Gwen had gone no more than ten paces before Toshiko called out after her. ‘It’s gone.’
‘What?’ Gwen turned, swinging the torch beam around, finding Tosh. ‘What d’you mean, gone?’
Toshiko held up the scanner. ‘It’s blanked. Whatever was here has just disappeared.’
Gwen frowned and then turned slowly back, keeping the gun up, staring into the darkness. ‘No it hasn’t.’
‘Scanner’s not registering, Gwen …’
‘Doesn’t mean it’s gone. Doesn’t mean it’s not here.’ Gwen lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘It’s just hiding.’
Toshiko caught up with her with a series of little splashes. ‘The scanner doesn’t work like that …’
‘You said yourself it’s not like anything we’ve seen before. Maybe it can block the scanner, or scramble the readings or something.’
Silence.
‘Tosh?’
‘Gwen, I’m sinking.’
She turned and found Toshiko looking almost comically short besides her. She shone the torch down at her feet and found the mud rising up to Toshiko’s knees. Instinctively Gwen stuffed her gun into a back pocket and then grabbed hold of Toshiko.
‘I thought you said there wasn’t any quicksand,’ said Gwen. She wasn’t panicking yet, but she needed to get Toshiko out of the mud.
‘It’s marsh,’ Toshiko said. ‘Remember, some patches are firm, other patches grow over deep water. I must have stepped off the path.’
‘Can you try to step out?’
‘What do you think I’m doing?’ There was a hint of real anxiety in Toshiko’s voice now. ‘I can’t move my feet. I’m sinking!’
Gwen looked back at the road. She couldn’t even see the car any more let alone the professor; but then she heard him — heavy splashes through the mud and a tall, lurching figure emerging like a caveman from the mist. He had seen Toshiko in trouble and was coming to help.
‘Keep still!’ she heard him call.
Gwen turned back to Toshiko. ‘Keep still,’ she urged. ‘Professor Len’s coming now.’
There was a horrible silence for a few moments as Toshiko sank slowly into the water. Gradually they heard the professor’s footsteps splashing towards them. He caught up, winded, panting, and immediately grabbed Toshiko around the waist. ‘Come on, girl! Up you come!’
But no matter how hard Gwen and Professor Len pulled, the mud just continued to suck Toshiko down. The rate of descent was becoming inexorable and she was starting to panic. ‘Gwen, it’s really cold! I’m sinking! Help me!’
‘We’re doing our best, girl!’ grunted Professor Len. His face was red with the effort above his beard.
Gwen moved around so that she could put her arms under Toshiko’s shoulders and heave. She strained hard but there was no moving her.
‘Lie down,’ gasped the professor, shifting position as well. He couldn’t get any decent leverage because he was trying to make sure he didn’t step on the same patch of marsh that Toshiko had. If they both got stuck there was no way out.
‘What?’
‘Lie down, spread your surface area across the moss,’ the professor instructed. ‘You won’t sink so fast.’
Toshiko looked at him wide-eyed. ‘Lie down? Are you mad?’
‘It’s OK,’ Gwen assured her, but she felt far from confident. Her own heart was thudding madly in her chest. ‘Lie down, quickly!’
Awkwardly, Toshiko started to lower herself towards the ground, into an uncomfortable squatting position.
‘You need to lie down flat, like you’re floating on the surface of a swimming pool,’ the professor urged.
Gingerly, Toshiko lowered herself even further, her face a mask of fear and revulsion. She was already soaked to the skin, a thick brown tidemark rising up the white top she was wearing beneath her leather jacket. Carefully Gwen moved around until she was behind her, checking each step, probing with the flat of her foot to see if the mossy ground would take her weight. ‘Lean back to me, and I’ll see if I can pull you out,’ she said. ‘It may be easier at this angle.’
Once again Gwen got a good grip under Toshiko’s arms and heaved. At first she seemed immovable, but then, with a sudden wet sucking noise, Toshiko slid out of the marsh’s grip and both Gwen and Professor Len fell backwards, dragging her with them.
They lay on the wet ground for a minute, Gwen gasping and laughing with relief. Professor Len was less amused. ‘I told you not go out on the moss!’ he roared. ‘You could’ve been killed!’
