Something in the Water t-4

by Trevor Baxendale

  She was naked beneath. She took three more steps and then, passing through a shadow, her body seemed to ripple slightly. Gwen stared as she walked back into the light of the street lamps and then, with sudden clarity, realised what was happening. Saskia was shucking her human disguise like she had her raincoat.

  At first, it looked as though water was streaming over her skin, running down her face and body as if she was standing under a shower. The shimmering passed over her like a sudden glimpse of silver scales, a fish-like iridescence that coursed through her features, robbing them of all humanity, flowing down between her breasts and out beneath the rest of her skin. She darkened, quickly and permanently, as if she was burning up without any visible flames, the flesh crisping into a rough, gnarled texture full of cracks and fissures.

  ‘Keep back,’ Gwen said, her voice firm as she carefully aimed her gun. She felt as if, finally confronted with the hideous wrongness, a preternatural resolve was flooding through her. She wouldn’t go down without a fight. ‘I swear I’ll shoot if you take another step.’

  The water hag smiled. Or at least that’s what Gwen thought it must have been doing. She could see a lot of teeth, but its facial expressions failed to correspond with anything Gwen recognised. All her natural, instinctive behavioural cues were missing. With dreadful fascination, Gwen realised that she was looking right into the eyes of a truly alien being.

  The eyes were narrow, pus-yellow, with latitudinal slits like those of a goat. They were set deep in the face, surrounded by a thick web of shadows. The nose was little more than a jutting blade surmounting vertical holes like those in a skull. Beneath this was the wide, crescent-shaped mouth, parted to show the grey, needle-like teeth and a thin, flickering black tongue.

  And when the smile came — and now Gwen knew it was a smile — the thin lipless crack opened wider and wider until the horrible teeth seemed to reach right up to where the ears should be. If Saskia yawned now, Gwen thought, the entire top half of her head would tip back on a hinge. No wonder she could bite the head off a dog.

  It was, quite simply, the smile of death.

  Gwen held her ground, kept the pistol aimed levelly. She held it in a two-handed grip, sighting down the barrel until she was sure the next shot would go straight through the water hag’s forehead.

  ‘Don’t be frightened,’ Saskia said. Her voice was low, rippling, as if she was speaking underwater. Her once blonde hair now hung like seaweed around her head.

  ‘I’m not frightened,’ Gwen said. She hoped she sounded more convinced about that than she felt. Now that she was closer, Gwen could see that the water hag’s skin was full of mud and moss and crawling with tiny worms and insects. The dark yellow eyes never left hers.

  ‘Of course you are. But you can relax. I’m not going to kill you. I need you alive.’

  Somehow that sounded far worse than a simple threat to kill her. Gwen couldn’t feel her fingers any longer, and the gun was slipping in her grip as her hands perspired. She could feel her heart beating so hard that her pulse had to be visible in her neck.

  The other water hags were much closer now. Gwen could smell them all around her, the stench of something wet and rotting. She couldn’t kill all of them. Even if she shot Saskia, how would she get the others? They’d rip her throat out before she could do anything.

  ‘W-what are you, really? Where are you from?’

  ‘Here and there. A world a long way from here, originally.’

  Keep her talking. ‘What was it called?’

  ‘Strepto. Not that it matters much. It’s disappeared, vanished. I was away, travelling. When I went home it was gone. So I came here on my own, the last survivor.’

  ‘On your own?’

  ‘At first. Not any more.’

  ‘What d’you want?’ Gwen was gripping the automatic ever more tightly, keeping the heavy gun — it was so heavy — trained on Saskia’s forehead.

  ‘We need to get in there,’ Saskia replied, pointing down at the ground.

  The Hub. Where Jack and the others all lay dying.

  Saskia took another step closer. The muzzle of Gwen’s gun was no more than thirty centimetres from her head now. ‘My turn to ask the questions now. What’s your name?’

  ‘Gwen.’

  ‘You’re going to take me in there, Gwen. I’m not interested in you or your friends, but I need what you’ve got down there.’

  ‘You won’t get it.’

  ‘I think I will. With your help.’

  ‘I’ll shoot you dead and take my chances. You’re not getting into the Hub.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  Gwen gripped the pistol tighter. ‘Try me.’

