Something in the Water t-4

by Trevor Baxendale

  Owen looked as though he was considering for a moment before replying. ‘We may have to do some tests, yes, but you won’t have to go anywhere. In fact I can take a blood sample right here, right now.’ He reached into his jacket pocket and took out the field kit he always carried: a slim box no bigger than a pencil case containing needles, syringes, sterilised pads, scalpels. Some of the stuff was more advanced than the most up-to-date medical equipment available anywhere in the world.

  ‘You came prepared,’ said Strong, automatically rolling up his shirtsleeve.

  ‘I was a Boy Scout.’ Owen pulled on a pair of surgical gloves, assembled a hypodermic, sterilised a patch of skin on Strong’s forearm and tapped a vein until it stood out. Then he quickly and expertly extracted some blood.

  ‘Nicely done,’ Strong said, and then coughed. ‘Didn’t feel a thing.’

  ‘I’ll get this analysed and then we’ll know what’s what,’ Owen said as he stowed the kit and sample. ‘But as far as we’re concerned, at the moment you’ve just got a bad case of flu — although it could be a new strain.’

  ‘Asian flu?’

  ‘Doubtful, but it’s really too early to tell. Like I said: tests. That’ll give us an idea.’

  Strong sat back, clearing his throat painfully again, thinking about the implications. He looked twenty years older. ‘Bloody hell, this is just awful. How long am I going to be off work?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Owen assured him, sounding positive but professional. ‘Remember, this is all precautionary. It’s probably nothing.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Strong, in a hollow voice that meant he had said those same words to patients a hundred times before and not meant it either.

  ‘Get some rest,’ Owen advised him. ‘I’ll give you a call and let you know the results as soon as. OK?’

  Strong nodded, reaching for his tissues again as another coughing fit began. He waved as Owen let himself out.

  Back in the car, Owen contacted Ianto again.

  ‘It’s me. I’ve seen Strong and he’s in a bad way. Coughing up blood. I’ve taken a sample for analysis and I’m on my way back now. Do us a favour and get my stuff set up.’

  ‘As you wish.’ A pause. ‘And what about Saskia Harden?’

  Owen swore. ‘Listen, never mind her for the moment. I’m more worried about Strong. I saw another patient at the medical centre with the same symptoms, and possibly a whole lot more in the waiting room. Whatever this is, it needs prioritising.’

  ‘Once a doctor, always a doctor, eh?’

  ‘I’ll do my job, Ianto, and you do yours. That way we all get job satisfaction.’

  SEVEN

  Owen found Jack on the phone to the UN in Geneva.

  ‘Torchwood,’ Jack was saying. ‘Yes. T-O-R-C-H-W … look, who is this? I’m calling on a priority line, dammit, I don’t need to spell anything out. I was promised a full report on the Helsinki Warp. Yes, I know that was a UNIT operation. Torchwood is copied in on everything UNIT does.’ He listened for a few seconds, a muscle twitching in his jaw. ‘Captain Jack Harkness. Harkness. H-A-R-K … oh, can it.’

  He threw the phone onto his desk in exasperation and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘What is it with these guys? Give them a desk and a phone and they think they control the world.’

  ‘Some of them do, don’t they?’

  ‘Over my dead body. And I mean that. It’s bad enough dealing with the Hokrala Corp lawyers and their ex-dimension writs, without all that United Nations red tape.’ Jack leant back in his chair and called out: ‘Ianto! Anything from Gwen and Tosh?’

  Ianto appeared quietly and calmly at the door to Jack’s office, almost as if he’d been waiting there. And he had a tray of coffee things with him. ‘They should be here within the hour.’

  ‘Great.’ Jack took a coffee. ‘Ianto, you always know exactly what I need. It’s uncanny, I tell you.’

  ‘That’s why I work for Torchwood. Uncanny is our business.’

  ‘You’d better get your autopsy table cleaned up,’ Jack told Owen. ‘Gwen and Toshiko are bringing in another guest for you.’

  Owen shot Ianto a questioning look.

  ‘They found a corpse at Greendown Moss,’ Ianto explained.

  ‘Human or alien?’