Toshiko crawled weakly away from the mud, shivering in the cold.
And then stopped.
‘Gwen.’
Gwen twisted around. ‘What is it?’
Professor Len had already seen it. He climbed slowly to his knees, his eyes wide in shock and horror.
‘Look.’ Toshiko’s face was drawn and mud-stained, but there was a look in her dark eyes that had an immediate, sobering effect on Gwen.
There was a face in the mud. Emaciated skin was stretched tight over the skull, yellow teeth bared as if with the strain of coming to the surface. The crusty eye sockets were full of silt and worms.
‘It was right beneath me,’ Toshiko whispered, her voice trembling. ‘Under the water all this time.’
‘We must have disturbed it,’ Gwen said, bending over for a closer look. ‘It’s male. Look — there’s the rest of the body, half-submerged. He was probably trapped under the moss. The struggle freed the corpse and it floated to the surface.’
Suddenly Toshiko was fumbling for her scanner. Her muddy fingers slid all over the controls but in a few more seconds she had it working again. ‘Chronon discharge,’ she said. ‘Signs of Rift fluctuation.’
‘No,’ said Professor Len, shaking his head fearfully. ‘It’s Sally Blackteeth. She’s coughed him back up from the depths.’ He looked up at them, his eyes wide and staring, full of fear. ‘It’s a warning!’
FOUR
Bob Strong went to see Iuean Davies first thing in the morning. The practice manager was sitting in his office with his feet up on the desk, aiming balls of screwed-up paper at the waste basket.
‘What’s up?’ he asked as Bob opened the door without knocking and strode in. ‘Can’t find your manners?’
‘Sorry. Problem.’
‘You look bloody terrible. Lay off the booze.’
‘No, it’s not that. I had a rough night — didn’t get much sleep.’
‘Don’t tell me: you’ve fallen madly in love with Letty Bird, and you can’t bear to tell her yourself. You’ve lain awake all night thinking about her. You’re bursting with this mad, dark and dangerous passion and you want me to tell her for you. Am I right?’
Bob closed the door carefully behind him and leant against it, arms folded. ‘I had Saskia Harden in my surgery yesterday morning.’
Iuean swung his feet off the table, eyes wide. ‘My God, free tickets to see Wales v England and then you get to have Saskia Harden in your bloody surgery too. You really do get all the luck.’
‘I mean she came to see me.’ Bob wasn’t in the mood for schoolboy jokes, although he did manage a faint smile after a moment’s consideration. ‘Actually, I could have had her. But I didn’t.’
‘Ah, professional detachment,’ Iuean murmured. ‘Only to be admired — but never practised. At least, that’s my motto. So — what did the Angel of Death want this time? Hurled herself off any tall buildings recently? Thrown herself under a bus?’
Bob shrugged. ‘I think her suicidal days are behind her — if they were ever there in the first place. I still have my doubts.’
Iuean scoffed. ‘Oh, come on! The police fished her out of Rhydwaedlyd Brook. Face down. She’s lucky to be alive. The paramedic actually pronounced her dead, if you remember the report. Frightened the life out of everyone when she sat up cool as a cucumber in A amp;E.’
‘She frightens the life out of me, to be honest.’
‘Rubbish. She’s a bit odd, that’s all.’ Iuean reconsidered
for a moment. ‘OK, she’s got issues, shall we say. But, in the end, she’s just a woman, and they all have issues. She’s good looking. Available. What are you waiting for?’
‘I don’t actually know. But something’s not right. She says she’s never tried to commit suicide, not even once.’
‘The evidence would indicate otherwise.’
‘I’m not convinced. There’s more to her than meets the eye.’
Iuean let out one of his big laughs. ‘Bob Strong, the eternal romantic! You know what your trouble is, don’t you? Besides being English?’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s a medical term for it, actually. It’s called Hugh Grantism. You spend so long faffing around trying to do the correct thing that the chance to do anything at all just slips you by.’
‘I think she needs help,’ Bob said. ‘It’s just I’m not sure what with.’
‘You are now officially wasting the practice manager’s time. You are the weakest link, goodbye.’
