Clare didn’t want to imagine it. Secluded in Winterbourne, she hadn’t learned about the mass extinction until weeks afterwards. She didn’t know if she could have coped with being aware of it as it happened—listening to it, perhaps even being able to watch it from a window—while unable to do anything to help.
“At first, the thanites only affected their brains.” Peter’s eyes were glassy. “It took a few days for the stem cells to start… growing things. The hollows on the first day looked much more like humans, though they lost their humanity pretty quickly. The brain stem was broken down and rapidly rebuilt, several times over. It removed most of the conscience, memories, personality. It also removed the need to sleep and the ability to feel pain. Well, no, that’s not really correct. I believe they feel it. They just don’t respond to it.”
Clare saw Marnie again, swollen, her bellowing cries full of misery. She wanted to cry for what her aunt had gone through. Thunder boomed, the closest yet. The lights flickered then went out. Suddenly, the room was so dark that Clare couldn’t even see Dorran at her side.
Peter swore under his breath. Clare heard him move between the desks. Items fell to the floor as he knocked them over, but he didn’t try to right them.
Uneasiness rose in her. “Peter? What happened?”
“Generator’s out.” He sounded like he was choking. A drawer slammed open. “Where the hell did I put it—”
More lightning flooded through the windows, turning the space into an over-saturated plate of whites and blacks. She caught a snapshot glimpse of Peter digging through the drawer. He no longer smiled.
Clare stood slowly. She had the awful sense that Peter’s panic wasn’t due simply to the sudden darkness. “What’s happening?”
“We’ll be okay. It’s going to be fine.” The words were comforting, but the voice wasn’t. Something heavy fell to the floor. Then Peter took a sharp breath. A moment later, a beam of light appeared as he turned on a flashlight.
Even without the harsh light, his face would have been colourless. He turned the beam towards Clare and Dorran, and they both squinted. Peter lowered the flashlight. “Come with me. Quickly. We need to restart the generator.”
“Oh…” Clare barely had a moment to catch her thoughts before Peter jogged for the door. She kept her grip on Dorran as they followed.
Peter forced open the door and waited just long enough for them to slip through in his wake before turning towards the stairs. “Sorry. We’re short on time. The generator’s out, which means the backup locks downstairs are no longer engaged.”
“The locks?” Clare stubbed her toe on the lowest stair and grimaced.
Peter turned his torch downwards to help her see. “Helexis Tower has bolts on its ground-floor windows that can be activated remotely. It was meant to be cutting-edge technology… but it was designed to automatically unlock if both the power and backup generator died. A failsafe in case of fire. No one expected we might have worse concerns than an inferno.”
Clare blinked, picturing the swarm of hollows gathered around the tower’s ground floor. Her voice turned croaky. “Can the hollows get in?”
“Technically? Yes.” Peter turned the corner and entered the second flight of stairs. In the erratic light, Clare caught sight of thick metal doors blocking what had to be the lab. “But they would need to lift at the same time as pulling to get them open. And they haven’t figured out how to yet. But… I’d really rather get the bolts re-engaged than trust in their stupidity.”
“This has happened before?”
Peter was breathless as he turned another corner. “Twice. Storms. Knocks out the generator.” He paused to suck in a deeper breath then continued racing upwards. “Doesn’t get any less stressful, though.”
Their footsteps reverberated on the marble steps. Clare wondered how high they had to climb. A stitch was developing in her side. Beneath the footsteps, she thought she could hear wailing, banging noises. The hollows. But not from the ground floor. Hollows trapped in rooms.
They passed another landing, and Clare saw what looked like a row of offices. Each of the doors had a frosted glass pane set in them. A blurred face pressed against one. She didn’t have time to stop and watch; they were already turning onto the next flight of stairs.
Peter stopped, bent over, hand pressed to the wall as he sucked in whooping breaths. “Brains… over brawn… should’ve done… more gym.”
“Are you okay?”
His smile was strained. “Not far now.” Then he set off again, still gasping, his face turning red.
Clare’s own feet made a drumming rhythm that conflicted with Peter’s. Dorran’s movements were nearly silent. She could barely see him, but she could feel him, never more than an arm’s length away. The idea of the hollows getting inside the tower weighed heavily as her mind generated visions of what that might entail. With no other exits, the tower would become a coffin built of stone and metal.
Peter skidded as he turned onto another landing and caught himself on the wall. Clare prepared to turn the corner and keep climbing, but there were no more stairs. An immense blast of light came through the windows on either side of them. Clare had the sense that they were so high that the storm was no longer above them, but surrounding them.
Peter shoved the torch into Clare’s hands and
