The Demon Road Trilogy: The Complete Collection: Demon Road; Desolation; American Monsters. Derek Landy
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and so did Amber, and Milo thrust the map at her and while the creased paper filled her vision the Charger was already leaping forward, roaring. The light from behind was blinding and all Amber could hear was the growl of engines, and Milo twisted the wheel and the car spun, and something thundered by, clipping the driver’s side mirror.
The Charger spun full circle and came to a stop, trembling with suppressed violence. Amber shoved the map down to her feet and only then did she become aware of Glen’s curses. On the dusty road ahead of them, a dark-coloured pickup truck circled round, catching them with all of its many spotlights. Amber squinted.
“Seat belts on,” Milo said in a quiet voice.
Amber knew hers was already fastened, but she checked anyway.
“There are no seat belts back here,” Glen said, panicking. “Why are there no seat belts?”
“Lie on the floor,” Milo said.
Glen whimpered, and slithered out of sight. He pulled the bags down on top of him.
The pickup shot forward and Milo kicked the Charger into reverse. Amber held on. The pickup’s lights filled the windshield. Milo drove with one hand on the wheel, the other on Amber’s seat, looking over his shoulder.
He braked suddenly, yanked the wheel, and the Charger spun again, throwing Amber against the door, but the pickup clipped them and the whole car jolted sideways. Milo’s hand worked the gears and his boot stomped on the gas, and the Charger spat up dirt and dust and it was back under control and back on the road, the pickup right behind it.
“Who the hell is that?” Glen screeched from beneath all the bags.
Amber braced one hand against the dash and pressed herself back into her seat. To look behind was to be blinded, so she kept her eyes on the road ahead, the dirt trail almost indistinguishable at this speed from the land through which it cut. The pickup hit them and the Charger jumped and Milo fought to keep it under control. They were hit again and Milo hissed under his breath and the rear of the car started to slide sideways. The pickup slammed into Amber’s side. She screamed, the scream barely audible over the roar of the engines and the shriek of twisting metal.
The Charger spun to a rocking stop. The engine cut out.
In the relative silence, Amber could hear Dacre Shanks, shouting from the trunk. His shouts were slowly muted.
The pickup looped round. For some reason, that loop seemed so casual, so playful, that it made Amber’s anger rise in her throat.
Milo turned the key. The Charger spluttered.
“Oh God,” Glen said.
The pickup came back at them, picking up speed.
The Charger spluttered again.
Amber pulled at the door handle, but the lock came down, sealing her inside.
She whipped her head round to Milo as he turned the key a third time. The Charger roared, its headlights burning a devilish, hellish red.
It lunged out of the pickup’s path a moment before impact, turned with a spray of pebbles and sand, and now they were speeding behind the pickup, closing in to slam into its tail lights. The pickup wobbled, almost hit a lonely tree, and Milo put his foot down. The Charger came up on the truck’s right side. The pickup swerved into it. Milo responded in kind. The two vehicles battered at each other for a quarter of a mile or more, and then the pickup pulled away in front as the trail narrowed between two hills.
Milo commanded the Charger like he was a part of it. It was hard to see in the darkness and the quick bursts of light, but he seemed to be almost smiling. He looked darker, like the colour of the steering wheel was soaking into his hands and spreading through his skin. His jaw seemed more angular. The pickup’s tail lights somehow reflected in his eyes, making them glow red. And were those horns beginning to protrude through his hair?
The pickup tried to get away and the Charger rammed into it once again. Milo’s smile broadened and, when he opened his mouth, red light shone out between his white teeth.
Something bright arced in the sky. Amber tried to shout a warning, but it was too late, and the brightness exploded across the hood and flames covered the windshield.
Milo twisted the wheel and there was a new noise, a rapid popping, like fireworks. It took Amber a moment to realise they were being shot at. The bullets punctured the side of the car and cracked the rear windshield and Milo grunted, twisted in his seat. The Charger hit something and bounced and suddenly the sound of the road beneath them vanished, and they dropped, and Amber screamed and Glen screamed, and they were nothing but a fireball dropping into darkness—
—and then they crunched into the slope and Milo wrenched the wheel, using the brakes and gas pedal to propel them, slalom-like, round the trees and boulders that dotted the hillside.
The slope flattened out and the Charger crunched into the scrub and the earth and then rolled to a stop on a narrow little road. The last of the flames died on the hood.
Milo turned his head to Amber. The red glow faded from his eyes, as whatever was lighting him from within slowly extinguished. She stared at him. Didn’t say anything.
“Glen,” he said gruffly. “You okay?”
“No,” said Glen, clambering slowly up. “Is it over? What happened?”
“We were led into an ambush.”
“They knew we were coming?” he asked, and peered out. “Are we safe?”
Milo got out without answering. Amber unlocked her door, but had to lean back and kick it to get it open.
The Charger was wrecked. The hood, where the Molotov cocktail had hit, was a blistered mess of crumpled metal. Both doors were badly dented, the frame on the passenger side buckled. The rear windshield had two bullet holes in it. The driver’s side had plenty more.
“Sorry about your car,” Amber said dully.
Milo circled it, limping. The left leg of his jeans was soaked in something dark.
“You’ve been shot,” said Amber. Then, louder, “Oh my God, you’ve been shot!”
“Just a graze,” Milo responded. “I’ll be all right by morning.”
She ran over to him. “You’ve been shot, Milo! Look at the blood! You’re leaving bloody footprints behind you!”
“I’ll be all right by morning,” he repeated, removed his arm from her grip, and got back behind the wheel.
Amber would have stayed where she was, but the adrenaline was wearing off and now she was feeling the cold. She got back in the car.
“What do we do now?” Glen asked.
“Get the blankets out,” said Milo. “We’re spending the night here.”
“What if they come for us? They have machine guns.”
“The car’s not going anywhere,” said Milo, “and neither are we. If they come for us, they come for us.”
“And you expect us to sleep?”
“You do what you want,” said Milo. “But me, I’m tired, and I want to close my eyes.”
And, for the first time since Amber had known him, Milo did just that behind the wheel of his car.
There were moments, in the time it took her to fall asleep, where she thought death had claimed Milo without her noticing, and each time she’d freeze, coldness spreading from her heart until she heard, very faintly, the sound of his breathing.
Very faintly.