Dorran staggered, bumping into her back. Clare looked over her shoulder and saw the creature with four arms had returned. Dorran held the pipe ahead of himself with both hands, trying to force some distance between himself and the monster. It loomed over him, two of its hands holding the metal pipe, the other two reaching past it to grasp at Dorran’s face.
Clare was unable to help without her weapon. She crouched, hands running through the mist, and fixed on a rock the size of her fist jutting out of the marshy ground. She wrenched it free and raised it, just in time to see the many-toothed hollow returning.
Splinters from her broken bat poked through its face. They pierced its lips and cheeks. One even jutted out from just under its eye, dripping dark blood over its jaw. Clare, choking, hurled the rock at it. She hit its mouth and flinched as one of the splinters was forced deeper into the creature’s throat. It didn’t stop coming, though. Clare braced herself and raised her arms.
A blur of motion came from the side. The many-toothed hollow froze as a metal bar ran through its head. It hung, suspended and twitching. Then the bar was pulled back, and the hollow dropped with a gush of dark blood. Beth stood over it. Her blonde hair was plastered down by the rain, but fire blazed in her eyes.
Dorran grunted as he threw the four-armed creature to the side. It howled as it hit the ground and scrambled back up, ready to strike. Beth intercepted it. Teeth bared, she swung again and again, using the metal pole to bludgeon and impale indiscriminately. Dorran moved forward, guarding her back, with Clare positioned between them.
The four-armed hollow fell away, limp. It tumbled down the slope until it plunged into the river, where the current dragged it away. Beth stepped back, eyes hard as she scanned the mist.
“Into the bus,” she snarled. “More will be coming.”
Dorran kept one hand on Clare’s back as they ran up the hill. The bus emerged from the fog, the light acting as a beacon.
The camp was still set up; the bus’s compartment hung open, and the shade cloth was still extended. It meant the bus was anchored to that spot, and they were out of time to pack the equipment away.
Dorran shoved Clare through the open door then turned. “I can—”
“In,” Beth nearly screamed. He jumped after Clare, lips pressed together tightly.
Clare was shaking. She held her hands out to Dorran. “I’m sorry—”
“It’s all right. You’re all right.” He reached towards her, and she fell into the hug, grateful. “Are you hurt?”
“No, no, I’m fine.” His shirt was wet, but she could still feel the warmth of his body underneath. She closed her eyes, just glad to be able to hold him.
The bus door slammed. Clare and Dorran jumped apart.
Beth stood by the driver’s seat. Her eyes were wide, but her expression was unreadable. For a second, they were encased by perfect, horrible silence. Then Beth whispered, “Get into some dry clothes.”
Clare took a half step forward, a hand held out. “Uh, Beth—”
“Try to be quick. More hollows will be coming. The faster we can be quiet, the sooner they will leave.” She turned to the front window, unfastened a clasp, and pulled a thick metal shutter down over the glass.
In the distance, a hollow screamed. Clare backed away from the bus’s front, trying to focus through the shivers. She felt sick in her stomach, but she knew Beth was right. They could talk once they made sure they would live through the night.
She reached into the racks above their heads and pulled towels and fresh outfits down. That was one thing Beth had in plentiful supply: clean clothes. Finding a second set to fit Dorran was a challenge, but she managed it.
He hung back, shrouded in darkness near the bus’s rear seats, swaying slightly and his breathing ragged. Clare held a towel up to him. She dropped her voice to a whisper that she hoped Beth wouldn’t hear. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” He took the towel and the clothes and stepped away from her.
Beth sat in the driver’s seat and faced the closed metal shutters. She was soaked, her clothes dripping over the floor, but she made no move to change. Clare wanted to reach out to her but didn’t know what to say. Instead, she crept in between a row of seats where she would have some privacy and rushed to change into a drier outfit.
There was no better option, so she hung the wet clothes over the back of the seats, next to the outfits they had shed earlier that day. A muffled noise dragged her attention to the nearest window. Something moved beyond it. Clare gave up on the wet shirt she’d been trying to spread out, and silently dropped into a seat.
Fingernails dug into bus’s panels. Teeth clicked. Something heavy scrambled up over the windows and thudded onto the roof.
Clare pulled her legs up underneath herself, her back to the window. To her left, Dorran sat near the rear of the bus. His back was straight, and his dark eyes glinted in the low light. To her right, Beth remained in the driver’s seat, unmoving. Clare had never felt more isolated. She hugged the new jacket around herself and squeezed her eyes closed.
The hollows picked at the bus for what felt like hours. Their low, curious chattering echoed from every direction. Clare hated the noise, but it never seemed to stop. She clenched her teeth to hold back the scream that wanted to escape.
Occasionally, one of the hollows would pass next to Clare’s windows. Through the tiny gaps around the boards, she could see grey fingers prying at the structure, picking at the screws, trying to poke through to touch the glass. Once, an eye appeared in the gap. Clare held perfectly still, breath frozen. There was barely any light inside the bus, but she didn’t know how well the hollows might be able to see in the dark. The eye rolled in its socket, passing over her, the chairs, and the ceiling. Then it disappeared, replaced by the too-long fingers once again.
She couldn’t speak and couldn’t move. Any hint of noise would only make the hollows redouble their efforts. The only thing she could do was sit as still as possible and pray the creatures left quickly. Feet thumped above her head. Something hissed.
An itch started below one of Clare’s shoulder blades. She couldn’t scratch it. Her eyes burned from tiredness, but she couldn’t let them close, or else she might roll over and make noise in her sleep. Sometimes, she tried to watch Dorran. All she could make out in the gloom was the silhouette of his wet hair and sometimes the flash of his eyes. She thought he might be watching her too.
Eventually, the chattering noise softened. Dorran finally moved. He leaned over to rest his head against the windows. The motion was small, but Clare still flinched at the rustle his clothes made. She waited for the hollows to howl, but they didn’t.
She turned towards Beth. Her sister remained pin-straight in the driver’s seat. Clare made to rise, to approach her. One of Beth’s hands rose, silhouetted, and the finger pressed over her lips. The hollows might have left, but they still couldn’t afford noise. Clare nodded and settled back into her seat.
Rain continued to wash over them. The sound was soothing, but Clare thought she could hear distant chattering through it. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Between the rain’s tapping and the near-inaudible breathing of her companions, Clare fell asleep.
She didn’t know how much time passed before she cracked her eyes open. Her neck was stiff from the angle she’d slept in, but she wasn’t as cold as she’d been the night before.