Barking

by Tom Holt

  Without really knowing why, except that it was all make-believe anyway so it didn’t really matter what happened, Duncan shot out his hand, grabbed the driver’s elbow and shoved it hard. The car swerved violently. He smelled burning rubber and the noise of metal meeting concrete and losing a short but nasty fight was so loud that it hurt. His head shot forward, only very briefly delayed by a sheet of toughened glass, and he sniffed blood as his head emerged through the shattered windscreen into the fresh air. And the moonlight.

  ‘George!’ Her again. But George couldn’t move. He was sitting with the windscreen round his neck like an Elizabethan ruff. ‘George, I’ve dropped the stupid gun - do something.’

  Oh well, Duncan thought, and he threw himself at the scrunched remains of the windscreen. He felt little mosaic tiles of glass patter round his shoulders like snowflakes as he sailed through the air, and then he landed, on all fours, on the tarmac. There was a loud noise behind him; from context, he guessed it was probably a gunshot. He ran half a dozen strides, to the cover of a parked van, and ducked down. No more shots. He crept round the side of the van and sprinted away up the middle of the road. He’d cleared fifty yards before he realised he was still on all fours, and that it wasn’t hindering him at all. In fact, he couldn’t run any other way. Also, his hands were paws, and he knew without having to look round that at some point in the past few seconds he’d acquired a tail. He’d transformed.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  He couldn’t help it. He lifted his head and howled.

  Why the hell did I just do that? Duncan asked himself. But now he came to think of it, why shouldn’t he? After all, he was a wolf, he was entitled: freedom of expression, a fundamental lycanthropic right. Likewise, what was he doing skulking behind parked cars just because some prat of a human (or ex-human - like it mattered) was taking pot-shots at him with, yes, all right, silver bullets? But it was dark and the bloke hadn’t looked like the sort of human who possessed the considerable skill needed to hit a moving target with a pistol. And he only had their word for it that the bullets really were silver. And he wanted to bite somebody, a lot, and they did seem to be the obvious candidates—

  He trotted round the car onto the pavement, so as to come up on their blind side. It was a pity he didn’t have opposable thumbs, since getting a car door open would be tricky, but there were other ways of getting humanoid bipeds out of their metal boxes. He debated the relative merits of getting his snout under the sills and turning it over like a hedgehog and simply crashing his way in through the back window. Both were entirely possible, of course, for a werewolf with superlupine strength, and both struck him as potentially enormous fun. Pity he had to choose between them, really.

  In the event, he didn’t need to decide. They’d opened their doors and climbed out, the silly creatures; the man saw him and pooped off a shot from his little gun. It went high and left, and before he could waste another shot, Duncan leaped. The man collapsed under his impact like a flat-pack coffee table; Duncan heard the chunky thud of his skull on the pavement, as his teeth met in the loose, flabby skin of his throat. A quick sideways jerk of the head, and that one’d keep. He looked round quickly for the female.

  ‘Mr Hughes, don’t be annoying.’ She didn’t sound the least bit worried. He stood still, waiting for her to move so that he could attack. She looked down at him and smiled.

  ‘In case you’re feeling torn apart by remorse,’ she said, ‘George’ll be just fine. Of course, he won’t be able to talk much until he’s been fixed up, but really, that’s not a problem. In fact, I may just leave him that way, at least for a day or so. There, that’s your mind set at rest. Now hop in the car and sit still.’

  There was such a terrible, casual authority in her voice that for a split second Duncan felt an urge to obey her. Probably, if she’d just kept to ‘Sit’ or ‘Here, boy,’ he wouldn’t have been able to resist. As it was, he tore himself free just in time. She frowned, as though the thought that he wouldn’t obey hadn’t crossed her mind. Then she gave a slight shrug, and turned into a unicorn.

  Oh, Duncan thought.

  Dead or alive, the annoying Mr Loop had said; to her, obviously, it made no odds. He growled, and the fur on the back of his neck was as crisp as the bristles of a hairbrush. She was keeping perfectly still, winding him up; she knew perfectly well that he couldn’t start chasing her until she moved, just as he couldn’t stop until he caught her or died trying.

  ‘Last chance,’ she said cheerfully. ‘It’ll end the same way, but you can save yourself a run.’