Bob coughed, fishing for his handkerchief. ‘Oh no,’ he said miserably. ‘That’s all I need. Reckon I’ve caught a cold. Felt it coming on yesterday.’
‘Well no bloody wonder!’ Iuean leant back from his desk, balancing his chair on two legs and putting his hands behind his head. ‘Something’s definitely going around. I’ve had six chest infections and four cases of flu since Monday. And that’s not including all the usual bloody sore throats and sniffles.’
Bob could feel that tickle building in his own throat and quickly cleared it. The cough stung.
‘So what’s the matter?’ Iuean asked. ‘Come on, I need to write up some notes and make a cost breakdown for the new practice nurse. I haven’t got all day to waste on you coughing your guts up in my office and mooning over that bloody woman.’
‘I’m not mooning over her!’
‘You fancy her, don’t you?’
‘Well I’m not sure. I think I do, yes.’ Bob looked up apologetically. ‘Is that right? Should I? She’s a patient, after all.’
‘Hardly. So she’s registered with you and she’s been to see you a few times. So what? She’s single, isn’t she? No bloody relatives or next of kin as far as I remember from her notes. Bloody well up for it as well, from what you’ve told me. Go for it!’ Iuean sat forward, suddenly serious. ‘Maybe a personal relationship, rather than a professional one, is just what she needs. Have you thought of that? I can tell by your vacant expression that you have not. Well, do think about it. Some problems can’t necessarily be solved in the consulting room. Go on, see her, ask her out. Talk to her as Bob Strong, not Dr Strong. Or do you think the ex-Mrs Strong wouldn’t approve?’
‘It’s not that. She’s just a bit … well, as you said. Odd.’
‘She’s a woman! What do you expect? Normality?’ Iuean tutted impatiently. ‘You’re setting your standards too bloody high, boyo, that’s your trouble. Get in there while she’s still interested, you fool.’
‘Yeah. Maybe you’re right.’
‘I always am. I have two perfect marriages and two perfect divorces behind me to prove it.’
‘Thanks.’ Bob coughed again and searched for his hanky, only to find his trouser pockets empty. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said. His throat was sore now and he decided to take some aspirin himself. He gave Iuean a small salute and headed back to his own surgery.
On the way past the reception desk, he stopped and spoke to Letty Bird. ‘Did Saskia Harden make an appointment for next week?’
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
‘I did tell her to stop at the desk on her way out and make one.’
‘Well, she didn’t.’ Letty tapped at some keys on her computer and swivelled the screen so that Bob could see. ‘There. Blank. At least, as far as Ms Harden is concerned. All you’ve got for this time next week — so far — is Mrs Finnigan’s bunions and the check-up on Mr Grundy. The scans should be back from the hospital by then, and you can tell him the good news. Or the bad news, depending on what the results are.’
‘I can hardly wait.’ Bob thought for a moment and then said, ‘Do we have Ms Harden’s phone number on file?’
Letty raised her severely plucked eyebrows.
‘I need to check something with her.’ He knew just the kind of sucked-lemon look a request like this would provoke, but he was determined to follow this through now.
Tight-lipped, Letty worked the keyboard and then frowned. ‘No. We don’t have any contact telephone number for her. Does she even have a phone?’
Bob shrugged. ‘Apparently not.’
‘Doesn’t have an address either by the looks of it. At least not one that makes sense. I know the Marshfield area. There’s no such place as this.’ She tapped the screen.
‘OK.’ Bob thanked her for nothing and turned towards his surgery, rubbing his chest painfully as he coughed again.
‘You should see a doctor!’ Letty called after him.
FIVE
Jack took out his frustration on the Hub’s firing range. He aimed the Webley one-handed, putting a single round through the chests of four separate Weevils and the final two bullets through the forehead of the last.
Owen peered into the dingy shadows at the far end of the disused underground tunnel. They kept it gloomy to make it more difficult. ‘That one was an inch high.’
‘So what? It’s dead, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, yeah, dead as a cardboard cut-out with two bullet holes in it can be …’
Jack lowered the revolver and clicked open the cylinder. ‘So what’s your problem?’
‘Real targets don’t stand still. And even if they do stand still, the first round will knock them back. The second round will miss.’
