American Monsters

by Derek Landy

  The blonde strutted through the other dancers, straight to her, put her arms on Amber’s shoulders and now they were dancing together, moving to the beat, their rhythms interlocking. The blonde turned, pressed into Amber and Amber grabbed her hips. A few guys started laughing. A few started cheering.

  Amber spun the blonde, grabbed her and kissed her, and the blonde kissed her back. There were a lot more cheers now. Amber ignored them all. Then a hand slid up the back of her skirt.

  She broke off the kiss and turned and hit the guy so hard that his nose practically exploded on impact. There was a lot of shouting, a lot of pushing, and then someone came at her, a bouncer, and he grabbed her arm, but she lifted him off his feet. She laughed at the expression on his face, then threw him into the crowd that was forming around her. Another bouncer lunged into her path and she knocked him sideways. He went stumbling.

  Then the music shut off and people were attacking her. Some of them were bouncers, but not all. They drove her back through sheer force of numbers. Once she’d regained her footing, she started smacking her way through them, breaking bones when she needed to. Someone threw a beer bottle. It missed, but Amber zeroed in on the guy and stormed into the crowd as he fled. She caught him, fingers curling over the back of his terrible shirt, and she hauled him off his feet before slamming him to the ground. She kicked him three times. The second kick spun him into unconsciousness. The third kick spun him across the floor.

  A huge guy came at her, part of the door staff, at least a foot taller than Amber and a solid wall of muscle. She went to push him away, but he moved sideways, was suddenly behind her with an arm wrapping around her throat. He locked up the choke and leaned back, took her on to her toes. She tried to pull his arms away, but he was strong. Maybe even strong enough to do damage.

  Scales formed around her throat and she could breathe again, but he kicked at the back of her leg and now she was sitting on the floor, the choke still on. The people watching were thinking it was over. They saw the big, strong bouncer who knew how to restrain a disorderly customer and they figured yep, that’s it, it’s done. The hot girl dressed as a devil and high on drugs was now out of commission. A lot of them were recording the altercation.

  Amber grinned.

  She flailed weakly, her hands tapping uselessly off his arms. She could hear laughter. She kept flailing, weaker and weaker, eyes fluttering closed, until she was tapping his fingers. Then she opened her eyes again, took hold of two of those fingers and pulled them back. She heard the snap of bones and the cries of the bouncer and she wrenched his arm to one side as she twirled, got to her knees. The bouncer punched her with his free hand. The scales didn’t even bother to form. The blow was negligible.

  She let him go and allowed him to fall back. She stood and fixed the remaining two bouncers with a look. They held up their hands, palms out. A calming gesture. But Amber didn’t need to be calmed. Amber was in complete control.

  She walked over to the crowd. They tried to shrink back. She snatched a phone from the hand of a guy who was filming, and hurled it across the dance floor. It hit one of the mirrors. The mirror smashed and the phone exploded.

  She turned back and the crowd parted. She saw Pixie-cut, reached out to her, but the girl shrank back. Whatever. Amber left her there and exited the club as a patrol car pulled up and two cops jumped out.

  “That’s her!” shouted someone behind her. Amber ignored him.

  Two cops, both male. One tall and skinny, the other shorter and fatter, like those black-and-white movie stars Bill used to watch. Laurel and Hardy. The thought made Amber laugh as they approached.

  “Hold on there, miss,” said Laurel, the tall one, extending his arm with his fingers splayed. She walked on.

  Hardy, the fat one, moved in front of her. “Stop right there,” he commanded. Funny little fat man, commanding her to do anything.

  She shoved him, laughed as he fell. Laurel started shouting all kinds of things behind her, but she didn’t bother turning. Then something sharp pinched between her shoulder blades and electricity shrieked through her and her legs stiffened and every muscle locked up, corded beneath her skin.

  Then the electricity was gone and she stumbled against the hood of the patrol car. She turned, saw Laurel’s finger tighten on the stun gun, and this time the electricity whipped her sideways. She fell, straight as a board, hit the ground with her chin and lay there, her whole body in spasm.

