Page 3

"Who did this to you? You must be badly hurt."

She was sitting up now with her back to the wall, sheltering behind her denimed legs, her arms still around her midriff, holding it protectively closed. "Not your problem," she said. "Go away, before they do you too. Unless you’re one of them, of course."

He had a flash of intuition. "You aren’t from hereabouts, are you? You’re from one of the other gangs, and you’re in the wrong part of town. Isn’t that so?"

She hissed at him, lips drawn back from her teeth. "My business, not yours. Go!"

"OK," he said, "I’m going." He felt betrayed and unhappy, and yet there was no point staying if she didn’t want him. He began to rise.

The blow was so hard and unexpected that it sent him sprawling, a white-hot shaft of pain lancing up his back. He twisted desperately, reaching for the knife, just as another kick slashed past his face so close that he almost felt the touch of the boot. Rolling into the corner between wall and ground, he scrabbled for the knife but couldn’t find it; his fingers only found the shattered remains of his cell-phone, its shattered plastic case cutting his fingers. Crouching defensively, he looked up.

There were at least three of them, in the standard gang uniform of jackets and cargo pants. How could he have missed hearing them coming? Because he was too busy ogling the girl’s bare nipple, that’s how. One was already reaching for her, laughing. "There you are, you little bitch," he said, his voice thick and slurred. "We almost lost you."

"Got your boyfriend here, have we?" One of the others drew back his foot for another kick. "Let’s put away the little piece of shit, then we can start on her."

The Boy had been in danger before, but it all seemed nothing compared to what he faced now. He managed to avoid one more kick, throwing himself to one side, but the pain in his tailbone from the first kick was so severe that he cried out in spite of himself. And then the two of them were standing over him, their feet driving forward and backwards, kicking and stamping. In a little while he could not feel the pain any longer.

But he could still hear them laughing.

The two gang members were not yet full bloods, meaning that they hadn’t yet killed anyone. They were also young and eager, and they hadn’t had their turn with the girl before she’d jumped out of the SUV and escaped. They were more interested in rectifying that error than they were to finish kicking the cowering figure to death, and they lost interest quickly when their quarry stopped all attempts to resist and just took their kicks to his head and face.

"Hold on," one of them called to the third one, the only full blood among them, who had the girl by the hair and was pulling her up. "We want our turn with her."

"Yeah," his friend agreed. "You’ve had your turn. The bitch belongs to us now."

"You..." The blood glared up at them, and then suddenly dropped the girl and began to back away. "No," he said.

"What?" The other two turned.

The Thing hunkered before them, low to the ground, a low rumbling coming from its throat. Amber eyes glowed dully in the darkness, and a wrinkled muzzle drew back from gigantic teeth. Its shoulders bulked behind the narrow head, tattered shreds of clothing still flapping from the bristling fur.

"Hey," the one who had landed the first kick said. He got no further.

The Thing sprang.

The Boy shook his head, trying to recover his faculties. He knew he had Changed for a while, completely inadvertently and with no memory of what had happened.

He was naked, aching all over, and crouched in the dark space between the walls. The smell of blood and faeces was overpowering. He stood slowly, looking around. He could sense death all around him, death that he had inflicted, he was sure.

He heard a tiny sound, and whirled. The girl was still there, her hand stuffed into her mouth, her eyes huge and terrified.

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