The Demon Road Trilogy: The Complete Collection: Demon Road; Desolation; American Monsters
have lost my temper. That was rude. But try not to lie again, all right? It brings out my ugly side.”
“Every side is your ugly side,” Glen said.
“Do you really think it wise to taunt the man with the gun?”
“You think I’m scared of you?”
“Yes,” answered Shanks. “You said as much, not fifteen minutes ago.”
“That was then,” Glen said. “This is now. You know what I think? I think you’re the coward. You’re a big man with the gun and the knife, but take those away, and you’re a pathetic little loser.”
Shanks said, in a bored voice that the alarm nearly drowned out, “You do realise I don’t need you, yes? All I need is Amber here. You are quite disposable.”
Glen laughed. “Of course I’m disposable. I’ve got four days to live. I’m practically dead already. Four days or right now – what difference does it make? Shoot me, or take these cuffs off and we’ll settle this like men.”
Amber watched them, waiting for her moment.
“I think I’ll shoot you,” said Shanks. “It’ll be funnier.” He raised the gun.
There.
A brief wave of pain washed over Amber as she shifted into her demonic form, and she charged into him, her shoulder catching him in the middle of the back and one of her horns scraping his neck. Shanks went down and she fell on top of him. She tried to snap the handcuffs that bound her wrists behind her – she felt the links strain – but her demon strength wasn’t up to the task. Instead, she knelt on his hand and he let go of the gun, and she twisted and fell back, managing to kick the weapon. It skittered across the polished floor towards Glen. He reached for it with his free hand, but it stopped just short of his splayed fingers.
Shanks pushed her off. She got to her knees while he leaped to his feet. He darted for the gun and she threw herself at his legs. He fell sideways, smashing through the glass of the cabinet, narrowly avoiding the dollhouse inside.
Roaring, he clambered out, glass covering him in a thousand crystals. He grabbed Amber by the throat and threw her backwards, then reached down for the gun. In his fury, his clumsy attempt to snatch it up merely pushed it a few inches further away. Glen closed his hand around it, brought it up and fired three times, point-blank, into Shanks’s chest.
The alarm cut off.
Shanks straightened up and kept going, toppling over backwards. He landed in a bed of glass and didn’t move.
Amber stood up. Glen stared at the gun in his hand. The air carried a whine in the sudden silence.
“You okay?” Glen asked, his voice dull.
She nodded. “You did it.”
“I did,” said Glen. “I killed—”
Shanks sat up so suddenly it actually made Amber cry out in surprise. Glen tried to get another shot off, but Shanks tore the gun from his grip and pressed the barrel into his jaw.
Amber froze.
“You can’t kill what’s already dead,” said Shanks. “Haven’t you ever heard that?”
“I’ve always wanted to test that theory,” said Milo from the door.
Shanks leaped up, grabbed Amber and put the gun to her temple. She felt her scales harden, but she doubted they’d be able to stop a bullet.
Milo walked slowly into the school, holding his gun in both hands, his head cocked slightly, aiming down the sights.
“Take one more step and I’ll shoot,” said Shanks. “Amber won’t look so beautiful with half her face missing, now will she?”
Milo didn’t lower the gun and didn’t stop moving forward. “We’re not letting you leave.”
Shanks laughed. “Oh, Milo, I doubt that is your decision to make.”
“You and me aren’t on a first-name basis, Shanks. Let her go and I won’t blow your head off. You remember what that feels like, don’t you?”
Shanks’s grip tightened. “I do indeed. But you may have noticed the last person to do that is now lying on the sidewalk outside with his life leaking away along with all that blood.”
Milo gave a little smile. “I noticed, all right.”
“Put the gun down. You know it can’t hurt me.”
“That’s not exactly true, though, is it?” said Milo. “It can’t kill you, no, but it can hurt you. Might even put you down long enough for us to take those cuffs off of Amber’s wrists and put them on to yours.”
“One more step,” Shanks said. The cold steel pressed harder into Amber’s head. “Take one more step.”
Milo stopped walking.
“Good doggy,” said Shanks. “Now toss the gun.”
“Can’t do that, I’m afraid. Against my upbringing.”
“Toss it or your ridiculous Irish friend dies first.”
“Glen is not my friend,” said Milo. “And the moment that gun moves away from Amber’s head, I pull my trigger. I’m a pretty good shot, I have to warn you.”
“Then Amber will be the first to die.”
“You kill her, I pull my trigger. Whatever you do, this trigger gets pulled.”
“Unless I give up,” said Shanks, “in which case you still put me back in that prison. You think you’re giving me options, but they all end the same way. The only difference is how many of you I get to kill. Well, Milo? Which one will I start with? The rude Irish boy, or the red-skinned demon girl?”
Milo didn’t answer for a moment, and then he spread his arms, taking his finger from the trigger. “You got me,” he said. “Don’t hurt either of them. I’m putting my gun down.”
He laid his pistol on the floor and straightened up, his hands in the air.
Shanks shook his head. “I’m actually disappointed,” he said. “I thought we were headed for a showdown.”
Milo cracked a smile. “Like in High Noon, you mean?”
Shanks pushed Amber to her knees beside Glen, but kept his gun trained on Milo. “Something like that.”
Milo didn’t seem particularly worried. He was so casual, he shrugged. “Ah, I was always partial to The Wild Bunch, myself.”
“Me too,” said a voice behind them.
Shanks turned to see a shotgun levelled at his chest, and then Ella-May blasted him off his feet.
Shanks hit the ground, the front of his shirt obliterated. He rolled like a rag doll.
Milo holstered his pistol and ran to Amber, the handcuff key in his hand. She reverted to normal instantly, but Ella-May wasn’t even looking at her.
Shanks chuckled, and stood.
Ella-May racked the shotgun’s slide and blasted him again. And again. Each blast threw him further back, turned his clothes to rags, mutilated his flesh. But, every time he stood up, his skin was unmarked.
The fourth blast hurled him backwards through the door. Ella-May followed him out, and Milo, Amber and Glen followed.
Shanks got up, smiling. “You can shoot me all you want,” he said, “you’re not going to kill me. It’s not going to change anything. Look at you. Ella-May Roosevelt. You got old.”
“Maybe a few grey hairs here and there,” Ella-May said.
“You look like them, you know. Your daughters. The ones I killed. Just like I killed your husband. You’re not