Desolation (40 page)

The Narrow Man.

Violence erupted and Austin fell backwards, twisted, and ran into the kitchen. The back door was locked. Cole’s mom was shouting, and there were grunts and crashes and Cole came running in after him, his eyes wide with madness. He tugged the gun, but it was caught in his waistband.

The key. Austin had heard Linda and Kelly talking about what it could do. It had sounded ridiculous, like magic, but what was going on in that hallway right now was magic, so Austin jammed the key into the locked door and twisted. An image of another door, a dull metal door, filled his mind as he twisted again, then he turned the handle and yanked the key out and suddenly Cole was barging into him and they both fell through.

The door slammed shut behind them and they were in darkness.

It wasn’t the darkness that night brought. There were no stars above. No street lights. This was the dark of an enclosed space. At first, Austin thought the dark was absolute, but that wasn’t true. The darkness lifted to gloom just ahead of him. While he waited for his eyes to adjust, he listened to the only sound he could hear over his own beating heart and shallow breathing. A sucking noise.

“Cole?” he whispered. Cole didn’t answer.

Austin suddenly had the awful feeling that Cole had somehow circled round behind him, that he was standing there with that gun out, that he could see Austin perfectly in the dark and he was smiling as he watched his prey begin to panic.

But then the gloom lightened even more, and Austin could make out someone kneeling ahead of him.

He started forward on his hands and knees. His fingers brushed over something metal. The gun. He seized it, feeling its weight, feeling a rush of reassurance and excitement that passed as quickly as it had come. He sat back on his haunches, raising the gun. He didn’t need to see it to know it was shaking badly in his grip.

He could see the figure better now. It wasn’t Cole. The dim light (dim, but getting brighter) seemed to be coming from within him. It was a man, definitely a man, and he was on his knees and holding Cole Blancard in his arms.

Austin stood, turned, ran straight into the door and jammed the key into the lock. At the last moment, he remembered the twisting rule, and he turned the key and turned it again, all the while picturing the last door he’d come through, the door to Cole’s bedroom, the one with the naked woman in chains on it, and he opened the cell door and stumbled through, into the hallway.

He turned, glimpsed the glowing figure as it sucked the life out of poor Cole Blancard, the psychopathic thug who had bullied Austin since he was eight years old, and right before the door slammed shut the figure erupted with a startling orange light. Then the door was closed and the house was normal again.

Austin stuffed the key in his pocket. He still had the gun, and even though he had no intention of using it he gripped it tighter as he hurried to the front door.

Bill and Betty fought the Narrow Man in the snow outside.

Their claws tore through the Narrow Man’s clothes and raked his flesh, but while his clothes remained torn his flesh closed up over the wounds, like putty. The demons, on the other hand, weren’t nearly so quick to heal. They had black scales growing on their skin, like armour, and while the scales were enough to deflect swipes, when the Narrow Man jabbed straight at them, those long, thin fingers of his actually slipped between the scales, and drew blood. From the looks on their faces, Austin could tell that Bill and Betty hadn’t expected this. They circled him warily, snarling their hatred. The Narrow Man stood ready between them.

Cole’s mom stayed on the lawn. She wasn’t shouting anymore. She just stood there, not even looking at the fight. Her head was raised slightly, and cocked to one side like a dog listening to a sound in the distance. She turned, then, and Austin could see her smiling face. Her eyes were closed. Her arms were out to either side. She looked like she was waiting for God to reach down from heaven and pick her up. Austin realised the hair on the back of his neck was standing up. There was something in the air, a charge, and it was building. Intensifying.

Then something rippled.

Austin couldn’t tell what it was. It wasn’t the ground, not really, and it wasn’t the buildings, it was the space around him, around them all. The space rippled, just for a moment, just for an eye-blink, and the whole town rippled with it, and Austin recognised the sensation. He felt it every year when he was down in the panic room. This was the feeling that preceded every Hell Night.

