Desolation Page 6
“Curious bastards,” Milo said from beside her, and she nearly screamed.
He was still in human mode. Amber didn’t know how he could stand the itching.
“Were you there the whole time?” she whispered.
He nodded. “It’s called hiding. You should try it.”
“I hid just then, didn’t I?”
“That was lucky. Red skin isn’t the best camouflage in grass.”
“Whatever.” She looked back to the Hounds. “What the hell are they doing?”
“Not much,” said Milo. “Every now and then, they … here, look.”
Amber looked. One of the Hounds got off his bike and walked forward a few steps until he was standing right beside the sign. He sniffed the air.
“Can he smell us?” Amber whispered.
Milo didn’t answer for a moment. Then he said, “I don’t think they can get in.”
Amber frowned. “Get in where?”
“Here.”
Her frown deepened. “What do you …? Wait – you mean they can’t get into the town? Why not? There’s nothing …” She stopped, watching the Hound. “Uh, Milo, are we being chased by mimes?”
The Hound had put his hand out, but it seemed to meet resistance in mid-air, like there was a sheet of glass directly in front of him.
“That’s the town line,” Milo said softly. “Whatever’s in here, whatever made us shift, is keeping them out. Looks like it’s also screwed up their radar. This close, they should have already zeroed in on your position, but they’re not even looking this way.”
“Are you sure?” Amber asked. “How can you be sure?”
“Good point,” Milo said, and he shifted into his demon-self and stood up.
“What the hell are you doing?” She tried grabbing his hand to pull him back down, but he was already stepping out on to the road.
The Hounds observed him as he approached. Amber stayed where she was.
To a chorus of revving bikes, Milo walked right up to the Hound and stood before him. When the Hound didn’t do anything, Milo hit him. The punch whipped the Hound’s head back, and it was enough to provoke him into making a move. But when his hands tried to close around Milo’s throat, they bounced off whatever invisible barrier separated them.
Amber stood up. She could see the other Hounds now. Dressed in denim or leather, bearded or not, they all wore sunglasses and all rode different kinds of bikes. She saw a Harley, and that was the only one she recognised. None of them had any expression on their face. Aside from the sunglasses, that was the one thing they all shared.
The others turned off their bikes, and the sudden silence rushed in to fill the vacuum. They got off and approached, but remained on their side of the town line. Amber felt their eyes on her as she joined Milo. He reverted to normal.
“This is interesting,” she said, unease running down her spine. “You think it runs around the whole town?”
“We’d better hope so,” said Milo.
Amber stood up a little straighter and addressed the Hounds. “My name is Amber Lamont. You know that already, right? The Shining Demon sent you after me because, in exchange for his help, I promised to bring him a man named Gregory Buxton. When I took his help but didn’t bring him Buxton, he called you. But Gregory Buxton is a good man – more or less. He’s done some bad things, some very bad things, but he’s a good man now, and I couldn’t do it, I just couldn’t deliver him to the Shining Demon. You don’t have to deliver me, either. I haven’t done anything to hurt you, and you can’t get in here, anyway, so you could get on your bikes and ride away and tell the Shining Demon you couldn’t find me. I’m sixteen years old – I don’t deserve any of what’s happening to me.”
The Hounds didn’t move. The Hounds didn’t answer.
“Nothing?” Amber said after a moment. “You’re not going to respond? You’ve got nothing to say? You’ve been chasing us since New York and you have absolutely nothing to say to me now that we’re face to face?”
The Hounds looked at her.
“Come on,” Milo said softly, his hand on her shoulder. He turned Amber round and they started walking to the Charger. “There’s nothing more you can do. You put your case forward, now it’s up to them. You did it calmly and you didn’t antagonise anyone. I’m actually quite impressed with how you handled that.”