  I like running, he thought. She nodded her head just a little, arched her back and leaped off the pavement into the air.

  At one point, Duncan tried to get a car to run him over, but it swerved and hit a concrete bollard. He tried to dislocate his shoulder by jumping a wall that was obviously far too high, but he cleared it easily, landed smoothly and hardly missed a stride. He tried to get people to notice him, so they’d call the RSPCA or some other paramilitary organisation, someone with black helicopters and steel nets to haul him in with. But the few people who weren’t looking the other way as he thundered past them must’ve assumed he was just an unusually big dog and they walked on by. When she crossed the canal, he could have sworn that she bounded over the surface of the water, her step so light that the meniscus bore her weight. He plunged in, doing his best to take his eye off her so that when he reached the other side she’d be long gone and there’d be no scent trail to follow. But as he grimly doggy-paddled through the treacly black water to the far bank, he saw her waiting for him, standing under a street lamp whose amber light blazed on her horn and hooves. It was punishment as well as execution, and he had no more choice in the matter than a car being towed.

  After a while, when his lungs were beginning to cramp and the roaring in his ears was drowning out every other sound, he realised that she was running him round in a circle. That, he couldn’t help thinking, was simply taking the piss, as though she was getting him to chase his own tail. The Paradise Garden Chinese restaurant flashed past the edge of his vision for the sixth time; he’d gone there once, with some of the Craven Ettins people - what were their names? Chris and Nina and Dave and Ramesh and Pauline; he’d got on well with them, but they’d all found better jobs and moved on, leaving him behind just as this stupid white unicorn was doing, running himself to death trying to keep up with yet another effortless front-runner . . . There comes a point when you’ve simply got to stop, even if it’s only because you’re about to die—

  Something crashed into Duncan from the side, lifting him off his feet into the air. He landed badly and scrabbled to his feet, desperate not to lose sight of the unicorn, not really caring what had hit him. He sniffed for the scent trail, but before he could move after it a stunning weight landed on his back, smearing him onto the road surface like butter. He heard growling, loud enough to make itself audible over the thudding of his heart, and felt something sharp pressing against his throat, unable to penetrate his skin but determined to try its best. Teeth—?

  It was Luke: a huge grey and black wolf tearing at his throat, grappling at his face with its claws, trying to flip him over onto his back and pin him down. Duncan was amazed at how much of a fight he managed to put up against it, in spite of the overwhelming weariness that was numbing every muscle in his body. He twisted his spine like a rubber band and bit back, catching Luke’s nose between his jaws and grinding down on it. Luke yelped and clamped his teeth on Duncan’s ear; Duncan tried to jerk his head free and felt tearing, like a frayed sheet. Luke, you arsehole, let go, I’m busy, he thought furiously, but the pressure grew rather than slackened; Luke was forcing his head down onto the tarmac, and Duncan didn’t have quite enough strength left to resist. It was pretty close, all the same - if he wasn’t so miserably tired, he realised, he’d be winning - and he knew he had no choice but to keep fighting until he’d definitively lost. Get off me, Ferris, you fucking lunatic, roared his hidden voice inside his head. She
’s getting away, don’t you—?

  Yes, Luke’s voice replied calmly. Isn’t she?

  It was as though Duncan was an engine and some small but essential component had broken. He stopped fighting and froze. The pressure from Luke’s jaws didn’t increase but stayed at the same constant level.

  Better now?

  Duncan tried to nod, but Luke’s grip meant he couldn’t move his head. Yes, he thought back. It’s OK, you can let go of me.

  No chance. Luke was laughing, somewhere under all that fur and spittle. If I let go now, the first puff of air with her scent on it and you’ll be off again. Oh and by the way, I think you’ve cracked a couple of my ribs. Don’t know your own strength, that’s your trouble.

  Duncan’s head felt like a stream when you disturb the mud at the bottom and it turns all cloudy and yuck. His throat was raw and full of blood and bitter goo, as though he’d just thrown up. One of his eyes didn’t seem to want to open, and his nose—

  He couldn’t smell her.

  He panicked and tried desperately to throw Luke off him. The pain in his ear increased sharply, then faded away.

