Desolation (43 page)

“We should take him to Cole,” Hillock said. “Kill him in front of him.”

“Cole’s in his panic room,” Mabb reminded him. “We could video it. What do you think?”

“No, asshole,” Hillock said. “Remember the rules. No videos. No pictures. We can’t tell anyone about tonight.”

“Shit, yeah. Okay then, we’ll just kill the little turd here and go back for Cunningham and his friends. Give them what’s coming to them.”

They closed in and Austin stood, breathing hard, and raised the gun.

Hillock laughed. “Holy crap! Check it out!”

“Is that a silencer?” said Mabb. “He’s got a silencer on it! That’s so cool!”

“Now we’re definitely going back to Cunningham. Take that with us, walk right up to him, shoot him between the horns. Nobody, and I mean
nobody
, does to us what they did. Nobody.”

Mabb nodded. “We’ll give them something to laugh about. We’ll see who the big man is when we’re done with them. Vengeance is sweet. Give us the gun, shit-for-brains.”

“Stop,” said Austin. “Stop or I’ll … just stop …”

“Bet you can’t even fire that thing,” Hillock said. “Bet you can’t even pull the trigger.”

“I will,” Austin said, gritting his teeth. “I’ll shoot you.”

“Then go ahead,” said Hillock. “Shoot us. I dare you.”

The gun was heavy, and trembled in Austin’s hands. Still, he didn’t let it drop.

Mabb and Hillock laughed again, and stepped forward, and Austin yanked hard on the trigger. He expected a
pffft
, like in the video games, but the silenced pistol snapped loudly and bucked in his hands.

“Jesus!” Mabb yelled, his eyes wide while his hands clutched at his belly. “He shot me!”

Mabb staggered back and Hillock followed, pulling Mabb’s hands away so he could see the wound for himself. Austin didn’t know what to say. He fought hard against an overwhelming urge to apologise.

“Well, holy crap,” said Hillock. “You did it. You actually did it.”

“I’m gonna kill you!” Mabb howled, but was too busy being in pain to attempt it.

“I didn’t think you’d do it,” said Hillock. “Didn’t think you had the balls. Cole always says you’re a chickenshit little runt, but wait till he hears about this.”

“He won’t,” Austin said. “He’s dead.”

Mabb stopped howling, and Hillock raised his eyebrows. “What’s that?”

“Cole’s dead,” said Austin, speaking louder this time. “And, if you’re not careful, you’ll be dead, too. You better leave me alone.”

“You killed Cole?” Mabb asked in a small voice.

Austin swallowed, and nodded.

“You?” Hillock said, stepping forward. “You killed Cole Blancard?”

“Stop walking,” said Austin. “Stop walking or I’ll shoot you.”

Hillock didn’t seem to even move, and yet suddenly he was close enough to smack the gun from Austin’s hands.

“You killed Cole Blancard?” Hillock said again, lifting Austin off his feet by his shirt. “You murdered our friend?”

“Jamie,” Mabb whimpered, “I think I’m dying.”

“Shut up,” Hillock snapped.

“He shot me in the belly, man.”

“Shut the hell up, dickhead! The little man here just confessed to the murder of our friend, didn’t you hear him?”

“I think he killed me, too, Jamie.”

Hillock threw Austin down and stalked back to Mabb, who was bent over and moaning. “What?” he demanded. “What the hell is wrong with you, Marco?”

Mabb pointed at Austin. “He shot me. You saw him.”

“So?”

“So I think I’m gonna die, man.”

“What do you expect me to do about it?”

Mabb dropped to his knees. “I don’t know, Jamie, I’m scared.”

“Don’t be a pussy.”

“It’s not being a pussy to be scared of dying.”

“Yeah, it is, and you’re being one right now. Man up, for Christ’s sake.”

“I’m so cold …”

“Of course you’re cold,” Hillock said. “It’s Alaska. Stop exaggerating.”

“I really am dying, though.”

“Then die! Jesus, Marco, just die already and get it over with!”

Mabb’s demonic face told Austin all he needed to know – that Hillock’s indifference to his fate hurt him more than any bullet ever could.

