‘If I wasn’t so scared,’ said Gwen, ‘I might think this was quite beautiful.’
Ianto agreed. ‘It’s one hell of a light show for the end of the world.’
He was in a bad way. The wounds were still very raw, the pain had really begun to kick in now that the Xilobytes were gone and there was no anaesthetic. Gwen had tried to patch up the wounds as best she could with the remains of his shirt and jacket, but it was only a temporary job. He needed a hospital.
She watched his eyes close as his head sank back against the concrete. ‘You OK?’
‘Fine.’ He was pale, he’d lost a lot of blood, and they were starting to get seriously cold. The perspiration from their fight with the pitbullfrog had long since evaporated, reducing their body temperature still further. Now the rain was starting to get heavier as the dark clouds circled lower and lower. Cold grey puddles of water were forming all around them.
‘We need to get under cover,’ Gwen said.
‘I can’t move,’ Ianto told her. His voice sounded weak. ‘It hurts too much.’
Gwen swore and looked around. There was no cover anywhere. The church was no more than a heap of rubble. They were crouched in the lee of a broken wall, but apart from that they were completely exposed.
Ianto was beginning to shiver, so Gwen took off her leather jacket and draped it over him. His hand gripped hers, and his skin felt horribly cold. She squeezed his hand and his eyes opened a fraction. They looked red and sore. He started to say something and Gwen had to lean in close to hear him.
‘He will come back, won’t he?’
‘Of course he will.’
He was still looking at her. ‘How do you know?’
‘Because,’ Gwen said in a small voice, ‘he’s Captain Jack.’
They lay together in silence then, as the rain water seeped through their clothes and the lightning crashed all around them, holding on to each other like frightened children in a storm.
FIFTY-FOUR
Jack and Kerko crashed into the hospital gurney, sending it spinning across the Autopsy Room. Caught in each other’s murderous grip, they twisted and turned, wrestling for any kind of advantage. Trays of medical equipment clattered across the floor as they flung each other around the circular chamber like gladiators in a fighting pit.
For half a second, Kerko lost his footing and Jack used the Blowfish’s own momentum to hurl him across the room. The alien careened into a glass cabinet, shattering it, sending the surgical instruments it contained flying everywhere. Quick as a flash, Kerko snatched up a scalpel and slashed wildly. Jack’s fist connected solidly with Kerko’s midriff, and the fish responded by plunging the scalpel deep into his opponent’s shoulder.
Jack roared, pulling away, and Kerko scrambled up the steps towards the exit. He was bleeding profusely from the head and mouth, and although Jack wasn’t in much better shape himself, he wasn’t about to call a truce.
He wrenched the scalpel out of his shoulder and flung it after the Blowfish, but the blade missed and clattered harmlessly away. Seething, Jack raced after him, bounding up the steps and vaulting the rail that separated the upper Hub level from the lower. He dived for Kerko, succeeded in getting a hand to his ankle and tripped him over. Kerko sprawled and Jack was on him then.
‘I have so had enough of you,’ Jack snarled. His fingers scrabbled for the scaly throat, but Kerko batted them away, kicking and struggling all the time. Eventually Jack caught one of the flailing hands and pulled it aside, kneeling on top of the alien. Jack had the weight advantage and this was his best chance so far of finishing the fight.
But Kerko wasn’t going to make it easy. ‘Scum!’ he roared, and then spat a mouthful of blood-stained phlegm straight into Jack’s face. Jack wasn’t sure if it was just a lucky shot or a Blowfish’s natural defence, but the stuff stung. With a hiss of anger he let go and rolled away, half-blinded.
Kerko climbed to his feet, breathing hard but ready to fight again. He advanced on Jack, fists balled, inviting him to try it. They circled each other warily, treading carefully because there were live electric cables snaking across the floor, discharging sparks every now and again with sharp, burning crackles.