  I’m going to let go of you now, Luke’s voice murmured in his head. Don’t even think about following the unicorn, it’s long gone. Now, when I count to three; one, two—

  As the force applied to him waned, Duncan felt himself tense like a spring and then gradually relax. She’d gone, there was no point. No point to anything any more.

  (Now there was a familiar thought—)

  Fuck you, Hughes. Luke’s voice in his mind sounded relieved, almost joyful. Always chasing after women, that’s your problem. Anything female, even bloody horses. You want to get a grip.

  Well, yes, Duncan thought. Yes to both. Where did you come from? he asked.

  What? You called me.

  Duncan was about to deny it when he remembered the howl. But that had been sheer reflex, an instinctive reaction to the transformation. Lucky, though. Thanks, he thought quietly.

  You’re welcome. Apart from the cracked ribs, of course. And now, for crying out loud let’s get out of the bloody road before we’re seen. I really don’t want to spend what’s left of my holiday dodging police marksmen.

  He had a point there, of course. Sorry.

  Whatever. Your place is nearest, and the others might still be there—

  No. Definitely not there. If it’s all right with you, I’d rather go somewhere else.

  Why?

  Well, it’s in rather a mess.

  Oh, for - All right, please yourself, just so long as we get out of sight. Follow me.

  Luke limped as he ran, which made Duncan feel painfully guilty. However he chose to look at it, Luke had just saved him from a painful, ridiculous and distressingly non-terminal death, and in return he’d busted Luke’s ribs and done something unfortunate to his friend’s front left leg. It could’ve been worse, but it wasn’t good.

  There was a sort of shed in a Tesco’s car park. Luke smashed the door in as though it was one of those paper jobs you get in traditional Japanese houses. Inside, it was pitch dark: no windows. They huddled in a corner, well away from the moonlight leaking through the remains of the door. It was too dark to see anything, but Duncan felt himself change back, and a long, sad sigh from Luke suggested that he’d done the same.

  ‘You complete bastard, Duncan,’ Luke said. ‘Where the hell did you get to? And what’s Wesley fucking Loop doing walking about not dead?’

  Duncan closed his eyes. It was, after all, a fair question. ‘You’ve seen the others, then.’

  ‘Yes, what’s left of them. No, it’s all right, they’re not hurt. Not permanently. Clive’s left ear looks like a helping of coleslaw, Pete’s nose is a right old mess, Micky’s got a broken leg. Kevin’s more or less in one piece; it’s just as well his love life is a total zero, because he wouldn’t be much use on that score for a week or two. But they’ll mend OK.’

  ‘What about Loop? Did they—?’

  ‘He got away. Knew he’d been in a fight, though. Duncan, where the hell did he suddenly spring from? He’s dead. I know he’s dead, I was the one who found him. Your lady friend with the unusual forehead jewellery did for him.’ Luke paused for a moment, and Duncan heard him shudder. ‘This is serious, Duncan mate. There’s something scary going on. So what—?’

  In the end, it came down to knowing who your friends were. True, the kiss had cured Duncan - for a while. But it had worn off, because a kiss is just a kiss. Luke, on the other hand, had saved him from Bowden Allshapes, when nobody or nothing else could have done. He felt his resolve crack, and immediately the pain started ebbing away. If he told Luke, told him everything, his wise, strong friend would put it all right.

  ‘Truth is,’ Duncan said, ‘I haven’t got a clue what’s going on. But if I tell you, maybe you could make sense of it.’

  Luke growled, and at the same time Duncan heard his voice in his head: I knew there was something you were keeping from me. ‘That’d probably be a good idea,’ Luke said aloud. ‘Go on, then. It’d better be worth hearing, though. You realise you’ve screwed up my night off. The others are all right, they’ve had a nice fight. All I’ve done is trotted around looking for you.’

  So Duncan told him all about it; from the first phone call from the Bick woman at Crosswoods, all the way through to the revelations of Wesley Loop and the nasty few minutes with George and the silver bullets.

  When he’d finished, Luke said: ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Nothing you’ve left out? Like, how come you didn’t transform when you got off the train?’

  Oh, Duncan thought. I forgot to tell him about the kiss - silly me. ‘There was one other thing,’ he said.

  ‘Thought there might be. Involving some bird, right?’

