And even if she could get through the hollows, the fear of becoming just like them made Clare’s stomach turn. Beth didn’t know if whatever had changed them was still out there. From what Clare had gleaned from the few radio broadcasts she’d caught, people were travelling across the country. They were surviving—at least for a couple of days. She didn’t know if that meant the air was safe or whether the effects were simply delayed.
And if the air isn’t safe, can it blow over Winterbourne? Are we going to be exposed to it, no matter how cautious we are?
She felt herself starting to hyperventilate and pushed away from the table. She crossed to the sink and splashed water over her face. It was cold enough to make her skin sting. It helped, though. She gave it a moment then returned to the table, where Dorran waited.
“What do you think?” she asked, desperate for someone else’s thoughts to distract her from her own.
Dorran faced her, one elbow resting on the table and his hand running over his mouth. He watched the radio, like Clare, almost as though it might come alive again.
“I think your sister has good advice. Knowing what the outside is like, Winterbourne is probably the safest house we could find. And we have the garden. As long as we can find fuel to keep the lights on, it will be sustainable. We could conceivably live decades by harvesting new seeds from the plants we grow.”
Clare imagined spending the rest of her life in Winterbourne. She wondered if she could ever feel comfortable in it. The mansion was towering and imposing. Every item cluttering its endless rooms had been chosen for its prestige. And now, at the end of the world, it was all worthless. The gild-framed paintings. The ornate furniture and brushed rugs. They were living surrounded by unimaginable wealth but with no one to care about it.
Dorran lowered his hand and let his fingers trace across the wooden table. “Your sister also advised us to be cautious. And as sturdy as Winterbourne is, it is still far from completely safe. Hollows were able to get inside once. They can do so again, easily.”
Clare nodded. “The passageways.”
“I have no idea how many they are or where they lead. Until they are sealed, we must be on guard.” He took a slow breath and closed his eyes. “But I would also like to try to find a way to bring Beth here.”
Clare’s heart jumped. She clenched her hands, but it wasn’t enough to stop them from shaking.
“It won’t be today. It might not be for a while. But we will know soon whether the hollows can starve. If they cannot, we must try to find a way to get Beth out of where she is. It is not a life fit for any human.”
“Thank you.” Clare dropped forward, resting her head against Dorran’s chest, and he wrapped his arms around her in return.
She’d been so afraid that he would take Beth’s side and refuse to leave Winterbourne. Dorran liked to be cautious. She knew he was pushing himself to even make the offer. “Thank you so much.”
“Shh. Don’t thank me now. There is a long way to go yet.” He kissed the top of her head. “But we will make it possible.”
They sat together, wrapped up in each other. Clare struggled to get her emotions back under control. Dorran’s knit jacket was warm under her cheek, and it moved subtly as he breathed. He felt as steady as ever, but she could feel conflict under the surface. He was worried.
A loud thud echoed from the floor above them. They both turned to stare at the ceiling. A trail of dust, jostled free, trickled through the dimly lit air. Dorran tensed. “Stay close to me.”
Clare kept at his side like a shadow as he lit a candle and collected two fire pokers from beside the stove. He passed one of the pokers to Clare, then they left the relative security of the kitchen and crept into the foyer.
The noise had sounded like it came from the second floor. Above it was the third floor—where she and Dorran had their room—and the attic. At that moment, Clare hated how rambling the house felt. The dizzying number of rooms were crisscrossed with roving hallways, and she still didn’t know where all of them led.
Dorran moved with purpose. He gave the foyer a brief scan then led the way to the stairs, keeping their backs to the walls. As they climbed, he tilted his head towards her and whispered, “If it is a creature, I want to either drive it out or kill it. Stay behind me and watch my back. But if there are more than one, we retreat. We get to the bedroom, if we can. Better to be safe and live to fight another day.”
Clare nodded. The stairs creaked under their feet, the noise muffled by thick carpet. On a normal day, morning’s light would have glowed through the windows, but the manor had been swallowed by a perpetual haze that dampened the sunlight and dimmed the sky. Clare had the sense that more snow would be arriving soon. The weather had been increasingly unpredictable since the world had gone silent. They could have clear weather, immense hail, and a snowstorm all in the same day. She didn’t know how the hollows were managing to survive the brutal conditions in the forest, except that they didn’t seem to feel the cold like she did.
She and Dorran stopped on the landing. Clare waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. The hallway stretched in both directions. With no maids flitting through the space each day, dust had started to accumulate on the frames and furniture. Wood panelling filled the spaces between the pillars embedded in the walls. The hallway’s runner, a dark maroon, complimented the narrow tables and displays arranged in the area. It somehow managed to feel cluttered and refined at the same time.
Dorran waited, listening to the silence, then led Clare right. She tried to visualise the house’s layout. She thought, if they continued on a little farther, they would be standing directly above the kitchens.
Blurred shadows lingered over the furniture. Clare fought to make out shapes as the thin light from the window and the gold glow from Dorran’s candle played tricks on her eyes. Dorran moved steadily, each step measured, his centre of gravity low and his weapon held expectantly. Closed doors bracketed them on both sides, leading into dark rooms with thick drapes and heavy shadows.
Dorran came to a halt. His hand shot out to hold Clare back, and she took hold of it, anchoring him to her side. Ahead, shapes cluttered the hallway. Chairs. Pedestals. Narrow side tables. Shelves. In amongst their straight lines and symmetrical designs, something organic stood out. Something jagged. Clare stared and realised the shape was staring back.
The creature was invisible except for its silhouette and one rounded eye, which glinted in the light. Clare tried to trace its outline, but it was maddening. What should have been its arm split into two. The place where its hand should have been had too many knuckles. Too many fingers. Twelve of them, Clare thought, splayed at its side. Matted, thin hair cascaded over its shoulders and draped down, passing the shredded ends of its maids’ dress, to brush against the floor. Clare’s eyes flicked from the hair to the elongated feet with a multitude of toes.
Dorran slowly nudged Clare back until she was sheltered behind him. The poker glinted as he adjusted his grip on it.
The creature’s head tilted back. The lower jaw stretched farther than Clare would have thought possible, exposing rotting teeth in black gums. A hissing, chattering noise ripped out of its throat, then the monster slid into the wall and vanished with a sharp bang.
“Ah—” Dorran moved forward with smooth, quick steps. Clare, knowing she was supposed to watch their backs but incapable of looking away from where the woman had stood, followed. The candle’s glow flowed over uninterrupted panelling. Dorran handed his light to her then felt across the wood. He paused at one place near a pillar, gave it a hard shove, and stepped back as the concealed door rocked open.