“Take the bandage off.”
“I don’t—”
Peter’s smile remained unchangeable. “Just take the bandage off.”
Slowly, numb fingers fighting against the movement, Clare pulled at the tape edging the bandages and peeled off the material. Underneath were red marks left by hollow teeth. The skin had knit together and begun to scar.
“That’s, what? A few days old?” Peter tilted his head to the side, and Clare was suddenly hit by the impression that his smile was empty, devoid of any feeling. “Normal cuts don’t heal that fast. You didn’t escape the thanites. No one did.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Clare could barely hear the storm through the ringing in her ears. She stood. The impulse to run was overwhelming, but there was nowhere to run to. Sickly heat rushed through her. She staggered to the bin and threw up.
Shaking, sweaty, she reeled back from plastic container and was caught by warm arms. Dorran held her up even when her legs wouldn’t.
She turned her head and saw the marks on her shoulder. A frantic terror gripped her. She dug her fingernails into the healing skin. “Get them out.”
“Clare!” Dorran grabbed her hands, pulling them away.
Blood beaded in the cut she’d re-opened, but it wasn’t enough. She thrashed, trying to break free from Dorran’s hold. “Get them out! Get them out!”
The hollows were all she could see. Saliva slick over distended jaws. Eyes missing lids. Ribs poking through their sides, rubbing against raw flesh with every movement. It was coming for her.
“Get them out!” Her hand was slick with blood, and she wrenched it out of Dorran’s. She twisted just far enough that he couldn’t capture it again then began digging.
“No!” Dorran slammed her into the ground. He lay over her, using his weight to pin her, holding her hands at her sides.
The impact was rough enough to shake some of the wildness free. Clare lay still, face pressed against Dorran’s shoulder, shaking violently as she struggled to breathe. The pain in her shoulder began to make itself felt. She scrunched her face up, but it wasn’t enough to stop the tears.
Peter swore quietly. She heard him jog across the room and open a closet.
“Clare.” Dorran waited a second then shuffled up, resting his weight on his elbows so that he could look down at her. “Focus on me.”
She didn’t think she could speak, so she nodded.
Dark eyes flicked to her shoulder then returned to search her face. “If I let you up, will you leave it alone?”
Another nod. Shame was coming in to mingle with the horror. Dorran waited for another second then loosened his hold on her arms. Clare pulled them close to her body. The impulse to scratch at her skin was maddening. She could feel the machines inside her, floating through her blood and burrowing into her bones. They itched.
What kind of changes are they making, hidden under my skin? In her mind’s eye, she saw hairs sprouting around her lungs. Teeth growing between her organs. Flaps of skin developing around her brain, pressing into it and crushing it.
She clenched her teeth as shivers ran through her. Dorran shifted so that he sat at her side, one arm at her back to hold her steady. A second later, a blanket was draped around their shoulders. Then Peter crouched beside them, unscrewed the cap from a bottle of water, and held it out to Clare.
“I’m so sorry.” He looked like he meant it. Sweat speckled his forehead, which looked even paler than normal. “I was so eager to tell my story—I didn’t even think about how it might affect you.”
“Please get them out.” She’d promised Dorran she wouldn’t dig anymore, but her fingers twitched, desperate.
“You—” He hesitated, seeming to weigh his answer. “Look, it’s not going to be bad for you. You’re not going to become like them. I’m really sorry, but we can’t get rid of the thanites once they’re inside you. But they’re in everyone. Me, you, everyone else out there, even your terrifying friend here. It’s just a case of how badly.”
Peter still held the water bottle out for her. He shook it, eyebrows raised. Her throat burned from the sickness. She hesitantly took the water and swallowed as much as she thought her stomach could handle.
“Wherever you were when the stillness hit, it must have been somewhere with a sparse thanite population.” Peter rocked back on his heels, forearms braced over his knees. “You probably have less than a hundred thousand in you.”
Clare choked on the water.
“Which is nothing!” Peter held his hands up, pacifying. “Those blighters out there? They’d have tens of millions. Maybe billions, for the worse ones. That’s why they’re becoming twisted from it. Millions of thanites, all trying to repair damage, all creating fresh damage with their over-eagerness, then trying to repair that in an escalating spiral of disaster. You… whatever you have is small enough that it’s not deforming you. It’s behaving more like it was supposed to. Repairing actual injuries.”
“What about…” She swallowed and sat up straighter. Dorran rubbed her back, comforting. “What about inside. Could it be… growing… stuff where I can’t see it?”
“Eh. Who knows?” Peter glanced towards Dorran and cleared his throat. He quickly amended, “But almost certainly not. If you can’t see anything on the surface, you’re probably fine. Absolutely.”
Clare looked up. Dorran’s chin rested near her temple. His expression was murderous as he glared at Peter. It had been a long time since Clare had thought of Dorran as frightening, but Peter didn’t know him like she did. “Even your terrifying friend there.”
“Look—how about we get you sat up.” Peter rolled to his feet. “We’ll stop that bleeding and get you something else to eat. Something with lots of sugar.”
“I don’t need that.” Clare pressed her eyes closed. “I just need to understand this.”
“Sure, of course you do. But we can talk and not drip blood on the carpet at the same time, eh?” He winked at her, but Clare couldn’t muster the energy to laugh. She let Dorran help her up, though. He moved her back on the couch and wrapped the blanket around her. Peter jogged to one of the cupboards near the door and searched through its contents.
Dorran nestled himself at Clare’s side, one arm around her back, the other holding her hand in his. He stared at her shoulder, which oozed fresh blood.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
Dorran bent close so that only she could hear him. “Don’t apologise for being human. If you want to know the truth, I was close to doing the same.”
Peter reappeared beside them. He held a kit—plastic, modern, and larger than the one Dorran had kept in Winterbourne. He flipped open the lid and settled it onto the table, beside the pile of snack food.
“You’re a couple, right?” He pulled his chair closer. “That’s nice. It’s good to see… I guess you’d call it life. Sounds awfully miserable, though, right? As though it’s a surprise to see people being happy. I’m glad you are, though. D’you want to take care of this, big guy?”
Dorran mutely took the cloth from Peter and pressed it over the tear on Clare’s shoulder. She flinched but didn’t complain as he applied pressure.