  ‘Pulling that trigger will be the last thing you ever do, Gwen.’

  Gwen’s mouth felt so dry she could hardly speak. ‘And watching me do it will be the last thing you ever do.’

  Saskia took another step closer.

  ‘I’m warning you!’ Gwen shouted.

  Saskia smiled.

  This was it, Gwen realised. The final act of her life. Her heart was pounding so hard it hurt in her chest, hurt deep inside her stomach. She felt like she wanted to just stop and cry, but she knew that she couldn’t. This was the final act. She thought of Tosh, clever and gentle Tosh, and the talk they’d had in the motorway services, of Professor Len, and Rhys. Tears were running down her face and she knew she was incapable of speaking now. There was only one thing left to do. She said a silent, choking goodbye to Rhys and pulled the trigger.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Click.

  For a long, long moment, nobody moved. There was complete silence. Gwen was faintly aware of the water in the bay, and then the feel of the wind on her face, and the sad, condescending smile on Saskia’s hideous face.

  ‘Whoops,’ she said gently. ‘Gun empty. Never mind.’

  And, in a flash, the water hag’s long arm shot out, and the hooked talons on the end of her fingers raked the pistol out of Gwen’s hands. The gun spun through the air, away into the darkness, to land with a distant, irrelevant clatter.

  Gwen looked with incomprehension at her hands. Saskia’s claws had ripped the underside of her left hand wide open and blood was pouring down her wrists, dripping onto the pavement at her feet in big red blotches.

  Then her legs gave way, knees dropping, and she fell with a dry croak to the floor.

  Only to be picked up by Saskia again and dangled in the air. ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘It’s not time for you to go yet, Gwen. You’re my key to the Rift …’ She raised Gwen a little higher and then dipped her head so that she could lick the blood from her hand with her long, black tongue. ‘Mmm. Yummy humans.’

  ‘Bitch,’ said Gwen.

  ‘You know, I have to say I’m a little disappointed. I’d heard it said that Earth was defended.’ Saskia gave a light chuckle. ‘Is this really all you’ve got?’

  ‘Not quite,’ said a voice from behind her.

  Saskia twisted her head at an unnatural angle to see who had spoken. Gwen could just see the figure stepping out of the shadows by the wharf. The lights from the bay cast a soft halo around the outline of a tall man in a long coat.

  ‘There’s always me,’ said Jack. He raised his arm and aimed his revolver at the water hag. The other aliens turned and hissed like frightened cats, but Saskia seemed unmoved.

  ‘Captain Harkness,’ she purred. ‘How nice to see you again. And looking so well.’

  ‘Touch of flu,’ Jack said. ‘Over it now.’

  Saskia frowned. ‘No unexpected arrivals? No pitter-patter of tiny feet?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, there was that.’ Jack pulled a face and then lifted his leg, holding up his foot so that Saskia could see the bottom of his boot. There were lumps of blood and flesh jammed into the rugged treads. ‘Had to put my foot down, though.’

  Saskia glared fiercely at the remains but said nothing.

  ‘I missed you in the park,’ Jack continued, narrowing his eyes as he took careful aim. ‘
But I won’t miss now.’

  Saskia swung Gwen around until she was dangling in front of her, protecting her. ‘Want to bet?’

  ‘Human shield, huh?’ Jack tutted. ‘You guys never learn.’

  And then he pulled the trigger.

  Gwen felt the heat of the bullet as it passed her face. Her skin was scorched, but she only became aware of the pain after she’d heard the heavy thud of the round hitting Saskia. The water hag was knocked backwards, but she kept her grip on Gwen’s throat and brought her down on top of her. Gwen landed awkwardly, unable to break her fall, but satisfied in that all of her weight had come down on the water hag’s chest. There was a gust of cold, fetid air as the breath was knocked out of her. Gwen twisted, struggling, but Saskia maintained her grip, the stick-like fingers closing tighter around her neck, threatening to suffocate her. Gwen’s struggles grew more panicky as she realised that she really couldn’t breathe; and she was more frightened by that than the green ichor spurting all over her from the wound in Saskia’s neck.