Kerko moved first, feinting, coming up with a left hook that Jack knocked to one side and repaid with a series of hard jabs. They exchanged blows, sometimes missing because they were too tired to aim properly now, but sometimes connecting. And when they did connect, the punches rocked. Kerko’s top fin, running back over the top of his mottled head, had long since been broken and the webbed spindles flapped from side to side with every blow. Eventually, Jack managed to land a massive right cross that dislocated the fish’s jaw and sent him spinning backwards. He landed face down with a huge splash in the shallow water that collected in the ditch at the base of the tower.
Jack leapt on the Blowfish and drove his knee into the back of his neck, forcing his head beneath the water. There was a sharp release of bubbles as Kerko started to gag and, teeth gritted, Jack kept his knee in position, his full weight bearing down on the fish’s neck. If he could just keep his face under the water long enough. . .
But Kerko continued to struggle, and far from growing weaker, he seemed to be getting stronger.
And then Jack realised. Water. Fish. Good combination.
Kerko surged out of the water, twisting around and catching hold of Jack by the throat. The Blowfish’s leering red face filled Jack’s vision and for a moment he knew that the gleeful, homicidal light in those tiny little eyes was the last thing he would see for a while; perhaps for ever.
Kerko’s fingers bit deep into Jack’s throat, repeating the process he had begun so long ago in the interrogation room. His other handed curled into a fist and drove hard into Jack’s gut, knocking the wind right out of him in a last, explosive whoosh of air. Jack’s knees gave way and he sagged in the alien’s grip, allowing him to turn Jack right around and hook one arm around his neck. Jack clawed weakly at the arm as it fastened around his throat and began to squeeze.
And squeeze.
Kerko was laughing now, laughing right in his ear. He could smell the guy’s breath. At that moment Jack had never hated anyone so much in his life as this Blowfish. And he guessed the feeling was mutual.
He had to do something – fast.
Then his eyes found the electrical cable.
It was just out of reach, lying across the decking. The exposed wires at the end kept erupting in bright, promising sparks. There was enough voltage running through that to kill Kerko on the spot, if only Jack could use it.
He reached out with his foot, trying to hook the heel of his boot around the end and drag it towards him, into the water. It was a brilliant conductor after all. He’d seen Sean Connery do that in a film – he’d killed a guy in the bath with an electric heater. And, later on, he’d finished Oddjob in the same way – using a live cable to electrify the bars in Fort Knox.
C’mon, Jack. Stretch. You can do it. If Connery could manage it then you sure as hell can.
His heel knocked the cable once, twice. He strained every sinew in his leg and tried again, but Kerko had seen what he was doing and was dragging him back, away from the edge. Out of reach.
No good. Jack’s hands let go of Kerko’s arm and reached back, over his own head, trying to grab hold of the fish’s head. His fingers brushed the broken spines on his skull, touched the spoon still protruding from the fleshy part. Found the webbed flaps of skin that branched out of the Blowfish’s jaw line like rubbery sideburns.
And, more by luck than judgement, his fingers found their way into one of the hidden gills beneath. He felt Kerko react, clearly pained, and he dug his fingers deeper.
With a howl, Kerko let him go and Jack spun away, splashing across the pool on all fours until he could drag himself out the other side. He turned to see Kerko bearing down on him with a ferocious scream.
And then watched as the scream turned into blood-curdling shriek of pure agony.
The Blowfi
sh straightened, stiffening, arms and fingers splayed. His head and neck went rigid and his eyes opened so wide that Jack could see the whites. His mouth gaped, the shrill scream rising in pitch as the red flesh began to bubble and blister. He began to shake violently and sparks jumped out of his mouth and anus as if he’d swallowed a firework.
Smoke poured from Kerko’s gills and mouth as the flesh cooked and then, quite suddenly, it was over. The fierce, hissing crackle that had accompanied the seizure faded and all that was left was a blackened shell. It crumbled to its knees and then collapsed into the steaming water, leaving nothing but smoke and a terrible smell of fried fish.
On the far side of the pool stood Zero, one globby orange hand withdrawing from the water. Energy crackled from the thick fingertips.
‘Thanks,’ Jack said, ‘for the shock ending.’
FIFTY-FIVE
Gwen tapped Ianto gently on the side of his face. ‘Ianto!’ she hissed. ‘Wake up!’
