Desolation (21 page)

Amber watched him go, then turned back to Milo. He was already moving on, and she quickly lost him in the gloom.

“Milo!” she whispered, and started after him. “Milo, slow down!”

Milo stopped, and while he waited for her to get a little closer he hunkered down and passed the handcuff chain under his feet so that his hands were in front of him. Before she’d reached him, he started moving again.

“She gave me the key,” Amber said. “Hold on a second.”

“We’re beyond the barrier,” he said without looking back. “That means they can sense you again. The cop driving off won’t fool that Hound for long.”

And, just to prove him right, they heard the Hound coming back.

And then more bikes, coming in from ahead. Lights cut through the trees.

“Crap,” Amber whispered.

They speeded up.

One of the bikes was close. Very close. The ground was becoming one big blanket of dark and Amber nearly tripped half a dozen times on roots or logs or vines or rocks, but she kept going, and kept going
faster
, and the bike was getting even closer, but its light was off and it was hard, it was
impossible
, to tell where it was, as there was sound all around them now, and then she stumbled on to a road in time to see a bike slam into Milo and flip him into the air.

“Milo!” she yelled, and the Hound braked and swung round 180 degrees in a sudden cloud of smoke, the headlight snapping on, and Amber ducked back before she was seen.

Milo rolled to a stop, and the Hound rode back to him slowly.

Amber watched Milo prop himself up on to his elbows and try to get his knees under him. The Hound passed, then stopped, leaned his bike on its kickstand and got off. He had a chain in his hands, a heavy one, and he twirled it. Milo got to one knee and the Hound lashed the chain against the side of his head.

Another Hound roared up, and Amber shrank back as the headlight searched the darkness around her. When it was safe, she looked again. The Hound with the chain had attached it to Milo’s handcuffs while the other one circled them, then rode off. The Hound with the chain attached the other end to the back of his bike, and got on.

“No,” Amber whispered.

The bike revved and shot forward, and the chain went taut and jerked Milo after it.

Amber couldn’t help it. She leaped from cover and screamed, but Milo was already gone, dragged away into the darkness.

She stood there, her thoughts a horrified jumble. The bike’s tail lights disappeared round the bend. The road looped. If she was lucky …

She broke left, running into the trees, her shoes slipping on the incline. She could have cleared this little hill with no trouble as a demon, but she wasn’t going to let her own natural weakness stop her. Not this time.

She got to the top, met the road again as the first Hound passed. Gasping for breath, she crouched in the dark and waited. To do what? What the hell did she think she was going to do? If she shifted, she’d break her damn wrists, and then what good would she be to Milo?

The key was tiny in her freezing, slippery hands. She managed to get a good grip and tapped it against the cuffs, searching for the keyhole.

“Come on,” she snarled to herself. “Come
on
, you useless piece of …”

The second Hound was approaching now, at speed. Amber could see Milo behind it, swinging wide on the chain. The road had ripped his shirt, and torn his boots and pants and underwear clean off. He was a bloody mess beneath it.

The key sank into the keyhole and hope flared in her chest. The Hound passed where she was crouching, dragging Milo with him.

Amber held her hands close together so as not to jar the key loose, and crossed the road and started up the next incline. Her legs were burning, screaming at her, but she kept going, kept climbing, aware of the other bikes now, roaring up from all directions. They could sense her close by, but if they had the ability to pinpoint her exact position she doubted she’d be able to keep out of sight like this.

They moved up and round the bend, joining the two in front. The incline levelled out and Amber sagged, took three deep breaths and shook out her legs, and ran through the dark from tree to tree.

The Hounds had left the road and had congregated in a clearing in the woodland. She stayed out of the glare of their headlights, her clumsy footsteps masked by the engines. They were off their bikes now. One of them took a bolt cutter from his pack. The others came forward, all holding chains. They knelt by Milo, obscuring him from Amber’s view.

She refocused on the key. Tried turning it, but it jammed. Sweat stung her eyes. She looked back up as four of the Hounds walked to their idling bikes, and heeled up the kickstands. Their tail lights bathed Milo in red. He was naked, with great strips torn from his skin. Around each wrist and ankle, there was a chain. The Hounds attached those chains to their bikes.

All the strength left Amber’s body.

The bikes moved slowly, inch by inch, in four different directions, until the chains went taut. Slowly, Milo was lifted off the ground. He opened his mouth, but his cry was drowned out by the revving motorcycles.

The fifth Hound, the one on the Harley, circled the lot of them, lazily waiting for Amber to surrender herself. The revving got louder. They knew she was there. They knew she was watching. The implication was clear.

Give up, or they’d tear Milo apart.

S
OBBING,
A
MBER RETREATED FROM
the light. Her fingers trembling, she twisted the key again, then risked taking another grip and repeating the movement.

This time, it worked.

The cuff around her left wrist sprang free, and she gasped, and quickly rid herself of the handcuffs altogether. Then she shifted, and, as her skin turned red and her horns grew, her tears went away, and in place of her desperation came raw anger.

