Desolation
THE EPIC NEW THRILLER CONTINUES.Book two in the mind-blowing new supernatural thriller from bestselling author DEREK LANDY, creator of international sensation Skulduggery Pleasant.Reeling from their bloody encounter in New York City at the end of Demon Road, Amber and Milo flee north. On their trail are the Hounds of Hell – five demonic bikers who will stop at nothing to drag their quarries back to their unholy master.Amber and Milo’s only hope lies within Desolation Hill – a small town with a big secret; a town with a darkness to it, where evil seeps through the very floorboards. Until, on one night every year, it spills over onto the streets and all hell breaks loose.And that night is coming…
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First published in hardback in Great Britain by HarperCollins Childrenâs Books 2016
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Derek Landy blogs under duress at www.dereklandy.blogspot.com
Copyright © Derek Landy 2016
Jacket photography © Larry Rostant 2016
Jacket design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2016
Derek Landy asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents
portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental
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Source ISBN: 9780008156985
Ebook Edition: © April 2016 9780008156947
Version 2016-07-04
This book is dedicated to all the horror icons who passed away while it was being written.
This is for Gunnar Hansen, and Angus Scrimm, and the mighty Wes Craven. Icons. Inspirations. Heroes.
And Iâm left with nothing funny to say.
Sorry.
Table of Contents
THEY WERE ALIVE WHEN SHE WALKED IN.
Fourteen people, including the short-order cook and the waitress with the badly dyed hair in this little rest stop just outside of Whitehorse in Yukon. Everyone looked tired, this time of night. They ate pie or drank coffee or read newspapers or sat in their booths, focusing on their phones. Nobody glanced up when Amber entered. Nobody talked. Music played, drifting through from the small kitchen. Something by Bon Jovi. It was safe in here. None of these people wanted to kill her. She was getting good at spotting the telltale signs.
She went straight to the restroom. It was chilly, and not very clean, but she didnât mind. Sheâd had to pee in worse places these past few days.
When she was done, she washed her hands. In the cracked mirror above the cracked sink, her hair was a mess and there were bags under her red-rimmed eyes. Her pale skin was blotchy. She looked like she needed a shower. She looked like a scared girl on the run.
Funny that.
Her belly rumbled and Amber turned off the faucet, wiped her hands on her jeans, and left the restroom.
They were all dead when she walked out.
She went instantly cold. All moisture left her mouth, her knees weakened, and every nerve ending jingled and jangled and screamed at her to run. But she couldnât run. Her legs wouldnât obey. She could barely stay standing.
Some of them had been attacked where they sat â others while they tried to escape. Bludgeoned to death, every one of them. A woman in a brown cardigan was slumped over her table, blood leaking from the mess in the back of her head. A trucker in a plaid shirt had half his face caved in. The waitress had been dragged across the counter. Blood dripped from the dented gash in her temple, forming a growing pool on the floor beneath her. Amber couldnât see the cook, but knew he was lying on the floor of the kitchen. She could see his blood on the wall.
Fourteen people when sheâd walked in. Fourteen corpses. But now there was a fifteenth person. He was sitting in the booth next to the door, his back to her, wearing a baseball cap and a grey, faded boiler suit. He was singing along to the radio. âEvery Rose Has Its Thornâ by Poison.
The booth moved closer to her. Closer still. No, it wasnât the booth that was moving â it was Amber. She frowned, looked down at her feet as they took another step. Apparently, they were on their way out of the door, and they were taking the rest of her with them. She was okay with that. She didnât want to stay here, anyway, not with all those corpses. She just had to pass this guy and then she could run out into the quiet street, shout for Milo, and heâd come roaring up in the Charger and they could get the hell out of there. Easy. No fuss, no muss.
