Doctor Who: In the Blood

by Jenny T. Colgan

  The Doctor leapt up onto a wooden balustrade, almost overbalanced, but managed to make the jump to the chandelier. He grabbed it, as dust came down from the ceiling on top of him, and swung dramatically through the room.

  ‘Great cardiovascular workout!’ he hollered down, as several people started reaching out for him, and a groundsman came in armed with a gun. As soon as he saw that, the Doctor pushed his legs out to swing towards the tower, and hurled himself through the gap at the bottom of what had used to be the bell tower. He left the chandelier and instinctively grabbed the bell rope, which clanged as he swung to the other side of the tower, shinning up the rope to the stained glass window by the great brass bell.

  ‘Oh, I am so sorry,’ he apologised to the beautiful stained-glass window. ‘You are a beautiful thing. Built in a beautiful place. With the very best of intentions. This shouldn’t be happening to you.’

  Kicking out, he smashed his way through the ancient coloured glass.

  The Doctor blinked in the bright sunlight outside the window. He was high up, standing on a ledge. There were no vines here, but he could see the spa’s beautiful pool complex to the side, different waterfalls and plunge pools built in a verdant planted area at the side of the old church.

  The Doctor straightened up and gracefully swallow-dived straight into the nearest one, making a perfect arc through the air.

  *

  ‘Seriously,’ he said, surfacing, covered top to toe in mud. ‘That was the mud pool? That was the pond? You cover each other in mud? You know, as a thing to do that’s almost as dumb as human ransoms.’

  The women were starting to charge out of the front door as he pulled himself out, his trainers making a sucking noise.

  ‘I’m not sure this stuff really works you know,’ he said scraping it off his face. ‘Oh no, hang on. That does feel softer.’

  Donna had been hidden in the orchard, desperately trying to deal with Fief.

  He was taking a bite out of an orange, skin and all. ‘Oh, you have to taste this. It’s amazing. I’ve never tasted anything like it. It’s . . . it’s like liquid sunshine. Come! Taste it!’

  ‘I will,’ said Donna, getting close. She smiled up at him. ‘You know, I’ve always liked a big fella.’

  Fief beamed down at her in pure joy, as she reached up, standing on tiptoes, braced herself with a hand on his oddly firm chest and, completely without ceremony, reached up and roughly thrust the earpiece back into his ear.

  There was a long pause as Fief staggered backwards. Donna crossed her fingers and hoped that it would work.

  Fief straightened up. And took out his gun. ‘Let’s go and get your friend,’ he said, mildly.

  Donna blinked, and followed him straight out of the orchard. She chased after him, just in time to see the Doctor sail through the air and bounce straight into a mud pool.

  ‘Impressive,’ she said. ‘Fief, see to the doors.’

  Fief let off a few rounds, and all the women who had been running out of the front door backed off. He locked them inside the wooden doors of the ancient church, then simply waited there, impassively standing guard.

  Donna came pelting round the corner as the Doctor saw the women retreat.

  ‘Doctor!’ she yelled. ‘We’ve locked them up inside!’

  ‘You’re brilliant, you are,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Did you stop for a mud massage? I’m not sure we’ve got time . . .’ Donna grabbed his hand to make a run for it.

  Fief had put a huge plank of wood across the church door, then quickly kicked his way through one of the high stakes of the wooden fence. There would be just enough room for them to squeeze through.

  The Doctor pushed Donna ahead. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘On we go!’

  As she bent down to go through, her phone fell out of her pocket. She bent to pick it up. It was flashing bright red with a hundred messages.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Four

  ‘On we go!’ said the Doctor again, pushing her a little.

  But Donna had frozen, even as those locked behind in the church started to bang angrily on the door. Her face was unreadable as she scrolled through the messages.

  The Doctor heard guns being fired from the inside at the old church door. The door wouldn’t last long, he thought ruefully. No respect for ancient things.

  ‘What was it?’ he said turning back to Donna.

  She held up her phone, her face white. ‘It’s Gramps,’ she said. ‘He’s in trouble. He’s in hospital.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Mum says . . . Mum says he’s having fits of rage.’

  Chapter

  Thirty-Five

  There was a long pause. Eventually, the Doctor nodded. He glanced at Fief.

  ‘You take her down the road,’ he said. ‘Steal a car and drive down that track. You get her home, you understand? ‘

  Fief looked at him calmly. ‘And in exchange?’

  The Doctor sighed. ‘I can’t Fief . . . Not if your orders are to kill and destroy.’

  ‘I am merely information gathering,’ said Fief, completely his robotic self again.

  ‘Yes, well, information gathering didn’t help Ji Woo,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘No, it didn’t,’ said Fief, in that straightforward way of his.

  There was a pause.

  ‘I’m going, with or without him,’ said Donna. ‘You understand, don’t you, Doctor?’

  ‘We all have our jobs to do,’ said Fief, standing up straight. His glasses were back on. He looked like a man you would love to have on your side, and your worst enemy, all at once.

