Rose just stared. She was so old – recognisably Sofia Barinska, but twenty, thirty, maybe forty years older – her hair grey, face wrinkled and slack-skinned. Like Valeria had been. The teeth in her snarling mouth were black and crooked as the torch slammed down again.
The engine caught this time. Rose hadn’t realised she was still turning the key. But she didn’t hesitate. She slammed the gears into reverse and the car shot backwards – skidding and sliding across the icy ground. Unbalanced, Sofia fell back. But she managed to stay on the bonnet. The stones were behind the car, so Rose couldn’t keep going in reverse.
First gear. The wheels skidded and slipped again as the car struggled to change direction. Rose could feel the front of the car digging into the earth. Wheel spin. No movement. The torch raised again.
Then one of the wheels got a grip and the car lurched sideways. Both wheels now and it shot forwards, towards the road. Sofia was knocked off balance and her aged face slapped into the windscreen, pressed hard against the surface – the lines on her skin like the cracks in the glass.
The car slewed sideways before skidding back on course for the narrow road lower down the hill. Still Sofia was on the bonnet, thumping at the glass with one hand while she clung on with the other. The torch bounced away. The largest crack got longer. The glass moved. The car reached the more certain surface of the road, and Rose hit the brakes.
The woman was a mass of flailing limbs and flapping coat as she was hurled off the bonnet. Rose pushed the accelerator, almost stalled as the clutch caught too abruptly. The car kangarooed forwards, got a grip, smacked into Sofia as the woman struggled to her feet and sent her flying sideways off the road.
Rose could see her through the side window, getting painfully to her feet and staggering away. Towards the squat grey block of the research institute – the one place Rose could go for help. Should she risk it? What were her options?
‘The villagers won’t believe me,’ she said out loud as she drove along the track. ‘Or if they do it’ll be because they already know. Maybe they’re all like her . . .’ She could look for Jack, but he might be anywhere by now and she didn’t fancy returning to the docks and the glowing blob creatures. She needed to find somewhere to hide, somewhere safe, somewhere with a phone or some means of contacting the Doctor at the institute and warning him.
Not the institute, then, and not the inn or the docks. She knew just the place.
Razul looked pale even in the red of the emergency lighting. ‘We could hide in one of the cabins,’ he whispered. ‘Wait for it to go past.’
‘Whatever it is,’ Jack said quietly.
‘If it does go past,’ Sergeyev pointed out. ‘It may be checking each room. We’d be trapped.’
‘We’re trapped now!’ Razul hissed.
‘Sounds as if it’s on the bridge, or whatever you call it on a sub,’ Jack said. He expected Razul to tell him the correct term, but the man was too far gone. He’d dropped the Geiger counter and was now shivering inside his uniform.
Towards the back of the boat there was a pronounced slithering sound. No doubt any longer that there were two of the things and they were trapped between them.
‘I can see it,’ Sergeyev whispered. He was pointing down the narrow corridor, towards the main hatch, the only escape.
A pale-blue blob was squeezing its way towards them, shimmering in the glow of the emergency lights. It all but filled the corridor, tendril-like tentacles probing ahead of it.
‘Can it see?’ Jack wondered. ‘Or hear?’
‘Who the hell cares?’ Razul said. He pulled his rifle off his shoulder, took aim and fired at the hideous creature. The shots were incredibly loud in the confined space. They echoed and re-echoed round the metal corridor.
Tiny dark pinpricks appeared in the pale body of the creature. But as soon as they appeared, they were gone. The creature slithered forwards, unperturbed.
‘Like shooting at jelly,’ Jack said. ‘Don’t waste your ammo.’
‘We can’t get past it,’ Sergeyev pointed out.
The creature had paused by an open bulkhead. A tentacle stretched out through the doorway, exploring inside.
‘Think we could keep away from it?’ Jack asked.
‘I wouldn’t like to try, Captain.’
‘We must do something,’ Razul protested. ‘We can’t just stay here, can we?’
Sergeyev was looking past them, the other way down the corridor. Jack saw him take in a deep breath and looked to see for himself.
