by Mike Tucker
‘Yes. Bit of a monster isn’t it, sir?’
‘Have you tried to engage it at all, Captain?’
‘Had one of the snipers take a couple of pot shots at it, but even with armour piercing rounds we’re not making much of impression against it. Didn’t want to open up with anything large calibre until we know a bit more about the whereabouts of the civilians.’
Colonel Dickinson studied the damage on the beetle’s carapace. ‘Looks like the Lynx might have had a bit of a go at it before it crashed, though. At least that means that these things are vulnerable. Have we identified the species?’
‘Yes, sir. Dobby Palmer is a bit of a bug expert. Says it’s a Bombardier Beetle.’
The colonel nodded. Corporal Nigel Palmer was one of their medics. Prominent ears and a distinctive nose meant that he had more than a passing resemblance to Dobby the house elf from the Harry Potter films, so the nickname had been inevitable.
‘So, did Dobby tell us anything useful about this Bombardier Beetle?’
‘Quite a lot, sir. Apparently this thing can squirt out boiling acid from its rear end. From what we can make out, it’s probably what brought down the chopper. There is more, sir. Over here.’
The colonel climbed down from the Spartan and followed Captain Wilson to a tent that had been erected at the far end of the lay-by. Two soldiers lay on makeshift beds, their legs swathed in bloody bandages. Both men tried to rise as the officers entered the tent but Dickinson motioned to them to stay put.
‘At ease.’ His jaw tightened at the sight of the injuries. He had already lost the helicopter crew; he was in no mood to lose any more men. ‘What happened here, Captain?’
‘The web only seems to be blocking the main roads and footpaths into the village.’ Wilson explained. ‘The rest of the village perimeter is made up of open fields and hedgerow. Private Arnopp here volunteered to lead a party to try and recover the bodies from the helicopter. The squad didn’t make it more than ten metres inside the perimeter.’
‘More beetles?’
‘No, sir, these.’ Wilson indicated a table against one wall of the tent. Laid out in plastic containers were the remains of several large, shiny black objects. It took the colonel a few seconds to make sense of what he was looking at, then the various disparate parts suddenly became familiar.
‘Ants?!’
‘Yes, sir. They were burrowed in under the field. Took our men completely by surprise.’ Captain Wilson picked up a tray with a section of abdomen in it. ‘Vicious little beggars they are too. And tough. Private Arnopp emptied an entire clip into one of them before it went down. Even if you hack them up they keep on twitching. Had to use grenades in the end.’
The colonel took the tray from him, examining the body part. ‘Do we have any indication yet of what might have caused these things to grow to such size?’
‘Not a clue, sir. Lot of talk amongst the men about it being radiation, but that sounded a bit too much like the plot of a 1950s B-movie for my liking. Ran the Geiger counters over everything anyway, just in case, but readings are all normal. I’ve had one of the dead beasties biked over to the entomology department at Bristol University to see if they can come up with anything.’
The colonel nodded, placing the plastic tray back on the table. As he did so there were shouts from outside, and a low, thrumming noise, like an aircraft engine. The two officers glanced at each other in alarm.
‘What now?’
They pushed out through the flap of the tent in time to see several large objects flitting at speed above the hedgerows. Squaddies scattered as one of the creatures swooped low over them, buzzing angrily.
As the creatures vanished over the trees, Colonel Dickinson turned to Wilson with a worried frown. ‘Beetles as armoured divisions, spiders as sappers, ants as combat troops and now airborne support. These things seem to have a very good grasp of military tactics, don’t you think, Captain?’
‘Sir?’
‘So far these things have only attacked if we venture inside their perimeter.’ Colonel Dickinson stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘They’re protecting something.’
He straightened.
‘Captain, I want to know about everyone and everything inside that village. Who has gone in, who has come out, who lives there, who is on holiday there, who works there. Individuals, companies, everything.’
‘Sir!’
