Going Grey

  Mike winced as the pickup skidded around the next bend. Kinnery had said Ian was highly intelligent, so maybe he had a plan after all. For all Rob knew, whatever Kinnery or Leo really wanted was still in the ranch house and someone else had already moved in to grab it. But when you didn't have reliable intel, and the briefing sounded like a load of bollocks, you had to pick a fixed point and go for it. Ian was shit-scared and running. Rob was going to stop him. It was the only option.

  They were going to hit the main road to Athel Ridge in minutes. Maybe Ian would misjudge the turn or stop for oncoming traffic. The rapid flash of brake lights said he really wasn't confident on bends, and the pickup was probably older than he was. That wasn't a good combination.

  "Junction," Mike said.

  Rob could see the warning sign. The pickup's brake lights didn't come on. He prepped for Ian to slam on the brakes at the last second and turn either way.

  Please let there be some vehicles coming. Slow him down.

  "Shall I tail-end him?"

  "No." Mike unfastened his seat belt and set off the warning chime. "As soon as he stops, I'm out, and I take him."

  "Then what, seeing as he'll drive right over you?"

  "I'll be fine. It's all about timing."

  The pickup didn't brake soon enough for the junction and screeched to a halt. It was positioned to turn left, but then it whipped right towards Athel Ridge in a brief haze of smoking, squealing tyres. Rob pulled out and shaved within feet of an oncoming truck. Angry horns blared. Mike didn't say a word for a hundred yards.

  "Shouldn't have taken your seatbelt off," Rob said.

  When Mike finally spoke, it came out in a rush like he'd been holding his breath. "What would you do if you were being chased by someone you couldn't flatten, hide from, or outrun?"

  "Get help," Rob said. "Head for a building. Pub. Police station. Somewhere they couldn't touch me."

  "You think Ian's worked that out?"

  "Christ knows." Rob kept his eyes fixed on the pickup's tailgate. Ian seemed to have maxed out at sixty-five, but then slowed to overtake a tractor. Rob stuck hard on his tail. Did they have traffic drones out here yet? Jesus, that was all they needed. They were now only a few miles from town. "If he keeps going straight, I'd say yes. Where's the next turning?"

  "Half a mile on the right." Mike gestured, reading from his phone. "Straight into more farmland. I wouldn't isolate myself like that. It's asking to get rammed or shot."

  "I wonder if he's got a phone."

  "If he has, he hasn't called for backup. Or it's running late."

  "Okay, assuming he carries on through Athel Ridge, what have we got? Where's he going to stop?"

  Mike paused, one hand clenched around the handgrip above the door. "First left – repair shop. Houses beyond that. First right – post office. Crossroads – on the right, a parking lot for a farm supplies store, and the sheriff's office. Left – road heading east to Fulton. More stores and bars, then we're out of town again, and it's ten miles to the Wal-Mart."

  "Sheriff?" Rob asked.

  "Would he risk getting the attention of the law?"

  "We should have asked Kinnery a lot more questions."

  "Doesn't matter now. We'll know what the kid's doing in a couple of minutes."

  Rob could see more vehicles coming the other way. With any luck they were about to hit the Athel Ridge version of a traffic jam. There was a truck in front, a big scarlet and chrome slab that looked the size of a container ship, and a couple of cars between the truck and the pickup. The brake lights came on. Rob was right behind Ian's truck, close enough to see the little sod checking his rear-view mirror.

  "If we stop at the lights," Mike said, "I'm going for it."

  "What, drag him out?"

  "Okay, you can rear-end him. I'll jump out and open his door, concerned passenger and all that, really sorry, etcetera etcetera. Don't worry about damaging this crate."

  "I'm glad you're mindlessly rich."

  The line of traffic rolled on, slow but not slow enough for Mike to do anything. Rob almost rammed the pickup anyway, just to make certain, but he wasn't sure he could pull it off in a way that wouldn't look conspicuously deliberate if he was caught on camera.

  "Have you memorized what he's wearing and what he looks like?" Mike asked. "I took a picture while you were talking to him, but it wasn't full face."

  "Don't start, Zombie. He's not a fucking shape-shifter, okay?"

  "If he makes a run for it and we lose eyes on, we can't risk bundling the wrong kid into the car."