There was another of the creatures dragging itself towards them from the other end of the corridor.
‘You’re right, we can’t just stay here,’ Jack said. ‘Unfortunately there’s no longer anywhere else to go. Those things pretty much fill the width of the corridor. We’d never get past.’
‘Then we go up,’ Sergeyev said. ‘Cling to the ceiling.’
‘Up?’ Razul’s voice was trembling with nerves. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘There might be room,’ Jack conceded. ‘We can hold on to the pipes.’
‘Wait up there for them to pass.’
‘They’ll see us,’ Razul said.
‘I think they’re blind,’ Jack told him.
‘Think?’
‘Look, do you have a better suggestion? Because if so now’s not the time to keep it to yourself.’
‘Too late,’ Sergeyev said quietly. ‘You think maybe they can hear, understand what we are saying?’
The creature from the back of the submarine had extended two of its tentacles upwards and outwards. It was feeling along the pipe-cluttered ceiling of the corridor. The pipes rattled and clanked as the creature felt its way along, probing into every possible hiding place.
‘It was a good idea,’ Jack said. ‘So, we can’t go up or along. If only we could . . .’ He broke off. Sergeyev was staring back at him, realising at the same moment. ‘Come on, quick!’
Razul watched for a moment, then, also suddenly understanding what they were up to, bent down to help.
Together they pulled up several of the metal plates that made up the floor. It took a moment as there were restraining pins at each side. But they just needed twisting to free the plates. They were heavy mesh, covering the crawl space beneath the floor. There looked to be just about enough space to lie flat underneath them. If they had time.
The creatures were inching their way forwards, tentacles thrashing ahead of them. One of the tentacles slapped down close to Razul, making him flinch.
‘In, in quick,’ Jack said as soon as the plates were free and clear.
Razul dropped down, and Sergeyev pushed a plate back down over him. There was no room to move, but it was too late now to worry about claustrophobia, Jack decided. He slid two more plates back into place over Sergeyev.
It was tricky easing himself into the space and pulling the final plates back. Jack had to hold the last plate up above him as he wriggled in, then lower it gently down over his face. It almost touched him and he had to turn his head sideways. The cold angles of the crawl space dug into him uncomfortably. A tentacle lashed out across the plate above him, then slid back, dragging wetly along the mesh like seaweed. It smelled like seaweed too – salty and damp and stale.
Then the creature was over him. The pale-blue glow of its body replacing the red of the lights. The creatures had almost reached each other. Would they realise where their prey had gone? Or would they go hunting elsewhere? When tentacle met tentacle rather than Jack and the others, what would they do?
The creature stopped. Directly above Jack, it stopped. He was trapped underneath a murderous alien blob with just a metal mesh between them. The weight of the thing was pressing its gelatinous body down into the holes in the floor plate. Glistening, wet blue flesh was extruding slowly but surely down towards Jack’s face.
A scream echoed and rang through the submarine. Moments later, the sound was joined by the noise of the deck plates being ripped aside and tossed away as the creatures came after the
ir prey.
The Doctor waved cheerily to the two soldiers on duty at the gates. If they were surprised to find the Doctor and Alex’s Jeep followed by a digger, they didn’t show it.
‘He’s with us,’ the Doctor shouted as they pulled in to the compound.
Vahlen had asked if he could bury his son’s body. It seemed a reasonable request, but neither the Doctor nor Alex could agree. The least they could do was allow him to pay his last respects. Alex tried to warn the man that it would not be a pleasant experience, but it was impossible to tell if Vahlen was even listening.
‘Can’t you make him look . . . decent?’ Alex asked as the digger drew up noisily beside the Jeep.
‘Death isn’t decent,’ the Doctor said.
‘Something. A father shouldn’t see his son like that.’
The Doctor thought of the emaciated, drained body and had to agree. ‘Not sure what I can do,’ he admitted. ‘Maybe something.’ He could at least put the scalpels and other surgical instruments away and drape a sheet over the poor boy.
