Breathing hurt. Movement hurt. Clare couldn’t even make it stop. The thumping in her head was worse, breaking her ability to think, consuming her consciousness into its agonising rhythm.
Then lights appeared ahead, with same intense glow they had passed earlier. They were too bright; even with her eyes closed, they hurt.
The bus was slowing, though. They weren’t going to pass it like they had last time. In the harsh white, Clare could see the blood more clearly on Dorran’s skin and shirt. The vivid, angry red was made starker by the lack of colour in his face. He looked towards the lights with the quiet dread of someone on the edge of a cliff.
The bus went over a bump, bouncing Clare. She grit her teeth as the pain flared. Her vision flashed to black and came back slowly, a dizzying, sickening array of blurs and colours. She heard metal scraping. A gate, she thought. Then the bus slowed to a halt.
Dorran stood. He moved towards the bus’s door, grim lines ringing his mouth. Fingers brushed across Clare’s cheek. A caress to comfort or to say goodbye, she wasn’t sure.
Then the door opened, and Dorran stepped out. Through the light and pain, Clare was aware of approaching footsteps. The click of something that sounded like a gun being cocked. Then a man’s voice, thick with a country accent, gruff and cracked from age. “What’s your purpose here?”
“I need water.” Dorran’s voice was steady and moderated, but Clare could still hear how desperately tight it was. “I have clothes and blankets to trade.”
The other man broke into a crackling laugh. “We’re a shopping mall. Clothes are the last thing we need.”
“I… I don’t have anything else. Please. You can take as much of it as you want. I just… I need water. Whatever it takes.”
The man sighed. “Calm down, son. We’re not in the business of sending people away to die, no matter how little they have. Here.”
The bus rocked as weight moved into it. Then cold plastic touched Clare’s lips, and Dorran was whispering, “Drink, Clare.”
She opened her mouth. After craving water so badly, the fulfilment was shockingly unpleasant. The water stung the cracks in her throat and increased the taste of tacky saliva. Swallowing hurt. Water overflowed her lips, dripping down her cheek and into her hair. Dorran murmured apologies and used his sleeve to dab her dry. When he returned the water bottle, he kept the flow slower, so that she could manage it.
Feet crunched outside the bus. Clare forced open sore eyes. She had the impression of grey hair framing a pink face, surrounded by the overwhelming glow of industrial lights. The stranger held a rifle over the crook of his arm.
“She’s in a bad way, eh?” He made a clicking noise with his tongue. “How long have you been driving?”
“A while.” Dorran’s voice was subdued. He stayed focussed on Clare, supplying water in small mouthfuls, as quickly as she could handle. His back was to the strange man, and Clare could feel the uneasiness in his posture.
“Well.” The man took a breath and exhaled it in a gust. “You’d better come in for the night. You’ll probably be needing some food, as well, I’m guessing, since you didn’t offer that to trade.”
Dorran was silent for long enough that the man behind them started shifting his weight. “I would be grateful. But I don’t know what I could give you in return, if you don’t need clothes.”
“We’ll figure that out later. Like I said, we’re not much into the business of turning people away to die. At least this way, you can get some sleep where it’s safe. I find people are better problem solvers when they’re not dead on their feet.”
Chapter Nine
The headache had faded from an all-consuming tsunami to lapping waves at the back of her head. Everything was sore. But her mouth had some moisture in it, and her eyes no longer burned when she opened them.
She was in a small, dark room. An oil lamp sat nearby, turned to its lowest setting to conserve fuel, the glow so soft that Clare could only make out the edges of furniture. Some kind of bookcase. A table. What might have been an empty clothing rack. The floor was concrete, but a plush rug had been laid out in the room’s centre, its fibres ruffled from foot traffic. She was in the room’s corner, propped up on something soft.
Where am I? Where’s Dorran?
Panic pulsed through her veins. She couldn’t see him. Memories from the last time she’d been conscious began to drip back to her in confusing, disconnected scraps. They had arrived somewhere with bright lights. She remembered trying to swallow water and how painful it had been. Dorran had been afraid. He was almost never that frightened. She could remember the conflict in his eyes, the desperation that came from being backed into a corner, the uncertainty. She needed to find him. She needed to make sure he was safe.
Clare tried to sit up and gasped as her muscles burned. Then the shape underneath her—what she had thought was some kind of chair—shifted, and Clare swallowed a yelp.
“Shh, shh, it’s all right, my darling. You’re safe.”
“Dorran?”
She tilted her head back. Dorran sat with his back propped into the room’s corner, a blanket draped around his shoulders. He held her snugly, one arm cradling her head and back, the other around her legs, holding her in his lap. The blanket had been tucked around her, cocooning her until she barely felt the cold.
He looked gaunt, the way he had been when he was sick. But he smiled at her. Clare’s panic began to recede. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. And you will be, too.” He slipped the arm out from under her legs and reached for the bottle of water next to them. They were on a mattress. A set of pillows was stacked beside them, along with a folded set of sheets.
Dorran held the bottle up for her. The thirst was no longer all-consuming, but Clare still drank. This time, her throat handled it better. She took as much as she thought she could without becoming sick. Dorran exhaled as he set aside the half-empty bottle.
“Where are we?” Clare asked.
“At one of the safe havens. We will be all right. For now, just rest.”
She was comfortable in Dorran’s arms. She’d noticed that before; no matter how he arranged her, they always seemed to fit together like two perfectly matched puzzle pieces. She was tempted to close her eyes and fall back to sleep, but instead, she stretched her legs to shake some life into herself. She didn’t know how long she’d been out, but Dorran looked exhausted.
“You can put me down, if you’re tired.”
He pretended to consider that for a moment. “I can. But I will not.”
“All right.” She chuckled and rested her hand against a patch of bare skin at his shirt’s collar. The blanket slipped from around his shoulders, and she caught a glimpse of red underneath.
Clare frowned, memories falling back into place. He’d tried to find water in a house, but one of the monsters had been inside. She didn’t know how bad the injuries might be. “You’re hurt.”
“It is all right, my darling. Just rest.”
She pulled herself out of his arms so that she could sit at his side. When she tugged at the blanket, Dorran grimaced as the shirt peeled away from the raw skin. Clare felt her heart plummet. “Hasn’t this been dressed? Do we still have the first aid kit? Or—or any cloths, or—”