Desolation

  The Hound spun on his heel, snapping his own neck while his hands closed on her upper arms. Amber cried out, let go, barely aware that the Hound’s body was powering her backwards even as his head was still pointing the other way. Then the head spun with another violent crack, and the Hound righted himself and slammed her against a tree. She glimpsed her reflection in his sunglasses and then chips of wood sprayed her face as a gunshot rang out. The Hound looked around in time to catch a bullet in the forehead. He went down and Amber scrambled away.

  More gunshots. Amber couldn’t see where they were coming from. One of the Hounds ignored the bullet that hit him square in the chest. He couldn’t ignore the next one, though, the one that caught him in the head. He tumbled backwards, bringing his bike down with him.

  The shooter’s aim was improving. Two headshots in a row left only one Hound standing. Amber ran, crouched over, to Milo. Before she’d even unwrapped the first chain, the Hound started towards her. Amber watched him come, waiting and hoping for the next shot. She wasn’t disappointed. The bullet hit the Hound in the forehead and his knees buckled and he collapsed.

  Amber freed Milo’s legs. Then his arms. She got her hands underneath him and scooped him up, grunting only a little. She stood, turned, Milo in her arms, and flinched at another gunshot. But the shooter wasn’t aiming at her. The first Hound had got to his feet and another bullet put him down again. The Hound closest to her was stirring now. They all were. Shooting these assholes in the head obviously wasn’t enough.

  Amber ran, carrying Milo.

  Another two gunshots gave her a head start, and then they stopped. Whoever the shooter was, they had done their part, and Amber and Milo were on their own again.

  She heard an engine, watched an old farm truck trundle by. She sprinted after it until she was right in its non-existent slipstream, and jumped, landing in a crouch to steady herself. She moved forward, laid Milo down, was about to pull the tarp over them both when the night was lit up with swooping headlights.

  She heard herself snarl as two Hounds broke away from the pack and closed in, side by side. One of them reached over to the other bike, his hands closing around the throttle, taking control of the machine. The other Hound stood up on the seat with all the urgency of a lazy man stretching. Both bikes closed in on the farm truck, and the Hound stepped from the seat to the headlight, and then took a long stride on to the truck bed. He stood straight, the bump and sway of the road not bothering him in the slightest, while the two bikes slowed behind him. Amber didn’t have a choice.

  She launched herself at him. They tumbled off and hit the road, went rolling, her clothes ripping, but her black scales protecting her. As long as she proved herself worthy of all their attention, Milo might have a chance to get to safety. That was her plan.

  They both got to their feet and she sprang at him, but the Hound ducked under her, grabbed her as she passed, and slammed her down on to the asphalt. She hit her chin and bit her tongue.

  So much for her goddamn plan.

  She tried to get up and a boot slammed down between her shoulder blades like a sledgehammer.

  Amber lay there, gasping, dimly aware of the sound of a chain scraping against the ground. Then she was hauled up, and that chain was being wrapped around her neck, and her eyes snapped open and she started to struggle and a fist came in and her thoughts bounced away from her in a flash of white.

  She fell to her hands and knees. An engine revved. Her neck was cold. Why was her neck cold? Oh yeah.

  The chain.

  The bike took off at speed and the chain went tight and Amber was pulled off her hands and knees.

  THE ROAD WAS ANGRY and rough and blurred beneath her as she was dragged along its surface. Her scales rose instantly on her elbows and thighs and on her belly. She grabbed the chain with both hands, tried to stop it from choking her, tried to stop it from pulling her head off. The bike picked up speed. Her sneakers and socks were already gone. She heard her shirt rip. The road snagged at her pants.

  She pulled herself forward, then brought her legs in and around until she was sliding along on her ass. The seat of her pants tore away. Her scales scraped. They covered her feet as well, and she put her heels down as she pulled herself, hand over hand, closer to the bike. When she had enough slack, she held on with one hand while the other unwrapped the chain from around her neck. Then she raised herself up, straightening her legs like she was on waterskis.