  It cut off again and she gasped. She tried to push herself up. Pain flashed and kept coming. She tried reaching behind her, tried yanking the darts from her back. She could hear it now, the sound the weapon made. It rattled. When the rattling stopped, she gasped again and sank to the sidewalk.

  “Get the cuffs on,” she heard Laurel say.

  THERE WAS A GROUP of cops waiting at the precinct, and the moment the patrol car pulled up they were dragging her out. They didn’t even allow her feet to touch the ground – they held her between them, horizontally, as they marched through the doors. They didn’t take her to be processed, didn’t take her fingerprints or anything like that. Didn’t even take the cuffs off. They wanted to get her behind bars as quickly as possible.

  She let them. She didn’t struggle. She didn’t squirm or curse or spit or bite. She just smiled.

  They must have cleared out one of the cells before they shoved her in because the others, four in all, were now over-packed with hooting, hollering drunks. Amber didn’t mind. She tuned out their comments and turned to watch the officers slam the barred door closed. They were saying things, the cops, that she didn’t bother listening to. Let the cops talk. Let the drunks holler. It was all noise to her.

  The cops went away and Amber walked over to the bench, passing her hands down the backs of her legs as she sat. She scooted the handcuff chain under her bare feet and out in front.

  Most of the cops left, leaving only Hardy and another guy. They saw what she was doing and came forward.

  “On your feet,” Hardy said.

  She stayed sitting, stayed leaning forward, arms hanging down. She tried pulling her hands apart.

  “I don’t care what you’re on,” Hardy said, “you’re not breaking out of handcuffs, all right? Get up.”

  Amber smiled again. “Make me.”

  He took something from his belt – a can of pepper spray. “Know what this is? You know what it’d do to you if I sprayed it into your face for even one second? It’d do more than ruin your Halloween make-up, that’s for damn sure. Get on your feet.”

  Some of the drunks came to her defence, telling him to leave her alone, and Amber just increased the pressure on the handcuffs.

  Hardy stepped forward, can raised and finger hovering over the button.

  “You really think that’s going to hurt me?” Amber asked. “How many shots of your stun guns did you need to take me down?”

  “Whatever drugs you’re on can make you resistant to pain,” said Hardy, “but this is more than pain. This is total incapacitation.”

  “I’m telling you,” said Amber, “I’ll barely feel it. Where’s Stan?”

  Hardy frowned. “Who?”

  “Your skinny friend. I’ve named him Stan. I’ve made up a whole life story for him. He’s single, he has a pet tortoise and he does yoga. Stan, that is, not the tortoise. I miss Stan. I felt he understood me. I don’t think that you get me at all, Ollie.”

  “Get up,” said Hardy, “or I’ll drag you up by those horns.”

  “Leave her be!” said one of the drunks. “She brightens up the place!”

  Amber lowered her hands to the floor, and put her bare foot between them, resting on the chain. She raised her eyes to Hardy and the other cop, gave them a smile, and pulled her hands back towards her as she straightened her leg.

  The handcuff chain snapped.

  Hardy wasted no time. The pepper spray hit her right in the face even as she was standing. She closed her own hand over his, kept his finger pressing down, and redirected the spray int
o her open mouth. Then she tore it from his grip and grinned.

  “Minty,” she said, and breathed out.

  The fumes hit Hardy and he coughed, eyes squeezing shut. He tried to turn away and she gave him a little shove as the second cop came at her with a baton. Scales formed on her arm as she fended off the strike, and she slammed the bottom of her fist into his forehead. The cop wobbled. She took his baton and gave him a tap to put him to sleep, and did the same to Hardy.

  The drunks cheered. Most of them. The others backed away from the bars warily.

  “Get the keys!” one of the enthusiastic drunks cried. “Let us out!”

  Amber dropped the baton, walked out of the cell.

  “Let us out!”