“You
dick
,” said Mabb, and reared up, grabbing Hillock and slugging him right across the jaw. Hillock wobbled but didn’t fall, and slammed his fist into Mabb’s wound. Mabb screamed and stumbled and fell to his knees, and Hillock’s shadow danced as red headlights lit him up.

Milo’s black car hit Jamie Hillock so fast he was thrown ten feet into the air. He landed as a jumble of broken bones wrapped in demon skin, howling in pain.

The car swerved round and came rolling to a stop beside Austin.

“Climb in,” Milo said. “Let’s get you to something approaching safety.”

Marco Mabb looked up. “Excuse me, sir,” he said. “Could you take us to a hospital? I’ve been shot. And you ran into my friend.”

Milo ignored him, so Austin did, too. He got in the car.

T
HE TOWN WAS TWISTED
.

It was a nightmare version of its daytime self, the streets narrowed and crooked and the buildings long and bent. Nothing fit. To Amber, it was as if each selfish piece of Desolation Hill had shouldered the others out of its way. The Municipal Building hunched jealously over the square, the stores on Main Street jabbed and strangled their neighbours, and the church reared away from it all, tall and spiked and vicious.

But, if the town was twisted, its inhabitants were merely showing their true selves.

She drove by demons carousing on the streets. They fought and screwed and danced and destroyed. They were bloodthirsty and insatiable and quick to anger. Three demons having sex in a store window suddenly started arguing, and the window smashed as they fell through, tearing at each other’s throats. Other demons laughed at them as they passed.

They were giddy, Amber saw. Giddy with malevolent delight, and high on the rush of adrenaline and endorphins that came with giving themselves over to their baser instincts. Not one of them was trying to fight it. And why would they? They’d been looking forward to this night for the last year. Twelve months’ worth of lust had built up. Twelve months’ worth of grievances could now explode into full-blown fury. Old debts were looking to be settled. No slight would go unanswered.

Amber thought for a moment of all those kids and all those teenagers down in their soundproofed panic rooms, their parents unable to get at them, unable to tear them apart or feast on their flesh. She imagined games being played or movies being watched. She imagined them sleeping, safe and warm in their peaceful, pleasant soundproofed cocoons, while outside hell had come, raging and vengeful, to stalk the jangled streets of their town.

Two demons were up ahead, beating the crap out of each other in the snow. She recognised the smaller one as the old man from Fast Danny’s, the fisherman who had the crusts cut off his sandwiches. He had horns now, and fangs, but he went down and the bigger one laughed, started kicking him. He lost his balance and stumbled out on to the street, and Amber clipped him as she passed. In the side mirror, she watched him twirl and fall, and then the demon fisherman got up and started kicking
him
, howling with laughter the whole time.

She left them in the distance and returned her attention to the road, and braked.

A Hound sat astride his bike in the middle of the junction ahead. Waiting for her.

Amber sat very still, feeling the pickup tremble beneath her, barely aware of the smile creeping across her face.

She threw the pickup into gear and slammed her foot on the gas. The pickup lurched, gained speed quickly, hurtled straight for the biker. The Hound rode to meet her, a bullet fired from a gun. But Amber’s pickup was a tank shell, and tank shells beat bullets.

Usually.

The pickup hit the bike and the hood crumpled and Amber was lifted from her seat and crashed through the windshield and flew, but flew badly, and landed worse, the road scraping at her chest and face and knees and belly.

She lay in the middle of the street, making little sounds, but not moving.

The Hound got off his bike. She heard this, didn’t see it. All she could see was the road and the sidewalk and the bus stop with its bench and a poster for a movie that had already left theatres by the time she’d fled Orlando. She listened to the Hound walk up. He stood over her. She wanted to turn her head, look at him, but her body was slow to obey. She wriggled her fingers and toes. They were still working. That was good. She wasn’t paralysed. Her horns had saved her, maybe. Or her scales. Or her strength. Or the power she’d absorbed when she’d eaten Benjamin – maybe that had done the trick.