  Then someone grabbed her by the scruff, wrenched her aside so violently that Saskia almost ripped her head off, and jammed an old service revolver into the water hag’s face.

  ‘Did I mention what a good shot I am?’ asked Jack. His finger squeezed the trigger, but the shot, at point-blank range, exploded into the ground beneath as Saskia slammed him aside using Gwen as a bludgeon. The two of them sprawled across the concrete, then Saskia leapt to her feet, still holding on to Gwen. Jack turned onto his back, bringing the pistol up, but suddenly the water hag held the high ground.

  ‘Not good enough,’ Saskia hissed, throwing Gwen down on top of him.

  Gwen gasped, choking and retching as she tried to draw breath, aware of the searing pain in her left hand more than anything else. Jack rolled, trying to free himself, but the advantage was lost. The other water hags, at a signal from their leader, were closing in, claws and teeth bared. Jack couldn’t shoot them all, no matter how good a shot he was.

  There was a moment of stalemate: Gwen on all fours, barely able to breathe; Jack on one knee beside her, hand on her shoulder, his gun raised, sweeping it back and forth across the approaching aliens.

  ‘Who’s gonna be first to die?’ he asked savagely.

  ‘Does it matter?’ Saskia responded. ‘You have four bullets left. There’s eight of us here — and how many more are due to arrive in the next day or so? A hundred? A thousand?’

  ‘They’ll never make it,’ Jack told her. ‘We’ve got the antidote. There’s a serum which will kill the homunculi in situ. I’ve got my people working on it now, transmitting the formula to the authorities. By morning, they’ll be rolling it out right across the country. Kills ’em dead.’

  Saskia bared her black fangs. ‘Is that what you did to yours?’

  ‘Coughed it right up on the floor and then squashed it under my boot,’ Jack growled.

  ‘No mercy?’

  ‘Not when the planet’s at stake. This is Torchwood. We don’t do political correctness.’

  ‘Then you’ll understand that I can’t show you any mercy in return,’ Saskia smiled. ‘As you say, not when the planet’s at stake. You die and the Earth is ours.’

  ‘And that’s where we come in,’ said Owen Harper.

  He was standing away to one side, with Ianto right beside him. Even in the moonlight, Gwen could see that neither of them looked well — white-faced, haggard, almost at the point of collapse. They were armed with sub-machine guns but, even so, as a rescue attempt she had to admit it didn’t look promising. Owen was leaning against the wall in order to remain upright, lips pressed into a thin line, the Heckler amp; Koch MP5 tucked in against his waist as if it was too heavy to hold properly. Ianto, unbelievably, was in shirtsleeves — bloodstained and open-necked, and, clutching the gun, looking more like an extra from a Die Hard film than an immaculate butler.

  ‘I think the saying is, “Put your hands up”,’ said Ianto.

  ‘Don’t listen to him,’ Owen cut in. ‘Believe me, I want to shoot.’

  Moving as one, the water hags screamed and flew into action. Several dived towards Owen and Ianto, claws slashing, but the response was never in doubt: the MP5s roared and the hags were cut down in mid air, spraying dark blood into the night.

  Next, confusion: Gwen crawling out of the way, dimly aware that Jack was moving in the opposite direction. More water hags yelling and hissing, and frequent, controlled bursts of gunfire from the SMGs. Gwen looked back at one point and saw Owen standing over a fallen water hag, MP5 directed at its head, execution-style. One point-blank burst shattered the head like a dropped melon and he moved on, face grim.

  Ianto was down on one knee, his own weapon raised to his shoulder so that he could aim more carefully. He, too, was squeezing off short, shattering rounds, picking off the water hags where they stood. The one nearest to Gwen was flung back in a hail of gunfire. Weed and moss slopped onto the pavement as the creature staggered back and fell. It crawled along the pavement trailing weeds and green slime, whining to itself, but still very much alive.

  Toshiko’s voice flooded into Gwen’s head: ‘Gwen, can you read me?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m here.’

  ‘Thank goodness you’re all right. I’m checking the CCTV — Saskia’s heading for the quay.’

  Gwen twisted around, peering past the wounded hag lying on the ground nearby, through the gun smoke drifting across Roald Dahl Plass, and saw Saskia disappearing into the darkness towards the bay — closely followed by a tall, running figure in a greatcoat.

