A deep, screaming howl echoed from the street. It was repeated then joined by chattering screeches. The hollows around the tower had heard the commotion. Clare could imagine the swarm turning to face them. Scrambling forward. Teeth bared, arms outstretched. Riled by the smell of blood.
“We need somewhere to hide,” Dorran hissed. “Somewhere defensible—”
Clare was already moving. She pulled him deeper into the store, past the display stands and around the counter, which held a box of new shipments not yet unpacked. The store would have some kind of back room—something with a lock, she hoped.
The space was larger than it had looked from outside and, despite the wall-length windows, dark. She had to squint through the gloom, hunting among the stacks of displays and the deceptive shimmers from a dozen metal embellishments and chains. Glass scraped as bodies crawled through the broken window. Low, eager chatters cut the still air.
There! A narrow door, neatly hidden behind a jewellery stand, was tucked into the back of the room. Clare ran for it. A heavy thud behind them told her a mannequin had been knocked over. Clare grabbed the door handle and wrenched it open. She’d only managed one step into the room when a shape lurched out of the darkness. The hollow slammed into her, knocking her back.
The light was too poor to see anything of it, except for the dirty-blond hair around its face and the knobbly fingers that scraped over Clare’s mask. It had to be the store’s employee, Clare thought; she’d become trapped in the storage room after retreating there during the stillness.
The impact pushed Clare backwards, into Dorran’s chest. They both staggered. Then Dorran yanked her aside, pulling her out of the hollow’s grasp. Clare hit the ground. Cold, fresh air grazed across her sweaty cheeks as the mask was jolted free. Frantic, she grabbed it and tried to pull it back on.
Dorran grunted as the woman bit into his arm. His jacket was thick, but the creature wasn’t deterred. She clung on as he grappled with her.
The crowd from the street had caught up to them. As Clare tried to tuck the mask’s cloth back under her jacket collar, hands wrenched it free. She gasped as something heavy landed on her chest. Dorran yelled. She couldn’t see what was happening to him, only that the room was a mess of limbs and unblinking eyes. She tried to roll away from the hands she knew would be coming for her, but they tangled in her hair and yanked her back.
Static boomed through the space. It was so sudden and so loud that Clare’s first thought was that it was inside her head—that she’d fractured her skull, maybe, or that the pain had broken something inside of her. But the hollows froze, their chattering falling quiet, their glinting eyes all flicking towards the store windows.
The static was replaced by a young girl’s voice. “Please.”
It was loud enough to make Clare flinch. The hollow holding her hair shrieked, and its fingers loosened. The pressure on her chest relented. The voice was replaced by more static, and the chattering returned. This time, it was furious—bordering on panicked.
Something grabbed Clare’s arm, and she reflexively pulled away.
“Shh,” Dorran hissed, bending low over her.
The static transformed into a scraping noise. It reminded Clare of a spoon being swirled through a metal bowl. It only lasted for a second, though, then it was replaced by the static again.
It’s the radio station. The one that only plays fragments of noises. Someone’s broadcasting it over the city.
The hollows around them were moving. Miserable howls filled the space as they tried to escape the noise. They bumped into each other, clawing at the walls, at the floors, and at the displays in their urgency to hide. Clare saw her mask near her foot and snatched it up. She pulled it over her head and held it in place. Dorran lifted her to her feet. He kept one arm around her as they moved through the shop.
They bumped into countless bodies. Cold, clammy, still damp from the rain, the hollows barely paid them any notice, though. The noise was painfully loud, even through the mask. A second of music, the bass shaking the floor. A second of a man’s voice: “Today—” A second of howling dogs.
She and Dorran blindly pushed their way through the creatures, aiming for the broken window. As they neared it, sudden, bright light burst across the street. Clare squinted but didn’t stop moving. She stumbled over the windowsill, the wet glass threatening to slip from under her boots, then caught herself against the wall. She turned towards the source of the noise.
Helexis Tower stood on the opposite side of the street. A floodlight on its roof pointed down towards the boutique store. The radio station blasted from it, deafening but effective. The hollows that had been clustered around the building were scattering. Some ran wildly down the streets. Others hunted for peace inside the buildings, seeking out open doors.
Someone is in there. Holding on to her mask with one hand and Dorran with the other, Clare couldn’t stop grinning. Beth knew what she was doing. It’s not a dead end.
The spotlight’s angle adjusted to surround them in light. Clare held up a hand to shield her eyes, blinded. She felt Dorran squeeze her shoulder. Together, they began moving forward. It was impossible to see properly. She nearly tripped as she stepped off the sidewalk and onto the road. The spotlight followed them, surrounding them like a halo.
Hollows screamed, but the noises seemed to be growing more distant. It was drowned out by the incessant, deafening radio. A second of laughter. A second of a classical composition. A second of a woman saying, “Power.” Clare had thought the station was disturbing when she’d first heard it, and it still creeped her out.