His eyelids fluttered and the eye beneath rolled back into focus.
‘C’mon,’ Gwen insisted. ‘I’m not losing you now. Not now.’
‘What’s the point?’ he breathed. ‘Look. The sky is falling.’
He gestured weakly with his hand, but Gwen didn’t need to look. She had seen the boiling black clouds as they gathered ever more thickly around the gaping wound above. When she had last dared to look, the shimmering luminescence had been filled with movement, twisting and winding like a nest of glowing snakes. The edges flickered with lightning, great ragged bolts leaping to the ground beneath. Several trees and cars were in flames having already been struck, and the wind was blowing the smoke across the ruins of the Black House in dark, choking gusts.
‘I know,’ Gwen said. ‘That’s why I woke you up.’
‘The sky is falling. . .’ Ianto repeated softly. His eyes reflected the fire above.
With a loud crack, lightning forked into the ground not ten feet away. The water in the puddles evaporated in sharp, hissing gasps and Gwen drew closer to Ianto.
‘He isn’t coming back,’ Ianto said.
‘Don’t say that.’
‘He’ll use that wrist-strap again. That code. He’ll use it to teleport himself away again.’
‘Don’t say that!’
More lightning crackled down around them, stabbing into the concrete. The rain splattered in the puddles and the wind blew harder, forcing Gwen to crouch lower. Her hair whipped around her head.
‘What’s happening?’ she wailed.
‘I told you. . . the sky is falling. It’s getting lower. The atmospheric pressure is all shot to hell.’
The clouds were swirling, lowering still further, sweeping up leaves and twigs and lashing them angrily across the ground. More lightning smashed into the ground, sending sparks scattering around them. Glowing fragments of concrete sizzled in the puddles.
‘What’s that noise?’ Gwen yelled over the roar of the storm.
‘I can’t hear anything!’
‘Listen!’
They strained to hear but it was difficult over the noise of the wind and rain and lightning. But eventually, faintly, something could be heard.
A growling noise.
‘Animals?’ frowned Gwen.
They huddled closer, fearing the worst – dogs, or perhaps more pitbullfrogs. It was difficult to tell.
The growling increased, became a roar. Long, sustained, getting closer.
‘That’s not an animal,’ realised Ianto.
It smashed through the railings with the deep roar of a diesel engine at full power – a single-decker bus, bouncing across the rubble and skidding to a halt in front of them. Crackling lines of energy surrounded it, jumping back and forth between the broken railings and the clouds above.
The front windscreen of the bus was shattered, obscuring the driver, but when the pneumatic doors flapped open a tall figure bounded out, greatcoat flaring behind him.
Gwen was open-mouthed in disbelief. ‘Jack?’
A broad white grin spilt Jack’s face. ‘Hi, kids!’ he laughed. ‘Miss me?’
‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘I had to fetch someone,’ he said. ‘You may know him.’
Something moved in the bus, something glowing with a fierce orange light. As it moved, electricity crackled around the bus in fierce, jagged sparks. It followed Jack off the bus, stepping down amid a web of fizzing energy.
‘Zero,’ said Ianto.
As the orange jelly creature walked slowly towards them, the effect on the sky above was instant and profound.
The clouds suddenly seemed to part and the oily light above bulged downwards in a vast, inverted dome shape. It looked like a gigantic bubble, full of swirling colours. Lightning flowed from the clouds down to the earth, leaping across the concrete in flashing sparks until it reached Zero. Then the energy rose up him, flowing over him, caressing him.
‘What’s happening?’ Gwen cried over the crackling discharges.
‘Reunion!’ Jack yelled back. The rain swirled in the wind, plastering his black hair against his forehead as he watched Zero absorb the lightning bolts.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I said Zero was lost,’ Jack told them, his eyes never leaving the alien. ‘Lost and alone – trapped here on Earth. Well. . .’ He pointed up into the sky as the swelling bubble of colours. ‘That’s Mom. She’s come looking for her boy.’
Gwen stared, wide eyed. ‘But – what is it? Where’s it from?’