It was beginning.

Cole’s mom laughed. It was a short, sharp laugh, cut off by a cry of pain. Her spine arched and her hands splayed and her legs snapped rigid. Her skin deepened to a rich yellow in the street light, and she grew taller while her hair lengthened and knotted. Her T-shirt tore as a ridge of white bone jutted sharply from her shoulders and along her arms. The angles of her face were sharper now, her brow more pronounced, her jaw wider. She laughed again, a laugh of pure joy, and Austin saw her teeth, packed into her gums like a shark’s.

Austin watched this transformation and almost missed what was happening to the street. The road cracked and the grass grew, turned coarse and wild, briars sprouting like weeds. The houses creaked and groaned – the creaks of Cole’s house sounding like screams to Austin’s ears – as they lengthened and narrowed and twisted. Street lights and house lights alike turned orange and red and flickered like flames.

There were real screams now, screams and shouts and laughter, and demons were emerging from houses up and down this street.

A
MBER WAS DYING
.

The pain had simultaneously faded into the background and regrouped to jab at her with every beat of her heart. A whole lot of blood that she needed to stay inside her body was now on the outside. It was drenching her clothes and dripping to the snow-covered ground. It was smearing on branches and splashing on leaves. She was cold. She was so cold that she would never complain about the heat again. Her fingers were numb. Her head was light. She was dizzy. And even though she was dying she was aware of one thing: Hell Night had begun.

She felt it. The energy flowed through the ground, the air. It flowed through her battered body, through her trickling blood – it would have forced her to shift if she wasn’t already in demon form. Through the trees, from where she was hiding, she saw what it did to Benjamin. In the moonlight, she could see how tall he had gotten. His skin looked red, a dirtier red than her own, and he was standing straight. He looked bigger, healthier. Stronger. He held the rifle with the butt resting on his hip. His laugh drifted up to her.

“
Amberrrr
…” he called, like they were playing a game.

Gritting her teeth, she started moving again, no longer going up the hill, but circling him, doing her best to get back to the farmhouse. She needed his truck. She needed to get away.

She lost sight of him, but every few seconds he’d call her name, allowing her to track his position. So far, it was working. She was moving sideways and he was moving up. Hopefully, he’d keep going. Hopefully.

She almost fainted. The blackness came on so suddenly that it rocked her. But she kept her eyes open, fought against it, and the feeling passed and when she looked up she could see the farmhouse. Along the side was a tall stack of chopped wood, held in place by an old gate Benjamin had rigged up. Beside the gate was a large wooden block with an axe buried in it. The last time she’d swung an axe, the Narrow Man had taken it away from her. This time would have to be different.

Amber was thirsty. God, she was so thirsty.

She started down, finding it hard to keep her weight on her injured leg. The uneven ground made things a whole lot worse. She slipped, nearly went tumbling, but lunged sideways, managed to slam her shoulder against a tree to stop her fall, managed to keep from howling in agony. She clung on, biting her lip against the pain, and once she was steady she listened.

Benjamin wasn’t calling her name anymore.

She couldn’t wait. Time was against her. Every moment that passed was another precious drop of blood. Holding on to the tree, Amber moved round it, let go, allowed her lead leg to slip through the dirt. Controlling her descent, she reached out, snagged a branch, snagged another one. Down here the ground was firmer and she was walking again – well,
limping
– and she got to the next tree and took a moment, scanning her surroundings, listening for Benjamin.

All she heard was the wind and her own heartbeat and, in the distance, gunshots. And screams.

The axe was maybe ten steps across open ground. Ten limping steps across open ground. Amber didn’t have a choice. She stepped out of cover, started for the farmhouse.

“Boo,” Benjamin said from behind her.

She swung round and he swung the rifle and she raised her arms and the scales did their best, but the rifle smashed and her left arm broke, she could feel it, and she went down, and Benjamin laughed as she screamed and tossed aside the remains of the weapon as he stalked after her.

