Doctor Who: The Crawling Terror (12th Doctor novel) (Dr Who)

by Mike Tucker

  The drug, the bombing raid, a Home Guard battalion stationed here in the war, an alleged battle with giant insects… Whatever had happened here during the 1940s was going to be key to understanding what was really going on. There was one more bit of the puzzle that he still didn’t have, though.

  The science park.

  He stopped. ‘Hold on a minute, Kevin.’

  ‘What is it?’ said Charlie’s muffled voice from behind him. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘This science park. Tell me about it.’

  Charlie stared at him incredulously. ‘You want to talk about that now?’

  ‘Can you think of anywhere better?’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Kevin cheerfully. ‘The bugs are never going to look for us down here, and no one in the village knows about it. No one except me and Baz Jones, that is… And his mate Derek Farmer. And perhaps the Roberts twins. But other than that…’ He regarded the Doctor curiously. ‘What was it that you wanted to know?’

  ‘Bert Mitchell mentioned someone called Jason Clearfield. What can you tell me about him?’

  ‘He wears a mask!’ said Kevin, his eyes shining. ‘Like in The Phantom of the Opera!’ His face fell. ‘The stage version, though, not the Hammer film. It would have been so much cooler if he wore a mask like the Hammer film. Or the Universal one—’

  ‘Is this really relevant?’ interrupted Charlie impatiently. ‘Yes, the man wears a mask. Apparently he suffered horrific burns in an industrial accident. It doesn’t mean he’s some kind of a monster!’

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘But it also doesn’t mean that we should discount the possibility of him being behind this just because the idea of a masked scientist breeding giant insects seems improbable. We’ve already ascertained that these creatures have been tampered with genetically. That means access to laboratories, complex machinery and chemicals.’

  ‘And don’t you think that someone would have noticed that by now?’ Charlie took a deep breath. ‘Look, I was over there last week. Clearfield showed me around…’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Why were you there?’

  ‘An attempted break-in. Some of the locals had a bit too much to drink on Friday night and tried to force the door to one of the laboratories.’ Charlie gave the Doctor a pointed stare. ‘The idea that they’re breeding monsters on the industrial estate is a very old joke around here.’

  The Doctor was silent for a moment, then nodded, and the three of them continued their slow progress along the passageway.

  Despite Charlie Bevan’s reassurances, the Doctor had already decided where his next port of call would be after he had talked to Robin Sanford. He had an appointment with Jason Clearfield.

  Calf muscles protesting at the effort, Clara threw herself forward, crashing painfully onto the tarmac as the camera finished it sweep and started its inexorable journey back the other way.

  For several seconds she held her breath, waiting for any indication that she had been spotted, but the car park remained deathly quiet.

  ‘You really like cutting things fine, don’t you?’ whispered Angela angrily.

  Clara let her breath out in a rush and peered around the bin to look at where the bright red sweater fluttered in the midday breeze. ‘Now we just have to see if it worked or not.’

  Sure enough it didn’t take long for someone to spot the flash of colour, and there was a whirr of servos as all three cameras turned to focus on the spot where the sweater was caught. Moments later there was the sound of heavy footsteps, and a dozen or so of the white-coated technicians appeared from around the corner of the far building.

  One of them, a young man who Clara didn’t think could be that much older than herself, reached up and tugged the sweater free.

  ‘They have escaped into the fields.’ There was no emotion to the voice. It was just a statement of fact. ‘They must be trying to get back to the village.’

  The man tilted his head to one side, almost like a dog listening to something, then nodded and started to push his way through the hawthorn hedge, seemingly oblivious to the sharp thorns that tore at his exposed face and hands. The others followed and soon they had formed a ragged line, spreading out through the fields as they searched for Clara and Angela.

  Angela let out a deep sigh of relief, and was about to step out from their hiding place when Clara motioned to her to stay still.

  ‘Wait…’

  Moments later, several of the giant mosquitoes droned overhead, joining the humans in the fields in their search.

