Читать книгу The Demon Road Trilogy: The Complete Collection: Demon Road; Desolation; American Monsters - Derek Landy - Страница 36

WHEN SHE WOKE, it was morning, and the sun was doing its best to get rid of the chill that the night had brought. Milo was outside, walking in a circle. He was wearing new jeans, and his limp was barely noticeable.

Keeping the blanket wrapped round her, Amber pulled the handle of the door. It swung open smoothly. She got out, stretched.

“How’s the leg?” she asked.

Milo stopped walking. “Good,” he answered. “It was just a graze, like I said.”

He looked normal. Normal eyes, normal mouth, normal skin. No horns. He was lying, though, and, by the way he was looking at her, he was daring her to call him on it. But she didn’t. He was entitled to his secrets. He’d earned that much from her.

She turned to get back into the car, and actually took a step back in surprise. “Jesus.”

The Charger’s hood was unblemished. Its dents were gone. No bullet holes and no scratches. It gleamed in the morning sun, not even a trace of dust on its glorious blackness.

“Turns out the damage wasn’t that bad,” said Milo.

Amber grunted as Glen sat up in the back and yawned. Milo got in, slid the key into the ignition and twisted.

The Charger woke immediately with a deep and healthy rumble.

It took half an hour, but they found their way back to the road they’d been on, and fifteen minutes after that they crested a dusty hill, and stopped. Below them stood a ramshackle house that looked like it had been built in stages by very different builders who only had a crooked eye in common. Parked outside was a badly damaged pickup truck.

“That’s them!” Glen said needlessly.

Milo shared a look with Amber, and inched the Charger forward. He put it in neutral and turned off the engine. They rolled down the gentle hill, accompanied only by the crunch of wheels on dirt. They got to the bottom and Milo steered them behind the pickup, and stopped.

He got out with his gun in his hand, and as he attached his holster to his belt Amber and Glen climbed out after him. Amber kept low, remembering the sound of the machine gun from last night. Glen kept even lower.

They moved quickly but quietly to the house. Milo peered through the window for a few moments. Satisfied, he went to the door and got ready to kick. Something in his face changed, though, and instead he leaned forward, tried the handle. It turned, and the door opened, and he shrugged. Straightening, he holstered his gun and walked in, Amber and Glen at his heels.

The living room was barely habitable. An old TV sat huddled on a crate, cornered by a dirty couch and a filthy armchair. They walked straight through to the kitchen, where two men sat eating cereal. Ralphie and Ossie, presumably. The brothers looked at them, frowning, like their arrival just didn’t compute. The spoon in the bigger one’s hand hovered halfway to his waiting mouth. He was a tall, stout man, his curly hair cut tight, fully dressed in jeans and an oil-stained T-shirt. The smaller one had his arm jammed inside the cereal box. He had a beard and a stupid Mohawk, and he only wore an old pair of boxers.

“Boys,” said Milo, nodding at them.

The smaller man looked at all of them, one at a time. At no stage did comprehension dawn on his overfed face.

“You’re the people from last night,” said the bigger guy.

“Yes, we are,” said Milo. “You’re Ralphie, am I right? We were told you were the smart one.” He turned to the smaller man, the one still wearing the look of dumb confusion. “And that makes you Ossie. So which one of you was in the pickup, and which one of you had the gun?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Ralphie, putting his spoon back in the bowl.

“That pickup outside says otherwise.”

“That ain’t ours. You can’t prove nothing.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re not law enforcement, isn’t it? Want to know what I think? I think you had the gun and the Molotov. I think Ossie here is the driver of the family. Would I be right, Ossie?”

Ossie glared at his brother. “Told you we should’ve finished them off.”

“I thought they were dead,” Ralphie replied.

“Who tipped you off?” Milo asked. “It doesn’t matter to me one way or the other, but I’m sure Abigail would like to know who betrayed her.”

“Abigail is the Devil,” said Ossie.

“She looks like a little girl.”

“Looks are deceiving!” Ossie said, standing.

Milo’s hand went to rest on the butt of his gun. “I’m going to have to ask you to sit back down, Ossie.”

“She looks like a little girl, but she ain’t!” Ossie crowed. “She’s the Devil and we’re the only ones brave enough to tell it like it is!”

“Be brave while seated, what do you say?”

“You don’t scare me. I have seen with my own eyes the true face of evil, and it is that little girl. ‘And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which … which …’” Ossie looked at Ralphie for help.

“Uh,” said Ralphie, “‘which … deceiveth’.”

“‘Which deceiveth the whole world!’” said Ossie. “‘He was cast … he was …’”

He looked to Ralphie, who frowned and looked down, trying to remember.

Milo sighed. “‘He was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him’. You fellas need to brush up on your Bible studies. Besides which, you used to work right alongside Abigail, did you not?”

