The Demon Road Trilogy: The Complete Collection: Demon Road; Desolation; American Monsters. Derek Landy
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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