Clare’s heart skipped a beat. “Whatever caused this… is it still out there? Could it change us, as well?”
The radio was silent for a moment. Clare stared at it, fixated, and felt Dorran lean in closer, as well.
“I don’t know.” Beth sounded tired. “I haven’t heard any stories of people surviving the event only to turn monstrous afterwards. But people are disappearing. Their radios just go silent. Are the hollows finally getting them? Infection, dehydration? Or are they changing too? I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t know how to keep you safe.”
Clare thought back to the two weeks she’d spent in Winterbourne. As far as she could ascertain, the stillness event had happened shortly before she entered Banksy Forest on her last day of freedom. She’d survived unscathed. But Winterbourne’s owner, Madeline Morthorne, along with her entourage of staff and maids, had all succumbed to the stillness no more than an hour outside the same forest.
The woman had been deranged, but she’d kept at least part of her mind from before the change. When Clare had asked her what the experience had been like, she’d said the air had turned sour. “Oh, it burned when it was swallowed.”
“Keep your air-filtration unit running no matter what. Whatever this is, I think it’s in the air. Your bunker’s filter might be the only reason you’re safe.”
“I’m all right here. I’m more worried about you.”
“We think…” Clare glanced at Dorran. His expression was grim. “Maybe this thing was targeted. You said it started in cities before spreading to rural areas. It’s like it was focussed on where people live. This house is in the middle of the forest, hours from any other kind of habitation. We think that might be why it’s safe here.”
“I hope so.” Beth’s voice sounded ragged. When she paused, Clare could hear the scratching sound again. This time, it was accompanied by a metallic banging. It sounded like some kind of lid being lifted and dropped repeatedly. “I need to go now. I’ll talk to you again soon, okay? Tomorrow, at the same time?”
“Those hollows outside your bunker…”
“They’ll give up after a couple of hours. They always do.”
“They don’t have any way to get in, do they?”
“Not right now. Goodbye, Clare. I love you.”
Clare opened her mouth to say it back, but the radio clicked off before she could. She sat back, blinking at tears, still staring at the little black box clasped between her hands.
Chapter Three
Clare held the radio for several minutes after it went dead. Her emotions rose like a tide, growing overwhelming. There was joy. Beth was alive and, for the moment, safe. There was hope. But dread and fear were growing, too, and they were swallowing the small patches of happiness until all Clare could feel was horror.
Dorran pulled his chair around to sit beside her, but he didn’t try to talk. He seemed to understand that Clare needed time to process what she’d heard. She pictured Beth, sitting in the lightless, lonely room, trying her hardest to stay silent for the hours it would take for the hollows to stop scrabbling at her door. I can’t just leave her there.
But Beth had been vehement. Hollows were everywhere. They were ravenous and hard to kill. Clare and Dorran had been spared the worst of them thanks to their location, but even then, they’d nearly lost their lives just by going to the forest.
And even if she could get through the hollows, the fear of becoming just like them made Clare’s stomach turn. Beth didn’t know if whatever had changed them was still out there. From what Clare had gleaned from the few radio broadcasts she’d caught, people were travelling across the country. They were surviving—at least for a couple of days. She didn’t know if that meant the air was safe or whether the effects were simply delayed.
And if the air isn’t safe, can it blow over Winterbourne? Are we going to be exposed to it, no matter how cautious we are?
She felt herself starting to hyperventilate and pushed away from the table. She crossed to the sink and splashed water over her face. It was cold enough to make her skin sting. It helped, though. She gave it a moment then returned to the table, where Dorran waited.
“What do you think?” she asked, desperate for someone else’s thoughts to distract her from her own.
Dorran faced her, one elbow resting on the table and his hand running over his mouth. He watched the radio, like Clare, almost as though it might come alive again.
“I think your sister has good advice. Knowing what the outside is like, Winterbourne is probably the safest house we could find. And we have the garden. As long as we can find fuel to keep the lights on, it will be sustainable. We could conceivably live decades by harvesting new seeds from the plants we grow.”
Clare imagined spending the rest of her life in Winterbourne. She wondered if she could ever feel comfortable in it. The mansion was towering and imposing. Every item cluttering its endless rooms had been chosen for its prestige. And now, at the end of the world, it was all worthless. The gild-framed paintings. The ornate furniture and brushed rugs. They were living surrounded by unimaginable wealth but with no one to care about it.
Dorran lowered his hand and let his fingers trace across the wooden table. “Your sister also advised us to be cautious. And as sturdy as Winterbourne is, it is still far from