“Yeah,” Amber said. Then she swung round, walked back to the Hounds. “You know what?” she said. “You’re a bunch of jerks. Standing there all silent. You think you’re intimidating? You don’t intimidate me. Everyone is sooooo scared of you – but we stayed ahead of you without a problem. The only reason you’re this close to us is because we stopped and waited for you to catch up. And you still can’t get me. So screw you, dickbrains. Go have sex with your motorcycles, and when you’re finished with that go tell your boss that he can kiss my fine red ass.”
She tried to give them the finger, but ended up waving her bandaged hand at them instead. Hissing, she spun on her heel and marched back to Milo.
“Yep,” Milo muttered. “Handled that very well.”
She reverted, painfully, and they drove back into town without doing a whole lot of speaking. They parked in the motel lot beside a police cruiser and were heading inside when a uniformed man walked out, met them halfway.
“Mr Sebastian,” he said. “Miss Lamont, good afternoon. Welcome to Desolation Hill.”
He was in his forties, with dark hair and heavy-lidded eyes. He had a long, lined face, not entirely unattractive. His badge was gleaming on his black uniform beneath his open jacket, and his gun was holstered.
“Thank you,” said Milo.
“My name is Trevor Novak. I’m the Chief of Police here.”
“It’s a very nice town,” said Amber.
“It can be,” said Novak. “Although it has a habit of attracting the wrong kind of visitor.”
“Is that so?” said Milo.
“Regrettably. Especially at this time of year.” Novak looked at them both before continuing. “You have been told, I understand, about our festival. Naturally, you’re curious. I appreciate curiosity – it’s what has me here talking to you, after all. And, while I’m not about to satisfy that curiosity, hopefully I can explain our attitude to you. We’re a quiet town, or at least we want to be, and we value our traditions. This festival just happens to be our most cherished, most valued tradition.”
“What does it celebrate?” Milo asked.
“Our history,” said Novak. “Our culture. Our heritage. And our success. Many other towns, a lot like ours, dried up and were blown away after the gold rush. But Desolation Hill remained standing. Even more towns dried up and were blown away during the various recessions and depressions … but Desolation Hill has stayed strong. I put this down to the people. We have the single lowest crime rate, per capita, in America.”
Milo nodded. “Certainly something to be proud of.”
“It is, Mr Sebastian, yes. And I am proud.”
“We’re not planning on committing any crimes, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Amber said, offering up a smile.
“I’m not suggesting you were,” said Novak, not offering one in return. “I only wish to impress upon you the need to obey our rules. The festival is for townsfolk only. When you check out of the Dowall Motel on Wednesday morning, you will receive a police escort to the edge of town.”
“Uh …”
“It’s nothing personal,” Novak said. “I trust you won’t be offended.”
“Not offended,” said Milo. “But a police escort does seem a little extreme.”
“We take our rules very seriously. I’m sure you have questions, I’m sure you have many, but please understand that to ask these questions of the townsfolk could lead to a certain degree of irritation. We have traditions we would prefer to keep private, and questions we would prefer not to answer. I’m sure you and your … niece appreciate this desire.”
Milo took a moment. “Sure,” he said.
“I can, of course, see the family resemblance immediately,” said Novak. “Some of my officers, I’m afraid to say, are not so attentive to detail. They may have questions for you.”
“I’m sure there’s no need to bother them,” Milo said.
Novak nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. We like to mind our own business here. I trust you will do the same.”
“Naturally,” said Milo.
“Of course,” said Amber.
Novak adjusted his gun belt, and nodded to them. “Very nice to meet you, and welcome to Desolation Hill.”
“Thanks,” said Milo.
Novak walked to his car, went to get in, but paused. “One of my officers alerted me to some bikers on the edge of town,” he said. “They have anything to do with you?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, okay then. Have a nice day.” He nodded again, got in his car, and they watched him drive away.
“So what do you think of the place?” Milo asked.