  Despite herself, she grinned.

  She risked a glance over her shoulder, made sure the other Hounds weren’t following, and then hurled the chain upwards. It wrapped around a branch and Amber let go, went tumbling into the undergrowth a heartbeat before the chain snapped tight. She expected the bike to be jerked up on to its front wheel. She expected the Hound to be thrown. What she didn’t expect was the thick, heavy branch to snap off like a matchstick and skip and jump down the road after him.

  He slowed, then swooped back round.

  “Balls,” said Amber, and plunged into the trees.

  She caught sight of the farm truck’s lights and started on an intercept course. Behind her, around her, motorcycles revved and roared. She tripped, went flying, scrambled up and ran on, on to the road again. She glimpsed the truck disappearing round the next bend and hurtled into the treeline, always going downwards, letting gravity lend her speed. She crashed into trees and branches and fell again, tripped again, sprawled again, but she was up, always up, and now she could see that the truck was driving towards a building. A farm.

  She burst from the trees as a motorcycle charged up the trail next to her. The Hound snatched the air close to her shoulder. Amber ducked and skidded on wet grass, went tumbling down an incline. Even as she tumbled, she was aware of the bike crashing, but that brought no sense of triumph – there was a black shape now sprinting down the incline after her.

  Amber levelled out and rolled and launched herself up. Get to the farmhouse. Get inside. Find a weapon. The Hound was right behind her. She left the grass and ran on dirt. His footsteps were heavy but quick. Too quick. He was gaining. He was about to catch her.

  The Hound snagged the back of her jacket and Amber jumped, letting her momentum take her forward even as she twisted. In mid-air she went to slash him across the face, but her body buzzed and she realised she was passing through the barrier, into the town. The Hound hit empty space, his entire body slamming into a wall of nothing, his sunglasses smashing, and he staggered back even as she hit the ground.

  Amber rolled to her knees. Sucking in lungfuls of air, she grinned, and stood, safe behind the invisible wall, and gave him the finger.

  The Hound straightened. His eyes burned with the same orange glow that radiated from the Shining Demon. Her grin faltered. The Hound pulled another pair of sunglasses from his jacket, and put them on. Amber backed away, then turned and hurried to the farmhouse.

  She sank into the shadows, came round the corner, and saw an old man standing at the back of the truck, pulling the tarp off Milo. Milo hadn’t shifted when he’d passed through the barrier. She dreaded to think what that might say about his strength, but she knew it wasn’t good.

  She reverted and zipped up her jacket. Her shirt was torn. Her pants were torn, too, especially around her ass, but there wasn’t a whole lot she could do about that.

  The old man, though. Amber recognised him. He was the old guy who’d cut up her breakfast. His name. His name. He’d told her his name and she’d forgotten it. What was his damn—

  “Benjamin?” she said, and he turned, eyes wide. She held up her hands as she emerged from the darkness. “Benjamin, we talked a few days ago. At Fast Danny’s. My name’s Amber. That’s Milo.”

  For a long while, Benjamin didn’t say anything. Then he shook his head. “I don’t think I should be involved in this.”

  “I’m not involving you,” Amber told him quickly. “We just had to get away. You saw those bikers, right?”

  “None of my business.”

&nbs
p; “Benjamin, my friend is badly hurt. Look at him. He’s dying.”

  “I should call the police,” he said, and started towards the farmhouse. Amber darted into his path.

  “No!” she said, and Benjamin froze. She tried smiling. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to … The cops, they know about this. They forced us out. In here, in town, those bikers can’t touch us, but out there …”

  “You should leave,” said Benjamin.

  “I need your help.”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  “Drive us into town. Benjamin, please. Novak has probably taken our car somewhere. Everything I need to save Milo’s life is in that car. Just drive us to it. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Can’t do that.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “If the Chief found out—”

  “He won’t. I swear he won’t. You’re not going to get in trouble for this, Benjamin, I promise you. We haven’t done anything wrong. We haven’t hurt anyone or broken any laws.”