  ‘All right, we’ve shaken them off,’ said Angela quietly. ‘So, how do we get inside? March up to the door and knock?’

  ‘If the Doctor was here, I might just go with that,’ said Clara wistfully. ‘But I think I spotted another alternative.’

  Checking that the cameras were still pointing at the gap that had been created in the hedge, Clara led Angela back through the industrial estate until they were looking once more at the building from which their pursuers had emerged.

  ‘I noticed it earlier,’ said Clara, pointing at a fire escape door set into the end wall of the building.

  ‘OK…’ Angela wasn’t convinced. ‘And you think that they’re just going to leave it unlocked.’

  Clara just smiled. ‘Come on.’

  They hurried over to the door. The metal frame on one side was scuffed and bent.

  ‘Looks like someone has already tried to have a go at this…’

  ‘That was some of the local farm hands,’ explained Angela. ‘It got a bit boisterous after karaoke night at the Wheatsheaf last week.’ She pulled at the door halfheartedly. ‘Well, what a surprise, it’s locked. So, unless you’ve got a set of skeleton keys…’

  ‘Nope.’ Clara grinned at her. ‘But I do have a hairpin!’

  As Angela kept watch, Clara started work on the lock. Moments later it opened with a satisfying click.

  Angela looked at Clara with surprise. ‘There’s more to you than meets the eye! Who taught you how to do that?’

  ‘A young lady called Jenny Flint.’

  ‘A professional thief?’

  ‘Nope. Victorian chambermaid. Come on.’

  Ignoring Angela’s bemused expression Clara swung open the door. The interior of the building was dark and silent. Hoping that she wasn’t making a serious mistake, Clara caught hold of Angela’s hand and the two women stepped inside.

  Kevin peered through the metal grille that marked the end of the tunnel, checking to see if there was anyone around. ‘All clear,’ he whispered, heaving on the ancient cast iron. The grille swung inwards and Kevin scrambled through, pushing the branches that concealed the tunnel entrance out of the way. The Doctor scrambled up after him followed by the Constable Bevan.

  As the Doctor checked to see whether the coast was clear, Kevin regarded him curiously. He wasn’t like anyone else he had ever met. He looked old – probably the same age as Kevin’s grandfather – but there was something about the energy that blazed in his eyes that made him feel a lot younger.

  No. Not younger.

  Different.

  Kevin shivered. He reached into his satchel, unclipping the top of the Tupperware box and scooping up some of the slime that coated the bottom. Being outside again was making him nervous.

  Constable Bevan snatched the box from him. ‘Don’t use it all,’ he said, puffing with the exertion of the climb through the tunnel. ‘The Doctor and I are going to need some of that stuff too, you know.’

  He scooped up a blob of the slime with his fingers and smeared it through his thinning hair.

  ‘Blooming heck.’ He grimaced. ‘This stuff smells disgusting.’ He held out the box to the Doctor. ‘Your turn.’

  The Doctor stared at him for a moment, and then lifted the silver tube that he had been using to light their way through the tunnel and twisted a tiny control set into its side. ‘Or, I could just adjust the settings on this to generate a sonic umbrella th
at will create the same effect, but without the need for us to coat our scalps in the rotting juices of a dead insect?’ He turned and gave Kevin the quickest of winks. ‘Now, which way to Robin Sanford’s house?’

  Strangely reassured by the Doctor’s wink, Kevin pointed down the road ahead of them. ‘It’s this way.’

  Protected by the Doctor’s sonic shield, the three of them made their way cautiously down the hedge-lined road. The further they got from the centre of the village, the narrower the road became, until it was no more than a single track, the tarmac surface cracked and full of potholes.

  ‘Mr Sanford doesn’t get a lot of visitors, I take it,’ said the Doctor.

  Charlie Bevan was looking nervously at the ever-more unruly hedges that were starting to close in around them.

  ‘Like I said, he tends to keep himself to himself.’

