Desolation (39 page)

T
HE BARN WAS OLD
and cold. It had a hayloft without any hay, and snow drifted down through the hole in the roof.

Kelly ran her fingers across her forehead, wincing at the pain. It was already swelling. She wondered how Amber’s shoulder was holding up, then wondered about Amber. She glanced at Woodbury as he lay there, unconscious, and looked up at Milo.

“Why are we here?” she asked.

Milo kept looking out. “What?”

“There’s no point to this,” she said. “What does this achieve?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean it’s done. It’s over. They’ve got no reason to …”

She got to her feet, waited until she was steady, and walked to a hole that had been blasted in the wood by the shotgun that Milo now held.

“Hey,” she called through the jagged wood. “You out there. Why are we doing this? We saved the boy and we stopped Hell Night. That’s what you didn’t want us to do, right?”

There was no response.

“But we’ve done it. It’s done. So what are we doing here? We’re standing in the cold, freezing our butts off, shooting at each other, and for what? For nothing. So I have an idea. We all walk away from this. What do you say?”

She could hear voices now, the cops talking among themselves.

Then Lucy’s voice. “Kelly. That you?”

“Hey, Lucy. What’s up?”

“Kelly, I’m going to need you to let Woodbury go.”

“We can’t do that,” Kelly replied. “He’s the only reason you guys aren’t storming this barn right now.”

“That’s not true,” Lucy said. “You’re right. Hell Night hasn’t happened. Whatever you’ve done, you definitely seem to have stopped it. We might be willing to walk away, like you want, but we need our colleague released to us before we can make that decision.”

“Nonsense,” Kelly called back cheerily. “You can decide that right now. You get in your car and drive away. We get in our car and do the same. We let Woodbury go when we have all our friends back. We drop him right at the town boundary.”

“We can’t negotiate like that, Kelly. It’s not how we do things.”

“Oh, Lucy, have you ever really tried?”

There were footsteps now. Lucy stepped into the full beams of the cruisers and walked forward with her hands up. The snow danced crazily in those lights.

“That’s far enough,” Milo said.

Lucy nodded, and took a few more steps before stopping. She wasn’t wearing her demon face anymore. “I just want to talk,” she said. “I just want to sort this out, the same as you. I don’t want either of you getting hurt. I don’t want Woodbury to get hurt, or Ortmann. And I certainly don’t want me to get hurt. That’s my number-one priority, right there. But you’ve got to understand my position. I can’t make any kind of deal with you, no matter how informal, when you have a gun to my friend’s head.”

“We do understand that,” said Kelly, “honest we do. But you have to understand that we can’t exactly trust you.”

“I’ve never lied to you.”

“Your honesty is admirable, Lucy, but let’s not forget that the Desolation Hill Police Department has been facilitating child murder since long before you were born. You’ve looked the other way your entire life. Everyone in that uniform has. Everyone in this
town
has.”

“We did what needed to be done.”

“That’s a terrible excuse.”

“I know,” said Lucy. “I know it is. But you’ve changed all that. Naberius didn’t get his sacrifice. We don’t know what that means. Do you?”

“We do not.”

“It might mean it’s over,” Lucy said. “If that’s the case, you’ve helped this town break free. No one’s going to want to thank you for that – no one except the kids. And me. Kelly, I give you my word that no harm will come to you if you release Woodbury. I don’t give you my word as a police officer – I know that doesn’t mean anything to you. I give you my word as a human being.”

“You’re a demon, Lucy.”

“Only sometimes.”

“I’d love to believe you. I really, really would. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to back away now. We’ll release Woodbury when we see your tail lights.”

Lucy shook her head, and started forward. “I can’t do that, Kelly.”

“Stop walking.”

“Please understand my position.”

“Stop walking!” Milo shouted.

Lucy stopped. “We don’t have a lot of time,” she said. “If the Chief arrives, he takes over. You don’t want to be on the end of that. Ortmann and me, we are willing to let you walk away. Guys, please, this is our chance for everyone to get out of this in one piece.”