Jack quickly reloaded. ‘Not me, buddy.’
‘You’re tired.’
‘Like I said — not me.’ Jack cast him a sideways glance. ‘Get anything from Big Guy?’
‘Not much. The wound was deep and lethal; you know that already. He never stood a chance. The damage to the internal organs was traumatic and consistent with a single, raking slash directed upwards from the crotch to the sternum. I imagine it must have made his eyes water somewhat.’
‘So what are we talking about? Some kind of predator?’
‘Unlikely. As far as we know, Weevils have no natural predators, although that is supposition on our part. We know so little about them, really. But a natural predator only ever kills to eat — and there was no sign of anything snacking on Big Guy.’
‘Could it have been disturbed?’
‘It’s possible. But somehow I doubt it.’ Owen let out a huge yawn he made no effect to conceal. ‘I’ve put him in the Morgue anyway.’
‘I thought you were going to get your head down? You look like you could do with some kip.’
Owen pursed his lips. He didn’t bother arguing. He was certainly tired, but he was still too wound up after the action in the warehouse. There was no way he was going to get to sleep now, and he didn’t feel like going home. Besides which, time on the firing range was always fun, and he knew perfectly well that Captain Jack Harkness could put six bullets through the same diamond on a playing card at this range. Even using that old relic of a handgun. Owen didn’t know why Jack was so attached to it; the weapons Torchwood had available were literally incredible; a lot of them were state-of-the-art firearms and many were augmented with alien technology. They had automatics that couldn’t miss, laser-guided rounds, explosive rounds, depleted uranium rounds, stun-guns, handguns that carried super-dense flechettes in a slim magazine containing nearly 200 shots. And yet Jack always stuck with his old Webley revolver, its grip worn smooth with years of usage and the flat-sided barrel nicked with a lifetime of action. He kept it in a large, old-fashioned leather holster at his hip.
Another six shots thundered down the range and punched flakes of paper into the damp air. Each round had struck the first three Weevil cut-outs in the eye.
Jack stood in a slowly moving cloud of gun smoke, arm extended,
face stony.
‘Coffee, gentlemen,’ said Ianto as he came in. He put down the tray on one of the reloading tables and brushed a smudge of cordite from his shirt cuff. He looked up, saw Jack’s grim expression, then checked the Weevils. ‘Feeling a bit out of sorts, are we?’
‘I didn’t like the way they were looking at me.’
Owen smiled at Ianto and jabbed a finger at Jack. ‘He’s frustrated, he is.’
‘I know. He always aims high when he’s in a bad mood.’
‘You could both do with some practice yourselves,’ said Jack. ‘I want you all on this firing range at least once a day from now on.’
‘What’s the big hurry?’ Owen asked.
‘I don’t know — yet.’
‘It’s the Rift, isn’t it?’ said Ianto. ‘All these fluctuations and sparks. Something’s coming and we don’t know what it is.’
‘You gotta be ready,’ said Jack simply. He was wearing a fresh, pale blue shirt over his white tee. There was, predictably, no sign of any wound now. ‘Tell me about Gwen and Tosh. What’s new?’
‘They’re checking out a new lead,’ replied Ianto. ‘Not far from Newport, somewhere called Greendown Moss.’
‘New lead?’ prompted Owen.
‘Professor Len is with them,’ Ianto said.
‘Professor Len?’ Owen looked confused. ‘Sorry, have I missed something?’
‘An old acquaintance,’ Jack explained. ‘Historian and ghost hunter. Thought he could be useful.’
‘Well three cheers for Professor Len,’ said Owen. He turned and whispered to Ianto, ‘Never heard of him.’
‘Let’s hope they have more luck than we did, anyway.’ Jack reloaded his gun, slipped it back in its holster and closed the flap down over the butt. He picked up his coffee, sipped it, then talked as he walked, heading for the exit. ‘Course, they have a slightly trickier job: they don’t know exactly what they’re looking for either, but at least they don’t know where to look. What’s our excuse?’
Owen cleared his throat. ‘Poor light. Couldn’t see a thing in that bloody warehouse. I almost shot you.’
Something in the Water t-4 Page 4