  ‘He came to our school once,’ said Kevin, remembering a history class from the previous year. ‘He was meant to be giving a talk about the Home Guard, but some of the other kids started to make fun of him. Asked him to tell them all about the giant insects and he got angry and had to be taken away by the headmaster.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I guess people might listen to him a bit more now. We should get him to come in again.’

  As they reached the end of the road, the hedges started to give way to woodland and open fields once more. Robin Sanford’s house was an old farm but, with the exception of the main house, all of the outbuildings were dilapidated and choked with ivy. Kevin remembered playing here with his friends when he was younger. To begin with Mr Sanford hadn’t minded – in fact Kevin had vague memories of being shown things like old bullet casings and cap badges – but as the man got older he had become far less tolerant of people coming onto his property.

  Motioning to Kevin and Constable Bevan to stay in the shadow of the encroaching trees, the Doctor made his way slowly across the farmyard towards the main door of the house.

  He was about halfway across the yard when Kevin suddenly caught sight of movement in the doorway. The letterbox was swinging slowly open. As Kevin watched, two metal tubes emerged through the slot.

  As the realisation of what the tubes were struck home, Kevin rushed forward, shouting out a warning.

  ‘Doctor! Look out!’

  His words were drowned out by the sound of both barrels of the shotgun firing in unison.

  Chapter

  Nine

  The door closed behind them and Clara stood for several seconds, waiting for her eyes to become accustomed to the gloom of the interior of the building.

  The area just inside the door was piled high with packing crates and discarded pallets. A forklift truck was parked against the wall, along with rack upon rack of heavy-duty electrical cable. Overhead, the ceiling was thick with chain hoists, and there was a metal walkway running around the interior of the building, access ladders positioned every couple of metres.

  Clara edged forward though the boxes. The building seemed deserted, but ahead of her she could make out a circle of large, blocky shapes illuminated by a pale blue light. Keeping to the shadows near the wall, the two women started to make their way towards the light.

  As they got closer they began to hear noises, a strange low electrical hum and other, more familiar sounds. Clicks and buzzes. Insect noises.

  Against the far wall of the building stood dozens of wire and glass cages. Some stood empty, their doors open, others still held huge monstrous shapes that clung to the wire mesh or buzzed and quivered in the middle of their cells.

  Angela recoiled in horror. ‘What are they?’

  Clara had to admit that she didn’t know. At first glance, she had thought that the creatures were enormous spiders, but as she forced herself to look closer she could see wings and scales, and far too many legs. It was as if someone had dismembered three of four kinds of insect and then stuck the parts back together in a different order. One of the creatures snapped at her lazily, and she jumped back.

  Beyond the cages were benches heavy with complex scientific equipment, and a large glass window looked out into another room containing a sophisticated laboratory.

  ‘Who is doing this?’ whispered Angela angrily. ‘And what on earth are they doing it for?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Clara. ‘But I’d be very surprised if it didn’t have something to do with that.’

  In the middle of the room stood thirteen big black boxes, each about the size of a single wardrobe, each with a large LED display set into the front. Arm-thick cables wound from the base of each to huge, grey bell-shaped machine, surrounded by consoles, CPUs and industrial-sized generators.

  Letting go of Angela’s hand, Clara started to make her way towards the humming monoliths. As she got closer she could see images flickering across the LED screens mounted on the boxes, patterns that seemed familiar somehow. It was only when she was standing in the middle of the circle that she made the connection. The patterns on the screens were the same as the patterns inscribed on the stones outside the village.

  ‘It’s the stone circle,’ she breathed. ‘Someone has built a technological version of the stone circle.’

  ‘How very clever of you.’

  The voice cut through the room like a gunshot. Clara shielded her eyes as lights all around the building snapped on, flooding the warehouse with a bright white glare. As the lights came on, the hybrid insects in the cages screamed their displeasure, filling the air with a cacophony of screeching and hissing. Angela ran to Clara’s side as white-coated figures closed in on them.

  ‘Cover those things up.’