Kelly looked at Milo.

“New proposal,” he said. “You back off. We get to my car. When the car is turned around and ready to drive, we let your friend go.”

“You drove your car into the side of a barn,” Ortmann called.

“She’s sturdy,” said Milo. “She’ll be fine.”

There was a moment of low talking outside, then Lucy raised her voice. “We’re cool with that,” she said. “We’re putting our guns away.” One set of headlights cut off. A moment later, the second set died, and Kelly’s eyes began to adjust.

Milo passed the shotgun to her and picked up Woodbury, grunting at the man’s weight.

“Ready?” he whispered.

Kelly nodded.

They walked out. Lucy and Ortmann stood together, hands at their sides.

Kelly smiled at them. “This weather, eh?”

“It always snows on Hell Night,” said Ortmann.

“Is that so?” said Kelly.

“Well … not always. But mostly.”

Kelly laughed. “Look at us, talking about the weather. This is all very civilised.”

Lucy shrugged, but her eyes stayed wary. “Goes to show what can be accomplished with a little common sense. How’s our guy?”

“I headbutted him.”

“You must have a hard head.”

“That’s what my teachers always told me.”

She would have carried on, would have light-heartedly asked for some Tylenol, but at the sound of a motorcycle her heart dive-bombed in her chest.

A single Hound came roaring through the broken fence. Milo dropped Woodbury, started firing the shotgun. The cops spun, shifting into their grinning selves even as they drew their weapons, adding their firepower to Milo’s.

“Forget about the bike!” Milo commanded. “Aim for the rider!”

Bullets hit the Hound, jerking his torso, but not stopping him, not making him fall.

“Back!” Lucy cried. “To the barn!”

Kelly went first, and when the last of them were through she pulled the door shut. The bike roared so close and so loud she was sure the Hound was going to burst through, but he veered at the last minute, forced off by shotgun blasts.

There was a sudden ceasefire. Kelly joined Milo at a window, just in time to see the Hound ride round the side of the barn. Everyone turned, keeping track of the noise, reloading as they did so.

“Woodbury is still out there,” said Ortmann.

“The Hound’s not interested in him,” Kelly said, sliding in her last magazine. She racked the slide just as the bike’s engine cut off.

“Spread out,” Milo whispered.

While the others moved to cover as many entrances as possible, Kelly crept to the ladder, climbing it as quietly as she could. She got to the hayloft and crawled for a while before rising into a low crouch. The wood creaked beneath her weight.

The hole in the roof was more than big enough for her to pass through. It opened up on to a dark sky laden with clouds. She jumped for a broken beam, pulled herself up, and balanced on one knee while she reached for the hole.

And the Hound’s face appeared right in front of her.

She cried out, fell back, fired blindly and hit nothing, and the Hound landed before her as she fell on her ass. She shot him in the shoulder, then switched targets, aiming for his leg. He wobbled, almost fell. She fired again, and again, keeping him off balance, making him totter, and then she went for the final shot, the shot that’d force him out of the hayloft, that’d send him crashing to the ground, and the gun clicked on empty.

“Aw hell,” she said.

The Hound straightened up, that calm expression never leaving his face. Christ, she hated that calmness. What she wouldn’t give to see some anger, or hatred, or even some goddamn annoyance flicker across those features. But no. All she got was calmness.

“Kelly!” Milo yelled, and threw his shotgun to her. She grabbed it and fired and the Hound flew backwards and was gone.

Her ears ringing, she crawled to the edge, as more gunfire erupted. The Hound was back on his feet, but being peppered by bullets. He stumbled against the wall, and then Milo was there, plunging a pitchfork through the Hound’s arm, pinning it to the wood.

Lucy grabbed the second pitchfork while Ortmann took hold of the Hound’s other arm. Once it was flattened against the wall, the middle prong skewered it.

