Above, the storm clouds stretched across the entire sky. The wind felt colder as it gusted through the mask. Clare couldn’t stop shaking. She fought to keep her footing steady, to keep herself upright and moving.
Snow crunched behind them, and Clare flinched. She didn’t stop to look. Neither did Dorran. They both faced the manor, shoes digging into the show, adrenaline battling exhaustion.
Then Dorran cried out and fell. Clare turned in time to see him swipe the axe at a hollow that had raced in their wake with deceptive quietness. The creature, a stocky buckled one, pulled at his leg. Its spine rippled like an accordion. Its flesh was almost as white as the snow. When it opened its mouth, a tongue with a deep split down its centre arced out, flicking through the frozen air, before coiling back inside like a snake.
Clare dropped the sled’s rope. Dorran’s axe connected with the hollow’s shoulder, and dark-red blood sprayed across the white field. The monster coiled back, snapping and hissing, then dove forward again, aiming for Dorran’s throat.
Instead, it hit the end of the pitchfork. Clare yelled as she forced the implement forward, the tines plunging through the hollow’s chest. She could feel the bones cracking and cartilage breaking. The hollow barely seemed to notice. It reached forward, lumpy arms and knobbled fingers scrabbling along the wood, trying to grasp Clare.
Dorran was back on his feet. He had a better shot this time. Clare held the pitchfork as still as she could while he swung. The axe sank into the hollow’s skull, cleaving it in half between the eyes. More blood bubbled out of the hole, but there was less than Clare would have expected. It seemed thick, almost as though it had been dehydrated, as it dribbled over the creature’s torso. The bulging eyes turned in opposite directions. The jaw fell slack, and the cleft tongue slid over the bottom lip. Dorran pulled his axe free as Clare shook the creature off the tines.
They stood for a moment, staring down at their work, panting and shaking. Then Clare looked up. Three hollows had stepped away from the forest’s edge. They watched her. Their expressions almost seemed curious.
A slow, muffled rumbling noise made prickles run along her skin. The storm was coming. It progressed slowly, creeping across the landscape. Heavy drops of sleet hit the trees, the snow, the house.
Dorran found her arm and tugged on it. “Move,” he whispered. “As quickly as you can.”
She grabbed the rope, stumbled, and caught her balance. The hollows stood in front of the forest. They were still, but she thought they must have come closer when she wasn’t looking. Another two had appeared between the trees.
Dorran took up the other end of the rope. His axe was stained black. Specks of blood were scattered over his arm and his chest. It smelled foul. Rotten. She bit her tongue to stop from gagging. They moved forward. The sled was too heavy to allow them to run, but they took fast steps, panting in lungfuls of burning air.
Chewing noises came from behind them as the hollows descended on their fallen comrade. They huddled over its body, fingers digging into the skin to expose the softer insides, teeth tearing off strips of fat and muscle. They ate like animals. Horrible wet smacking noises floated through the frosty air.
She turned back to the house. Rain blurred it. Running through the water as it trickled under their clothes would be hell, but it was better than lingering outside. They only had half of the field left to cross before they reached the blocks of white that marked the front gardens.
Under her pounding footsteps, she thought she caught another noise. Rasping breaths. Low, eager chattering. She felt the sled jerk and turned. A hollow clung to the top of their domed shelter, bony joints poking out at unnatural angles. It had teeth everywhere. At first, Clare’s mind revolted against the image, unable to understand what it was seeing. Bulging yellow teeth poked through its shoulders. Something like a deformed jaw gaped below its collarbone. The skin around its mouth was shredded, and additional teeth poked through the holes—hundreds of them. Clare yelled.
That second of shock cost her. The hollows moved at a blinding pace, scuttling on all fours. Some grasped at the sled. Others swarmed around it, reaching towards Clare. She moved on instinct, lifting the pitchfork and driving it into the nearest creature. The impact forced her back, and in a heartbeat, the others were on her.
Chapter Ten
A body slammed into her chest, winding her. Hard pressure dug into her forearm. Teeth, she thought, fighting and failing to get through the jackets. A new face loomed over her, just inches away, peering through her mesh mask. Saliva dripped from its open maw. The mouth stretched from one ear to the other like a gash. Its right eye bored into her. The left was missing, only a rotting dark-red socket in its place.
Dorran yelled. The pressure on her arm disappeared in time with the thwack of an axe. She heard scuffling as he was overrun by the creatures.
Clare pulled on the pitchfork, trying to use it to knock the monster off herself, but one of them was still impaled on its tip, weighing it down. Its body contorted as it stretched to reach her.
The hollow perched on her chest reached long, bony hands up to her mask. Its fingers traced over the mesh, trying to pry it away. The fingers were so close that she could see the whorls of its fingerprints and the dirt trapped under its nails. She could smell the rot from where a green infection spread around a cuticle.
The nails dug at the mesh. When it couldn’t get through, it lifted its hand and brought it down as a fist. Clare grunted. The impact crushed the mesh against her skin. Now, she could feel the fingers. Through the barrier—through the freezing wire—she