‘It’s a Vortex Dweller,’ said Jack. ‘No one knows what they’re really called, or anything much about them – apart from the fact that they exist in the Time Vortex. It’s extremely rare to even glimpse such a thing. But occasionally, once in a million years, they break through into our universe.’
Zero’s bright orange colour suddenly turned a deeper, darker shade and then red, scarlet, purple, blue and green. The colours flowed through him like oil in water, and he instantly resembled the vast creature above.
‘The lightning is how they communicate here,’ Jack was grinning again. ‘Electricity for words – get that!’
‘You mean every time Zero electrocuted someone he was just saying hello?’
‘Yeah!’ Jack was laughing, although he suddenly became serious. ‘I mean, yeah, something like that. . . It’s kinda tragic – but it was an honest mistake. He never meant anyone harm. He just wanted to go home.’
Zero was floating high into the air as they spoke, borne aloft by flickering tendrils of energy. He was heading up towards the creature in the clouds, pulled towards it in a fierce, crackling embrace.
Gwen was on her feet, and she was smiling at the sight. ‘But why – how come the mother has only come now?’
‘My guess? She’s been looking for him – and the temporal fusion bomb has blown open a hole in time and space big enough for her to peep through.’
Zero flew up and up, surrounded by lightning, and suddenly merged into the coruscating colours above.
‘Mommy’s come for him,’ Jack cried. ‘She must have been worried sick and now she’s got her baby back again.’ He grabbed Gwen and Ianto and kissed them both. ‘Oh boy, do I love a happy ending!’
‘Happy ending?’ repeated Ianto. ‘Are you serious? Cardiff has been totally destroyed!’
‘It ain’t over yet.’ Jack squeezed Ianto close, still smiling. ‘What would any worried parent do when they found their lost child?’
‘Well, I don’t know, I’m not a parent. But I imagine they’d be pretty relieved.’
‘They’d be very grateful,’ realised Gwen.
Jack laughed again. ‘You said it.’
And with that, he patted them both on the backside and walked forward alone, looking up at the flickering light show. Zero was now nowhere to be seen, but the shimmering bulge of the parent was still sending bolts of lightning down to earth.
Jack stopped beneath it, still looking straight up, and raised his arms.
‘No,’ said Gwen.
‘Oh no. . .’
And the lightning suddenly converged on Jack, picking him up like a leaf in the wind, scouring through skin and bone, illuminating him from within.
And his screams were awful to hear.
LAST ORDERS
FIFTY-SIX
It was quiet in the pub. It had been quiet all week. The landlord was beginning to wonder if anything was ever going to happen. Cardiff was a wonderful city but sometimes the paying customers needed a bit of a kick up the arse. What he needed was another International at the Millennium Stadium, or another Olympic homecoming, to help bring the punters in.
He sighed, wiping dry the last pint glass. It was nearly throwing-out time and there were only one or two tables with anyone still sitting down. He decided to give it another five minutes before he rang the bell. The three people at the far table looked like they were having a serious conversation, and he was in a generous mood, even if they hadn’t been drinking much.
The two students were nursing their drinks – half a bitter for the lad and a rum and coke for the girl.
The older bloke, clean-cut type in a grey military overcoat, had a glass of water. The landlord remembered him getting the round in. He was a yank, and they were always a bit odd. Good tippers, though.
Jack Harkness pushed the two little white dots across the table. His two companions regarded them dubiously.
‘It’s your choice,’ Jack said quietly.
Rachel Banks looked up at him, straight into his eyes. She could always tell when someone was lying to her. But all she saw in those blue eyes was truth and sincerity. She turned to Wynnie. ‘What do you think?’
He held her hand tightly. ‘Voluntary amnesia? I dunno. . . my mind’s in a bit of a muddle as it is, to be honest.’
‘These pills will un-muddle things for you,’ said Jack. ‘It will be like the last couple of days never happened. You’ll go home, go to bed, and wake up not remembering a thing about it. Hell, you’re students – you must be used to that.’
The Undertakers Gift Page 18