  ‘They can’t be sure. Probably human. Apparently it’s rather old and somewhat decayed.’

  ‘Two autopsies in one day. Business is good.’

  ‘It’s better than good,’ Jack said. ‘It’s a result. According to Tosh, the corpse registers for Rift energy — it’s linked to whatever’s been going on with that.’ He nodded towards the immense silver tower at the heart of the Hub.

  Owen shook his head, then paused as his gaze fell on a decades-old poster on the wall behind Jack’s head. Coughs and sneezes spread diseases, it read. He looked back at Jack. ‘I’ve been thinking about Bob Strong.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The GP.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s very ill. He seems to think he may have been exposed to some kind of biohazard.’

  Jack looked at him directly. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Can’t say for certain,’ Owen admitted. ‘I took a blood sample, partly as cover, but mostly because I think it needs checking into.’

  Jack sighed. ‘Owen, this is Torchwood, not the Department of Health.’ Jack swung his boots down from his desk and grabbed his coffee, heading for the door.

  ‘The GP was only half-joking about the biohazard but I can’t say for sure that he’s not right,’ said Owen, following Jack out. ‘We’ve seen what can happen when an experimental strain of foot-and-mouth was accidentally released from research labs in the South of England after last year’s floods, and the NHS is under siege from C-Deficile. Throw the prospect of biological terrorism into the mix and a switched-on GP could get jumpy.’

  ‘Have you done the blood test?’

  ‘It’s running. Should be finished by now.’ Owen hurried across to his workstation and punched up the test results. ‘Now we can see what’s what.’ The screen filled with streams of chemical equations and graphs. Owen frowned, and tapped some keys. Data scrolled up the screen, and his eyes darted from side to side as he took it in. ‘That’s wrong,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s gotta be …’

  ‘What’s up?’ Jack joined him at the workstation.

  ‘Doesn’t make sense. The test must have mis-run.’

  ‘Why?’

  Owen tapped the screen. ‘There’s nothing wrong with this blood. It’s perfectly normal O-negative. Cell count, blood gases, they’re all spot on.’

  ‘Which means …?’

  ‘Whatever Bob Strong’s got, it isn’t a disease.’ He sat forward and typed quickly, more urgently. The screen flicked and changed and began filling up with more information. ‘I’ve hacked into the main NHS database. It’s just a thought, but … Yeah, here we go. Look at this: massive spike in respiratory complaints in the last few weeks, right across the region. Way above the seasonal average.’

  ‘So what is it? A flu epidemic? Big deal; these people still think it’s news when there’s another outbreak of measles. Let me know when it’s Martian Flu.’

  ‘I told Strong it was probably a new strain of flu, but I doubt it is. And so does he, in all honesty. GPs are pretty clued up on influenza, even foreign strains of the usual A, B and C viruses. The Government has a major vaccination programme in place in case there’s an outbreak or a pandemic. But this doesn’t fit the flu profile.’

  A quiet cough signalled Ianto’s presence. ‘Excuse me. I’ve just had word from Gwen — they’ve arrived.’

  Jack clapped his hands. ‘Great. Let’s see what the cat’s dragged in.’

  Owen gestured at his screen. ‘What about this?’

  ‘It’s still as much a matter for the medical profession as for Torchwood. I hear what you’re saying, and we’ll tag it for a follow up.’ Jack headed towards the Autopsy Room. ‘Right now, you’ve got another dead body to look at. Mayb
e you can find a connection?’

  Owen bit his lip, considering the information on the screen for a second longer. Then he twisted out of his seat and followed Jack.

  Gwen and Toshiko were just coming into the Hub. The strobe lights were still flashing as the massive cog-wheel vault door rolled slowly back into position behind them with its customary grinding rattle. Gwen looked tired but glad to be back at base.

  Toshiko, on the other hand, just looked wet. Very wet.

  Jack paused at the top of the stairs and looked down at her with a grin. ‘Hey, Tosh, when I said we’d see what the cat’s dragged in, I didn’t think it was gonna be you!’

  Owen joined him and broke into a laugh.

