“Shh, you need not worry. They are not bleeding any longer. I will dress them in due course, but not now.”
He’s using formal language. He’s stressed. Clare’s head was fuzzy. Focussing was nearly impossible, but she made herself pay attention. Dorran had said they were in a safe haven. She remembered a slow, drawling voice coming from outside the bus, blinding lights, and the glint of a rifle.
“Dorran, have you talked to the people who run this place?”
“Not much.” He tucked the blanket around her a little more tightly. “Just to ask for water, and then they brought us to this room. They have left us alone since then.”
“How long ago was that?”
“A few hours.”
He spoke as though it was nothing, but the shadows around his eyes belied tiredness. He wouldn’t have slept since the night before they stopped at Mother Gum’s Nest. How long ago was that? A day? More? “Can you ask them to look at your arm?”
“They offered, but I declined.”
“Huh? Why?”
He gave his head a brief shake. “I will look at it later. Right now, I’m more concerned about you. Your fever broke after you had water, but I do not know what was in the tea and whether it might still be in your system. Do you feel nauseous at all?”
“Don’t try to change the subject.” She gave his chest a light poke. “Why didn’t you let them look at your arm?”
He ran his tongue over his lips as he glanced at the door. Simple and narrow, it was made of metal. She thought they must be in some kind of storage room. The shelves and clothing rack were empty, but once, it would have held new shipments before they were put out for sale. The mattress was probably a new addition, though.
After a long pause, Dorran said, “That woman and her children took everything of value. Food, water, fuel. I do not want to commit to a debt that I have no way of repaying.”
Oh. She suddenly understood everything. His reluctance to fall asleep and the fear in his expression the previous night—he had only stopped at the safe haven when he was forced to. He had adopted Beth’s mentality on humanity: they were a roll of the dice at best. And he had every reason to feel that way.
Before Clare had arrived at his ancestral home, Winterbourne, he had been trapped with an abusive, hyper-controlling family. His world view had been shaped by them, his defences honed, and it had left him with a fear of vulnerability that Clare was still working to break through. He was trying, though. He trusted Clare. He was pushing himself to escape the shadows his childhood had left hanging over him.
After leaving Winterbourne, they had encountered four groups of survivors. Out of them, only the Evandale research institute had kept their trust.
Ezra had tried to kill them. Beth had attacked him. And then Mother Gum…
After Evandale, Dorran must have been pushing himself to be more open. That was why he had agreed to stopping when they saw smoke. He had made an effort to trust, despite what his instincts wanted and despite his natural caution.
The betrayal had been cold-blooded. It was a special kind of cruelty to lure someone in with love and kindness before leading them into a killing barn. And now, he had been forced to seek out humans again. Strangers, not too different to Mother Gum. A community that opened its gates to travellers, welcomed them in with the promise of food and shelter. And then what?
She watched Dorran as he watched the door. He hadn’t let himself sleep, because sleep could mean death for both of them.
“Dorran.”
His eyes flicked to her, filled with fear, filled with love, saturated with the quiet need to protect. She didn’t know what to say. She wanted to tell him it was okay, that he could rest, that they wouldn’t be in any danger. She couldn’t promise any of that, though.
For all she knew, he was right to fear the safe haven. The Evandale Research Centre had been an exception. Secluded underground, they hadn’t lived among the hollows or been forced to fight for limited resources. They were essentially a bubble of old-world morals.
Maybe the rest of the world had gone bad. The surviving humans could be a mixture of recluses and extremists. A map of spiderwebs built by predators waiting for naïve or desperate insects to alight on them.
“I’m here,” she said at last. It was the only thing she could promise him. “Whatever happens, we’ll be in this together.”
He kissed her forehead, one arm moving around her back to hold her tightly.
The door creaked and clicked as its handle turned from the other side. Dorran stiffened. His hand moved to his thigh, where he still had his knife strapped, half concealed by the blanket.
The old metal door shuddered as it was pushed inwards. Their lamp was too weak to reveal anything except the edges of movement, so Clare reached for it and fumbled for the dial on its side. The flame grew as she fed it more fuel, and finally, she had a proper look at their hosts.
Chapter Ten
The man entered first. He was old in a wiry, tough kind of way. Creases ran around heavy-lidded eyes, and long, loose grey hair and a shaggy beard framed his face. Clare’s first impression was of a lion’s mane. He continued to hold his shotgun over one flannel-clad arm, its barrels pointed towards the floor.
“Heard you talking,” the man said, the country drawl thick and slow like a stagnated river. “Figured you’d be ready for some food.”
As Clare and Dorran stood, a woman entered behind the man, carrying a tray with two bowls of stew and cups of tea balanced on it. She could have been the man’s twin, except she was a little smaller and a little thinner. Creases ran over her features, and they bunched up when she smiled. Steel-grey hair cascaded down to the middle of her back, and her outfit was so similar to her companion’s that it could have been planned.
They were old, but in a completely different way to Mother Gum. That woman’s façade had been sweetness and softness, gossamer hair, and rosy cheeks. This couple had been weathered. There was no softness, just muscles from a lifetime of physical work. With their hair and flowing clothes, Clare was struck with the impression that they might have emerged from the sixties with ideologies that followed them for the remainder of their lives.
“It has beef in it,” the woman said, and a hint of motherliness slipped into her voice. “I figure you could do with some.”
“Thanks,” Clare said as the bowls were unloaded onto a table near them. As she moved, Clare caught sight of scars running across the woman’s collarbone and up her throat like lightning. They were only a few weeks old.
The woman tucked the tray under her arm and left, running one hand over the man’s forearm as she passed him. She left the door open.
The man cocked his head. For a moment, he simply stared at them, letting the silence hang, then he said, “You feeling any better?”
“Yes.” Clare glanced at Dorran. The wariness hadn’t left his expression. “Um, thank you.”
“Take your jacket off,” he said.
Dorran’s expression flashed vicious, all hard lines and blazing eyes. He shifted his pose, lowering his centre of gravity, energy coiling inside of him as he prepared to fight. The word came out as a snarl. “No.”
The shotgun rose, and his fingers moved to hover over the trigger.