  So it really was a kidnap now. Fine. "Okay. Blue cap, beige and green check shirt, jeans, brown boots. Darkish brown hair, I think, but I can't remember the eye colour. Dark-ish. Might be dark blue, might be hazel."

  Rob watched the silhouette of Ian's head in the truck's rear window, trying to work out which way the kid was looking. The peak of the cap gave it away. He was checking to both sides as they reached the centre of town. He was either preparing to pull out and risk overtaking the truck, or deciding where to turn off.

  The lights at the intersection were green. Ian's pickup swung right.

  Rob followed, locked on to the target now and determined to get a result. The pickup shot down the road. Instead of carrying on to the sheriff's office, it turned into the car park and pulled into a space right outside the entrance to the feed store, nose in.

  That was Rob's cue. He stopped behind it, blocking it in. Ian jumped from of the cab and ran into the store.

  Mike slid out. "Stay on the radio."

  "I'm going around the back," Rob said. "There has to be a loading bay or a fire exit."

  Rob left the SUV locked with the hazard lights flashing and made his way along the side of the store, passing a couple of blokes in overalls. Unless Kinnery had been totally wrong about Ian's social circle and the kid was chummy with someone in the shop, he'd have to stay put and wait it out, or approach someone and ask for help.

  There was a loading bay at the rear with a chain link security fence and gates. Rob looked around, trying to work out where Ian could exit. Then his radio earpiece popped. He took out his phone to cover the fact he'd look more suspicious talking to himself and eyeing up the rear of a store.

  "He's wandering around the clothing section." Mike's voice was a whisper backed by what sounded like a radio playing in the background. "He's clocked me."

  "Not approaching any of the staff?"

  "No."

  "Is the rear exit signposted?"

  "Fire exit." Mike broke off and Rob heard shuffling noises. Mike was moving around. "I'm blocking."

  "He's got to make a move. He can't stand there until the store closes. He knows we won't grab him there with security cams around."

  "Ten yards away. Unobstructed view."

  "He knows we're here. Why doesn't he approach a salesman?"

  "Scared." There was more rustling. "Looking at the cashier's desk."

  "Here we go."

  "No. Changed his mind. Big step for him, obviously."

  Rob trotted down the access road at the back and looked to see where Ian might run if he came out that way. Maybe it would be easier if Mike let the kid bolt.

  "Mike, you still blocking the rear access?"

  "Right in his path."

  "Who's he watching?"

  "Mainly the clerk. Clerk's looking. Coming across."

  "Shit, he probably thinks the kid's shoplifting."

  "Okay. I'm improvising. Get around the front and just go with it. I'm on transmit."

  Rob jogged back to the front of the building, trying to interpret what he could hear. He was used to a conspicuous PRR headset mike that had to be placed right against his mouth, but they were relying on discreet collar mikes today. Snatches of conversation were Rob's only clue to what he'd be expected to do when he reached the doors.

  "Can I help you?"

  Ian's voice drifted in. "Just looking." Then there was more rustling. Rob got to the doors, heard Mike talking, a
nd realised what was coming next.

  "It's okay, sir, I've got this covered. Ian, you're going to have to come with me —"

  "I haven't done anything. Get off."

  "Leave him to me, sir. He's okay. He's not violent."

  Mike seemed to be posing as a private detective or a social worker, explaining something about Ian needing his medication. He'd be coming out the front with the kid, then. Shit, this was too visible. They needed to get out fast. Rob debated whether to start the car, but if Ian managed to get away from Mike, he'd have to grab him. He got ready to body-check Ian rugby-style. Rob had no intention of holding back this time.

  He peered past the display of tool parts and racks of padded work shirts near the entrance. Then one of the doors swung open and Ian came running out. Rob stepped forward, heavier and harder, an instant brick wall. He took the impact. Ian staggered. Rob reached out to grab him by the collar and looked him in the eye.

  "Jesus Christ."

  This wasn't the kid he'd talked to on the porch. It just wasn't.

  He was dressed the same, but the face was different, the hair was different – he was different. Rob had grabbed the wrong bloke. Working clothes all looked the same.

  Rob's instinct was to let go. "Sorry – "

  "Get off me, you asshole." But he voice was the same. "Leave me alone."

