“Thingus?” Milo gasped.
The new kid grinned, a gap between his front teeth, like Lucy’s.
“Since when did you learn to do this?”
Thingus held out his perfect human hand, and with a graceful strength, helped Milo to standing.
“Crodbarres,” said Thingus. His otherworldly voice was a touch deeper than Milo’s and vibrated like he was speaking through a spinning fan.
Son of a stockbroker. “Do you mean, ‘crudberries’?” asked Milo.
The newly verbal being laughed.
His first word was “crudberries”. Lucy would be so proud.
“Thingus,” said Milo. “What are you?”
Thingus scrunched his nose and worked his jaw, still feeling out his new features. “Crodbarres,” he said again.
A juddering, chopping sound interrupted Milo’s thoughts. What is that?
Clearly unused to this new form, Thingus dropped down and crawled on his hands and knees towards the beach, spider-quick.
“Wait,” said Milo, wriggling through the trees in pursuit.
On the shallow shore, Milo threw his hands over his ears to block out the deafening racket. Waves churned at the waterline as the wind gusted and swirled, hurling up rainwater and dead leaves that stung Milo’s eyes. The wet stones glinted under the glare of a blindingly bright light. It wasn’t the sun; the rain was falling as thickly as ever.
Thingus stood on the beach, squinting skywards.
A small projectile whizzed through the air past the freshly formed child’s head. Startled, Thingus screamed like a banshee.
Milo turned to see a tranquilliser dart sticking out of the mud behind them. He whipped back round, finally realising what he was seeing. It was a helicopter. My father has found us.
Milo yanked Thingus back towards the shelter of the trees.
THWAP!
A dart hit Thingus in the leg.
“No!” yelled Milo.
Thingus fell to the ground, wailing in confusion. The young humanoid’s skin began to shimmer and, with more effort than usual, he transformed back into a stag, bucking and thrashing at the sky.
Milo ran out into the open, waving his arms at the helicopter. “Stop!” he shouted. “Please!”
The stag reared up at its attackers. Then he inhaled deeply and started to grow.
“Thingus, don’t,” Milo begged. “You can’t fight a helicopter.”
But the creature continued to expand until he was the size of a station wagon. Raising up on his hind legs, he released an angry bellow at the chopper.
SCHLUPPK! A massive wad of steaming pink goo shot from a cannon mounted on the side of the helicopter, hitting Thingus square in the chest and splattering across the deer’s neck and legs. Thingus swayed, disoriented. SCHLUPPK! Another wad smashed into the creature’s torso. Jerking and keening like the wild animal he’d become, Thingus desperately tried to shake off the unknown substance without success. Stumbling about, he shimmered, trying to shift his shape, but he was now unable to change form.
Milo inhaled a nauseating scent, both acrid and sweet. Nucralose. This is what his father had been working on all this time. He’d re-engineered the tree sap once again, targeting the Pretenders. Somehow, he’d found a way to prevent them from using their shapeshifting powers. How long has Dad known about them? Milo now realised what his father had meant when he said he’d found a way to solve the “Sticky Pines problem”.
Milo waved his arms at the helicopter, hollering for it to back off, but as he did so Thingus was hit with another tranquilliser dart, this time directly in the neck. The giant stag’s muscles seized up and he fell heavily on to the rocky beach.
“Thingus!” Milo cried.
The helicopter hovered over the shore, black ropes dropping down from its side.
Unsure what to do, Milo grabbed the mighty deer by its goo-splattered forelimbs and tried to drag him into the trees. It was no use; the creature was far too heavy.
“Step away from the target,” a megaphoned voice barked from the helicopter.
Four muscular figures in black tactical gear slid down the dangling ropes. One of them, a square-jawed man wearing an infrared visor and helmet, tackled Milo and pulled him into the bushes. He propped the boy up on a fallen log while the other security professionals strapped Thingus to an oversized stretcher.
“Stay here,” the man ordered Milo. He spoke into a device on his wrist. “Eaglet is disentangled. Rogue Deviant is neutralised.”
The sturdy squaddie ran back to join his compatriots. Milo watched in horror as the men threw a set of thick nylon straps round Thingus.
Milo mentally kicked himself. How could he be so reckless? Of course his father had tracked him to the island. He must have known about his visits to Thingus for days, if not longer. Milo had tried to be so careful, to inspect his shoes, to only wear clothing he had stored in his locker at school. Sure, he’d only wiped his phone’s memory the one time, but there was never any reception in Sticky Pines, so he didn’t think–Blue blazers. Milo opened his mobile. Sure enough, an app he’d never noticed before was tracking his location. Stupid, stupid, stupid…
He ran towards the lake and – “NYAH!” – threw the device into the choppy water with all his might.
“Hey, kid,” yelled the squaddie. He was busily fastening a harness around Thingus. “Get back here!”
But Milo didn’t stop. He ran straight into the water and jumped into his kayak, casting off on to the lake. The men didn’t pursue him: they were too busy securing the sizable stag. They hoisted him into the air, teetering precariously as he was pulled up beneath the helicopter. The security goons jumped on to the remaining ropes, and were themselves pulled up into the helicopter’s cabin in turn. The chopper dipped its nose and sped off towards the Nu Co. complex.
What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? Milo paddled frantically, the rain pounding on his hood synching with the beat of his heart.
Cliff’s Edge
The fire crackled behind Lucy’s damp parka, which was slung over the back of a chair by the Arkhipovs’ brick fireplace. Seated cross-legged on the floral couch, Lucy thrashed
