Desolation. Derek Landy

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      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.”