  “Hey!”

  “Just give us the keys!”

  And then, just as was about to leave the cellblock, one of the drunks called out, “You bitch!”

  Amber turned, walked back, right up to the cell with the loudest, drunkest idiots. Her eyes rested on a middle-aged businessman in a suit. “You,” she said.

  “Give us the keys.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “What’s it matter?”

  “It matters because you called me a bitch.”

  He grinned. “So what?”

  “So I don’t like that word.”

  “Then how about you not be one, and let us out.”

  She observed him, and shrugged. She went back to Hardy, took the key from his belt, and returned to the cell door.

  “Good girl,” said the businessman.

  “What’s your name?” Amber asked.

  “Reggie,” said the businessman.

  “And are you going to apologise, Reggie?”

  “Open the door and I’ll do whatever you want,” Reggie said, to the delight of his buddies.

  “Apologise first,” said Amber.

  Reggie rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever. I’m sorry for calling you a bitch.”

  She unlocked the cell and swung the door open.

  “Thank you,” he said, and his smile widened. “I like your horns. Something to hold on to when you’re—”

  Amber had known he was going to say something like that. It didn’t matter that her hand closed around his throat before he could finish the sentence. It didn’t matter that she applied so much pressure that he dropped to his knees, his face turning purple. It didn’t matter that the other drunks jumped back, gave her space, showed no intention of rushing forward to help their buddy.

  “What gives you the right?” she asked. “When you say things like that. What gives you the right?”

  She released him and he fell back on his ass, sucking in air. “It was just a joke,” he gasped.

  “Oh,” said Amber. “So it’s a little harmless fun, then, is it? Especially after a few drinks? Hell, it might even be a compliment, if only I’d take it the right way.”

  Someone helped Reggie stand. “I don’t want any trouble,” he said.

  Amber laughed. “Way too late for that, Reggie! Way, way too late! I’m going to ask you again, and if you don’t answer I’m going to break your arms. What gives you the right to say things like that to me?”

  “I swear, it was just a joke.”

  “If it was funny, say it again.”

  Reggie swallowed. “I’m … I’m sorry.”

  “But are you, Reggie? Are you really?”

  “I swear.”

  She winced. “I don’t believe you, Reggie. I’m sorry, I don’t. I think you’d say anything to get out of what’s coming.”

  Amazingly, he went even paler. “What’s coming?”

  She showed him her teeth. “Retribution.”

  The cells were deathly quiet now as she took a step forward. “If it really is fun, Reggie, if it really is nothing to worry about … then compliment me. Make those jokes again. No? Any of you?” She spread her arms wide. “Come on, boys, where are those wolf whistles? Here I am, in all my glory. You don’t think I look good? Come on. Let’s hear you whistle, wolves.”

  No one whistled. No one spoke.

  Amber laughed. “I’m not crazy. I don’t think one demonstration of awesome physical power is enough to change any of you. What good has violence ever done?” She stood there with her hands on her hips, smiling around at them. “But I’m probably going to kill some of you tonight.”

  There were some shouts of protest, some wails, and quite a few curse words thrown about.

  “We can take her,” someone said.

  “We’ll all rush her,” someone else chimed in.

  “She can’t take on all of us.”

  Amber let her hands grow to claws.

  “What the hell is she?”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Help! Help us!”

  There was a scuffle, and Reggie was thrown forward. Someone stuck their foot out and he tripped, went sprawling.

  Silence once again.

  “What do you think about that, Reggie?” she asked, looking down at him. “You’ve been sacrificed, my friend. The wolf, thrown to the bigger wolf. They’re hoping I’ll kill you and spare them. What do you make of that kind of disloyalty?”

  Reggie raised himself to his knees. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “Too late for begging.”

  “Please.”

  “See the horns, Reggie? They mean something. They mean I’m the Devil’s lapdog. A nasty piece of work. Killing you would be as easy to me as breathing.”

  “I’m sorry I called you names.”