Her hands becoming claws, she jumped for the nearest tree and started climbing. She found a thick branch and crawled quickly along it. It bent with her weight so she leaped for another, swinging up into the next. She climbed some more, the night alive with the sound of the engines below her. She balanced on a branch, looked down, her teeth bared. To try to free Milo without first taking out the Hounds was a sure-fire way of getting him killed. Similarly, to attack any of the four Hounds that had him chained would also result in him being pulled apart. Which left one option, and one target.

She waited until he was about to pass directly beneath her, and she dropped.

She landed beside the Hound on the Harley, hands crashing down on to his shoulders. She yanked him off, dragged him backwards while his bike toppled, then grabbed his head, her claws raking into his face.

“Let Milo go!” she roared. “Take those chains off and let him go or I’ll kill your buddy!”

The revving quieted. The Hounds looked at her.

She had a sudden, horrible thought that maybe she’d already killed the Hound in her grip, that she’d lost her only bargaining chip. But, although the Hound wasn’t struggling, he was still staying upright under his own steam.

“Let Milo go!” Amber screamed.

Moments passed.

As one, the revving died. The four Hounds backed up a little, allowing the chains to slacken enough to lower Milo to the ground.

“Take the chains off,” Amber commanded. The Hounds got off their bikes, but didn’t move. “Do it or I’ll break his neck.”

The Hound in her grasp tried to straighten up, but she tightened her hold and put her lips to his ear.

“You try anything and I swear to God I will kill you without a second—”

The Hound spun on his heel, snapping his own neck while his hands closed on her upper arms. Amber cried out, let go, barely aware that the Hound’s body was powering her backwards even as his head was still pointing the other way. Then the head spun with another violent crack, and the Hound righted himself and slammed her against a tree. She glimpsed her reflection in his sunglasses and then chips of wood sprayed her face as a gunshot rang out. The Hound looked around in time to catch a bullet in the forehead. He went down and Amber scrambled away.

More gunshots. Amber couldn’t see where they were coming from. One of the Hounds ignored the bullet that hit him square in the chest. He couldn’t ignore the next one, though, the one that caught him in the head. He tumbled backwards, bringing his bike down with him.

The shooter’s aim was improving. Two headshots in a row left only one Hound standing. Amber ran, crouched over, to Milo. Before she’d even unwrapped the first chain, the Hound started towards her. Amber watched him come, waiting and hoping for the next shot. She wasn’t disappointed. The bullet hit the Hound in the forehead and his knees buckled and he collapsed.

Amber freed Milo’s legs. Then his arms. She got her hands underneath him and scooped him up, grunting only a little. She stood, turned, Milo in her arms, and flinched at another gunshot. But the shooter wasn’t aiming at her. The first Hound had got to his feet and another bullet put him down again. The Hound closest to her was stirring now. They all were. Shooting these assholes in the head obviously wasn’t enough.

Amber ran, carrying Milo.

Another two gunshots gave her a head start, and then they stopped. Whoever the shooter was, they had done their part, and Amber and Milo were on their own again.

She heard an engine, watched an old farm truck trundle by. She sprinted after it until she was right in its non-existent slipstream, and jumped, landing in a crouch to steady herself. She moved forward, laid Milo down, was about to pull the tarp over them both when the night was lit up with swooping headlights.

She heard herself snarl as two Hounds broke away from the pack and closed in, side by side. One of them reached over to the other bike, his hands closing around the throttle, taking control of the machine. The other Hound stood up on the seat with all the urgency of a lazy man stretching. Both bikes closed in on the farm truck, and the Hound stepped from the seat to the headlight, and then took a long stride on to the truck bed. He stood straight, the bump and sway of the road not bothering him in the slightest, while the two bikes slowed behind him. Amber didn’t have a choice.

She launched herself at him. They tumbled off and hit the road, went rolling, her clothes ripping, but her black scales protecting her. As long as she proved herself worthy of all their attention, Milo might have a chance to get to safety. That was her plan.

They both got to their feet and she sprang at him, but the Hound ducked under her, grabbed her as she passed, and slammed her down on to the asphalt. She hit her chin and bit her tongue.

So much for her goddamn plan.

She tried to get up and a boot slammed down between her shoulder blades like a sledgehammer.

Amber lay there, gasping, dimly aware of the sound of a chain scraping against the ground. Then she was hauled up, and that chain was being wrapped around her neck, and her eyes snapped open and she started to struggle and a fist came in and her thoughts bounced away from her in a flash of white.

She fell to her hands and knees. An engine revved. Her neck was cold. Why was her neck cold? Oh yeah.

The chain.

The bike took off at speed and the chain went tight and Amber was pulled off her hands and knees.

T
HE ROAD WAS ANGRY
and rough and blurred beneath her as she was dragged along its surface. Her scales rose instantly on her elbows and thighs and on her belly. She grabbed the chain with both hands, tried to stop it from choking her, tried to stop it from pulling her head off. The bike picked up speed. Her sneakers and socks were already gone. She heard her shirt rip. The road snagged at her pants.

She pulled herself forward, then brought her legs in and around until she was sliding along on her ass. The seat of her pants tore away. Her scales scraped. They covered her feet as well, and she put her heels down as she pulled herself, hand over hand, closer to the bike. When she had enough slack, she held on with one hand while the other unwrapped the chain from around her neck. Then she raised herself up, straightening her legs like she was on waterskis.