“You’re right, you know,” he said, smiling and showing her his fangs. “Of course you’re right. I’ve been waiting for this all year. We all have. We love it. It’s what keeps us going.”

The pain was blinding. Amber rolled on to her right side, somehow finding the strength to push herself away from him with her legs. He kept up easily.

“And you wanted to take that away from us? Away from me? That was never going to happen.”

She hit the gate that contained the log pile, brought her feet in, got them under her.

Benjamin watched her stand on legs made of Jell-o. “You know what I’m going to do? And I’m amazed this hasn’t occurred to me before. I’m going to take your advice.”

The axe. It was right next to her. She could just reach out now, wrap her fingers around the handle, maybe pull it free with one tug, swing it into his neck before he had a chance to react. Maybe. Maybe she could do it if she hadn’t just been shot twice. If her arm wasn’t broken. If her strength wasn’t leaving her.

“I’m going to eat you,” said Benjamin. “Maybe I’ll absorb
your
strength. What do you think? Maybe I’ll even be able to stay like this all year round. It’s worth a shot, isn’t it? What? You’re inching towards the axe, huh? Go ahead. Go for it. Let’s see who’s faster.”

She hesitated. Benjamin grinned. She moved.

Benjamin dived for the axe, but Amber just swung the log she was holding, felt it crack into Benjamin’s face, felt it snap him round, and as he staggered she took hold of the axe and yanked it free and roared as she swung. Benjamin turned away from her, caught the blade in the back, and he jerked straight and toppled, face down into the snow.

Amber dropped to one knee and then fell sideways, clutching her broken arm, crying with the pain.

She lay there for a long while, and the night was quiet again – quiet except for the gunshots and the screams from down in Desolation Hill.

“A-Amber?”

She kept her eyes closed. “What?”

Benjamin’s voice was muffled. Strained. “I think … I think I’m hurt. I think … oh Jesus, I think you’ve done something to my back …”

She didn’t answer. She was too busy dying.

“Are you still there? Amber? Do you think I’ll be okay? This town, it heals us after every Hell Night, in the hour after sunrise. Those who aren’t dead, I mean. Heals us right up. But I … I don’t know. I think you’ve hurt me too bad. I can’t feel anything.”

She cracked one eye open. “So?” she asked. “You shot me. Tried to kill me.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Benjamin said. “But during the day I’m a different person. You know that. I’m a good person. I’m already old, for Christ’s sake. I can’t be old and crippled, too. You can’t do that to me.”

She couldn’t just lie here. Milo was out there. And Kelly. Amber started crawling.

“Are you still there? Amber?”

“I’m here,” she said.

“I’ll help you,” said Benjamin. “I’ll fight with you against the people who have come to hurt you. The whole town will fight by your side.”

“Hush now,” Amber said as she reached him. She prodded his leg. “Can you feel that?”

“I … I’m not sure. Are you touching me? I can’t feel anything. I’m numb. I can’t even wiggle my fingers or toes.”

“That’s probably a good thing,” Amber said. She tugged his pants leg up, revealing a red, surprisingly hairless calf. She opened her mouth wide, and tore out a chunk with her fangs.

“What are you doing?” Benjamin asked. “What was that sound?”

Amber chewed, blood running down her chin, and swallowed. It was so good. It was so frikkin’ good. She tore out another mouthful of meat.

“Are you … what are you doing? Amber? Are you … are you eating? What are you eating? What is there to …?”

He faltered, went quiet, and as she was on her third mouthful he started screaming.

Amber stood up. She took off her jacket, let it fall. She lifted her sodden top, ran a finger over the bullet hole in her belly. It was closing up nicely. The same with the wounds in her chest and leg. Her arm, too, was mending. No pain anymore – just that pleasant feeling of warmth. The blood was sticky, though. Her hands and face were caked in it, and it drenched her clothes.