Dorran extended his hand. Clare took it, and he helped her climb over the show. She slid down the other side, tumbling and unwieldly in her outfit. Flecks of snow became trapped in the mask. As she righted herself, she tried to beat them free and restore her vision. She heard, more than saw, Dorran skid down beside her.
The good weather had held. The sun felt a little stronger than it had for the previous few days. Clare let herself hold on to the thin, risky hope that they might have turned a corner and that milder, warmer weather was on its way. Then she looked behind them and saw a patch of grey over the house’s broken roof.
A storm? Coming towards us or going?
She blew a breath through the scarf in an attempt to melt the last ice flakes clinging to her mask, then she turned to face the field. As far as she could tell, it was empty. The hollows seemed to prefer dark, quiet spaces when they could get them. The forest. The house. They only ventured into the sun when they had no way to avoid it.
The sled had come to a rest not far away, and they hiked to it. A rope had been tied around its front, creating a loop, and Dorran took one side while Clare picked up the other. Then they turned towards the forest.
“Normally, I would want to go between the trees, where it’s more sheltered.” Dorran’s voice was almost lost under the wind’s howl. “But the sled will have trouble on the roots. I think it will be easier to go along the path my family used when leaving the property, then backtrack along the main road. It will add perhaps ten minutes to our trip.”
Clare nodded. They had left later than she’d wanted, but even so, energy was in shorter supply than time. The sled was heavy. Their clothes weighed them down. And the snow was slippery and treacherous, an icy sheen over its surface. Even with snowshoes, Clare struggled to find a good footing.
She alternated her attention between the ground in front of her, the forest’s edge, and the sky behind them. Dorran was watching the grey patch too. It was hard to be certain, but Clare thought it was moving towards them. At least it was slow. With luck, they would be inside the forest and at least partially protected before it hit.
Her breathing was ragged. The face mask felt as though it were smothering her, and the frozen air burnt her throat and lungs every time she inhaled. Her body was starting to settle into that uneasy middle ground where it was both too hot and too cold at the same time.
Ahead, a gap between the trees loomed. The way the boughs hung over the road made it feel like walking into a tunnel. Banksy Forest was ancient; initially planted as a pine forestry but never harvested, its once-neat lines were breaking apart as old giants collapsed and younger generations grew to take their places. The oldest trees seemed to rise up forever, as though they were trying to blot out the sky.
The road was straight, and even though the layer of snow was dense, it wasn’t quite as thick as where the wind had whipped it up and built it into drifts. The world seemed to grow quieter as they entered the forest. Clare could hear both of them breathing between the steady crunching of their snowshoes… and, underneath that, the scrabbling.
Clare stared upwards, into the forest’s boughs. She thought she saw motion, but as soon as her eyes locked on it, the branches were still.
The hollows liked to climb. Beth said they hunted animals. Clare guessed the boughs would hold birds and squirrels for them to catch. She flicked her gaze over the branches, searching the interlacing silhouettes for any sign of life. The scratching noise was following them. And yet, the creatures weren’t trying to attack.
How sentient are they? She flinched as a branch snapped behind them. She turned, but still, she couldn’t see anything. Do they remember what happened to the others that attacked us? Are they frightened of us? Or… are they cleverer than we know? Are they waiting, planning, looking for an opportunity?
“Not far now.” Without the wind snatching away their words, she could hear Dorran more clearly. She tried to smile for him, before remembering he couldn’t see her any better than she could see him.
Their path opened up unexpectedly. One moment, they were encased in what felt like a never-ending hedge of trees. The next, Clare stumbled as the vegetation thinned into a familiar channel.
She’d driven the road through Banksy Forest at least once a week for as long as she’d lived in the area. She thought she recognised the part they were in, thanks to a bend to their right. If she was right, they were still in the heart of the forest.
Dorran indicated to their left. It took a moment to get their sled lined up on the new path, then they set off again. Clare’s muscles were waning, but she walked a little faster. Being on the main road meant they were close to their car—and the hollows still hadn’t shown themselves.
The road led them around a gentle bend, then up ahead, Clare glimpsed her car. The little red hatchback had ridden up on the side of the road. Its hood was crumpled from smashing into one of the ancient trees. The front driver’s door hung open, but it was at an angle that had allowed relatively little snow inside.
She and Dorran exchanged a look, and she was pretty sure that, under the mask, he was smiling just as broadly as she was.
A branch cracked behind them. Clare turned, and her heart dropped. In the distance, almost perfectly blended into the forest, stood a figure at least two heads taller than she was. It leant out from between the trees, one elongated arm dangling. The limb had been broken. Bone fragments jutted out, and they seemed to have grown. The sharp spikes fanned out like early plumage. Clare stared at it. It stared back.
“Dorran,” she whispered.
“I see it. Get to the car.”
She pulled on the rope again, pushing tired muscles to move faster. The car was close. The hollow wasn’t following. Please, let it stay there.
Dorran gave the sled a final shove as it slid around the car’s back, unfastened the dome shelter, then pulled the axe out from underneath. He turned to face the hollow. “Can you get the supplies by yourself?”
“Yes.” She wrenched on the rear door’s handle. Snow and ice had formed a seal around it, but a sharp kick cracked it free. The door fell open, revealing the two travel cases she’d packed for the trip to Beth’s.
They held necessities. Long-life food. Batteries. Clothes. A small first aid kit. A couple of books, which would have been essential to survive weeks in a cramped room with little other entertainment. Clare hauled them out, gasping as she moved the heavy cases to sit on the sled. She stacked them, then used the twine to tie the shelter down on top of them.
“Got it,” she called to Dorran.
He stood by the car’s front, one hand resting on the lifted bonnet as he alternated his attention from the wrecked engine to the hollow between the trees. “Is anything else in the car useful?”
She looked in the boot. It held jugs of water, long frozen; she left them there. Winterbourne had its own water supply. “Not unless you can get the petrol out of the tank.”
“It is spilt.” Dorran stepped away from the car’s front, still keeping his eyes on the figure posed between the trees. “We will need to retrace our steps to reach the road. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Chapter Nine
Dorran faced the creature blocking their path. “If it attacks, be prepared to run. We can retrieve the sled another day if need be.”