Desolation. Derek Landy

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      Amber got low and crept forward. She could see the Desolation Hill sign now, and the track that ran off to her left. A biker came roaring up that track and she went instantly cold and all her assurances abandoned her. He slowed to a stop and was joined a moment later by another one. The first Hound had a beard and the second one didn’t. The first was in denim and the second in leather. They both wore sunglasses. The first one’s bike was gleaming chrome. The other one’s was black. Neither of them spoke.

      She couldn’t take them on. Not the Hounds. With or without Milo. They were the Hounds of Hell and they were unstoppable and they were pitiless.

      She heard another engine coming from behind and flattened herself in the grass as a car approached. It passed her, and the bikers parted so it could get by. She watched the driver of the car peer at the Hounds. The Hounds never even glanced at him.

      “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.

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