She couldn’t feel it anymore. The buzz. That electricity. It was gone. She’d used up most of it healing from the gunshot wounds, and now the rest of it was gone. Stupid. Why hadn’t she worn her goddamn seat belt? Stupid.

She managed to turn her head in time to see the Hound draw back his foot and kick.

The boot connected with her side and lifted her off the ground like she was a football. She smashed through the bus stop in a storm of glass beads and torn movie poster. She landed and rolled, hit the wall on her hands and knees and stayed there, wheezing. Boots crunched on glass behind her and then he was pulling her off the ground by her horns. She went to slash at his throat, but couldn’t raise her arm high enough, and felt her ribs slide against each other when she tried.

He hit her, his fist slamming into her belly. Fresh pain sliced through her. She dropped to one knee and the Hound brought his own knee in. It struck her in the side of the head and the world rocked. She felt his hands on her horns again, felt the sidewalk moving beneath her. He was dragging her backwards after him as he walked to his bike. Amber’s struggles were feeble. Pathetic. She would have been ashamed if she’d had the luxury.

He dumped her beside the bike, then searched through his saddlebags. She heard the rattle of a chain and tried to crawl away, but he stomped on her ankle. She turned over, clutching her ribs and moaning. The Hound was looking down at her, a heavy chain in his hands, but Amber’s gaze flickered over his shoulder, to where the demons perched on the wreckage of the pickup.

Seven of them. Maybe eight. Different colours, different types. Some slim, some bulky. Some with horns, some without. One with wings. One with sharp, bony protrusions at every major joint. They perched there like gargoyles, silent. The Hound sensed them, and turned slowly. They observed him through narrowed eyes.

One of the demons, the smallest of them, screeched, and they descended on the Hound. He grabbed the nearest, his hand lighting up and the demon howled in pain, but another one hit him and he stumbled. There were too many, and they were drawing blood now.

The Hound bled, just like anyone. Just like Amber.

She got up, holding her ribs, trying not to cry out. Not that she could distract the demons from the fight even if she’d wanted to. They shrieked with unbridled joy, a stark contrast to the Hound’s grim silence.

She hurried away before any of them remembered she was there.

She turned the first corner she came to, started down it. Two demons slammed against a parked car on the other side of the road. At first, Amber thought they were having sex, but then she changed her mind, decided they were trying to kill each other.

She carried on, emerging on to Main Street. Back to Virgil’s. All plans were now scrapped. It was too dangerous out here. She had to reach Virgil’s place, hide with the others. If there were any others. If they weren’t all dead by now. If Milo wasn’t dead by now.

Or Kelly.

A naked demon stepped out through a broken window on to the sidewalk. It took a few moments for Amber to recognise her as Brenda, the waitress from Fast Danny’s.

“And who might you be, beautiful?” Brenda said, walking closer. “Don’t think I recognise the face.”

“I’m just passing through,” said Amber.

“Ohhh,” said Brenda. She jabbed at the air with her finger. “You’re the tubby girl, aren’t you? Heard you were more trouble than you were worth. Certainly got prettier, though.”

Amber held up a hand. “You’re going to want to back off there, Brenda.”

“Are you the reason for the delay?” Brenda asked as she neared. “Usually, Hell Night starts just as the sun goes down. I was standing in my backyard, waiting for the change … When it got dark and nothing happened, I started to cry, I’m not gonna lie to you. I’ve been waiting for this. Hell Night is the reason I never take a vacation. I never have to.”

“If you take one more step, I’m going to kill you, Brenda.”

Brenda stopped walking, but kept smiling. “We can’t let you leave. See, we’re all nuts when we’re like this, yeah, but we’re not
too
nuts. We’ve got our rules. We try our very best not to kill each other or set fire to anything. Those are tricky ones. No one blames you too much if you break those. One of the more concrete rules is not to go after the kids. That’s an important one. Of course, every so often, someone will crack. Last year it was Joy Sinclair, the grade-school teacher. She went after one of the little shits who’d been making her life a misery. We all understood, of course, but rules are rules. She’s spending tonight in one of Chief Novak’s cells, as punishment. We need our rules or else we won’t have a town to wake up to.