Kings of Ruin

by Sam Cameron

  “People should know that they’re in danger,” he said.

  “You’re in danger every day you walk this earth,” Mrs. Morris said calmly.

  Kevin dug his hands deeper into his jacket. “I’d want to know.”

  Danny almost said, I want to know, too. He wanted to know what it was like to kiss a boy so hard his toes curled, and slide hard together on a bed, and do all the things that so far had only happened in his fantasies. Kevin probably had done all those things and more. After all, he was seventeen. But he had the luxury of not living in Piedmont, and not having to live with Roger Rat, and not going to high school every day with well-dressed rednecks.

  The wind picked up even more and they went back down the slope. Back in the parking lot, Danny’s sparkly vision still didn’t return. “Your cars aren’t white anymore,” he said.

  Kevin and Mrs. Morris looked at each other and then at him.

  “What about that BMW?” Kevin said, pointing at the intersection.

  He squinted as hard as he could. The silver BMW 1 series remained silver. The blue Chevy Cavalier behind it stayed blue.

  Mrs. Morris said, “It seems as though your ability has worn off.”

  “No,” Danny said. “It can’t. Ford said it lasts a few days!”

  “Not for you,” Kevin said, sounding disappointed. But nowhere near as disappointed as Danny was.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Officer Jennifer McCoy of the Piedmont Police Department came on duty Saturday afternoon at three o’clock. Everyone at the precinct was talking about those two teenagers killed at the train crossing. Such a shame, they said. Most cops couldn’t afford tuition at Piedmont Prep and didn’t know Ryan or Jackie, but it was a tragedy for any teenager to die so senselessly.

  “Did he try to get around the gate?” McCoy asked her boss, Sergeant Ross.

  Ross shook his head. “There was footage from a garage just up the street. Looks like the brakes weren’t working.”

  McCoy checked out her gear and attended the afternoon briefing. A lot of tourists were in town for the Country Harvest musical fair. It was just her bad luck to be scheduled to work until midnight. Lots of visitors meant lots of traffic control and the increased risk of drunk drivers. Good chance of overtime pay, though. After the briefing, McCoy went down to the garage and got her assigned patrol vehicle, number twelve, which was a six-year-old Crown Victoria that smelled like old cheeseburgers.

  She didn’t know that it had last been used on the night shift.

  In fact, patrol car number twelve had been first on the scene to the train crash tragedy. The officer driving it had been too busy with the wreck to notice the blue lights seeping out of the woods and into his vehicle.

  King #5 had found himself a new home.

  The King liked police cars, even when they weren’t brand-new. He especially liked the sirens and warning lights. He felt Officer McCoy’s weight settle into the seat and waited a few minutes for the engine to warm up before he turned the siren on. The bright, sharp wail made him happy. Officer McCoy slapped at the switch quickly and he shut it off, but only for a moment. The next blast made him even happier. She slapped again, cursed. He liked it when drivers grew frustrated with him.

  Better not to spoil all the fun too quickly, though. The King shut the siren down. He could sense Officer McCoy’s confusion and relief. For a few minutes, he was inactive while they cruised around downtown Piedmont. He saw it only in terms of steel and engines, flesh and non-flesh. His kind were frequent. Small but common, some of them growing bigger, but never as big as he was.

  He turned on the strobe lights. Flicked on the siren.

  “What’s going on?” McCoy demanded. “Stupid car.”

  They always blamed the car, never seeing beyond steel to him. Never sensing that he was the one in charge.

  He didn’t want to be returned to the garage and didn’t feel like jumping yet. Instead, he quieted down. Bided his time. When McCoy pulled over a speeder and got out of him to investigate, he followed an inch or two. Then an inch or two more. He liked the gold-colored Volvo in front of him, even if it was too old for his tastes.

  He nudged up against the Volvo’s bumper, then eased back again.

  But when McCoy got back behind the wheel, he decided to have some real fun.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “I’ll take you home, Danny,” Mrs. Morris said. “I’m on my way that way now.”