As Captain Wilson hurried off, Colonel Dickinson watched the flying insects as they circled lazily above the distant church tower. Protecting something.
Or someone.
Chapter
Seven
Clara followed close behind Angela as she pushed her way through the brilliant yellow of one of the many rapeseed fields that quilted the countryside, trying to put as much distance between them and the village as possible.
As the sun rose higher in the morning sky, the air started to come alive with insects, and every buzz or flutter or rustle made Clara look over her shoulder in fear of what might have caught up with them.
Try as she might, she couldn’t stop thinking about the poster of British insects that adorned the wall of the biology lab back at Coal Hill School, in particular the section on stinging insects. The spider and beetle and the mosquitoes were bad enough, but what if there were giant wasps or bees out here somewhere? She remembered the pain of being stung by a wasp when she was a little girl, and just thinking about the damage a giant sting could do made her feel nauseous.
As they made their way between the rows of gently waving plants, Clara suddenly caught sight of a series of low, prefabricated buildings sticking up above the hedges ahead of them, and she realised that Angela had been heading for the science park that everyone had been talking about.
They were approaching the edge of the field when Angela stopped, crouching down amongst the yellow flowers and peering through a dilapidated wooden gate at the grounds of the industrial estate ahead of her.
Clara hunkered down alongside her. ‘I should have guessed that you were heading for somewhere specific.’
Angela shrugged. ‘We’re not going to last long if we stay in the village, but those things might not have reached here yet, and there are bound to be secure rooms where we can hide out, and a phone that we can use.’
‘Unless “those things” came from here in the first place,’ Clara reminded her.
Angela frowned. ‘Mad scientists breeding giant insects in a secret lab in the wilds of the English countryside? Surely you don’t believe that?’
‘You’d be surprised just how much weird stuff I’ve started to believe recently.’
Angela stared at her curiously.
Clara shook her head. ‘Ignore me. I’m just waffling. You’re right, we should find somewhere secure. Can you see anyone?’
Angela took another look across the road. ‘Looks dead to me.’
Clara took a deep breath. ‘Well, come on, then.’
Clambering over the gate, the two of them raced across the road and into the industrial estate. As they crossed the deserted car park, Clara suddenly realised just how exposed and vulnerable they were now that they had left the cover of the field. They hurried over to the nearest building, and she peered through the glass door into the vestibule beyond.
‘Can you see anyone?’ asked Angela, heaving uselessly on the locked door.
‘Nope. Empty. We’ll have to try another one.’
Keeping to the shadows along the wall, the two women made their way to the next building, but that too was locked and empty.
‘This is stupid!’ shouted Angela thumping her fist against the glass door in frustration. ‘There are cars parked here, so where is everybody?’
Clara looked around the deserted science park with mounting panic. The longer the two of them stayed out in the open like this, the more chance there was of being spotted. They had to get inside, and quickly.
A sudden flicker of movement right on the edge of her vision made Clara start. There was something movi
ng on the roof opposite. She whirled around, pressing her back hard against the aluminium skin of the building.
Angela’s eyes widened in horror. ‘What is it?’ she croaked, unwilling to turn around and see for herself.
As Clara steeled herself to fend off whatever flying horror had tracked them down, she suddenly realised what it was that had caught her eye. ‘It’s all right!’ she gasped in relief. ‘It’s just a security camera.’
Angela clasped a hand to her mouth, stifling an almost hysterical laugh.
The camera was one of several mounted on the corners of the buildings. As they watched, it swung down to point directly at them. As it did so, it struck Clara that this was no automated movement. It was being controlled. Someone was watching them.
She stepped out of the shadow of the building, looking directly up at the camera, and waving her arms frantically. ‘Hey! Can you hear us? We’re stuck out here. You need to let us in!’
For what seemed like an age, the camera stared impassively down at them, then a set of double doors on a building opposite swung open with a crash, and several figures emerged.
‘Thank God,’ breathed Angela, starting to turn towards them.