Kelly climbed down the ladder as the others paused a moment to catch their breath. The Hound didn’t struggle. He just stood there, arms splayed, looking at them.

“So how do we kill him?” Ortmann asked. He, like Lucy, had reverted once the immediate danger had passed.

They all looked to Milo, who looked at Kelly. “Could I borrow your phone?”

She handed it over and he paused, trying to remember a number. He punched it in, held the phone to his ear.

“Gregory,” he said, “it’s me.” He paused. “Who else would be calling? Yeah. Anyway, you have any idea how to kill a Hound of Hell? We’ve got …” He paused, listening for a moment. “I’m sorry, are you going to continue this conversation on your own, or would you like me to contribute? You’re the closest thing we’ve got to an expert, so I’m consulting you. We’ve got one of them. Yes. Don’t worry about that, he’s not going anywhere. He’s … No, I … All I want is … Jesus, do you know how to kill one or not?” Milo listened. “Yeah,” he said. “That seems like a good enough place to start as any. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

He hung up, tossed Kelly’s phone back to her.

“So?” Lucy asked. “What is the expert opinion?”

“The expert opinion is that the Hound is unlikely to survive without a head.”

Kelly frowned. “That’s it?”

“It would seem to be.”

“I could have told you that.”

“Any one of us could have told you that,” said Ortmann.

“But yours would not have been an informed opinion,” Milo said. He walked up to the Hound. “You hear that? We’re going to take your head off. How’s that make you feel?”

The Hound’s expression didn’t change.

“Christ, you’re annoying,” Milo muttered. He held out his hand. “Someone give me a shotgun.”

Kelly gave him hers, and walked outside. Woodbury was moaning in the dirt. A shotgun blast filled the night, and then another. And then another. Three shotgun blasts to obliterate a skull. Another hard head.

Milo and the officers walked out of the barn.

“So?” Kelly asked.

“Turns out Hounds really
can’t
survive without their heads,” Milo said.

Lucy looked at them both. “So what happens now?”

“Now you go one way and we go another,” said Milo, “and if we see each other in town, we pretend we don’t. Can you live with that?”

Lucy and Ortmann exchanged glances, and Lucy nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “We can.”

A
USTIN HAD NEVER MET
Cole Blancard’s stepdad, and now he was glad of that fact. Oscar Moreno was looking at him like they shared a secret, and totally ignoring Bill, Betty and his own wife.

“What’s that you’re holding?” Oscar Moreno asked. “A key, is it? What a nice key that is.”

“It’s ours, actually,” Betty said. “We just came to retrieve it from your son.”

“Stepson,” said Cole.

Oscar’s eyes flicked from Austin to Cole. “
You
had it? Really? What are the chances?”

The atmosphere in the house changed. All at once it went from staged politeness to all cards on the table.

Oscar took a step forward, but Bill put a hand to his chest, held him off.

“You know what the key is, don’t you?” Bill asked.

“Of course,” Oscar said, smiling. “I own its twin. I never thought I’d see it again, though, not after it was given to that dreadful man who never stopped talking. But here it is, in my very own house. It’s come home.”

He tried moving past Bill, but got shoved back for his efforts. The smile never left his face.

“In that case,” said Betty, “we’ll take yours, too. May as well have the full set, wouldn’t you agree?”

Oscar shook his head. “Oh no, I’m sorry, I can’t give it to you. I need it for my work.”

Bill and Betty turned into demons so quickly that Austin never even saw the change. But all at once there they were, red-skinned and horned, and Cole cried out and Cole’s mom stumbled backwards. She had a strange look on her face, though. It wasn’t shock – it was merely surprise, like they weren’t supposed to be able to do that.

And then Oscar Moreno changed. His transformation wasn’t as smooth as the demons, but it was no less effective. He grew taller, his arms and legs lengthening, his body getting thinner as it stretched. His face changed, too, his hair receding to a wiry mass, his skin getting paler. His eyes sank to each side, widening the space between them. His nose got smaller. His mouth widened.