  “But I want to help,” Danny protested. He looked at Kevin. “Even if I can’t see anything special, I’m not useless.”

  Kevin wanted Danny to stay. It was nice to have someone his own age to talk to about this stuff, after all. And even though Danny said he wasn’t officially gay—a total lie Kevin could totally see through—there was no denying that physical attraction, either.

  On the other hand, civilians could get hurt in this job. And Kevin was already responsible for two deaths in this town.

  “You should go look for your buggy,” he said. “If it turns up, call us. I put the numbers in the phone I gave you.”

  Danny went with Mrs. Morris reluctantly.

  Kevin stayed with the Mazda and continued to monitor traffic. It was lonely without someone in the passenger seat. Dusk came, the people of Piedmont closing their businesses and going home. A Volvo C70 ran a red light, only to be pulled over by a police cruiser. The female officer got out to write the ticket. The Volvo driver, a bald man wearing sunglasses, started to argue.

  The patrol car rolled forward a little, all on its own.

  Kevin’s phone rang. Ford was on the other end, asking if Danny found anything at all.

  “No,” he replied, scanning the police car. “But I think I did.”

  100 points.

  Bingo.

  “It’s here, on Main Street, in a police car,” he said. “Right in front of me.”

  “Stay right where you are!” Ford ordered. “I’ll be right there.”

  Kevin promised he would, but just a moment or two later, the police officer climbed back in her car and started off again with lights and sirens. Kevin had no choice but to follow. He was careful in his driving but kept up as the police car cut across the road, turned down the length of Mill Road, and blasted through an intersection at Wells and Fourth.

  Kevin called his dad back. “I’m following her, but I don’t think she’s responding to a call. There’s nothing on the police scanner.”

  “We’re tracking you,” Ford said. “Don’t try and take this King on your own!”

  The police car sped up. It cornered onto Miller’s Bridge so fast it almost rose up on two wheels. The two-lane bridge crossed thirty feet above the Cumberland River, which was fast moving and treacherous after all the summer rain. With sirens blaring and lights swirling, the car made it halfway across the bridge, crossed lanes, and then smashed through the side barrier.

  It got halfway through before it snagged and caught on twisted metal. The front wheels dangled above the river, and the whole car rocked back and forth.

  Kevin screeched to a stop right behind it. He got out and sprinted forward. Other cars stopped as well, other drivers getting out to gawk or help, but Kevin didn’t have time for them. Carefully, he climbed up on the twisted railing. Strong winds buffeted him from each side, and the metal was slick beneath his boots. He grabbed for a handhold on a support and leaned forward.

  The police officer was unmoving behind the steering wheel, a trickle of blood coming out of her nose. She might already be dead.

  “Get down!” one of the bystanders yelled. “Wait for the fire department!”

  The patrol car slid forward a few inches, dangling even more treacherously over the rushing river.

  Kevin leaned forward and rapped on the driver’s window. “Wake up! Can you hear me?”

  The police officer didn’t move. Kevin pulled out his FRED. The King was still in the engine block, registering so high off the meter he was afraid the screen might crack. Ruins didn’t like water; a
ny minute now, it was going to jump. But if he fried the car with the driver still in it, he risked killing her.

  The officer woke up, saw the danger she was in, and began shouting for help.

  “Open the door!” Kevin ordered. “You can do it!”

  But the door wouldn’t open. The bridge railing kept it pinned shut.

  “The window!” Kevin yelled.

  The officer—her nametag said “McCoy”—tried the electric windows. They slid down only a few inches before stopping.

  “Go get the fire department,” she told Kevin, her voice cracking. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

  “They’re on their way,” Kevin promised her. “I can hear them.”

  He could indeed hear them, far away but growing closer. Evening had come on quickly, leaving the shores dark and the river a noisy blackness. As if in response to the sirens, the patrol car began rocking precariously over the edge.

  “Get back!” McCoy yelled.

