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
I put my headphones on, tuned out everything else. But no matter how loud I turned up my music, I couldn’t drown out the remembered sound of Solomon screaming.
My father was only looking out for me. I knew this. To him, Solomon wasn’t the sweet, shy little boy he had been. He was a big, strong, scary man. In my head, in the abstract, I understood my father.
But in my heart, in that moment, I hated him.
Because it had never occurred to me to be afraid of Solomon before. Not even when he shoved me down a few hours before.
I had never been afraid.
And now, a little part of me was.
Sixteen
Solomon
Now that I was looking for it, I saw the danger everywhere. Men on corners handing off notes, women watching from high windows. The scared, angry this-siders. The voice on the radio: We will win in the end.
I saw them, the blue armbands and the suspicious eyes, and I shot them.
For me, photography had always been about money. A means to secure my next meal. Its contents were irrelevant. Zeppelin fire, othersider fight, the latest victim of spontaneous human petrification. I was like a messenger who didn’t care whether she was carrying narcotic spiderwebbing, illegal sky whale oil, or last quarter’s financial reports—long as she got paid when she got where she was going.
But now, I had a purpose. I was a spy. I went looking for what no one knew was there. I took pictures not because I wanted to sell them to Cass, but because I wanted to stop the Shield and his Destroyers.
I wanted to save myself, and Ash, and my whole city full of magnificent monsters and magic that they wanted to destroy.
I turned on the battered, old battery-powered radio that hung from Maraud’s neck. Ms. Jackson; Ash and my favorite DJ. The Graveyard Shift: Weird Songs for Weird Wonderful People. Her cigarette-scratchy voice sounded ancient, impossibly wise.
“Temperature’s dropping tonight, beloveds,” she said, and I felt safer already. “Better find a good book or a warm body to curl up with by the fire.”
This was my city. As far back as I could remember I’d been walking its streets at night. Never looking for anything, or anyone. Wanting nothing, and fearing no one.
Now, for the first time, I had something to look for. And for the first time, I was afraid.
“Is this what I think it is?” Cass said, finding me in the Clarion archives later that day. “Is Solomon doing research? Are you transforming into an actual journalist?”
“Something like that,” I said.
She lit a cigarette, sat down on the table in front of me. Picked up a couple of papers. “The Night of Red Diamonds.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I realized I don’t know much about what really happened.”