She turned back to the house. Rain blurred it. Running through the water as it trickled under their clothes would be hell, but it was better than lingering outside. They only had half of the field left to cross before they reached the blocks of white that marked the front gardens.
Under her pounding footsteps, she thought she caught another noise. Rasping breaths. Low, eager chattering. She felt the sled jerk and turned. A hollow clung to the top of their domed shelter, bony joints poking out at unnatural angles. It had teeth everywhere. At first, Clare’s mind revolted against the image, unable to understand what it was seeing. Bulging yellow teeth poked through its shoulders. Something like a deformed jaw gaped below its collarbone. The skin around its mouth was shredded, and additional teeth poked through the holes—hundreds of them. Clare yelled.
That second of shock cost her. The hollows moved at a blinding pace, scuttling on all fours. Some grasped at the sled. Others swarmed around it, reaching towards Clare. She moved on instinct, lifting the pitchfork and driving it into the nearest creature. The impact forced her back, and in a heartbeat, the others were on her.
Chapter Ten
A body slammed into her chest, winding her. Hard pressure dug into her forearm. Teeth, she thought, fighting and failing to get through the jackets. A new face loomed over her, just inches away, peering through her mesh mask. Saliva dripped from its open maw. The mouth stretched from one ear to the other like a gash. Its right eye bored into her. The left was missing, only a rotting dark-red socket in its place.
Dorran yelled. The pressure on her arm disappeared in time with the thwack of an axe. She heard scuffling as he was overrun by the creatures.
Clare pulled on the pitchfork, trying to use it to knock the monster off herself, but one of them was still impaled on its tip, weighing it down. Its body contorted as it stretched to reach her.
The hollow perched on her chest reached long, bony hands up to her mask. Its fingers traced over the mesh, trying to pry it away. The fingers were so close that she could see the whorls of its fingerprints and the dirt trapped under its nails. She could smell the rot from where a green infection spread around a cuticle.
The nails dug at the mesh. When it couldn’t get through, it lifted its hand and brought it down as a fist. Clare grunted. The impact crushed the mesh against her skin. Now, she could feel the fingers. Through the barrier—through the freezing wire—she could feel the clammy, spongy skin poking at her cheek.
Then the hollow whirled away. Dorran crouched over her. Blood painted a streak across his mask, dripping from the wire. He kept low, one hand braced over Clare, the other holding the axe at the ready. A hollow came forward. The axe cleaved through its neck, and Clare gasped as the head bounced over her stomach then tumbled away.
Dorran was yelling, but Clare couldn’t make out the words. Noise swallowed everything, rumbling and deep, like a mountain’s scream. She tilted her head back and saw the sleet was racing towards them.
We can run through the rain. But we can’t fight in it. It will sap our strength. Freeze us before we can get free. And it’s still so far to the house. We can’t outrun the hollows—
“The shelter,” she yelled to Dorran. She didn’t think he heard her. He moved sharply, furiously, stabbing at the creatures as they darted forward, still holding himself over Clare. She rolled to her side. The sled was less than five feet away. Hollows stood between them, but she thought, if they moved quickly, they might be able to make it. “Dorran! Follow!”
She grabbed his arm and yanked him as she moved. He obeyed. Together, they raced towards the sled, tripping over their snowshoes, staggering through the churned-up snow. Two of the hollows in their path scattered as they neared. The third crouched and sprang. Dorran swiped at it. The axe missed its mark, skimming across the hollow’s ribs, but it was enough to knock the monster aside. They were at the sled. Clare grabbed the dome, leaned back, and wrenched it up and over them. The twine holding it down snapped, and the sled jolted as the dome came free. She and Dorran pulled together on their knees and pressed against each other, as the structure dropped over them.
The hollows hit the shelter’s surface. The scrabbling was back, worse than it had ever been before. Above her. Around her. Inside her own head. The smell of hollow blood filled the space. Clare choked. Her arms had no more strength left in them, but she clung to Dorran. He held her in return.
“Shh, shh.” The murmurs should have been comforting, but distorted through the mask and trapped in the tiny shelter, they just made Clare shake harder.
Then a new sound joined the scrabbling: sleet. Hitting the ground outside. Hitting the fabric. Hitting the hollows. Strangely, it helped. The white noise drowned out the chattering and scrabbling. The rain’s rhythmic, unrelenting pounding soothed something deep inside her.
Clare lifted her head. Her mask was badly dented, pressing against her cheek, and it felt like it was rubbing her nerves raw. She fumbled to take it off. Dorran helped. He unfastened the straps from the back of her head, and finally, she felt as though she could breathe properly again.
The space was claustrophobic. Kneeling, pressed as close together as they could, their heads and shoulders still brushed the chicken-wire frame. The curtains were too heavy to let anything more than a distant trace of light through. Still, it was a respite. They were out of the rain and away from the scratching fingers.
Dorran unfastened his own mask and dropped it at his side. His skin was pale and glistened with sweat. Clare reached up, her fingers brushing over his cheek and trailing down to his chin. She’d never thought she would be so happy to see his face again.
“Are you all right?” He was still panting.
She was breathless, too, and nodded. A drop of icy water landed on her cheek, and she flinched away from it.
Dorran’s eyes tightened as he looked up. “This will not be waterproof. I designed it to protect from hail more than rain.”
“We were so close.” Clare huddled over even farther to avoid the drops that were appearing on the wire frame. Dorran adjusted his position so that they could sit side by side. His arm ended up wrapped around her waist. She leaned into his shoulder. Flecks of blood stuck to her cheek, but she was too tired to care.
“We are still alive,” Dorran said. “That is something to be grateful for.”
She let her eyes close as she rested against him. Outside, thunder crackled. The fingers, persistent, groped at the thick cloth. She could feel the creatures climbing over the dome. When lightning flashed above them, she could see the dark bodies silhouetted above them. Then the frame shivered. Fingers were prying under the edge of the dome. They wiggled through the snow, feeling and seeking. Dorran pulled his hatchet free from his belt. The sound of crunching bones was accompanied by low, angry hisses.
“Hold it down,” Dorran said. He took hold of the chicken wire above his head and pulled it towards himself. The dome bowed slightly as Clare added her weight to his.
The fingers continued to try to squirm under the shelter’s edge. Whenever they got too close, Dorran stabbed at them. Clare closed her eyes and tilted her head back. The sight of severed fingers and red-stained snow seeping around them turned her stomach. She breathed through her mouth, the smell of blood making her dizzy, as she clung to the wire and held the dome down.