‘I’ll keep Vahlen in my office for a few minutes. Give you time.’
The Doctor nodded. It was strange how concerned the man was, given that Vahlen obviously resented his mere presence. Strange, but commendable.
The Doctor did what he could, which was little enough. He consoled himself with the thought that Vahlen was a gravedigger. He knew that a body was a body was a body. He’d probably seen the other victims. Though nothing would prepare him for the sight of his son.
Minin appeared at the door to the laboratory after a few minutes. ‘Ready?’
‘As he’ll ever be.’
Minin swallowed. He looked haunted, eyes hollow and tired. ‘I gave him a drink. Least I could do.’
‘Why d’you care?’ the Doctor asked.
Minin shrugged. ‘These are my people. This is my home. I care.’ He left it at that.
The Doctor followed him back to his office. Vahlen was sitting at the desk, reading through a file of papers. From Minin’s sharp intake of breath, the Doctor guessed this was not what Minin had expected or intended.
The old man looked up and his cheeks were stained with tears. ‘They didn’t let me see Vladimir’s body,’ he said. ‘After he shot himself, after you drove him to suicide, or so we thought. They didn’t let me see his body.’ He waved a piece of paper; the edge of it was crumpled in his fist. ‘Now I know why.’
Minin said nothing, but his face had drained of what little colour it had. He stepped aside as Vahlen pushed past and out into the corridor.
‘You will take me to see my son,’ Vahlen said to the Doctor. ‘No more lies, no deceit.’
Gently, the Doctor took the paper from Vahlen. He smoothed it out, glanced at it, handed it back to Minin. Then he led the way to the laboratory.
In his office, the Doctor knew that Minin would be carefully replacing the paper in the file. The post-mortem report on Vladimir Chedakin. A report that pointed out that while the official verdict might be suicide, it was probably impossible for the man to have shot himself in the back of the head.
Rose parked the car round the back, out of sight. The front door was open and she went through into a typical village police station with a small waiting area and counter. Behind the counter was another door into the main part of the house. It was locked.
The telephone was dead. Maybe she needed to do something to get a line. She tried pressing 9, as on the phones at work. Still nothing. None of the numbers seemed to work and she gave up. She’d got her own mobile, of course, but had no idea what the code would be for this part of Russia – even if she could find a list of local numbers that she could read. Did the Russians use the same numbers – after all, their alphabet was different? Could she read Russian as well as understand it now?
Too many questions. The answers, if there were any, to explain Sofia’s transformation and behaviour might be in her house. Rose hesitated only a moment at the door. She remembered the woman’s snarling, murderous face pressed to the windscreen as she tried to break through and get Rose. She remembered her own face, perilously close to the stone. And she kicked the door open.
The house was sparsely furnished. The lights were naked bulbs. The carpet was threadbare. Everything was old and falling apart. She went rapidly from room to room, checking drawers of the desk, opening cupboards in the kitchen. Nothing at all. At least, nothing out of the ordinary.
Until the spare bedroom. There was no bed, no wardrobe or chest of drawers. Standing in the middle of the room, on the bare boards, was what looked like a dentist’s chair. Except it had pipes and tubes running to a cylindrical metal device beside it. More thin pipes ran from this to the side of the room and down into the floor. Above the chair was a dome-shaped headpiece. Like a combination of headphones and a salon hairdryer.
Rose walked all round the chair. Then she went back downstairs to look for the pipes. They emerged in the corner of the kitchen. Rose followed them round the wall, through into the next room, out into the hallway. They disappeared finally into the wooden boards that enclosed the bottom of the staircase. And now she looked closely, Rose could see a door – no handle, no lock, but the blunt metal edges of the hinges and the way the cuts through the boards all lined up.
Except the door wouldn’t budge. She broke a nail trying to lever the thing open. Cursing, she put her gloves back on.
Then she heard the door to the front office. Help? Or not? Rose ducked into the kitchen, looking for something to use to defend herself – anything. There was a serrated knife on the worktop, lying next to a scarred wooden board and a hunk of dry bread, but she knew she’d never use it. She hid behind the door, watching through the crack between the hinges as Sofia stepped into the hall.
