The Demon Road Trilogy: The Complete Collection: Demon Road; Desolation; American Monsters

“By pretending to be the son of the elderly owner so that you can ship her off to a home for the infirm.”

She gaped. “That’s horrible!”

“Not really,” said Milo. “The owner used to be a nurse who mistreated her patients. Edgar made sure everyone in the home knew about it, too.”

“Oh,” said Amber. “Well, I guess that’s okay, then.”

Milo pulled back the tarp, revealing a black car, an old one, the kind Amber had seen in movies, with a long hood and a sloping back.

“Nice,” she said.

He looked at her sharply. “Nice?”

She hesitated. “It’s pretty. What is it?”

“It’s a 1970 Dodge Charger, and it is a she.”

“Right,” said Amber. “She’s very nice, then.”

Milo walked round the car, looking at it lovingly.

“The reason we can only travel eight hours a day,” said Amber, “is it because your car will fall apart if we go longer?”

“You see any rust?” Milo asked, not rising to the bait. “Storing an old car in this humidity is not generally a good idea, not for any length of time, let alone twelve years. But she’s different. She is pristine. Under the hood there she’s got the 440 Six Pack, three two-barrel carburettors and 390 horses. She’s a beast.”

“Yeah. Words. Cool.”

His hand hovered over the roof, like he was unsure as to whether or not he should actually touch it. Then he did, and his eyes closed and Amber wondered if she should leave him to it.

“You, uh, really love this car, huh?”

“She was my life,” he said softly.

“Yeah. This is getting weird.”

He opened the door, paused, and slid in. Sitting behind the wheel, his face in shadow, he looked for a moment like just another part of the car. She heard the keys jangle and she backed away from the hood. If the car really hadn’t been started in twelve years, she doubted anything was going to happen, but she didn’t want to be standing there if it suddenly blew up.

And yet, when Milo turned the key in the ignition, the garage reverberated with a deep and throaty growl that rose through the soles of Amber’s feet and quickened her pulse. It was impressive, she had to admit that.

Milo flicked the headlights on and they shone blood-red for a moment, before fading to a strong yellow.

“Cool,” she whispered, and this time she meant it.

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THEY STUCK TO RESIDENTIAL roads as much as they could on their way out of Florida, staying off the expressway and I-95. Like she’d done in the SUV, Amber had to lie on the back seat, covered. She closed her eyes, but didn’t sleep – not at first. Instead, she listened to the Charger. It creaked when it turned. It seemed heavy. There was no confusing it with its modern counterparts, cars that acted as cocoons against the world around them. To ride in a modern car was to ride in a deprivation tank – to ride in the Charger was to ride in a streamlined behemoth of black metal. A beast, as Milo called it.

Amber examined her hand, tried to remember what her claws had looked like. She was a beast, too, of course. A monster. Not a monster like her parents, though. They were predators – heartless and lethal. No, Amber was the prey, all innocence and vulnerability – except when she had her claws out.

The way she had punched that boy – Brandon, his name was Brandon – hadn’t been weak. She probably would have killed him if she’d hit him any harder. She wondered if she could have hit him harder. She wondered how strong she was. She wondered what she looked like. Imelda was more beautiful as a demon than as a person. Her parents, too, had been taller and stronger and more beautiful. Amber wondered if the transformation would have the same effect on her, and found herself wondering what she’d look like taller, and slimmer, and prettier. She hoped her eyes didn’t change, though. She liked her eyes.

She woke when they reached Homerville, across the state line in Georgia. Milo gave her a baseball cap and told her she could sit up front if she pulled the cap low over her brow. The further they got from Miami, he said, the safer she’d be. It was midday now. They passed through Pearson, and then Hazlehurst, and then Soperton – all brown grass and tall trees and identical houses with mailboxes by the road – and not one word was spoken the whole time.

“Thanks for doing this,” Amber said to fill the silence.

Milo nodded, didn’t say anything.

“I know I’m paying you, and this is just a job, but I didn’t thank you earlier. I should have.”

He didn’t say anything to that, either.

A few minutes passed before she said, “Is this what it’s going to be like the whole way?”

He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “What is this like?”

“You know,” said Amber, “the silence. The awkward, heavy, awkward silence.”

“You used awkward twice.”

“It’s very awkward.”

“I like to drive in silence. It lets you think.”

“What do you do when you’re done thinking? Or if you’ve got nothing to think about? Does the radio work? Maybe we could put on some music.”

“But then we wouldn’t be in silence.”

She sighed. “You’re really not listening to me.”

“I like to drive in silence,” said Milo again. “You’re paying me, but this is my car and, since I like to drive in silence, we drive in silence. That’s just the way it is.”

“Even though it makes me uncomfortable?”

He shrugged. “If you can’t stand to be alone with your thoughts, maybe there’s something wrong with your thoughts.”

“Of course there’s something wrong with my thoughts. I’m going through a very tough time.”

“We all go through tough times.”

“My parents are trying to kill me.”

“We all have issues.”

“Maybe I’m suffering from post-traumatic stress. Did you think of that? Did Imelda? No. She just offloaded me on to you and now here we are. I probably need major psychiatric attention and you won’t even let me listen to calm, soothing music. I could have a breakdown at any moment.”

“You seem fine to me,” said Milo, not taking his eyes off the road. The endless, straight, monotonous grey road.

“I’m a demon,” she said.