“I haven’t decided,” said Amber. “People here are weird. They’re downright rude to me and they’re overly polite with each other. That Novak guy is a little creepy, and I don’t have a clue what this festival is about, but already it’s annoying the crap out of me. Plus, every second that goes by I just want to shift. It’s actually uncomfortable to stay normal.”
“It’s worth it, though,” said Milo.
“Yeah,” she said, a little grudgingly. “I really like this whole barrier thing they’ve got going on. What are we going to do on Wednesday? We can’t leave town – the Hounds will be on us the moment we try.”
“I thought they didn’t intimidate you.”
“Are you nuts? Of course they do. I just said that because they were freaking me out.”
“We’re not leaving,” said Milo. “We can’t be escorted out, either – that’d be like delivering ourselves straight to them. We’ll check out early, find an out-of-the-way place to park that’s still within the town limits, and camp out till Saturday. We keep our heads down, ignore anything to do with their festival, and we’ll be fine.”
“And in the meantime,” said Amber, “we find out who put up that barrier. It’s got to be someone like us, right? Someone hiding from a demon?”
“Maybe.”
“If we can talk to whoever’s behind it, maybe we can make a barrier of our own. You’d be able to do something like that, wouldn’t you?”
Milo frowned. “Me? I know nothing about this kind of thing.”
“Well, yeah, but you know the basics.”
“What basics, Amber? I know the lore. I know some of the traditions. I don’t know how to do anything. Buxton knows, not me, and he’s too busy setting up a new life for himself to come up here and give us advice.”
“Well … maybe we won’t need him. Maybe whoever put up the barrier will show us what we have to do.”
“I guess it’s possible.”
She gave him a disapproving frown. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“I hate to break it to you, Amber, but neither do you.”
AUSTIN COOKE RAN.
He ran from his house on Brookfield Road all the way past the school, past the corner store that was always closed on Sundays, and up towards the fire station, where they kept the single engine that had never, in Austin’s memory, been used for any fire-based emergencies. The volunteer fire fighters brought it out every once in a while and parked it at the top of Beacon Way, the only pedestrian street in Desolation Hill, and they held pancake breakfasts for fund-raising and such, but they’d never had to put out any actual fires – at least not to Austin’s knowledge.
Once the picture of the smiling Dalmatian on the fire-station door came into view, Austin veered left, taking the narrow alley behind the church. His feet splashed in puddles. His sneakers, brand new for his twelfth birthday, got wet and dirty and he didn’t care.
With his breath coming in huge, whooping gulps and a stitch in his side sliding in like a serrated knife, Austin burst from the alley on to the sidewalk on Main Street and turned right, dodging an old lady and sprinting for the square. A beat-up old van trundled by. Up ahead he could hear laughter. A lot of laughter.
Three of them – Cole Blancard, Marco Mabb and Jamie Hillock. Mabb was the biggest and Hillock had the nastiest laugh, but Cole Blancard was the worst. Cole dealt out his punishments with a seriousness that set him apart from the others. Where their faces would twist with sadistic amusement, his would go strangely blank, like he was an impartial observer to whatever degrading activity he was spearheading. His eyes frightened Austin most of all, though. They were dull eyes. Intelligent, in their way, but dull. Cole had a shark’s eyes.
Austin waited for a car to pass, then ran across the street, on to the square. They heard him coming, and turned. Hillock laughed and punched Mabb in the arm and Mabb laughed and returned the favour. Cole didn’t laugh. He only smiled, his tongue caught between his teeth. He had a large handful of paper slips.
Austin staggered to a halt. He didn’t dare get any closer. He’d run all this way to stop them, even though he knew there was nothing he could do once he got here.
The ballot box was old and wooden. It had a slot an inch wide. Cole Blancard turned away from Austin and stuffed all those paper slips through that slot, and Austin felt a new and unfamiliar terror rising within him. Panic scratched at his thoughts with sharp fingers and squeezed his heart with cold hands. Mabb and Hillock took fistfuls of paper slips from their pockets, gave them over, and Cole jammed them in, too.
