“That would help. The antibiotics, especially, are a priority.” His eyes flicked down to her shoulder, and she knew he feared that they might make it home in one piece only to succumb to infection. Even if the condition inflicting the hollows wasn’t contagious, that didn’t mean their bites were free of bacteria.
Clare nodded. “Beth will have a first aid kit in her home. I don’t know where she keeps it, but it’s probably either in the kitchen or the bathroom. And I think we can use the radio to buy us a few minutes.”
“Good. I’ll collect the food.”
Dorran left Clare beside the door as he stepped around the dead hollows. He found a discarded blanket, shook it out, then moved through the food, picking out tins that weren’t damaged and placing them in the blanket one at a time to avoid noise.
Clare squinted through the low light to see the settings on the radio. During her time at Winterbourne, she had scrolled through some of the frequencies, looking for other survivors. Their numbers had grown fewer with every day, but some broadcast regularly, sharing advice or simply looking to meet up with others to trade supplies. In amongst them, she’d found one channel that was unlike anything she’d heard before. It was a jumble of sound—white noise, interspersed with second-long clips of songs, sound effects, and voices. It felt uniquely like a product of the stillness, something that shouldn’t have existed in the world before. It made her feel cold and unsafe.
She still didn’t know exactly what it was or who broadcast it, but she had some guesses. The clips, even the voices, all sounded pre-recorded. She thought it might be a radio station left running after the world went quiet, and its system had malfunctioned to play each automated segment for only a second or two at a time.
Clare scrolled through the channels until she found it. Even with the radio’s volume turned to its lowest setting, the noises were unmistakable. She heard a laugh track, followed by a single beat of a song, then a man cheerfully saying “Teeth—!” interspersed with static.
Dorran had returned, the blanket tied together at the corners to hold their supplies. Clare stood to take her place at his side. They exchanged a look, then she slowly, carefully opened the door. Fresh air rolled through as the seal broke, and Clare breathed deeply as she leaned into it.
They waited there a moment, watching the block of light at the top of the stairs for any sign of movement. It stayed empty. Clare swallowed then pulled her mask back over her face.
The hollow she’d killed lay just outside the door. The axe was still embedded in its skull, and its eyes stared up at them sightlessly. Its lower half had been completely devoured. Clare gagged and looked away as Dorran bent and wrenched his axe free. He lifted the bundled supplies onto his shoulder while Clare found her fire poker near the wall. Together, they stepped over the fallen hollow to ascend the stairs.
Daylight was running out. Clare guessed they had less than ten minutes of visibility left. That wouldn’t be good for getting out of the suburb, but she was sure they could make it work as long as they could reach the car. The garden seemed empty, but it was hard to be certain when the plants had lost their tones in the neutralising dusk.
They moved quickly and quietly, creeping along the house’s side. As they neared the front garden, Clare caught motion in the shadows around the silhouette of her red hatchback. She put her hand out to stop Dorran, and they held still, not even breathing, as they watched the creatures clawing at their vehicle. Clare waited until she was certain they weren’t looking in her direction, then she moved forward again, bent low as she sprinted around Beth’s fence to reach the neighbour’s yard.
Shapes appeared in the gloom ahead, stepping out of the plants, from around the cars, and through the open doors lining the street. Eyes glinted in the low light. Clare wondered if, like animals, the hollows were more active at dusk. She ran, Dorran keeping pace behind her with long, nearly silent strides. They only stopped at the stairs leading to the neighbour’s front entrance. A hollow set up its chattering cry, and the sound danced through the cold night air. Clare looked up at Dorran, a silent request for confirmation, and he nodded in return. She turned the radio’s volume up to its maximum level.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The noise blared around them, deafening. A second of piano. A second of a woman’s sigh. A second of what sounded like cutlery scraping over a plate. A second of a child laughing.
Clare shoved the radio into the massive bush beside the house’s front steps. The plant had managed to survive the cold snap, and its leaves were still thick and dark. They hid the radio well. She and Dorran turned and bolted.
The hollows initially recoiled from the deafening sounds. Clare had been relying on that; it gave them precious seconds to get out of sight. They ran around the fence, paying less attention to how quiet they were now that the radio was masking their noises, and didn’t stop moving until they were in the shadows of Beth’s front porch.
Clare pressed her back to the bricks, Dorran’s arm warm at her side, as they watched the street. Hollows crept towards the sound, scuttling like insects over the dead grass. Something heavy hit the awning above them. Clare’s heart leapt into her throat, and she flattened herself against the brick wall. Dorran’s axe shimmered in the moonlight as he lifted it.
The sounds moved above them, weaving towards the awning’s edge, then a hollow scuttled down the pillar to reach the yard. It didn’t so much as look at them as it skittered between the shrubs and towards the fence.
The radio continued to play its