  “Do you have a hammer?” Kevin asked. Not just any hammer, but the special kind that could be used to smash car windows.

  “I think—” McCoy reached toward the glove compartment, but the car rocked forward even more, and she gave a short scream.

  “Okay, don’t move,” Kevin said. He turned his head, scanning the crowd. With great relief, he saw Ford arrive on his Harley, followed by a tow truck from Richie Venezuela’s junkyard.

  Ford dismounted. “Kevin, get down from there!”

  “I’m not leaving!” Kevin yelled. To McCoy he said, “I’m not leaving you. Promise.”

  “You’re a brave kid,” McCoy said. “But I don’t want you to get killed.”

  “I won’t,” Kevin said.

  Richie, Gear, and Ford were running a tow chain toward the patrol car. The King might have sensed them coming—who knew what a King could see or hear?—and began rocking back and forth even more. The men were stymied in their attempt to get the chain around the bumper.

  “I’m going to have to zap it,” Ford said. “Grab tight!”

  Kevin said to McCoy, “Hold on!” and threw his arms around the support beam.

  But the King was already fleeing. It jumped out of the patrol car with an explosion of gold and purple fireworks that blasted across the bridge, past cars and bystanders and the fire truck arriving on scene. The force of it threw the car back a few feet, nearly flattening Gear, Richie, and Ford, but saving Officer McCoy.

  The support under Kevin’s feet groaned and gave way.

  “Dad!” he yelled, and then he was falling toward the treacherous black water below.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “I want to do more,” Danny said as Mrs. Morris stopped for a four-way traffic stop. Outside, the sun was going down and the sky growing dark. Halloween pumpkins glowed outside a house that was also decorated with fake gravestones and skeletons. “I want to help you catch these things.”

  “We have plenty of people working on this,” she promised him. “It’s very dangerous, and I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”

  “But these things killed my friends!” he said.

  She gave him a skeptical look. Okay, so maybe Ryan and Jackie hadn’t been his friends. Danny struggled to find more words. “It’s just…well, knowing these things are out there explains a lot. Like why so many people get killed in car accidents.”

  Mrs. Morris was sympathetic but firm. “People die in car accidents for many reasons, Danny. Teenage drivers often lack experience and judgment. Adult drivers multitask with their cell phones or are otherwise distracted. Elderly drivers continue to drive even when they have vision problems or can’t respond quickly. These things we chase are dangerous, yes, but statistically speaking, humans are just as dangerous by themselves.”

  Danny didn’t answer.

  She accelerated and didn’t speak again until they reached Roger’s house.

  “I guess I won’t see you at school on Monday,” he said, reaching for the door handle.

  “Probably not,” she said. “Though you can expect a visit from our home office. Some very stern men will come talk to you about the forms you signed. Remember, you’re not allowed to discuss this with anyone. If word got out, people might start to panic.”

  “I won’t tell anyone,” he promised her. “Before you go, could you check my mom’s car? I don’t want to think one of those things is in it.”

  Mrs. Morris obliged. She used her phone to scan both his mother’s Volvo and Roger’s Lexus. Both registered less than 10.

  “Try to forget,” Mrs. Morris urged him. “Or at least not worry too much. When you graduate school, if you’re still interested, you can come to work with us. It’s a lot of travel, and a lot of hardship, but well worth the price. Good-bye, Danny.”

  She drove off to fight evil without him. She and the other guys and Kevin, too, which didn’t seem fair—that Kevin was Danny’s age but already living a life full of amazing, dangerous secrets.

  He wondered if he would ever see Kevin again.

  Danny trudged inside. Downstairs, the house was all cold and dark. Only Comet came to meet him, and that was with happy barks and tail wagging. Upstairs, his mother was putting on her makeup and jewelry for a fancy party.

  “There you are,” she said. “How was your day?”

  He shrugged. “It was okay. Where are you going?”

  “There’s a party downtown for Country Harvest VIPs,” she said. “Roger’s helping set it up right now. Moon Senior and all the other singers will be there. Are you hungry? I put out money for pizza.”