Ralphie narrowed his eyes. “We were wayward, yes. But we were shown the true path.”

“By the old man, right? Lautaro Soto? That the true path you’re talking about? The one that allowed you to continue dealing drugs and killing people for money?”

Ralphie had nothing to say to that, so Ossie answered for him.

“She’s still the Devil.”

“Be that as it may, we came here to deliver something to Ralphie and, once that’s done, we’re going to drive away and hopefully never cross paths with you again. That sound good to you?”

The brothers shared a look of suspicion. “What’ve you got?” asked Ralphie.

Glen cleared his throat, and stepped forward. “I’m the one who has it, actually. The old man, he gave it to me, and now I suppose I’m returning it to you.” He held up his hand and they saw the Deathmark.

Ralphie jumped to his feet.

“I’m really not happy with the number of people standing up right now,” said Milo.

Ralphie jabbed a finger at Glen. “That is for her! You deliver that to Abigail! How did you even get that? Lautaro was supposed to—”

“Lautaro is dead,” said Amber. “We get that you were trying to kill someone you think is evil. I believe you when you say she is. But you two are every bit as bad.”

Ossie shook his head. “We’ll kill you dead, but we won’t damn your immortal soul.”

“Dead’s dead,” said Milo. “Ralphie, you’re going to stand there and let Glen lay his hand on you.”

“You ain’t touching my brother,” Ossie said through gritted teeth.

Glen tried a smile. “Listen, I really don’t want to hurt anyone, and this really isn’t personal, but if I don’t pass it on to you, Ralphie, it’ll kill me.”

“So die,” said Ralphie.

“Well now, that’s not really fair, is it? I don’t have anything to do with any of this. So let’s all be grown-ups here and do what has to be done,” Glen said, stepping towards Ralphie.

What happened next happened way too fast and also way too slow. One moment Ossie was standing there, seething and tense, and the next he had the biggest hunting knife Amber had ever seen in his hand. Before she’d even asked herself where the hell he’d been hiding it, he was taking his first lunging step towards them. By this time, Milo’s gun was already out of its holster. He fired twice, the gunshots loud in Amber’s ears, and Ossie jerked as two small holes appeared in his chest, really close together. Even as he tumbled gracelessly to the ground – and here Amber realised he’d never even had a chance to complete that first step – Ralphie was bolting to the bedroom.

Glen yelled and ran in after him and time returned to normal, and then Glen came sprinting out of the bedroom, yelling even louder. The sound of that machine gun filled the house. Bullets peppered the walls in a shower of splinters. Milo dived, Glen dived, and Amber ducked and stumbled, and before she knew it her skin was red and she had horns again.

Ralphie strode from the bedroom door beside her, swinging the machine gun from side to side, firing the whole time, yelling and cursing and not noticing her as she straightened. She yanked the weapon from his hands, grabbed him by the throat, and lifted him off his feet. Ralphie dangled there for a moment, gurgling and struggling, finally registering who and what had a hold on him, and then Amber swung him up over her head and flipped him. He hit the floor and she raised her foot to turn his head to bloody splinters.

“Amber!” Glen cried, stumbling into view. “Amber, stop! What are you doing?”

Glen’s stupid face sapped some of the rage from behind her eyes, and she froze, startled by both the depth of her viciousness and the suddenness with which it had overtaken her.

She threw the machine gun into the bedroom. “Whatever,” she said.

Glen smiled at her, nodding like a lovesick idiot. She pointed a taloned finger at the man on the floor who was gasping for breath. “You going to do what we came here to do?”

“Oh yeah,” Glen said, and crouched. “I’m really sorry.” He pressed his hand to Ralphie’s arm.

The blackness swarmed under Ralphie’s skin, quickly spreading through his whole arm.

Glen straightened, checked his hand, and smiled in relief. “It’s gone,” he said. “I’m going to be okay. Hear that, Amber? I’m going to live!”

“Oh joy,” she muttered.

Ralphie’s breathing, already laboured, became a rattling wheeze.

“You okay?” Milo said to Amber.

She frowned at him. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged. “It’s just, you haven’t shifted back yet.”

“So? What’s wrong with staying like this for a while?”

“Exactly!” said Glen. “She’s got nothing to be ashamed of! Look at her! She’s beautiful! She’s magnificent!”

“Yeah, Milo, I’m magnificent.” She walked by Glen, heading to the door. “It’s like breaking in a new pair of shoes, you know? You’ve got to give it the time it needs.”

“Um …” said Glen. “I am really sorry about this.”

She turned. Glen stood perfectly still, Ralphie behind him, holding that big hunting knife to his throat. Ralphie was sweating badly.

“Easy now,” said Milo.

Ralphie started moving Glen around them, heading to the door.

“There was nothing personal here,” Milo continued. “You get that, right? Your brother came at us. I had to put him down. There was no malice to it.”

