Читать книгу Desolation - Derek Landy - Страница 9

IT WAS A BRAND-NEW dream, this time.

Amber was back home, in Orlando, and it was hot and muggy and the a/c wasn’t working, but the heat wasn’t affecting her like it usually did. Her brow was cool as she sat at the table and told her parents about her day at school. She hadn’t been bullied and she hadn’t been called in to Principal Cobb’s office, so today had been a good day.

Her parents listened, nodded, smiled with affection, and offered advice and encouragement. Betty set the table while Bill fussed with the oven. He opened the oven door and the heat spilled out and circulated with the already warm air. Dream-Amber started to sweat.

The dream did that fast-forward thing that dreams do, and now they were eating, and talking, and chatting. Bill and Betty remained cool. Amber’s sweat poured down her face and splashed on to her plate, but she was starving, so she finished her food and asked for a second helping. Her parents laughed and Bill took her plate and stood, carving knife in hand. He cut a large slice from the roast, and Amber noticed for the first time that the roast was Imelda, laid out on a large silver tray on the table, garnished and basted and smelling divine.

Bill handed Amber back her plate and she dove in, chewing on the tender meat while blood mixed with the sweat on her chin. It was glorious. Imelda’s skin crackled in her mouth.

Then she realised it was a dream and she woke up.

The first thing she registered was the cold. The second was the happy purr of the Charger as it gently rocked her in her seat. And the third, as she opened her eyes, was the pain in her hands. She lifted them off her lap, wincing but not screaming, which was an improvement. She could only see the tips of her fingers above the thick bandages – they were purple, swollen and sore.

“How you feeling?” Milo asked, keeping his eyes on the dark road ahead.

“Like all my fingers have been smashed,” she replied.

“Not all of them,” he said. “The doctor said your left thumb is badly bruised, but not actually broken.”

“And there I was feeling sorry for myself,” she mumbled. She looked down at herself. “Did I puke? I don’t remember puking.”

“You did,” said Milo.

“Damn.” She noticed he was wearing a different shirt. “Did I puke on you?”

“You did.”

“Sorry.”

“She gave me pills for you. You can take another in a little over an hour.”

Which left just enough time for the pain to build nicely. Amber straightened up, careful to keep her hands steady. “That guy … he said Astaroth knows where we’re headed.”

Milo nodded. “Figured as much.”

“Did you recognise him?”

Milo shook his head. “You catch his name?”

Amber hesitated. “Elias Mauk,” she said.

“I’ve heard of him,” said Milo, “and I got the impression we’d been friends once.”

“Friends? He wanted to kill you.”

“We must have had a falling-out. Hell, for all I know, maybe we were partners. Serial killers in cahoots.”

“His face didn’t spark any memories?” she asked. “His voice?”

“Nothing,” said Milo. “My life is still as blank as it’s been for the last twelve years.”

“He, uh, he seemed to know that Milo isn’t your real name.”

“Yeah.” They got to a dark and empty crossroads, and the Charger creaked pleasantly as they turned right. “I wonder what it is.”

The phone in her jacket rang. Amber held up her bandaged hands.

“Oh yeah,” Milo said. She twisted slightly and he reached into her pocket, took the phone out, and thumbed the answer button. He set it to loudspeaker.

“Uh, hello?” said the voice on the other end. “That Amber?”

“I’m here,” she said.

“Oh, Amber, hi. This is Jeremy?”

“Hi, Jeremy.”

“The guy you gave that hundred bucks to?”

“I know who you are, Jeremy.”

“Right,” Jeremy said, “yeah, sorry. Anyway, you wanted to know if a group of bikers turned up?”

Her mood turned cold and plummeted. “Yes, we did.”

“Well, they just passed through town,” Jeremy said. “Not more than two minutes ago. Five of them. Long hair, leather jackets, beards, the works. Rode straight through without stopping. Didn’t look left or right, just kept looking ahead.”

“Thanks, Jeremy,” said Amber. “Don’t spend that money all at once.”

Milo hung up and slipped the phone back in her pocket. She looked at him.

“How far back is Jeremy?”

“Twenty hours,” said Milo. “Maybe twenty-two.” He glanced at her. “We knew we couldn’t shake them.”

“I know,” she said. “But still … It’d be nice if something went our way for once, that’s all.”

