The table blocked Clare’s view of the stairwell, but she could hear the captain. Each footstep reverberated off the metal. He stopped after six paces. The furniture jostled with a clatter then stuck with a bang. The table bulged out an inch as he tried to push it then shuddered as he tried to pull. Clare exchanged a look with Dorran. A frustrated snarl echoed from the stairwell, then the door slammed again as the captain returned to the upper deck.
Dorran bent close to whisper into Clare’s ear. “Wait here. Call me if he returns to the stairs.”
She tried to ask where he was going, but he moved into the hallway before she could speak. As silent as a wraith, he disappeared into each door, turn by turn. Clare kept one eye on him and the other on their barricade. She couldn’t hear the captain any longer.
He’s smart. He hasn’t tried to talk, not like Madeline did, but he remembers how to use knives, and he remembers the way around the ship. Maybe he kept part of his humanity, but not all of it.
Dorran reappeared and gave Clare a brief nod. “There are no other doors. We should be secure as long as he can’t dismantle the stairwell blockade.”
“Okay.” Clare licked her lips, her heart hammering. “What do we do now?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Through the windows, the scenery continued to change slowly but unrelentingly. One of doors in the kitchen rattled then fell silent again as the captain scoped out the remaining entrances to the paddleboat’s central area.
Dorran ran his hand over his face, wiping away the remaining raindrops. He took a moment to answer Clare’s question. “We don’t have access to the engine room any longer. I don’t know how we can return to the car.”
How far are we from it now? A kilometre? Two? How far will we have travelled before we can get to shore?
Clare blinked furiously. Of all the things she could grow attached to, she hadn’t expected it to be a grimy, half-broken vehicle. But that car had saved them. It had carried them for days without complaint. Despite how precarious its repairs had felt, it hadn’t failed them. And it held most of their supplies, including the radio. Except for the blankets, food, and masks they had brought onto the ship, everything was back in the hatchback.
She wanted to repeat her question. What do we do now? But that wasn’t fair. Dorran didn’t have any more answers than she did.
They could try to swim to shore, but it was hard to know what they might find once they got there. In a best-case scenario, they might find an abandoned vehicle with its keys still in the ignition close by. Alternately, they could be stranded in an unfamiliar location, resourceless and weaponless, hampered by wet clothes, and surrounded by hollows. Then her mind came up with a worse scenario. The hollows might hear them swimming and crowd along the riverbank, grasping for them any time they tried to climb up. What would happen then? Would we be forced to swim until we drown?
Clare’s brain began to freeze with anxiety. She closed her eyes and focussed on the concrete information she knew. “Eventually, the riverboat will have to hit some kind of obstacle. Maybe other boats. Maybe fallen trees that were washed into the river from the flood. They will give us a way to reach shore.”
“We have our masks,” Dorran said. “As long as we are cautious, we should be able to find more supplies, maybe even transport. Do you know which way the river is carrying us? Towards home, or away?”
“Um.” They’d left the map in the car. Clare grimaced and tried to visualise the landscape. “Away, I think.”
“Then we will hope we stop sooner rather than later.”
They both looked up as the door above them slammed open. Again, the blockade rattled. Clare clenched her fists at her side until they ached. But the tables and chairs remained locked together, and after a minute, the captain left.
“We should eat,” Dorran said. “If the boat becomes caught, we may need to leave immediately, and I don’t know how soon the next opportunity for rest might be.”
Or how much we might be able to carry with us. Clare’s palms were sweaty from stress. As long as they’d had the car, she’d felt at least somewhat secure. It could shield them. It could move faster than the hollows. Home had never felt too far away. And they’d given it up for a night of comfort on a riverboat.
Dorran disappeared into the kitchen. She heard the scrape of tins being opened. Clare wrapped her arms around her torso and stood guard by the bar, alternately watching the barricaded staircase and their course through the rounded windows.
The river curved lazily, and the boat drifted near to the shore. Through the trees, Clare caught glimpses of riverside house. Most were old and covered in chipped paint, but they were interspersed with luxury properties. The area was in the process of being modernised, and the tiny, old houses would probably have cost a lot a few weeks ago, when money still mattered. Clare thought they might be drifting closer to the city, which meant more streets, more houses, and more hollows.
Please, don’t run aground. Not yet.
The river straightened, and Clare released her breath as the boat’s rails grazed against the riverbank and kept moving.
A body moved in front of the window, and Clare flinched. The captain had appeared, fast and silent, to block her view. One hand reached out to caress the glass. His lipless teeth seemed to be grinning, though his heavy-lidded eyes held no humour. He leaned close to the window, his breath leaving traces of condensation on the glass as he stared at Clare, rainwater dripping from his hooked nose.
She took a step back but didn’t try to hide from him. She had to watch the river. Had to make sure they weren’t about to become trapped.
Dorran approached her silently and passed her a bowl. It was heaped with warm porridge, tinned peaches, and tinned berries. Clare doubted she could finish it all, but she knew why the serving was generous. It would be their last reliable chance to eat for a while.
“I’ll watch the river,” Dorran said.
Clare gratefully sank into one of the chairs, facing away from the unblinking captain. She scooped porridge up absentmindedly.
They alternated watch shifts through the morning. For most of it, the captain stood outside, staring at them. Occasionally, he lifted the knife and drew it across the window, letting the dulled steel scrape across the glass. Twice, he left to circle around the boat again, trying doors and rattling their barricade. But he always returned to the window, his sunken eyes brimming with hunger and hatred.
The cheap, old houses began to vanish, and the number of exclusive riverside retreats increased. Private jetties jutted into the water, sometimes with small boats attached. Once, the riverboat scraped against a dingy. Clare felt the tremors run through her feet. The Adelaide didn’t normally venture into that part of the river but stayed in the more scenic areas further upstream.
They passed a tree with a human skull suspended from its lowest branch. The skull had been speared onto it, with the wood passing through under the jaw and poking out through the eye socket. Clare couldn’t stop herself from wondering who it had belonged to—a human or a hollow.
Morning eventually gave way to afternoon. The boat moved painfully slowly, dragged along by the lazy current. The river was starting to swell, though, moving them faster as the fresh rain engorged it. The downpour was unrelenting.