  “Not so much,” he said. His wrist was hurting, too, but he didn’t mention that. “I’m going to go lie down for a while.”

  She came to him and felt his forehead. “Do you feel okay?”

  Danny nodded.

  “Just relax and watch some movies,” she said. “Rachel’s going to some party at Junior’s, so you’ll have the whole house to yourself. Tomorrow, for your birthday, we’ll go out and have a big breakfast, okay?”

  “Sure,” Danny said.

  He turned to leave her, but paused at the door. “Can I ask you something?”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “Sure. What is it?”

  Danny didn’t know how to ask it. Do you think I’m gay? seemed entirely too blunt. That wasn’t something you could just ask your mom. Do other people think I’m gay? was maybe a little more diplomatic. He tried more variations in his head: Do I look like I want to kiss other boys? Do you think your only son is a faggot?

  Instead, he changed the topic completely.

  “You always told me Dad’s accident wasn’t his fault,” he said. “So it was definitely the other guy?”

  Mom picked up a silver necklace and carefully put it around her neck. Her eyes were sad. “Does it matter?”

  “Maybe.”

  She took her time answering. “The other man said his brakes failed, but the police mechanics said they were fine. Why are you thinking about that?”

  He shrugged. “No reason.”

  “Danny.” Mom stood and took both his hands. “I know it hasn’t been easy. First we were a family of four, and then there were just the two of us, and now there’s Roger and Rachel. But I really want this to work, and I want you to be happy.”

  Danny kissed her forehead. “I am,” he lied. “I promise.”

  She left for the party twenty minutes later, leaving Danny alone in the big house. He put some ice on his wrist, which was still hurting, and scribbled down some lyrics for a new song. This time he wrote about Ruins, and people dying, and cars smashing into each other.

  And Kevin. Kevin with his shaggy blond hair and leather jacket and how he’d saved Danny’s life by zapping Roger’s truck.

  Danny’s phone rang with calls from Laura, but he didn’t answer them.

  Instead, he ordered the pizza and ate three slices while looking at the computer archives of the San Francisco Chronicle. His dad’s accident was just a small note buried in the middle of the paper. J
ames Kelly and Michael Kelly, both killed. He tried looking up information on Ruins but found nothing. Secret government files, he figured. National security.

  The phone rang again. This time it was Eric. He said, “Emily figured out more about your toy. She knows who made it.”

  Danny sat up against his desk so fast that he nearly knocked over the rest of the pizza. “She does?”

  “Piedmont’s a rich town, but there aren’t that many people here interested in radio-controlled cars. She talked to the owner of Nicholas Toys downtown. He likes her because she spends so much money there. He gave her a name.”

  Danny grabbed a pencil. “Give it to me.”

  “Nope. I’ll come pick you up. Be ready in ten minutes.”

  Sure enough, ten minutes later, Eric’s Camaro was pulling into the driveway with music blaring from the stereo.

  “You don’t have to get involved in this,” Danny said. “It could be dangerous, and I’m not kidding.”

  Eric shrugged. “Yeah, whatever. Dangerous toys. Get in.”

  “Can I drive?” Danny asked.

  “No.”

  Danny climbed into the passenger seat. It was dark out now and colder than he thought. He should have worn a heavier jacket. “How far are we going?”

  “Other side of town.” Eric handed over a piece of paper and put the car in reverse. “What’s so special about this toy, anyway? You looking for a new hobby?”

  “Not exactly,” Danny said. “I just think it’s kind of cool.”

  “Now you sound like my sister.”

  Twenty minutes later, they stopped in front of an old Victorian house at the top of a spooky hill. The house’s windows were dark and dusty. No lights were on. Overgrown bushes and trees shivered in the breeze, and Danny thought he saw bats flying in and out of the belfry.

  “Now there’s a house all done up for Halloween,” Eric said.

  Danny replied, “I think that’s how it normally looks.”