A few slips fell and the breeze played with them, brought them all the way to the scaffolding outside the Municipal Building. The three older boys didn’t seem to mind. When they were done, they walked towards Austin, forcing him to move out of their way. Mabb and Hillock sniggered as they passed, but Cole stopped so close that Austin could see every detail of the purple birthmark that stretched from Cole’s collar to his jaw.
“Counting, counting, one, two, three,” Cole said, and rammed his shoulder into Austin’s.
Austin stood there while they walked off, their laughter turning the afternoon ugly. One of those slips scuttled across the ground and Austin stepped on it, pinned it in place.
He reached down, picked it up, turned it over and read his own name.
THE VAN WAS OLD and rattled and rolled, coughed and spluttered like it was about to give up and lie down and play dead, but of course it defied expectations, like it always did, and it got them to Desolation Hill with its oil-leaking mechanical heart still beating. That was close to a 4,000-mile journey. Kelly had to admit she was impressed. She thought they’d have to abandon the charming heap of junk somewhere around Wyoming, and pool what little money they had to buy something equally cheap but far less charming to take them the rest of the way.
“I think you owe someone an apology,” Warrick said smugly.
Kelly sighed. “Sorry, van,” she said. “Next time I’ll have more faith in your awesome ability to keep going. There were times, it is true, when I doubted this ability. Uphill, especially. Even, to be honest, sometimes downhill. You have proven me wrong.”
“Now swear everlasting allegiance.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Ronnie,” Warrick called, “she won’t swear everlasting allegiance to the van.”
“Kelly,” said Ronnie from behind the wheel, “you promised.”
“I promised when I didn’t think the van would make it,” said Kelly. “Promises don’t count when you don’t think you’ll ever have to keep them.”
“I’m not sure that’s technically correct,” said Linda, still curled up in her sleeping bag.
“Hush, you,” said Kelly. “You’re still asleep.”
“Big Brain agrees with me,” said Warrick. “You tell her, Linda!”
“Two,” Kelly commanded, “sit on Linda’s head, there’s a good boy.”
Two just gazed at her, his tongue hanging out, and wagged his tail happily.
“Not gonna happen.”
“Then swear allegiance to this troll,” he said, pulling an orange-haired little troll doll from his pocket and thrusting it towards her. “Look, he’s got the same colour hair as you.”
She frowned. “My hair is red. That’s orange.”
“It’s all the same.”
“It’s really not.”
“Swear. Allegiance. To our Troll Overlord.”
“Warrick, I swear to God, stop waving that thing in my face.”
He kept doing it and she sighed again, and crawled over the seat in front to sit beside Ronnie. “Pretty town,” she said.
Ronnie opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated.
She grinned. “You were going to say it, weren’t you?”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“You so were,” came Linda’s muffled voice. Then, “Two, get off me.”
Kelly grinned wider. “You were going to say appearances can be deceiving, weren’t you?”
“Nope,” said Ronnie, shaking his head. “I was going to say something completely different. I was going to say, ‘Yes, Kelly, it does look like a nice town.’”
“But …?”
“Nothing. No buts. That was the end of that sentence.”
“Warrick,” said Kelly, “what do you think? Do you think Ronnie is fibbing?”
“I’m not talking to you because you have refused to swear allegiance to either my van or my troll doll,” said Warrick, “but, on a totally separate note, I think our Fearless Leader is totally telling fibs and he was, in fact, about to utter those immortal words.”
“You’re all delusional,” said Ronnie. “Now someone please tell me where I’m supposed to go in the whitest town I’ve ever been to. Seriously, there is such a thing as being too Caucasian.”
“Take this left coming up,” Linda said.
“She’s a witch!” cried Warrick.
“It’s GPS.”
“Not a witch, then,” Warrick said. “False alarm, everybody. Linda is not a witch, she just has an internet connection. You know who was a witch, though?”