  As two of the figures hurried towards the cages, a tall man in an immaculate grey suit stepped into the centre of the circle. The first thing that Clara noticed about him was that he was holding what looked like a vintage Second World War service revolver. The second was that one half of his face was covered by a white plastic mask.

  From the descriptions she had already heard there was only one person this could be.

  This was the mysterious Jason Clearfield.

  Only lightning-fast reflexes saved the Doctor’s life. As the gun fired, he threw himself to one side, landing hard on his shoulder and rolling back onto his feet in one smooth, fluid movement. A muffled curse came from inside the house.

  Sprinting forwards, the Doctor grasped the barrel of the shotgun and yanked hard. There was a loud thump and a grunt of pain from the other side of the door. Immediately the Doctor released the gun and pressed his sonic screwdriver to the lock, slamming his shoulder against the door as he did so.

  It crashed inwards, and there was another cry of pain as his assailant was thrown to the floor. The Doctor pushed his way inside. An elderly man lay in the flagstoned passageway clutching at his shoulder. The Doctor snatched up the shotgun and glared at him with distaste.

  ‘Well, it’s good to see that you’re following the traditional military model of shoot first, ask questions later.’

  Charlie and Kevin pushed through the door behind him, the constable hurrying forward to help the man to his feet.

  ‘What on earth did you think you were doing, Robin? You could have killed us!’

  ‘Thought that your were some of them, didn’t I?’ The old man grimaced with pain. ‘Thought you’d come to turn me into another zombie.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s all right then,’ snorted the Doctor contemptuously. ‘It’s perfectly fine to try and kill your friends and neighbours despite the fact that they are being used to do things against their will.’

  Robin shot him an angry look. ‘No friends of mine out there.’

  The two men glared at each other for a moment, then Robin gave a deep sigh.

  ‘You’d better come in.’ He turned to Kevin. ‘You, boy, close the door. And make sure you lock it properly. Don’t want any of those creepy crawlies getting in.’

  Robin led them down the hallway to a large, homely kitchen. An open box of shotgun cartridges lay on the ancient oak table that dominated the room.
The Doctor handed the shotgun to Charlie.

  ‘Here. Much as I dislike these things, it seems foolish not to keep it. Just in case.’

  Charlie took it with a nod, snapping it open and removing the spent cartridges. Robin sat down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs, rubbing at his shoulder, obviously still in discomfort from the fall he had taken.

  The Doctor crossed to his side. ‘You’d better let me have a look at that.’

  ‘Why? Some kind of doctor, are you?’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’ The Doctor started probing the muscles around Robin’s shoulder, ignoring the grunts of pain that he produced. ‘Nothing seems to be broken.’

  ‘No thanks to you,’ grumbled Robin. ‘Still, I suppose that’s something. It’s going to stiffen up something rotten, though.’

  ‘Not really.’ The Doctor adjusted the settings on his sonic screwdriver and ran the tip over Robin’s shoulder, filling the kitchen with a low warbling noise. ‘You’ll have a nasty bruise for a while but, other than that, you’re as good as new.’

  Robin moved his arm experimentally, and then looked up at the Doctor in amazement. ‘Well, I’ll be blowed…’

  The Doctor pulled up another chair and sat down opposite him, elbows on the table, chin cradled in his hands and eyes blazing with energy.

  ‘And now, Mr Sanford, perhaps you’d like to tell me about your experiences fighting giant insects during the war.’

  ‘Excuse me, sir?’

  Corporal Palmer stood in the entranceway of the mobile command centre.

  ‘Yes, Corporal?’ Captain Wilson looked up gratefully from the laptop, feeling the tendons in his neck pop as he did so. He hated desk work.

  ‘Gunshots heard inside the perimeter, sir.’

  Colonel Dickinson immediately looked up from his own computer screen. ‘Gunshots? Where?’

  ‘South side of the village, sir. Shotgun, most likely.’

  ‘Then we’d better have a look. Get my Land Rover ready, would you, Palmer.’