‘No, wait.’ Clara caught her arm. ‘Something’s not right.’
The figures heading towards them were dressed in white, one-piece overalls and lab coats. They moved with the same, limp-armed, shambling gait as the people back in the village.
‘Oh, no.’ Angela shook her head in despair. ‘Not here too…’
Clara caught her by the hand. Angela was beginning to believe that it was hopeless, and if she started thinking like that then they were finished.
‘Angela.’ Clara’s voice was stern. ‘We have to go. Now!’
With the stumbling figures in pursuit, the two women started to run.
‘Kevin?’ Charlie Bevan stared at the boy in amazement. ‘Kevin Alperton? What on earth are you doing down there?’
The boy scrambled out from under the communion table.
‘Hiding from the insects, same as you.’
The Doctor squatted down so that he was face to face with him.
‘But it’s not just the insects that you’re hiding from, is it?’
Kevin shook his head. ‘It’s everyone. Well…’ He looked nervously at the Doctor and Charlie. ‘Everyone except you two, I hope.’
‘Well, there’s no need to worry about us.’ Charlie tried to give the boy a reassuring smile, and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Eurgh!’ He pulled his hand away in disgust. It was covered in a thick slime.
Kevin grimaced and gave the policeman an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry about that. Insects can detect each other though their smell, so I was disguising myself.’ He gave the Doctor a shy shrug. ‘I saw it in a horror film called Mimic. Thought that it was worth a try.’
‘Pheromone masking.’ The Doctor gave him a nod of approval. ‘Very enterprising. And where, might I ask, did you obtain the secretions to try this?’
Kevin opened his satchel, pulled out a battered Tupperware lunchbox, and proffered it to the Doctor, peeling back the plastic lid. ‘It’s a bit bashed up.’
The Doctor reached into the box and gently extricated the mangled remains of one of the mosquitoes. Charlie Bevan gave a little squeak of alarm and retreated a few steps.
‘It landed on my back, but I fell over and squashed it before it could sting me,’ explained Kevin. ‘I think that it’s the mosquitoes that are turning everyone into zombies.’
Pulling his sonic screwdriver from his pocket, the Doctor laid the insect on the velvet drape of the communion table, and started to examine it. ‘And I think you’re right.’ He gingerly lifted the needle like proboscis of the mosquito and sniffed at the clear liquid that beaded at its tip.
‘Careful!’ hissed Charlie. ‘If that’s some kind of venom…’
‘Scopolamine.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘It’s Scopolamine. It’s a drug that blocks the neurotransmitters that carry information to the part of the brain that stores short-term memory. It also makes people more open to suggestion. Josef Mengele used it in interrogations as a kind of truth serum. The CIA administered doses of Scopolamine during its controversial behavioural-engineering experiments in the 1960s.’
Charlie stared at the insect in disbelief. ‘But that’s—’
‘It’s all sorts of things,’ snapped the Doctor angrily. ‘It’s irresponsible. Immoral. Dangerous. Criminal.’ He turned to glare at Charlie. ‘And it’s deliberate. Someone is using these insects as tools.’
Further discussion was abruptly halted by the clatter of roof tiles from somewhere above them. The spider was returning to its lair.
The Doctor whipped around to face Kevin. ‘This tunnel. Show us! Quickly!’
Unwilling to lose the means to disguise himself, Kevin scooped the mosquito back into the Tupperware box, snapped the lid on, and stuffed it into his satchel. ‘This way.’
He led them to a wooden door in the far corner of the chancel. On the other side was a small vestry with yet another door leading through to the building at the back of the church. Kevin hurried through it. The rooms beyond were dark; the walls festooned with children’s pictures and parish notices. Kevin scurried over to a heavy wooden door set under a flight of slightly rickety-looking stairs.
‘It’s down here.’
The door swung open with an almost theatrical creak, and Kevin fumbled in the dark for the light switch. A bare, energy-saving bulb faded into life, dimly illuminating a narrow stairway and damp stone walls. The Doctor and Charlie followed Kevin into the gloom.
