There was a feast. Not recent. But not quite old, either.
Clare pressed a hand over her mouth. In the loft, the scent was almost overpowering. It had been nothing but a dusty musk on the lower floor. Now it reeked… of rot and of hollows.
She made to step back down the stairs but froze. Something moved. She fixed on the only window in the loft, a little round circle set into the back wall. It faced away from the brunt of the wind, and even though the glass was mottled with flecks of white, she could see something through it.
Her stomach rolled as she crept between the bones. No part of the floor was clean of gore. All she could do was step over it, doing her best to avoid disturbing the possessions that would never be picked up again. At the window, she had a view of the field leading to the forest. Twisted shapes crawled through the snow. Some of them shambled upright. Others crept on all fours, their spines twisting like a millipede’s, unfazed by the cold. One looked up.
Clare gasped and stepped back. She could have sworn the hollow had made eye contact with her. As she stumbled towards the edge of the loft, her shoe bumped into the skull. It skittered, twirling, towards the edge of the wooden platform. Clare grasped for it. She was too slow. It plunged over, the empty eye sockets glancing at her a final time before it disappeared. A second later, the bones shattered on the floor.
No. No. We can’t make noise.
“Clare?”
She ran for the stairs, breathless and fighting to keep her feet light, and plunged down the steps nearly recklessly. Dorran was frozen below, staring at the skull, the angles of his face sharp with alarm. He opened his mouth, but Clare motioned frantically.
She stumbled to a halt, and Dorran reached for her. She let him pull her close and rose onto her toes to whisper into his ear. “Hollows outside.”
“Ah.”
They kept still, holding each other, staring at the walls as they waited. Clare thought she heard snow crunch outside the door. Something was moving closer. It stopped by the wood. Seconds passed, and she imagined the creature outside, its bulging eyes staring blankly at the shed. Then the crunching came again, moving away. Clare closed her eyes and let her shoulders slump.
Dorran dipped his head to whisper into her ear, his warm breath gusting across her neck. “The motor is ready. We will wait until outside is clear then make a run for it. Where did the skull come from?”
“Hollows,” Clare said. The fractured bones rested not far from her feet. The cranium had been cracked open like a coconut. It hadn’t been clear while it was whole, but now she could see the calcified protrusions reached inside too. They would have been digging into its brain. “I think it died from the mutations. Something—probably things—ate it.”
He muttered something she couldn’t hear then said, “I had thought the barn would be secure.”
“There’s nothing alive up there. We should be okay.”
The radio crackled. Clare flinched. She’d left it switched on, but with its static muffled by the wind, it had been nearly forgotten on the table by the barn door. As Beth turned her half of the pair on, the volume spiked into a near-painful whine. White noise hissed through the barn. Then Beth said, “Clare? Are you there?”
She ran for the radio, swearing under her breath, and tried to turn down the volume. The dial was stuck. Something heavy hit the barn door beside her, and Clare held the radio close to her chest as she stepped away. Dorran didn’t speak, but he picked up a metal pipe from the nearest bench.
“Clare?” Beth’s voice was tight and far too loud.
She pressed the button to turn on her audio, and whispered, “I’m here. I can’t talk right now.”
“What? What’s happening?”
“Please! Be quiet!”
Another heavy thud came from door. The scratching sounds were growing louder. The wood trembled as hands pried at it. Do they know how to open it? Are they smart enough to figure it out?
Dorran backed up until he stood beside Clare. His dark eyes darted over the space, watching the walls. She couldn’t tell how many hollows were outside. But there were a lot. They were closing in on every side. Clare’s heart skipped a beat as sudden realisation hit her. She tugged on Dorran’s sleeve. “They’ll have a way in.”
The voice crackled through the radio again. “Clare, what’s happening? Are you all right?”
“Fine. Can’t talk.” Clare struggled with the dial, trying to turn Beth’s volume off without breaking the radio. It remained stuck. “The door was closed when we arrived, but if there are bones in the loft, there must be another way in.”
“Damn it,” he muttered. He flexed his hands around the metal pipe.
The front door banged again. A gap appeared along its edge. Long, spindly fingers poked through, feeling and squirming.
“Mask,” Dorran hissed, passing one to Clare. She braced the radio between her knees while she fit on her mask. She was under no delusions that it would shield her that day. The hollows had heard human voices. The creatures were in a frenzy, and the chance for Dorran and Clare to slip out unharassed had passed.
“Clare, I can’t hear you.” There was something strange about how Beth spoke. Something beyond the usual worry. If she’d had more time, Clare would have been able to focus on it—but the door grated in another inch, and she
