She felt sick again then, knowing that Marnie must have been waiting for her. Beth would have called her to say Clare was on the way. She’d probably been standing by her front door, a suitcase on one side and a cat carrier on the other. Clare could picture her easily. Brown hair that had started to develop streaks of grey. A body that had been made strong by a lifetime of working in the garden but was always a little on the plump side. She would have been wearing floral clothes and a knit cardigan, like she always did. She was a short woman, but she had a huge smile and an even bigger heart.
Did the hollow ones get her? Was it fast or painful and slow?
A warm hand moved over hers. She met Dorran’s dark eyes as he squeezed her fingers.
“But you’re okay.” Beth’s voice crackled through the radio again. She seemed to have rallied. “After your phone went out, I tried reaching you through the radio almost constantly. For days. You didn’t answer, and I thought… I thought—”
“I’m so sorry. I left the radio in the car. It took me a while to get it back.”
“That’s fine. You’re alive. I can forgive everything else as long as you just stay alive. Where are you? If you didn’t get to Marnie’s, does that mean you’re in your cottage? It’s not going to be safe—”
“No, no, I found a new house. It’s in Banksy Forest.”
She could hear the frown in Beth’s voice. “There aren’t any houses inside the forest.”
“That’s what I thought too. But it was well hidden. The owner, Dorran, is letting me stay with him.”
Again, Beth hesitated. “Is he a good sort of person?”
“Yes, don’t worry. He’s nice. And we have plenty of food—and a garden. Winterbourne was designed to be self-sufficient, and it’s hard to break into. I was lucky. Really lucky.”
“Be careful, Clare. Don’t trust him just because he’s friendly.”
Clare looked down at her hand, which was still enveloped in Dorran’s. She followed it along his arm, covered by the green knit sweater, and up to his face. Thick black hair, grown a little too long, framed a strong, reserved face. His dark eyes, shadowed under a heavy brow, smiled at her. She thought there was no one she trusted more.
“He’s good, I promise. You don’t need to worry about me. How are you doing there?”
“Holding up, at least.” A speck of hesitation flickered in Beth’s voice.
Clare frowned. “Are you sure? Do you have enough food and water?”
“Yes, that’s all fine. But the generator’s out. I’ve been trying to fix it, but it’s been a challenge without the lights.”
A chill ran through Clare. She pictured Beth, sitting in a dark box, having to feel her way through the space every time she needed food, the bathroom, or water. There would be nothing to see. Nothing to do. Just her, alone, listening to the seconds tick by.
“I’m doing fine, sweetheart.” Her voice took on the familiar hint of warning she used whenever Clare was doing something she didn’t approve of. “I have a torch. I’m using it judiciously—apparently an excess of batteries still isn’t enough—but I’m hardly suffering down here.”
Clare wasn’t sure if she could believe that, but she tried to keep her voice bright for Beth’s sake. “We can talk on the radio as much as you want. I can carry you around with me and keep you company.”
Beth laughed. “Oh, that would be fun. But I think it’s better if we keep our chats short.”
That was unexpected. “Why?”
“Ah…”
“Tell me, Beth.”
“Too much noise attracts them.”
Dorran’s fingers laced through Clare’s, trying to reassure her. She barely felt it. Her hands were turning numb. “The hollow ones?”
“Yeah.” Beth’s voice cracked. “I was the only person in my street who had a bunker.”
Clare understood. Without shelter, all of Beth’s neighbours would have been affected by the stillness.
Under the static’s crackles and her own too-fast breathing, Clare thought she heard another sound. The noise had dogged her for weeks, following her even into her sleep, and every fibre of her being revolted against it. Fingernails, digging. Clawing. Scratching. They were at Beth’s bunker door. They’d heard her and Clare. They were hungry.
Chapter Two
“We’ll get you out,” Clare said. The words left her before she could think them through, before she could even glance at Dorran for his agreement.
Beth snapped, “No! Clare, listen—”
“I can be there this afternoon.” Clare stood. She stared about the kitchen, frenzied, trying to piece together a plan. She didn’t have a car. Her little red vehicle was a crumpled wreck. But if she could get out of the forest, she was sure she could find some other form of transport. There would be street upon street of abandoned cars, their owners long gone.
As long as the temperature hasn’t frozen their engines too badly. As long as I can find the keys. As long as the snow isn’t too thick on the road—
“Clare.” Beth’s voice boomed through the hissing speakers, and Clare instantly froze. “Sit down.”
Beth only yelled when Clare was in trouble. It had been years since she’d last heard that tone, but it still held power over her. She meekly sank back into her seat, licked her lips, then tried again. “I can bring you back here, to Winterbourne. It’s safe. At least… safer.”
“No, you absolutely will not.” Beth’s voice softened until she only sounded snippy, not angry. “You said you had food there, didn’t you?”
Sort of. “Yes.”
“And shelter. You’re warm enough?”
“Yes. Firewood.”
“And that person you’re with. You’re sure he’s okay? He’s not strange or creepy or…”
Clare glanced at Dorran. Both hands clasped under his chin, he studiously watched the table, apparently not sure what to do with himself under her scrutiny. “He’s good.”
“Then you’ll stay there. It’s probably the safest you can be right now.”
“But if