Amber resisted the urge to run at Ralphie and tear his face off. She was chock-full of malice.

“Gun down,” Ralphie said, his voice sounding strangled. Inky tendrils of tattoo were writhing on his skin.

“Can’t do it,” said Milo.

Ralphie stopped with his back to the door, and spat out a mouthful of black phlegm. “I’ll kill him.”

“Then I’ll shoot you.”

Ralphie blinked quickly, and black liquid began streaming from the corners of his eyes. He said something unintelligible, then tried again. “Keys.”

Milo hesitated, then took out his car keys. He tossed them and, when Ralphie reached out to catch, Glen slipped from his grasp. In an instant, Milo’s gun was in his hand, but Glen came stumbling towards him and Ralphie ran out of the house.

“You didn’t shoot me!” Glen cried, amazed. “We really are friends!”

Milo ignored him and walked for the door. Outside, the Charger roared to life.

Amber ran, beating Milo outside as Ralphie steered the Charger up the dusty hill. Milo strolled out after her, looking entirely too calm. He put his gun back in its holster, and started walking up the hill as the clouds of dust settled.

“You don’t seem too upset,” she said, walking beside him as Glen followed along behind, checking himself for injuries.

“Why should I be upset?” Milo asked.

She glared. “He’s got your car.”

“No,” said Milo. “My car has him.”

They walked up the slope. Glancing at her shadow on the ground and noting how cool her horns looked, Amber matched his pace, slow and leisurely, all the way up the hill – even though her entire body wanted to sprint and run and leap and fight. She wanted to tear faces off and bite through throats and pull out hearts. She wanted to rip and tear and decapitate and disembowel. She wanted violence. She wanted to kill.

They got to the top of the hill. The Charger was just ahead of them, one wheel up on a gentle mound of dirt, its engine still running.

As they neared, the door sprang open and grey smoke billowed into the open air. Ralphie threw himself out, coughing violently. He hit the ground and started dragging himself along by his elbows.

“She’s got a tricky tailpipe,” said Milo. “If you’re not careful, it’ll back up on you.”

Once he was far enough away from the car that had almost killed him, Ralphie got to his hands and knees, still coughing, black spittle dripping from swollen lips. He spat. There was at least one tooth in all that dark phlegm. He got the coughing under control and, breathing loudly, he stood, swaying. He took the hunting knife from his belt. He looked sick.

“You want,” said Milo, “I can shoot you now, put you out of your misery.”

Ralphie gargled out a laugh, then pointed the knife at Amber. Grunts were all he could utter. She knew what he wanted, and she obliged. He wanted his chance to take out a demon before he went. There was something admirable in that, she supposed. She walked forward, and heard Milo sigh.

“Uh,” said Glen, “should we be letting her do that?”

“She’s not a kid,” Milo answered. “She’s dumb, but she’s not a kid. She can do whatever the hell she wants.”

Ralphie grinned at her. His lips were so swollen they looked like they might burst.

Even though he was dribbling blackness, Ralphie held that knife like he knew what he was doing. Excitement fluttered in Amber’s belly. She didn’t know how to fight, but she was being given a chance to prove herself by a man who was going to die, anyway. She had nothing to lose.

He darted at her and she jumped back. He came at her again and she slipped sideways. He was unsteady on his feet and he nearly toppled, but after coughing up a lungful of black ink he turned to continue.

She moved in close and he swiped. The blade skittered across the scales that were suddenly covering her forearm, and she hit him. It was a bad punch, but her fist sank into his soft side, and it hurt him nonetheless. Blackness began to seep into his T-shirt where she had broken the skin. He was rotting from the inside out.

He lunged but she moved and he missed. He stumbled and fell to his knees. Coughed. Spat. Got back up. Lunged at her again. Repeated the process.

He was done. Disappointingly, it was over before it had even begun.

He struggled to his feet and Amber ran forward and jumped. Powerful muscles launched her into the air faster than she’d expected, propelling her across the space between them just as Ralphie was turning to her. Her knee struck his chest and they went down, Amber on top. The knife clattered against a stone somewhere.

Beneath her, Ralphie’s eyes were wide and blinking. He was trying to suck in air through his open mouth. Amber was kneeling on him. No, not on him. In him. She stood, removing her knee from the hole in his chest. Trails of blood and ink and rotten insides stretched between them like lines of spittle. She could feel it soaking through her jeans.

She reverted to normal without meaning to, and the cold realisation of what she had done washed over her. Milo and Glen were at her side now. The blackness was rising through Ralphie’s skin, leaking from his pores. It weakened his flesh, turned it mushy. His arms and legs lost their form, like the bones themselves had dissolved. His ruined ribcage fell in on itself. A stench rose. Human waste and rotting meat. Then his face caved in. In another few moments, all that was left of Ralphie McGarry were his soaking, black-drenched clothes.