  ‘My wife, actually.’

  ‘Your ex-wife.’

  ‘Yes, well.’ Duncan realised that when he’d left off the prefix it was because, at some level in his mind, he was already regarding the problem they represented as solved. That was stupid, though: a kiss is just a kiss. If he wanted to get rid of that problem as well as all the others, he still needed help. ‘It’s like this.’

  So he told Luke about that as well; and when he’d done that, Luke looked at him for a moment, then lifted his chin an inch or so and barked. Duncan glanced behind him. There were black shapes moving outside in the moonlight.

  ‘I was right,’ Luke said, and he wasn’t talking to Duncan. ‘He’s the traitor.’

  There was a wolf in the doorway, standing on the very edge of the silver stain like a border guard. Pete? Duncan asked, but the wolf only growled.

  ‘Not here,’ Luke said. ‘We’ll deal with him back at the office.’

  Duncan shot to his feet, but Luke was too quick; Duncan felt his thumb sticking into the hollow at the base of his throat, and his hand wrenching his arm up behind his back. He fought back, not caring if his arm broke, but Luke pushed him forward. He stumbled, and the moonlight took him.

  As soon as his front paws touched the ground the pack was on top of him, crushing him flat and holding him down. He’d seen Wesley Loop fighting all four at once, but he made no effort to resist: the attack was too quick, too shocking. His friends—

  ‘And I always reckoned I was such a good judge of character.’ Luke was still inside the hut, as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to join in. ‘But he left us, and that’s when the rot set in. Of course,’ he added sadly, ‘it’s not his fault, it was that bloody woman.’

  Luke. What did I do?

  ‘You let us all down, Duncan.’ Luke stepped out into the moonlight; just before he changed, Duncan felt sure he caught sight of silver light flashing on a drop of moisture at the corner of his eye. Really, I’m not blaming you, not entirely. After all, you didn’t even know you were doing it.

  The pack growled. Luke walked slowly towards where Duncan lay and lifted his head, staring at the sky. Doing what, for God’s sake? Duncan thought
at him. Look, whatever it is I’m supposed to have done, I didn’t mean it.

  Luke gazed down at him, his eyes more than usually red. I know, I know. You wouldn’t hurt us on purpose. But - He looked away. You’re a lawyer, Duncan, you know what strict liability means. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t do it on purpose, or even if you didn’t know. You did it, and that’s all that’s needed for a conviction: no proof of malicious intent required. Personally, I’ve always thought strict liability’s barbaric; just because you are something or you’ve got something or someone’s done something to you, even though you never meant anybody any harm. But there. Fairness doesn’t enter into it. The law’s just violence in fancy dress, Duncan. Wesley Loop always used to say that. He never meant to betray us either, but that wouldn’t have stopped me ripping his throat out for it.

  They lifted him with their shoulders, pressing hard against him so he couldn’t move: Pete, Micky, Clive and Kevin, his best mates. We’re going to have to chance it, Luke was saying to them. We can’t muck about going the back way. If people see us, they see us. We’ll head for the Westway flyover, we’ll be under cover there a lot of the way, and after that—

  Clive’s ears pricked up. We’d be better off taking the Cromwell Road extension and then carrying on to the Embankment, traffic’ll be all right at this time of night, and—

  Can’t do that, Micky interrupted, there’s temporary lights at Earls Court, you’d get caught up in all the slow-moving stuff.

  (Which proved, Duncan reflected, that in spite of everything, deep down under the fur they were still men. Not that that was likely to do him a lot of good . . .)

  Something shrieked. Five pairs of ears went back, and Luke reared onto his back legs, staring up at the sky, growling deeply. Quick, he broadcast, back into the hut thing before they see us, and don’t let him give you the slip.

  They pressed hard against Duncan, lifting him off his feet, and started to run in a half-circle to get back to the hut. More shrieks, and Duncan felt a violent down draught of air, as though there was a helicopter directly overhead. He tried to look up but they wouldn’t let him. They were squeezing him so hard that he couldn’t breathe, trotting as fast as they could go with him wedged in between them. He heard Pete yell ‘Look out,’ and the pressure suddenly faded. He felt the tarmac under his paws, shook his head and lifted it.