  “You must have,” Benjamin said, squaring his shoulders. He walked past her, to the house. “Novak has his reasons.”

  Amber glanced at Milo, then hurried after the old man. “The mayor told him to do it. He’s got it wrong. He thinks we’re a danger to him, but we’re not.”

  Benjamin’s front door wasn’t locked. He opened it and went inside, tried to close it, but Amber jammed her foot in. “Please leave me alone,” he said.

  Amber could have shifted, thrown the door open, but she didn’t. “This is not a normal town, Benjamin. You must see that.”

  They locked eyes through the gap. A long moment passed. Then Benjamin sighed and stepped back, and invited her in.

  The kitchen was warm, heated by embers that still stirred in the fireplace. There was an old sofa and a TV, a big table and two chairs, one of them piled high with laundry. A plate and mug near the sink. Boots by the door. This was the home of a bachelor or a widower. Judging by the once colourful, now faded curtains, Amber guessed a widower.

  “None of this is my concern,” Benjamin said softly, his eyes on the floor.

  “Excuse me?”

  His gaze flicked upwards briefly. “None of this has anything to do with me or any of the other folks here. We leave all that business to Mayor Jesper and Chief Novak. They can take care of it.”

  “What business? What do they take care of?”

  “That stuff,” Benjamin said irritably. “The weird stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I mean, this town’s always been this way. I was born here and it’s all I’ve ever known. Yeah, unusual things happen here, but—”

  “This is a little beyond unusual,” Amber interrupted. “Do you know anything of what goes on? What really goes on? Novak’s a murderer.”

  “No,” Benjamin said. “No, I refuse to believe that. Does he have to make tough calls? Yes. But he keeps the town safe and that’s no easy thing.”

  “Who is he keeping it safe from? What are you hiding, Benjamin?”

  “I’m sorry now, miss, but—”

  “Amber. My name’s Amber.”

  “Amber, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. If the Chief is after you, then you’re a criminal, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “No,” Amber said, and shifted, “it’s not.”

  His eyes widened at the transformation and he took a step back.

  Amber watched him. “That usually gets a little more of a reaction,” she said.

  Benjamin pointed a shaking finger at the door. “Leave. I want you to leave immediately.”

  “Why aren’t you freaking out, Benjamin?” Amber said, moving closer. “Why aren’t you screaming right now? You’re used to this, aren’t you? You’re used to freaks like me.”

  Benjamin backed up till he was standing against the wall. “This is my house and I demand—”

  She lunged, pinning him where he stood and snapping her teeth an inch from his throat. He whimpered. Slowly, she raised herself to her full height and looked down at him. “Tell me what’s going on, Benjamin.”

  “I don’t … I don’t know where to …”

  “Where to start? Start by telling me about this festival of yours.”

  He swallowed. “They call it Hell Night.”

  “They?”

  “They. We. Folk here. We call it Hell Night. Happens same time every year.”

  She stepped away, giving him some room. “What does?”

  “The town,” Benjamin said, “it … it changes. I mean, we know it’s cursed. We’re not stupid. You can feel it, sometimes. Something in the air. Something bad. It gets in your hair, your clothes, gets in your skin. Fills your head with bad thoughts. People would leave, I think, if other things weren’t so good. Businesses are doing well, always have. The ground is fertile. Animals are healthy. Those bad thoughts are the price we pay for everything else being so good.”

  “What kind of bad thoughts?”

  Benjamin reached out for the free chair, and collapsed into it like all his strength had left him. “They’re always there, the bad feelings. Sometimes they’re strong and sometimes they’re not. You can never forget that they’re there, but if you’re lucky you can almost ignore them. On the run-up to Hell Night they almost fade away entirely … But on Hell Night itself they come back. That’s when they’re at their strongest.”

  “You said the town changes,” Amber said. “How?”