  Oh shit, it's Ian. It's him. It's real. He's changed.

  For a second everything froze, like the moment on patrol when an Afghan soldier a few yards ahead of Rob stepped on an IED. The instant became a narrow tunnel of infinite, awful detail.

  Mike jumped into the driver's seat and Rob's drill kicked in. He shoved Ian into the back of the Toyota, pushing his head down to avoid the roof, and pinned him on the seat as Mike drove off.

  For no good reason, Rob was pleased with himself. The manoeuvre was a perfect body cover and remove, bodyguard style. That was reassuring. He was shocked shitless, but he was still functioning.

  But it's true. Oh my God. It's all bloody true.

  All he could see was Ian's terrified expression. Rob knew what he was looking at, but he still didn't believe it.

  Mike glanced over his shoulder. "Rob, is it just me? Can you see that?"

  "Shit. Yes."

  "And?"

  "You saw him. You followed him." Rob looked up. Mike was heading out of town again. "Jesus Christ."

  Ian struggled, gasping. The blood had drained from his face. Rob was scared to loosen his grip in case the kid evaporated and he had nothing to prove that he hadn't imagined the whole thing. No, Ian wasn't drained of colour; he'd changed again. He was paler. His hair was lighter. His eyes were different. And it had taken seconds. Rob nearly shat himself.

  "You did it again," he said.

  "What are you, CIA? DoD?" Ian looked like a terror-stricken animal, eyes staring, but he stood his ground. "Gran warned me what you bastards do. Look what you did to me."

  Mike cut in. "Ian? Listen to me, Ian. We're not the government and we're not going to hurt you. We didn't believe you were real. I'm sorry. I know we've scared the crap out of you, but it's a shock for us, too."

  "You're not one of Kinnery's students, are you?" Rob was surprised that he could form a question. Training was a powerful anchor. "Did he pay you to have an injection or something?"

  Ian's frown was instant and genuine. "No. I'm home-schooled. And I don't know what you're talking about."

  "You've always been like this, then."

  "Am I crazy?" Ian gave him a really weird look that overrode the wide-eyed panic for a moment. "Am I hallucinating all this?"

  "Well, if you are, so am I," Rob said.

  Mike stopped the car and looked back between the seats again. He seemed to be struggling for something sane to say. It took him a few moments.

  "Ian, we didn't believe Kinnery could give you the ability to change how you look," Mike said. He sounded as if he'd hand-picked every word. There was no mention of shape-shifting or freaks. His tone had softened, like he was talking to someone who'd just been told they had months to live and was trying to dress it up with weasel words like not a good outcome. "We know what's happened to you. Your gran was right. There really are people after you, but that's not us. Will you just hear us out?"

  Rob was getting cramp in his calves from bracing against the door to hold Ian down. His brain kept telling him that he couldn't possibly be seeing what he thought he could see, and that a rational explanation would occur to him soon. The world would revert to normal with companies screwing each other over and everyone lying like a pusser's watch, and there would be absolutely no shape-shifters.

  He hoped the feed store hadn't called the sheriff. He also hoped their security cameras hadn't picked up any clear facial images, although Ian still had his cap jammed on his head despite the scuffle.

  Ian the shape-shifter. Ian the fucking shape-shifter. Oh my God.

  Ian stopped struggling, but he was still gulping air as if he'd run for miles. Rob slackened off to let him breathe.

  "What are you going to do with me?"

  Mike looked at him for a long time, a good ten seconds. "Why don't we go back to the ranch and talk? No agencies, no police, no Kinnery. If I go pick up your truck, will you promise not to give Rob any trouble? You really need someone on your side right now, and we're probably all there is."

  Ian had tensed every muscle. Rob felt him relax a bit. Christ, the kid could have had a knife. Rob hadn't checked. That was sloppy.

  "Okay," Ian said.

  "Where are your keys?"

  "Still in the truck."

  "It's okay. I'm Mike, by the way. I'm sorry I treated you like a psychiatric patient in there."

  Ian looked at him, then drew back his head a bit to focus on Rob. "So who are you if you're not working for Kinnery?"

  "Private security contractors," Rob said.

  "Mercenaries?"

