
She cupped water into her hands to swallow the tablets, turned on the hot water, and shook out the still-damp hand towel. At least the ship’s heater kept the rooms at a nice temperature.
Clare swayed as the floor moved under her. She frowned. Held in place by the taut rope fastened to the dock, the riverboat hadn’t shifted at all the previous night. She turned off the taps and opened the bathroom door.
Down the hallway, the kitchen’s light swung from the sudden movement. She turned in the opposite direction, towards the seating area, and felt her heart skip. Beyond the rounded windows and through the blur of rain, the scenery was moving.