  ‘Owen, don’t say a word.’ Toshiko glared up at him. Her face was streaked with dirt, as if she’d been lying face down in a puddle. Her hair was bedraggled and her clothes were soaked through and stained with mud. A pool of dingy water spread out across the concrete where she stood.

  Ianto, with only the faintest of tuts, appeared with a number of old newspapers to put down on the floor and a clean towel for Toshiko. She thanked him icily as she took the towel and shivered. Ianto then busied himself spreading the paper out on the concrete, soaking up the water and clumps of congealed mud and grass. ‘There is a doormat upstairs, you know. Several, in fact.’

  ‘What the hell happened?’ Jack asked, grinning.

  ‘Slight accident in the marshland,’ Gwen said. ‘We wandered off the path at Greendown Moss. Big mistake.’

  ‘That’s a relief,’ Owen said with a sardonic smile. ‘For a moment I thought you’d been mud-wrestling together and I’d missed it.’

  ‘In your dreams.’

  ‘Only when I’m bored, girls. Only when I’m bored.’

  Without another word, Toshiko went to get herself cleaned up. Gwen reported to Jack in his office.

  ‘Your friend Professor Len was … interesting. Not your type, I’d have thought.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Sort of … grungy.’

  ‘So he’s let himself go. But he was a great guy. We had a thing together in the early seventies.’ Jack smiled warmly at the memory.

  ‘Yes,’ Gwen said thoughtfully, ‘he sent his fondest. But we didn’t find any ghosts.’

  ‘Ianto said you found a corpse, which is a start.’

  ‘That was later. First we searched Greendown Moss. There was definitely something there — Tosh picked up another Rift spark, but we couldn’t get a fix on it, didn’t see anything.’

  ‘Sounds familiar,’ muttered Owen.

  ‘Ignore him,’ Jack told Gwen. ‘He’s just sore because he lost an alien in a fish farm.’

  Owen pointed at himself and mouthed I’m sore …? incredulously.

  Gwen said, ‘How’d you get on with Big Guy, then?’

  ‘He’s in the Morgue. Some unidentified extraterrestrial opened him up like a-’

  ‘So far we’ve had a packet of crisps and a tin of tuna,’ commented Jack.

  ‘-baked potato,’ Owen finished triumphantly. He looked from one to the other. ‘No?’

  ‘Almost a meal,’ said Gwen. ‘Which reminds me — I’m hungry. Anyone for pizza?’

  ‘Already ordered,’ announced Ianto smoothly as he handed her a mug of hot chocolate.

  ‘Thanks, Ianto. You are a treasure, you know that?’

  He smiled. ‘As a matter of fact, I do.’

  ‘Tosh stepped off the path and got stuck in the mud.’ Gwen sipped the chocolate carefully. ‘At least I thought it was mud, but it turned out to be a bog or something and before we knew it she was sinking.’

  Owen sniggered, shaking his head. ‘Oh, I’d have paid money to have seen that.’

  Gwen glared at him. ‘She’s lucky to be alive. If it hadn’t been for Professor Len, she’d be dead.’

  ‘Wouldn’t we all?’ said Jack. He stood up and clapped his hands. ‘So — where’s the body?’

  EIGHT

  Len Morgan trudged across Greendown Moss, hands deep in the pockets of his parka. It was bitingly cold out here, even at this time of year, and the wind was making his nose run continuously. Every time he put a boot down in the mud, he could feel icy fingers grabbing at his feet. For most people, a walk across the Moss would be a risky undertaking in good weather. In these conditions it was positively dangerous. Many people had met their deaths out here, and it was apparently nothing to do with Sally Blackteeth. They just sank in the mud, slipped beneath the Moss and drowned.

  But not Professor Len. He knew the bog too well, and he knew Sally Blackteeth.

  There was a thick mist hanging around the trees of Grey Copse. He could see the branches of the silver birch stretching up towards the white sky, but that was all. The mist closed around him as he stepped into the trees, welcoming him to another, colder, more mysterious world.

  ‘That was a bloody stupid thing to do,’ he said.

  A dark figure emerged from the mist close by. ‘You can talk.’

