“I can help with the motor.”
“No. I need you to start the engine. Do not argue.”
The hollow at their backs took another step nearer. Grey flesh emerged from the trees to their left; an arm with three joints, feeling along the ground.
Dorran wrapped his arms around the cloth-covered motor and pulled it off the sled. It hit the ground with a thud, making Clare flinch. She opened the back door and began ferrying their supplies inside.
Metal screamed as Dorran forced the car’s bonnet up. He was moving quickly, and although every motion was carefully controlled, there was no way to be silent. Clare felt more eyes fixing on them.
As she bent over the rear seat, shoving the blankets into a spare nook, motion through the opposite window made her look up. A hand slapped the glass. A face loomed. Flabby skin drooped over where its lower jaw had once existed. The upper teeth, all it had left, clicked as they bumped into the glass.
Please, Dorran, be fast. Be safe.
She backed out of the car, one eye on the hollow peering through the window and the rest of her attention spread over the road. The creatures were growing closer. Dorran gasped as the old motor, twisted and broken, clattered onto the road. Then he bent to pick up the replacement.
The sled was empty. Clare left one of the jugs of petrol and the axe beside the front wheel for Dorran. He’d braced the new motor on top of the car’s crumpled bonnet and was using a jack to force the space back open so that it would fit. Clare reached towards him, but he motioned her back. She swallowed, opened the driver’s door, and slid inside.
Icy water flowed from the saturated seat as Clare dropped into it. The front window had a jagged crack running across it, but at least it seemed stable. Dark stains bloomed across the seats—old blood from the crash. The car wouldn’t smell good once it warmed up, but that didn’t matter. They only needed it to work for eight hours. Four there. Four back.
Dorran had told her to lock the door, but she didn’t. It would keep her safe but leave him vulnerable if he needed help. She found the key in her pocket, fitted it into the ignition, and waited.
One at a time, with stuttering steps and tilted heads, the hollows were drawing closer. Some were focussed on Clare, but the majority were fixed on Dorran, their eyes boring into his back as he bent over the motor. He’d completely removed the crumpled hood and worked on the connections with efficient, sharp movements. Clare tightened her hands over the steering wheel, silently urging him on.
He lifted his head and waved. Hope jumped in Clare’s throat. She turned the key. Nothing happened. He waved again, asking her to stop, then put his head back down.
What if he can’t fix it? What if it’s too broken to ever work? He only knows mechanical cars. Mine has digital parts. What if water got into one of them and fried it? There’s no way to fix that.
He waved again. Again, Clare turned the key. There was no purr of a motor, no life. Undeterred, Dorran returned to the task.
More of the hollows were coming out of the forest. One ran its fingers across the car’s passenger door as it circled towards Dorran. The scrape of nails on metal was physically painful.
She squeezed the wheel until her knuckles ached. The first hollow, the one with stringy hair drooping from its skin, was at Dorran’s back. It tilted its head, teeth bared, as it tried to see around the mask.
Can they smell us? Can they feel our body heat? Will that be enough to make it attack?
Its head stretched forward, moving past Dorran’s shoulder. Clare couldn’t breathe. It was close enough that it should have been able to see through the mesh. Dorran lifted one gloved hand, blocking that side of his face, as his other hand turned a wrench.
Clare was frozen, gripping both the key in the ignition and the door handle. The hollow’s bulging eyes rolled slowly as they followed the lines of Dorran’s jacket. It pressed against him, the greasy hair dragging over his arm. Clare could imagine how it felt. How it smelt. She didn’t know how Dorran could keep his focus on the car.
Then the hollow’s hands came up. Wrinkled fingertips prodded along the edge of the mask, dragging in his hair, feeling at the corners of his face.
No, no, no, no. Don’t touch him.
Dorran tried to lean away from the contact. The hollow’s jaw widened with growing excitement, blue lips stretching back as it chattered at him. The fingers had found the mask’s straps. They curled under them and began to pull.
Clare did the only thing she could think of. She smashed her palm into the steering wheel. The horn blared.
They all jumped, including Dorran. He gripped the edge of the motor, his head down. The hollow released a pained screech and stepped back as its eyes twisted to stare about itself.
They hate loud noises. Clare leaned on the horn again, grimacing, and watched as the tightening circle of hollows widened. The ones that had pressed against the car’s windows retreated to the shadows at the forest’s edge. The one with blood frothing at its mouth stumbled back.
Dorran brought both hands back to the engine. Clare kept on the horn, trying to hold the creatures back for him. Some disappeared entirely between the trees. Others began circling, holding their distance, their distorted faces pinched with frustration.
The nearest ones began creeping forward again. Clare’s heart dropped. Their hunger was winning over their repulsion.
Dorran’s head appeared above the engine, and he waved. She twisted the key. The engine turned over, spluttered, then
