Chapter Forty-Two
Clare squinted her eyes open. The floodlight’s angle meant window ledges cast shadows over tower’s base. They stood at a windowless bronze door. A bar ran across its front, and Clare pressed on it. The bar shifted a fraction then stuck. Clare pushed harder, leaning her weight on it. The door remained locked.
Dorran turned to face the street and raised a hand to shield his eyes. She couldn’t see his expression under the mask, but she could hear the tension in his voice as he yelled over the cacophony. “They are still out there.”
“The hollows?”
“Yes. Most are trying to hide. But some are moving closer again.”
“Damn.” She tried the handle again, rattling it, then beat her fist against the door. She thought she heard something clattering on the other side. Then the bar dropped under her hands, and the door swung open.
Clare sucked in a sharp breath. Through the glaring light and the mask’s haze, she saw her sister waiting on the other side of the door, her arms held out in an invitation. Beth, golden hair pulled back into a bun, smiled, and dimples formed in her cheeks. Clare reached towards her. Then she blinked. There was no Beth. Inside the building stood a man.
He took Clare’s outstretched hand and pulled her through the door. Dorran followed. Then the stranger shoved the door closed, enveloping them in darkness.
“One—uh, one moment—”
Clare blinked furiously. After the harsh light, the building’s inside was dim enough to make her blind. The windows had been blacked out, she realised. She heard the scrape of metal as the door’s lock slid into place, followed by quick footsteps moving away from them.
“Clare?” Dorran asked.
She reached towards him and found his hand. He gripped it tightly.
Then suddenly, the lights above them flickered to life. Clare inched closer to Dorran as she stared about the space. They were in a vast foyer. At their feet, marble tiles had lost some of their gloss, but none of their importance. A half dozen matching marble pillars rose up to meet the high ceiling. A reception desk—easily wide enough to hold four staff without crowding them—stood not far away. On either side of it, security gates blocked them off from the elevators and a wide stairwell.
Like Clare had guessed, the windows had been covered, some with cloth painstakingly taped over them, others with cardboard. Comfortable waiting chairs were arranged on a thick rug, and modern paintings—the kind that were mostly shapes and splashes of colour rather than pictures—had been arranged tastefully over the otherwise-empty walls.
The broadcast continued to boom, but it was mercifully muffled inside the building. Clare hunted for their companion and found him near the reception desk. Everything in the foyer seemed sleek and discreet, expect for the black wires running to a laptop resting on top of the desk. The man bent over the computer, clicking feverishly. The radio abruptly fell silent. A second later, a whine came from outside as the spotlight shut off. After being drowned by noise, the silence was almost overwhelming. Clare took a deep breath and heard it echo in the cavernous room.
The man straightened and turned towards them, hands clasped ahead of himself, and Clare was finally able to see him clearly. He stood a little taller than her but couldn’t be over thirty. Bronze hair was brushed into a tidy side part, though it was reaching the point where it needed a trim, and strands had been knocked out of their careful arrangement. He wore a crisp white shirt and beige jacket, both a few sizes too large. Pale skin and sloped shoulders made him seem much less threatening than he might have otherwise been.
A nervous, frightened smile cracked over his face, and Clare thought she saw moisture shining in his grey eyes. “You came.”
Clare didn’t know what to say. She was acutely aware that she was dripping all over the elegant marble floor. In the back of her mind, she kept hunting for signs that there were more people in the tower—noises, the sound of footsteps, or voices—but all she heard was silence.
The stranger unclasped his hands then pressed them back together again, swallowing thickly. “Uh, may I—if you don’t mind—could I see your faces?”
Clare realised she was still wearing her mask. She pulled it off and brushed wet hair away from her forehead. A second later, Dorran removed his.
The stranger’s smile widened, his eyes creasing nearly closed, and he stepped forward. Before Clare knew what was happening, arms were around her, pulling her into a fierce hug. Ragged breathing filled her ear. It had been a long time since Clare had felt contact with a human other than Dorran, and her instincts were to flinch back. At the same time, her subconscious wanted to lean forward. They had found another human. And that was something incredibly rare in this new world.
Dorran made a faint noise in the back of his throat and reached towards Clare, but before he could do anything, the man let go. He held his arms towards Dorran, who had no chance to react before he was pulled into a hug of his own. Shock flickered over his face. He sent Clare a desperate, confused glance then awkwardly reached up to pat the man’s back.
“You’re here.” The stranger only came up to Dorran’s shoulders, and the words were muffled in his coat. Then the man stepped back, his face damp from their clothes, but his grin as wide as ever. “I was starting to give up hope—thank you. Thank you so much.”
“I…” Clare felt lost. She didn’t know what they were being thanked for, but the man had obviously been expecting someone. The idea
