Chapters (79)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Praise for Destroy All Monsters
- Books by Sam J. Miller
- Back Ad
- About the Publisher
“The weird weather’s getting weirder out there,” Ms. Jackson said, on the radio in my pocket, and the sound of her voice was comforting. “Snow reported in some places. Thunder and lightning coming in from the west. Storm giants seen all over Darkside. Dress warm, everyone heading to Unmasking Day. Rely on body heat if you need to. Hold tight to one another. It’s going to be a bumpy night.”
Sixty-Three
Ash
“Snow reported in some places,” Ms. Jackson said, from my car’s speakers. “Thunder and lightning coming in from the west. Dress warm, everyone out trick-or-treating, or heading to the Halloween dance in Hudson tonight.”
We still had an hour before I was supposed to meet with Sheffield. And two hours before his team was set to burn the whole town down.
Every time I slowed for a stop sign, I snuck a peek at Solomon. He seemed . . . fine. Normal. Sane. But there were always times between episodes when everything was fine. And times when he seemed fine, but was completely losing it on the inside.
I should have been planning. Figuring out what to say to Sheffield. I had no photograph to lay in front of him. He himself hadn’t done anything wrong. Not yet. His portrait wouldn’t help me, when I got there. I could only use my words, and I didn’t know what they would be.
So, yeah. I should have been scheming. But Solomon was beside me, wide-eyed and smiling, in a rare moment when he could maybe receive it if I said something he didn’t want to hear.
And maybe it made me a bad person, but I realized—I would let Sheffield burn down everything I knew, if it meant saving Solomon.
“Hey,” I said, faking nonchalance poorly. “Did I ever tell you I was on medication?”
“No,” he said, and frowned. “For what?”
“For depression.”
“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was so bad.” He paused. “What kind of friend am I?”
“The best kind,” I said. “It’s just that I never want to talk about stuff like this with you.”
“Why? Because I’m so much crazier than you?”
I didn’t know how to answer.
He smiled. “Has it helped? The medicine?”
“A lot,” I said. “I’m not cured. But I want to get out of bed in the morning. I feel like I can do things.”
“Are you going to tell me I should take medication?”
I sighed. “I don’t know, Solomon. Everybody’s different. But I think you need help, one way or another.”
He frowned into his hands in his lap.
I said, “I used to think it would . . . change me. Break me. Turn me into someone else. A zombie, or something. But it’s mostly just made me a lot less miserable. Just . . . think about it, okay?”
He grinned. “Is that an order, Princess?”
“Yes, my loyal subject.”