  “Streets get longer,” Benjamin said, eyes glistening. “Houses get narrower. Sidewalks crack, like there’s been an earthquake or something. And the people … the people change, too.”

  “In what way?”

  “They change like you change,” said Benjamin.

  “They’re demons?” Amber said, frowning. “For one night a year, they’re demons? All of them?”

  “Everyone over eighteen,” said Benjamin. “Everyone below that age is locked away in the panic rooms. Near every home in this town has one. The kids can’t get out and the adults can’t get in.”

  “And … and what happens then?”

  Benjamin smiled, but there was no humour in it. “The people in this town … they attack each other. The whole year, they’ve been saving up their badness for Hell Night, and when that night comes, they let it all out. They do … they do terrible things to one another. Terrible, shameful things. In the morning, everything’s back to normal and most everyone’s healed up. Most. Not all. We lose about five people a year to this, people who’ve been hurt too bad or just outright killed in the streets.”

  “Jesus.”

  “You know the funny thing? No one talks about it. No one mentions it. Your neighbour might have tried to gut you during Hell Night, but next morning both of you are pretending everything is sunshine and daisies. Resentment builds up. That adds to the bad thoughts.”

  “You said everyone over the age of eighteen changes,” said Amber. “Do you?”

  “I’m over eighteen, aren’t I?”

  “Do you know why? Why this is all happening? Was it ever explained to you?”

  “No,” said Benjamin. “And I never bothered to ask. I know it’s got something to do with the mayor. That’s obvious. One of our little pastimes here is doing what the mayor says but not … but not actually talking about him. You talk about him and sooner or later you’re going to have to admit to one another that he’s always been here. Things are easier to ignore when you don’t talk about them.”

  “And what about the kids, Benjamin? What about the missing kids?”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve never wondered how Hell Night is powered? Or have you decided you just don’t want to know?”

  Benjamin didn’t answer.

  “You have a chance to do good here,” Amber said. “Whatever sins you’ve committed in the past, whatever you’ve ignored or allowed to happen, I don’t give a crap about any of it right now. My friend is
dying on the back of your truck and I need to get him to his car. The cops, I think the cops have probably taken it.”

  “It’ll be in the impound lot,” Benjamin said. “On Maple.”

  “Can you drive us?”

  “I don’t … I don’t usually involve myself in these things.”

  “I know. I know that. I wish there were some other way. But I need your help. Please, Benjamin. I’m begging you.”

  The old man rubbed his forehead. His hand was shaking. He cleared his throat, nodded, and stood. “I can drive you,” he said.

  “Thank you,” said Amber. “Thank you. You’re a good man. You’re a good, kind—”

  “I am not a good man,” Benjamin said sharply. “All I want is to be left alone. I’ve gone my whole life without making a fuss, and I’m not about to start now. I’ll give you a ride into town, but after that, please … please leave me alone.”

  OSCAR MORENO’S HARDWARE STORE was open late on a Tuesday night.

  Kelly sat in the warm van with the others while Two snored and farted on the cushions, and they watched a steady stream of customers walk in with cash and walk out with hammers and nails and drills and sheets of plywood. All around town it was happening – stores and businesses being shuttered and boarded up, houses being reinforced. It was like they were preparing for a storm. Or a riot. Or maybe a little of both.

  Finally, a little after midnight, Moreno himself emerged. The gang stared at the younger – the much younger – version of Javier Santorum as he locked up.

  “This is freaky,” said Warrick. “He looks just like Insidio did in the show. Or Javier, even. His hair’s different, but … wow. Flashbacks.”

  “We could take him now,” said Kelly. “The four of us would be enough, wouldn’t we?”

  “We’ve never gone up against a shapeshifter before,” Linda said, not taking her eyes off Moreno. “I’ve never even heard of anyone who has.”

  “But against all of us …?”

  Ronnie shook his head. “We don’t go in unprepared. Ever. That gets us killed. Besides, we’re not here for him. We’re here for Austin.”