Barinska was limping – almost dragging herself forwards. Why had she come back? She looked a wreck – a glimpse of her face made Rose almost cry out. Almost. If Barinska hadn’t been wearing the same clothes, she could have been another woman – her grandmother. Or great-grandmother. Ancient, skin parched and lined, body shrunken and weak. Her breath a stentorian wheeze.
The old woman staggered as far as the hidden door under the stairs. ‘Are you down there?’ she croaked. ‘Have you found it?’
Rose pressed back out of sight, knowing that Barinska was calling to her – knew she was here, somewhere.
Sofia Barinska leaned against the boards and the door sprang open. She peered into the darkness beyond, as if considering. She looked close to collapse. After a moment, she pushed the door shut again and shuffled towards the stairs.
Rose pressed herself back, desperate not to be seen, though she doubted the woman could do her much harm now. She could hear the heavy breathing as the woman struggled up the stairs.
Eventually Rose crept into the hall. The stairs were clear. From above she could hear the sound of machinery – a building hum of power. Hardly daring to breathe, she went up the stairs, keeping to the side by the wall in the hope they wouldn’t creak and betray her.
The noise was coming from the spare room. She risked a look round the door – just a peep. A glance and then she pulled back.
It was enough.
Sofia Barinska was sitting in the chair, the headpiece attached to her scalp. In that one glance, Rose could see all she needed to. She saw the form of the young woman trembling with satisfaction. Her youthful face set in a smile of triumph. Wisps of dark hair spilling out from the headpiece. The life force flowing through her and revitalising her. Making her young again.
As quickly as she dared, as quietly as she could, Rose went back downstairs. She ran to the hidden door and pressed urgently at the boards, where Sofia had leaned.
The door clicked open just as the hum of power from the upstairs room cut off. Rose went through, almost falling down the steep steps that led into the darkness below. She pulled the door closed behind her, cutting off the little light there was, and started slowly, carefully downwards.
The steps seemed to go on for ever
. But at last she reached the bottom. She had her hand on the wall to steady herself, when her fingers bumped against something. She felt round it – a switch. Did she dare?
She pressed it, holding her breath, and the lights came on. They were hung at intervals along the tunnel roof – bare bulbs strung up in makeshift fashion, dusty and old. Some of them had blown and not been replaced. But it was enough. Rose could see now that she was in a tunnel hewn from the cold earth. The sides were shored up with planks of wood. The wood was old and bent with age. Some of the planks had rotted away. The floor was packed earth and the roof looked as if it had been hastily boarded over some time long ago.
All caution gone now that she could see where she was, and now that Sofia would know she was here if she came down and saw the lights, Rose ran. She ran for what seemed like ages. The tunnel was sloping gently downwards and she had no idea what direction it was going in. But it must lead somewhere. And the further and faster she got away from Sofia Barinska, the better. The sooner she found a way out into the open air – and escape – the better.
It ended eventually in what looked like the door of a bank vault – a round, heavy, metal door with a locking wheel and clamps across. Rose pulled the clamps back. They moved easily, which suggested the door was used often. The wheel swung just as smoothly.
Rose pulled the heavy door open, leaning back to let her full weight help drag it. Then she stepped through and looked around.
‘You are kidding!’ she whispered.
Jack was pressing himself down into the floor as hard as he could as the bluish flesh closed in on him. A sudden lurch of movement as the creature rolled forwards, the slivers of blue were pulled back through the mesh and moved on with it. As soon as it was past him, Jack heaved up the deck plate and pulled himself out. Ahead of him, the screaming stopped, abruptly, as if it had been switched off.
Jack was already pulling up the next plate as quickly and quietly as he could. He put his finger to his lips as Sergeyev looked up at him, eyes wide with fear. Sergeyev nodded, or as much as he could in the confined space. They hunted by sound – Razul had screamed and they had found him.
The Deviant Strain Page 8