“Astaroth can send whoever he likes,” said Milo. “The fact is, the Hounds are at least twenty hours behind us and we are ten hours away from Desolation Hill. No one’s going to stop us.”

“You need to sleep.”

“I will. We’re on a straight blast into Alaska. Once we sneak across the border, I’ll take a few hours’ rest. When we get where we’re going, I’ll sleep a full night.”

“That’s providing everything we’ve heard about Desolation Hill is true.”

“You think Buxton was lying?”

“No,” said Amber. “But just because Gregory hid there for a few weeks doesn’t mean we can.”

“We don’t have a wide variety of options available to us,” said Milo. “He thinks we’ll be undetectable to the Shining Demon and the Hounds once we’re inside the town limits, and I trust him to know what he’s talking about. That’ll at least give us time to get our breath back and formulate some kind of plan.”

“Because our plans always work out so well for us.”

He didn’t respond to that. She didn’t expect him to.

They drove on in comfortable and familiar silence. The knob for the radio remained, as ever, untouched. Even if she’d wanted to turn it, her bandaged hands would have made that impossible. Besides, she’d grown out of her fear of quiet moments. She didn’t need music to fill the silences anymore.

She took a few more pills and the rising pain faded to a manageable throb as she looked out at the endless parade of trees. She wondered what kind they were. It was hard to tell in the dark, but she thought they were spruce, although she was no expert.

“What kind of trees are those?” she asked Milo.

“Green,” he said, and that’s how the conversation ended.

They passed sleeping houses and sleeping cars and an impressive array of parked pickups with slide-in campers that reared up and over like one dog humping another. It got ridiculously cold in the car and Amber wrapped herself awkwardly in a blanket. The stars tonight were astonishing.

“See the stars?” she asked Milo.

“Bright,” he grunted.

She nodded. Yup. They were indeed bright.

She slept, then, and didn’t dream, and when she opened her eyes the Charger was slowing and there were lights flashing lazily ahead of them.

She sat up straight, the blanket covering her hands. “Cops?”

“State trooper,” said Milo. His face was pale, his features tight. They were already in Alaska, which meant he’d been driving too long. The Charger had started whispering to him.

Amber saw the trooper, in his jacket and a wide-brimmed hat, holding up one hand. The Charger stopped beside him and Milo wound down the window.

“Hey there, folks,” the trooper said, leaning in and smiling. “This is a heck of a nice vehicle you’ve got here. Don’t see many of these old muscle cars round these parts, let me tell you. What is she, a ’69?”

“’70,” said Milo.

“1970,” said the trooper, and whistled appreciatively. “Gee whiz, you’ve kept her in a good condition.”

“Thanks,” Milo said.

“Sure thing!” He bent lower, and smiled in at Amber. “Hey there, little lady.”

He had light stubble on his chin and his shirt didn’t fit right. The top button wouldn’t close round his thick neck. There was blood on his tie.

That was all Milo needed. He’d been behind the wheel for nine or ten hours without much of a break and certainly no sleep, and this was all it took to make him snap. He shifted, growing horns, his skin and hair now the deepest, most impossible black, and, when he snarled, the same red that spilled from his eyes spilled from his mouth. He grabbed the trooper’s tie and yanked hard as he hit the gas. The Charger lurched forward, picking up speed, dragging the hollering trooper along with it. They passed the patrol car and Amber glimpsed a bare leg sticking out of the grass behind it.

The man in the trooper uniform gurgled and cursed and clung to the side of the Charger as they hurtled uphill. His right hand disappeared for a moment, then came back, holding a pistol that he quickly dropped when they went over a bump.

They got to the top of the hill and evened out, and Milo released his hold and the road snatched the man from the window. Milo braked, testing Amber’s seat belt and jarring her hands.

He put the car in neutral and got out.

Amber stayed where she was, the Charger’s low rumble helping to calm her beating heart. The sky was beginning to brighten. Cold, startlingly fresh air filled the Charger.

There was a sharp wail of pain that was abruptly cut off.

She angled the rear-view to watch Milo drag the body into the bushes. Once that was done, she knew, he’d go back down the hill, stuff the real trooper’s corpse in the trunk of the patrol car and park it somewhere out of sight.

Then she’d insist that he get some sleep. They were in Alaska now, with maybe five hours of driving ahead of them, and the Hounds were still twenty or so hours behind. For the first time since all this began, Amber allowed herself to wonder if this was maybe the first step towards everything being suddenly okay.