  “We’ve moved beyond that, Reggie. We’re into brand-new territory now. You’ve never been here before.”

  “I can give you money,” said Reggie, and Amber hissed.

  “Let’s not cheapen the moment,” she said. “Let’s all embrace what is actually happening here. Let’s all understand what this means. Do you understand, Reggie? Do you truly understand?”

  Tears streamed down his face. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

  “I’ll explain it,” Amber said, hunkering down and taking his face in her claws. “I’m going to kill you,” she whispered. “And then I’m going to kill everyone else here. And then I’m going to kill every man out there who doesn’t know how to be a decent human being.”

  Reggie whimpered.

  “And it’s all because of you,” she said into his ear. “I want you to know that. It’s all because of you.”

  “Please don’t kill me,” he whispered back. “I have a wife.”

  “She’ll be better off without you.”

  “I have daughters.”

  “Playing the parent card with me is not your best option.”

  “I don’t want them to grow up without a dad,” he said. “Jesus, please, miss, please don’t do that to them.”

  “That is all on you, Reggie.”

  She raised her eyes to the crowd, making sure they were all behaving, and she caught sight of her own face.

  The Amber she once was, standing there, watching her. A little short, a little overweight. Not beautiful but not ugly, either. Another hallucination.

  Amber snarled at it. “Shut up,” she said. “You want this. You want me to do this.”

  “I don’t,” said Reggie.

  “Not you,” she snapped.

  The hallucination didn’t move or speak. It just stood there.

  “Stop!” said someone behind her. The hallucination vanished and Amber turned, saw Laurel running up with his stun gun, but black scales were already forming beneath her T-shirt as he fired and the darts bounced off.

  She jumped at him, knocking the stun gun from his hands and forcing him out of the cell, and she followed him, snarling. Stumbling back, he drew his gun, the kind that fired bullets.

  “Do not move!” he yelled.

  She showed him her fangs. Showed him her claws. She took a step and he fired four times.

  Amber hissed, squeezing her eyes shut, only opening them again once she realised he’d missed. From that distance.

&n
bsp; He stared at her, the gun trembling in his hands. It still had more bullets, of course, but he seemed to have forgotten that.

  She tore the gun away from him, closed her fingers around his throat and pulled him into her.

  “I could kill you,” she told him, anger biting at her words. “I could tear your throat out. No one could stop me. You tried to kill me, you little shit. You tried to shoot me. I should rip your head off.”

  Laurel was crying. He was crying at the sight of her fangs, at the sudden awareness that she wasn’t wearing a costume, that those horns were real.

  He was crying because she was a goddamn demon and now his whole life was turning upside down, the way Amber’s life had done when she’d seen her parents kill those two cops in their living room in Florida.

  She remembered the way her mom had punched through that poor cop’s chest.

  Amber let go of Laurel, and he sank to the ground, and she ran.

  THEY WERE AFTER HER.

  The night was alive with their sirens. Flashing lights stabbed the darkness behind her as she ran. Streets were blocked so she hurdled walls and kept running.

  She sprinted by a squat building, recognised it, and veered off. The cops pulled up, tyres screeching and sirens blaring. She ran the length of the building, turned the corner and plunged into utter darkness. She found her old clothes, yanked off her skirt and T-shirt and pulled on her jeans and sneakers, grabbed her top and ran on.

  There were flashing lights ahead of her now. She put on her Dark Places hoody and slowed down, took a breath and reverted. Ignoring the instant shame over her actions, Amber shoved her hands into her pockets and started walking with her head down.

  “Stop!” a voice commanded, and flashlights blinded her and she stumbled back, a look of astonishment and fear on her face as the cops closed in.

  “Not her,” she heard one of them say, even as another grabbed her, stuck his flashlight right into her face.

  “Have you seen anyone?” he demanded. His hand was rough. “A girl, red make-up all over?”

  Amber blinked stupidly. “Make-up?”

  “In a short skirt, wearing horns,” the cop said impatiently.