  ‘Jack’s after her,’ said Gwen.

  ‘I think she’s heading for the water,’ Toshiko said. ‘Safety, as far as she’s concerned … Cardiff Bay is fresh water, not sea water. Gwen, she mustn’t get there.’

  ‘I’m on it.’ Gwen heaved herself upright, holding her injured hand under the opposite arm, trying to ignore the sharp waves of pain bursting through the lacerated flesh. She tried to keep low, running in a crouch in the hope of avoiding any stray bullets.

  Ianto had taken cover behind a bench, firing at the remaining water hags, trying to hold them off. No matter how many carefully aimed shots he used, they refused to die. ‘Alien anatomy,’ Ianto muttered in disgust as he hurriedly snapped a fresh magazine into the H amp;K. ‘You can never be sure which bit to shoot at, can you?’

  Gwen stepped over the bench and dropped down beside him. ‘Jack’s gone after Saskia,’ she said. ‘Can you hold them here?’

  Ianto nodded. ‘I can try. No promises, mind.’

  Gwen nodded, got up and ran down towards the sea front.

  ‘Which way did they go?’ she asked Toshiko.

  ‘Down towards Mermaid Quay, I think. They’re in a CCTV black spot. I’ve lost them both.’

  Gwen swore and hurried on. The pain in her hand was terrible now, a momentous throb of agony that kept distracting her. She stopped, hunched over, fighting back the urge to sob and wail, knowing she had to concentrate and do the job. But she could hardly move for the pain; she could hardly think.

  She stumbled on a few paces. ‘Jack? Jack, are you here?’

  There was no reply except for the sound of the water washing against the quayside. She slumped down against the side of the building, feeling cold and utterly alone. Her hand was burning, but she was starting to shiver as the cold wind came in off the bay and cut right through her denim jacket.

  ‘Jack?’ she called out again, but her voice sounded very small and the word was carried away into the night by the wind.

  Slowly she lifted a hand to her ear. ‘Tosh? Toshiko? Are you there?’

  Silence.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  She heard footsteps pounding along the boardwalk and opened her eyes to see Owen arrive, breathing hard. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Jack’s after Saskia,’ Gwen told him faintly. ‘Tosh saw them heading for the waterfront. I can’t find them, and now I can’t get a reply from Tosh either. What’s happening?’

  Ow
en collapsed next to her against the Tourist Information kiosk, his breath coming in harsh, ugly gasps. ‘Dunno. The water hags won’t stay down when we shoot ’em. How unfair is that? Ianto’s trying to pin them back, but he won’t be able to keep it going for ever.’

  ‘We’re stuffed, aren’t we?’

  He rested his head against the wood and closed his eyes. ‘Give me a second and then I’ll try to find Jack. He might know what to do.’

  ‘Stay here, you’re done in,’ advised Gwen.

  ‘What about you?’ he panted, nodding at her hand. ‘You’re injured.’

  ‘It’s nothing, I’ll live.’

  Owen shook his head. There was too much blood. When Gwen glanced down she saw that her T-shirt was soaked in it and the sight almost made her faint.

  ‘Let me see it,’ Owen said, dropping his MP5 on the ground.

  Carefully, Gwen pulled her hand out from under her arm. The blood had started to congeal and her T-shirt stuck momentarily to the flesh, making her gasp as it came free.

  Owen already had his medical kit out, unwrapping a field dressing with trembling fingers. Gwen cried out as her turned her hand over, examining the deep cut along the edge with a tut. ‘Nasty. Could’ve been worse — missed an artery by half an inch.’

  ‘Funnily enough, that doesn’t make me feel any better …’

  Owen pressed the dressing against the wound and then began to wind adhesive tape around it. ‘This’ll stop it bleeding, but you’re going to need stitches.’ He looked up at her and smiled coldly. ‘For you, my dear, ze var is over.’

  ‘What about you? What happened down in the Hub?’

  Owen avoided her eyes then, looking quickly down at her hand as he worked. The smile faded. ‘Tosh came up with a serum — some sort of vaccine. God knows what she was thinking of, she’s no doctor. Educated guess, I suppose — and the best person for it. Made the homunculi emerge early.’