The cellar was a mishmash of boxes, old furniture, camping equipment and carefully furled Cub Scout flags. Kevin pushed his way over to the far wall and pulled aside a battered sofa to reveal a small, dark opening.
‘We discovered this last October,’ explained Kevin. ‘There was a Scouts Halloween party down here, and me and Baz Jones wanted to scare Akela. Must’ve got boarded up ages ago.’
The Doctor peered into the dark opening. ‘How far does it go?’
‘It comes out near the old water pump next to the Post Office.’
Charlie Bevan grimaced. ‘That’s not very far.’
‘Well, it’s better than nothing.’ The Doctor snapped on his sonic screwdriver, lighting up the tunnel in emerald green light. ‘You know where you’re going, Kevin. You’d better lead the way.’
As Kevin scrambled into the tunnel, the Doctor turned back to look at Charlie. ‘I think that it’s time we got Mr Robin Sanford to tell us the whole story about his giant bugs from outer space.’
Clara and Angela huddled together in the shadow of a huge recycling bin, watching as the white-coated figures spread out across the industrial estate.
It had quickly become apparent that they had no chance of escaping if they stayed out in the open. Angela had been all for heading back to the village, but Clara had pointed out that they were no better off back there, and besides, she was now certain that whatever was going on had something to do with the science park. There was no other reason why someone should be watching them, but doing nothing to help them.
Now that her attention had been drawn to them, Clara had spotted dozens of cameras dotted around the site. That was when she had her idea. Most of the buildings seemed to be deserted. All except for one. Therefore it made sense that the key to finding out what was going on lay within that building. They had to get inside.
Angela had looked at her as if she was mad. ‘You want to go inside the building that the zombie lab-coat people just came out of?’
Clara had just nodded. ‘Got a better idea?’
Using parked cars as cover, they had started to make their way back towards the centre of the industrial estate, but there were too many of the white-coated figures for them to move freely. They had only just managed to make it to the recycling bins without being seen. They needed to send their pursuers off in the other direction.
Clara had
been watching the security cameras, trying to determine some kind of pattern to their movements. She was sure that most of them were purely automatic, tracking to and fro on a pre-timed sequence. Presumably that pre-controlled movement could be overridden manually, as it had been when they were first detected, but she was banking on there being too many cameras scattered around the site for someone to control all of them that way.
From their hiding place she could see three of the cameras. There was a twelve-second window when all three of them were looking away from the bins where she and Angela were concealed. It must have been pure fluke that they had made it here without being spotted. Hoping that their good luck would continue to hold out, Clara took a deep breath, bundled up the cotton cardigan that Angela had been wearing, and waited for the next gap in the cycle.
‘Any second now,’ she whispered.
‘Coast is still clear!’ said Angela, scanning the car park.
All three cameras were moving into the perfect position. Clara tensed herself. Any second…
Now.
Launching herself forward from the cover of the recycling bins, Clara hared towards the hawthorn hedge that bordered the industrial estate. As she ran she counted under her breath. ‘Twelve, eleven, ten…’ If she wasn’t on her way back by the time she reached five…
She skidded to a halt by the hedge, tossing the sweater so that it caught on the uppermost branches. Her heart caught in her mouth as it started to drop. It wasn’t going to catch! To her relief, the spiky branches of the hawthorn finally snagged in the cotton, but her mental count was at four.
Clara turned and ran as fast as she could. She could see Angela’s panic-stricken face staring at her from between the recycling bins. From the corner of her eye, she could see the cameras starting to sweep back around once more.
She wasn’t going to make it.
Chapter
Eight
The Doctor squeezed through the narrow brick corridor, his mind still sifting through all the various pieces of the mystery that he had landed in. Scopolamine was the latest clue, and he was certain that the fact that it was a drug that had been used by the Nazis was significant.
