“One of the rarest. It still accounts for something close to five hundred million worldwide, though.”
“That’s…”
“Insane, isn’t it? To think there might be so many of them out there.” Peter shook his head. “But there aren’t. Not anymore. Losing mental function turned out to be a vital element for the hollows to survive this long. Imagine you started to turn, and you were aware of it. Your bones were splitting, your skin was tearing, your body was stretching. You’re constantly hungry, but the only food that appeals is warm, wet flesh. Meanwhile, your friends and family—everyone you loved—are gone, replaced by monsters. What would you do?”
Clare blinked. Her eyes burned. Dorran rested a hand, warm and steady, on her back. “I… I…”
“At that point, the only solution for a lot of them would be death.” Peter’s shrug was sad. “Put a stop to it before it grows worse. I don’t think very many of those millions are left now. For some, they realised what the future would hold and killed themselves before they had to suffer any more of it. Others went insane from the horror of what was happening to their bodies… or were insane to begin with.”
Clare glanced up at Dorran. His expression was stony. He didn’t seem to want Peter to know about his mother, so Clare kept quiet, as well.
“They’re the most dangerous of the hollows,” Peter said. “Smart enough to problem solve, but also mostly crazy. I don’t know how many are in the city. I doubt they’d be crawling around the outside of the tower—they’d realise the futility. But they might be in the houses or towers surrounding us, watching. And if they see the lights go out and realise the power failed…”
Clare glared at the generator. It was a large machine made of metal, heavy and solid. But in an odd way, it also seemed horribly fragile. It had failed before. It was likely to fail again. And maybe next time, it wouldn’t be fixable.
“Come on.” Peter’s smile reappeared, though it looked less steady than it had before. “Crisis over. Let’s get back downstairs, where it’s warm and comfortable and where we’ll feel a bit safer behind some locked doors. You two must be tired.”
As they left the room, Clare looked towards the window. She couldn’t see the clouds in the darkness, but she could imagine them. Thick, rolling, black. The lightning seemed to be coming more often. The rain refused to lighten. “Did the thanites do anything to the weather?”
“They did. Good guess.” Peter locked the maintenance room behind them then beckoned them towards the stairs. “They’re part machine, part biological. When they were activated—when the code passed between them—it created a tiny reaction similar to an EMP. Insignificant in small quantities. Remember, until then, the thanites were only tested in a lab. I guess Ezra had no way of telling what would happen when they were unleashed en masse. With billions of those reactions per square kilometre, the results were devastating. Phones went out. Cameras, cars, planes. Anything that relied on a computer to function was suddenly dead. And it affected the weather. In most areas, temperatures plummeted. There were sudden snowstorms even in milder regions.”
Clare’s memory of driving towards her sister’s was still clear. One moment, it had been a brisk but sunny morning. The next, she’d entered a snowstorm. Her phone had died. She’d seen a car off the side of the road, its doors open. The realisation of how close she’d come to the activated thanites was painful. She’d probably been spared by only a few minutes. Then Clare imagined breathing in the invisible machines, and her throat closed up again. She pressed her eyes shut and waited for the reflex to pass.
It’s psychological. You were never bothered by the thanites before you knew about them.
“Clare?” Dorran hesitated at her side, one hand held towards her.
She tried to relax her face. “I’m fine.”
Peter was nearly half a flight of stairs ahead of them. Clare quickened her pace. As they followed the twisting stairs back down to the twelfth floor, they passed the immense set of metal doors blocking the labs.
Clare said, “You didn’t finish your story.”
“Didn’t I?” Peter twisted to look back at her.
“After the stillness. After you realised the thanites had spread—what happened to Ezra?”
“Ah.” Peter’s mouth twitched down. “He didn’t… stay long. One of our co-workers kept a gun in the office… for what reason, I don’t know, but like I said, this place was full of eccentrics. We all knew where he kept it. And while I was trying to contact news stations and spread warnings, Ezra found the gun and used it on himself. I guess this world he’d created wasn’t one he wanted to live in.”
“You’ve been alone since then?”
He nodded briefly, and for a second, Clare saw a hint of despair in his eyes. Then he blinked quickly, and the familiar cheerfulness was back in place. “I had the radio. I listened to other people, trying to get data on the situation out there. And I put out my own signal, asking for help.”
“So that’s why you were expecting someone.” Clare frowned. “It’s been nearly a month. I’m surprised we’re the only people who made it here. Have you spoken to any of the other broadcasters?”
They had reached the hallway to their offices. Peter pulled out his ID tag and unlocked the door. “Well, I didn’t want just anyone to hear me. So I disguised my transmission. Remember the signal that played while you were trying to get to the tower? That’s mine.”
“What? The station that plays second-long clips of noise? I thought it was nonsense.”
He laughed as he held open the door for them. “It mostly is! But once every four minutes, I include part of the address. Helexis Tower, Floor Twelve, Inner City. Spoken a syllable at a time. You would have to listen to the
