BooksBarbecue
Back The Hollows
Chapters (77)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Dedication
  5. PART I
  6. 1.
  7. 2.
  8. 3.
  9. 4.
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. PART II
  15. 9.
  16. 10.
  17. 11.
  18. 12.
  19. 13.
  20. 14.
  21. 15.
  22. 16.
  23. 17.
  24. 18.
  25. 19.
  26. 20.
  27. 21.
  28. 22.
  29. 23.
  30. 24.
  31. 25.
  32. 26.
  33. 27.
  34. 28.
  35. 29.
  36. 30.
  37. 31.
  38. 32.
  39. 33.
  40. 34.
  41. 35.
  42. 36.
  43. PART III
  44. 37.
  45. 38.
  46. 39.
  47. 40.
  48. 41.
  49. 42.
  50. 43.
  51. 44.
  52. 45.
  53. 46.
  54. 47.
  55. 48.
  56. 49.
  57. 50.
  58. 51.
  59. 52.
  60. 53.
  61. 54.
  62. 55.
  63. 56.
  64. 57.
  65. 58.
  66. 59.
  67. 60.
  68. 61.
  69. 62.
  70. 63.
  71. 64.
  72. 65.
  73. PART IV
  74. 66.
  75. 67.
  76. 68.
  77. Acknowledgements

The only surprise, really, was that they hadn’t tried this before. The terrace was a source of light as it burned; blind as they were, could the creatures differentiate between that and the flare’s smaller glow, sensing light only by the pain it caused? Would they be directing their attention towards the roofs now, if they realised Ellie had come from there? If so, Milly and the rest could expect a similar bombardment to this. And they were in the dark already, completely exposed to attack and unable to manoeuvre; if they dropped the flares when they were pelted with ice the pale swarm would be on them in seconds.

Which made finding fuel, here and now, no longer a hope but a necessity. The shed was only feet away; Ellie crashed almost headlong into the door and fumbled at it left-handed, ice-chunks thudding into her back. Please God, let it be on a catch and not a lock. A catch and not a lock. A catch and not a lock –

It was a catch; a simple swivelling wooden catch with a hole below it. Ellie pushed the catch, hooked a finger into the hole and pulled the door wide. More ice hit her, but she got in through the door and pulled it shut. And the flare was still burning.

There was a small Perspex window. One of the creatures was gnawing at it, incisors scoring furrows in the plastic. Ellie thrust the flare at it, and it retreated. For now.

How will you get out? How do we get out? How do I get out?

The shed. Check the shed.

Ellie turned, the flare held high, and began to laugh.

The back of the shed was filled with stacked, neatly chopped wood and boxes of firelighters. There was a can of kerosene, too, and a heavy-duty flashlight. Enough for a fire, and an extra light source to boot.

“There’s fuel!” she shouted. “We’ve got fuel –”

The shed lurched as something crashed into it from the side. Wood cracked. The flimsy structure tilted. One of the creatures was trying to tip it over.

The door flew open. Long hands groped inwards, reaching for her. She swept the flare in an arc across their path, and they were snatched back out of sight. A fanged eyeless muzzle lunged into the gap and she jabbed the flare towards it. The prospect of victory had made the creature overconfident: Ellie felt the flare hit something solid and the thing recoiled, almost deafening her with its infantine, bestial scream.

Not done yet, you bastards; still fucking here. But the thin wooden boards were splitting and cracking. The shed wasn’t a heavy structure, but if it collapsed the things could blot the light out, pile on and crush her.