Desolation

“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.

“It can be,” said Novak. “Although it has a habit of attracting the wrong kind of visitor.”

“Is that so?” said Milo.

“Regrettably. Especially at this time of year.” Novak looked at them both before continuing. “You have been told, I understand, about our festival. Naturally, you’re curious. I appreciate curiosity – it’s what has me here talking to you, after all. And, while I’m not about to satisfy that curiosity, hopefully I can explain our attitude to you. We’re a quiet town, or at least we want to be, and we value our traditions. This festival just happens to be our most cherished, most valued tradition.”

“What does it celebrate?” Milo asked.

“Our history,” said Novak. “Our culture. Our heritage. And our success. Many other towns, a lot like ours, dried up and were blown away after the gold rush. But Desolation Hill remained standing. Even more towns dried up and were blown away during the various recessions and depressions … but Desolation Hill has stayed strong. I put this down to the people. We have the single lowest crime rate, per capita, in America.”

Milo nodded. “Certainly something to be proud of.”

“It is, Mr Sebastian, yes. And I am proud.”

“We’re not planning on committing any crimes, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Amber said, offering up a smile.

“I’m not suggesting you were,” said Novak, not offering one in return. “I only wish to impress upon you the need to obey our rules. The festival is for townsfolk only. When you check out of the Dowall Motel on Wednesday morning, you will receive a police escort to the edge of town.”

“Uh …”

“It’s nothing personal,” Novak said. “I trust you won’t be offended.”

“Not offended,” said Milo. “But a police escort does seem a little extreme.”

“We take our rules very seriously. I’m sure you have questions, I’m sure you have many, but please understand that to ask these questions of the townsfolk could lead to a certain degree of irritation. We have traditions we would prefer to keep private, and questions we would prefer not to answer. I’m sure you and your … niece appreciate this desire.”