“Okay,” Clare muttered, turning the wheel.
Everything was familiar, but at the same time, it had all changed. The lawns were dead. Branches had come down, and there was no one to remove them. The windows were all cold and empty in a way Clare had never seen before.
She passed the house owned by the woman with three huskies, but the kennels were quiet and empty. The dogs had to be dead. Eaten, probably by their owner. Nausea clenched her stomach. Dorran seemed to sense it; his hand rested on her shoulder, warm and comforting. Clare breathed deeply as she coasted past the house.
The children were missing from the yard they always seemed to congregate in. Three tricycles had been abandoned on the lawn. Clare wondered if they now made up part of the group that tormented Beth in her bunker. What would a toddler’s fists sound like beating against the metal door?
Clare forced her eyes to move farther along the street, towards the house she knew the best. It was darker and quieter than normal, perhaps a little more worn down than Beth would have let it become, but in some ways, it also looked unchanged. Clare had the sudden idea that she could climb the two steps to the wood door, hear her knocks echo through the rooms, and wait on the clatter of excited footsteps coming to let her in, just like she used to.
Then she blinked and saw the car crashed outside Beth’s home. It had crushed her mailbox and ended its trajectory against the tree that shaded Beth’s living room in summer. The tree, a weathered old maple, stayed standing; the car’s driver seat was empty, but a thick streak of dark liquid smeared the windshield. Its tail hung onto the road, stopping her from parking directly outside Beth’s.
“Stop in the middle of the road,” Dorran suggested. “It will be easier to drive away quickly, if we need to.”
Clare nodded, feeling foolish. She’d been subconsciously looking for another parking space between the other cars. Old habits died hard. There was no one to care if she blocked the street, but she still felt like she was doing something wrong as she put the car into park.
Dorran turned in his seat to reach the car’s back storage supplies. He resurfaced with three masks: one for himself, one for Clare, and one for Beth.
Thank you, Dorran.
He couldn’t believe they would find Beth alive. But he was still going through the motions for Clare’s sake. A thin smile struggled to hold as she took her mask and stared at the slightly dented mesh.
She didn’t feel ready. She’d had two full days to think and worry and hope; it still hadn’t been enough. She pulled the mask on, and the world dimmed under the mesh and folds of fabric.
Dorran passed her the leather jacket and gloves. They were still grimy from their first trip to the car. She strapped them on, using their makeshift ties to fasten the gloves to the sleeves and cover every inch of skin. Dorran mimicked her motions beside her. His breathing was fast and faintly ragged. She wondered if he felt the same thrum of fearful adrenaline that was pulsing through her.
“Ready?” His voice was low and intense. One arm was poised to open his door.
Clare took a slow breath. “Wait. One moment.” She twisted around to find the radio she’d discarded in the back seat. She knew it would be futile, but she was too frightened to stop herself. She switched it on and checked it was locked into the right frequency.
“Beth? It’s me. We’re here for you. Please reply.”
Nothing but white noise responded. She hadn’t expected anything different; she’d only known that she had to try. She placed the radio on the dashboard, unwilling to shut it off, then turned towards Beth’s house.
Their path would lead them down the narrow passageway between the right-hand side of the house and the fence, through the side gate, and into the backyard. She twisted, scanning the street, looking for motion. It seemed clear. She didn’t expect it to stay that way for long, but they didn’t need more than a couple of minutes.
Dorran took a breath, and Clare felt he was on the cusp of saying something. Then he shook his head. Clare reached across the space between them and took his hand. He leaned closer, until their masks bumped together, and through it, Clare glimpsed his eyes. They were intense, filled with fear, sadness, and adoration.
“We’ll be quick,” Clare said. “Don’t worry. As soon as we’re sure Beth is gone—we’re leaving.”
He nodded. “Whatever happens… know that I love you. So much.”
He squeezed her hand. Clare held it in return, suddenly afraid to let go. Then they both turned towards their doors, and in unison, the latches clicked as they opened. Clare and Dorran stepped out into the silent world.
Chapter Thirty-Two
They each held a weapon of choice. Clare had lost her crowbar at the bridge, so she carried the fire poker. She hadn’t consciously planned it, but she gravitated towards long weapons. Knocking the hollows aside was easier than feeling a blade become buried in skin. Dorran brought his axe, its head already stained dark brown. He carried it one-handed, held at his side.
Beth’s front garden gate barred their path. Clare couldn’t shake the feeling of surrealism as she neared it. Beth had been pedantic about her gate; even though it was only waist height, she’d never left it unlatched. She’d been afraid of strangers breaking in and believed a shut gate would act as a deterrent. Clare had never bought into the theory. But Beth had been resolute about it. And here, at the end of the world, her gate remained shut.
The metal latch screeched as Clare opened it. She left it ajar, knowing their retreat was likely to be quick.
The small brick house stood ahead. Now-dead vines clung to