  Len shivered. He knew better than to look at the figure directly. It was enough that he could hear the moist sucking noise it made as it moved slowly behind him. He never heard a footstep, only the faint, wet sound of its breath.

  ‘I couldn’t help it,’ he said. ‘They insisted.’

  ‘You brought them here.’

  ‘I had to. I owed someone a favour.’

  ‘A favour? You don’t owe anybody anything — except me.’

  ‘This one goes back a long way. Before I met you.’

  ‘Huh. So who is this person? The one you owe a favour to that’s more important than the one you owe me. Come on — who is it?’

  ‘You don’t need to know that.’ Professor Len licked his lips, sensing trouble. ‘I only came to apologise. I know I shouldn’t have brought them here — but you shouldn’t have given them that corpse.’

  ‘Consider it a gift.’

  ‘They took the body back with them.’

  ‘I expected them to.’

  ‘It’s a mistake,’ Professor Len insisted bravely. ‘They’ll examine it, check into it.’

  ‘Good luck to them.’

  ‘They won’t let it go. They were here for a reason. These people don’t do anything without a reason.’

  ‘Good. Neither do I.’

  Len bit his lip, raised a hand to rub at his beard. He was torn with indecision, and he could sense that his next words were being waited for.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ he said. ‘These people — they’re special. They’re unique. They call themselves Torchwood.’

  There was a noise like a stake being driven into moist earth. It wasn’t a gasp of surprise or shock. It was a snort of derision. ‘Torchwood. I don’t fear them. Never have done.’

  ‘But they won’t let it lie. Something’s brought them here to the Moss. It’s not you — it’s some kind of disturbance in time, they said …’

  Another hiss of disdain. ‘They have no idea what they’re dealing with.’

  ‘I just thought you ought to know.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because … because I want to protect you.’

  ‘Rubbish. It’s because you think I’ll spare your life.’

  Professor Len was trembling now, and it wasn’t due to the cold. He couldn’t even feel his body any more. Snot ran down his lip but he didn’t even think of wiping it away. ‘I don’t want to die! It wasn’t my idea to give them the body. You did that, not me.’

  ‘You can’t protect me. I know all about Torchwood. And I know all about Jack Harkness. He’s the man you think you owe your life to, isn’t he? The favour! How sweet. But it doesn’t matter. It’s done now.’

  Professor Len swallowed, his mouth dry. ‘You mean I can go?’

  ‘Look at me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Look at me.’

  Professor Len glanced up, aware that someone had moved in front of him. At first he could see nothing except the mist and the ghosts of the trees around him. There wa
s a smell like rotting cabbage and peat mixed with the faintest trace of a butcher’s yard, and then he saw his companion.

  ‘There,’ she said. ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’

  He shook his head miserably. ‘No,’ he whispered.

  ‘Good,’ she said, smiling. And then, with one swift stroke, she sliced his neck open, deep enough to expose the vertebrae at the back, just before the blood surged up and out in a huge red fountain.

  NINE

  The corpse was laid out on the table in the Autopsy Room underneath a ring of brilliant exam lights. It was old and in an advanced state of decay. The skin had withered into a dark, leathery carapace stretched over wasted muscle and tendon. Some of the joints were exposed, yellowed bone just visible beneath the skein of mud that still covered the entire body.

  It was still wearing the remnants of trousers and a sweater, but these were little more than scraps of material stiffened by the preserving effects of the soil. Closer examination revealed small invertebrates still making a home in the damp crevices.

  The head was little more than a hairless skull with eyes crusted over behind blackened lids. The lips were partly eaten away to reveal the remains of yellow teeth.

  ‘Definitely human,’ announced Owen, now wearing his white lab coat, ‘judging by the orthodontic work. Five fillings and a cap.’

  He stood in the well of the Autopsy Room while the others watched from the walkway above. There was a deck of monitoring equipment at the end of the table, and a camera filming the autopsy. Owen circled the corpse, making a number of routine observations before attempting any invasive exploration.

  ‘The body is male, adult, although it’s not possible at this stage to make a guess at its age.’

  ‘Guess anyway,’ advised Jack. He stood in his shirtsleeves, arms folded. ‘You never know, you may be right.’