  "Look, son, if you don't call us mercenaries, we won't call you a werewolf, okay?" It came out harsher than Rob intended. He did his best reassuring smile to take the sting out of it. "We served our countries. We still do."

  "Soldiers, then."

  Perfect. Gotcha. Rob remembered what Kinnery had said about Ian's fascination with everything military. "Yeah. We'll tell you all about it. Now, are you carrying anything sharp or nasty?" He caught Mike's eye for a moment. Come on, Zombie. Scared people do bloody stupid things. "If I'm going to drive you back on my own, I'd rather not have to shoot you."

  Ian squirmed into an upright position. "Hunting knife."

  "Mind giving it to me until we get back?"

  "Okay." It was hard to tell if Ian had given in or if he was biding his time. "I sort of guessed you were armed."

  "That's because people try to shoot us. Don't they, Zombie? You'll have to show him your scar."

  Mike drove back into Athel Ridge and stopped a block from the store to walk back to the car park. Ian sat in the back of the Toyota, silent, head lowered, while Rob moved up front and watched the rear-view mirror, waiting for Mike's radio signal.

  "They don't know you around here, do they?" Rob asked.

  "No," Ian said. "How could they?"

  Mike's voice interrupted in his earpiece. "Right behind you, Rob."

  Now that the initial shock had worn off, Rob's brain was clogging with what-ifs and questions that he really wanted to ask Ian. Suddenly he felt sorry for the poor little sod. How was he ever going to have a normal life? Kinnery deserved a serious kicking. Rob liked the idea of giving it to him. He drove north, checking that Mike was still following.

  "I really shocked you, didn't I?" Ian said at last. "Gran was right."

  Rob wondered whether to ask what he meant, but thought better of it. "Yeah," he said. "Great party trick, though."

  When Rob had set out that morning, he'd thought that finding Ian Dunlop would be the end of the job, and then he and Mike would get on with their plans and forget him. But it wasn't going to be quite that simple.

  They'
d found a shape-shifter, a real live one. All bets were off.

  SIX

  Stop crying, Ian. It's just a graze. Look at the TV — look at this guy climbing a mountain. See him? He's a soldier. He hasn't got any legs. A bomb blew him up. He has to use metal ones now, but he still climbs mountains and runs races. He didn't cry, and I bet it hurt him a lot more than a grazed knee.

  Maggie Dunlop, to seven-year-old Ian, on taking it like a man.

  DUNLOP RANCH, ATHEL RIDGE

  JULY.

  The real world had come crashing in on Ian with a force he'd never imagined.

  He sat in the living room, blinds drawn, ashamed of himself for not fighting back. Rob was talking with Mike in the hall. Ian caught snatches of the conversation, which seemed to be about not telling someone until they knew more.

  "You're going to have to call the crew, at least." That was Rob. His accent was deceptively soft for a scary guy. "But I need to see it again."

  Mike sounded New England, very upper class, with something else in the mix. "Look, I saw it too. You think this is the power of suggestion? Mass hysteria? We're not medieval peasants."

  "I don't think your dad knows what he's let himself in for."

  Ah, his dad. Who was Mike's father? Was he Kinnery's son? Was Kinnery trying to clear up the mess he'd made?

  They stopped talking and came back into the living room. Mike leaned against the door frame while Rob sat on the sofa. For a moment, Ian thought Rob was staring him out, but then it dawned on him that Rob was waiting to see him morph again.

  I can see it on his face. Now he thinks he's crazy. He doesn't believe what he saw. He's as scared as I was.

  And that's how everyone's going to look at me.

  "Sorry about the rough stuff, mate," Rob said at last. "Are you all right?"

  "A bit bruised."

  Mike joined in the staring. "I take it you don't drive in traffic often."

  "No," Ian said. "Only in emergencies."

  "Never mind. It took balls to try."

  Ian was worried that he might piss his pants and look like an idiot. These guys weren't like Joe or Kinnery. He'd never had close physical contact with another man before, let alone been knocked flat by someone who was so strong that it hurt. Rob and Mike were another species, muscular and intimidating, and Ian wasn't prepared for how that made him feel; scared, envious, and aggressive, but somehow relieved. They made some awful sense of the world.