  The fact that Donna knew he didn’t care which side he was on made him all the scarier. And without the earpiece he was completely and utterly unpredictable.

  The Doctor blinked. ‘You’ll protect her?’

  Donna wanted to interject that she didn’t need protecting. Then she remembered she was in the middle of a savage jungle and decided that actually a bit of help would be quite useful.

  ‘You’ll wait for me?’ said Fief.

  ‘Your methods and mine, Fief . . .’ began the Doctor. He looked at Donna’s upset face. He took a deep breath. ‘Yes. You can come back with her. You may return. But don’t think for a moment I will let you kill.’

  Fief nodded. ‘What proof do I have that you’ll let me come back?’

  ‘None at all,’ said the Doctor. He moved closer to Donna and sighed. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ he said gently. ‘But have you got your key?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Donna, fingering it around her neck. It glowed, slightly, as she did so.

  The Doctor smiled. ‘The TARDIS really likes you, you know. Always has done.’

  Donna glanced around sharply, as the banging on the door intensified.

  The Doctor looked at her. ‘You fly it back to me . . . You phone me. I’ll tell you where I am. And you bring the TARDIS straight back to me. As soon as all is well, OK? All right?’

  Donna’s face was a picture of misery. ‘But Doctor . . . What if Gramps has the disease? What if he does?’

  The Doctor sighed. ‘I don’t know. There’s meant to be no cure. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what you can do. But I understand you need to go.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about it, though,’ said Donna.

  ‘Ah, a doctor.’

  ‘Don’t give me that,’ said Donna. ‘But look. If it’s in the bloodstream, right?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘Well, what if he got new blood. Like a transfusion.’

  ‘They’ve tried it.’

  ‘They’ve tried it in other places. With weird green alien blood.’

  ‘Aliens don’t have . . . well, some do.’

  ‘Exactly. Rather than transfuse green sludge, what about normal human blood?’

  The Doctor sighed, then shrugged. ‘Maybe . . . Donna, don’t get your hopes up.’

  ‘We’ve got the same blood type,’ said Donna. ‘It’s his driver’s licence. I hate needles, though,’ she added thoughtfu
lly.

  The calm modulated voice joined in. ‘They are coming. If you wanted to go now.’

  The door made a loud collapsing noise, and the first woman burst through. There was hollering as they searched the ground. Fief and Donna rushed through the hole in the fence. The Doctor helped them through and watched as they tore down the hill and round to the road.

  He looked back then, at a horde of furious venomous people charging towards him, and he felt nothing but pity.

  Janet was shrieking, ‘Don’t damage the goods! Don’t!’ But these enraged people, who such a short time before had been simple spa workers, were now roused to the frenzy of a mob.

  The Doctor closed over the stake on the wooden fence and headed to the back of the property, well away from where Donna and Fief were headed. He threaded through the orchard which was fenced in with barbed wire, something the sonic could easily manage.

  He flicked through and resealed it as the mass of fury fanned out looking for him. He could hear their shouts echoing behind him, as the tall fence was resealed unharmed and he carried on steadily taking out the small paper in his pocket – the unnoticed, overlooked seemingly useless piece of scrap paper he’d drawn in a tiny café on the back streets of Gangnam, and looked at it just one more time. He had the fix on his location now from the atlas Janet had given him. He just still couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it.

  It was a beautiful day, nothing but a single wispy cloud in the sky, the rainforest spreading out before him down the hill and seemingly on for ever. It was glorious. He smiled cheerfully and turned off the dusty gravel track, plunging in to the steamy jungle below. Behind him was quiet. He hoped they would all be able to massage themselves back to a state of contentment.

  He did not see the fateful exchange of emails Janet had with the person who was looking for him, even before the people arrived to take him away.

  That it went very wrong, very quickly.

  There was anger, and things typed in fury, and tempers rising on both sides. Things became very heated.

  By that evening, when the Doctor was already far, far away, slipping gracefully amongst the towering canopy of trees, leaving barely the footprint of his shoes on the springy, damp undergrowth, every single person who had been in the Far Hanging Center for Wellness and Spiritual Health was lying dead at the bottom of the bell tower.

  Untethered from its moorings, and with nobody left to tie it up again, the bell tolled, ringing out in the hot mistrals that blow across the Serra Garal mountains.

  On windy days you can hear it still.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Six

  It was so strange being back in London. In Brazil, Fief had stolen a car without compunction, and driven it competently and incredibly quickly over the bumpy potholed road for nine hours in the blazing sun into the nearest town with an airport, straight past the platoon of guards on the road to the spa.

  They had not spoken much. Fief had insisted on accompanying her on the flight, even though she had suggested he stay at Rio airport and she’d come back and pick him up. He had smiled wryly and said oh, no it was fine, he’d stick with her. Now it felt like having a strange bodyguard following her every move, down to the sunglasses and earpiece. Donna tried her best to ignore him.

  Donna loved London normally, loved its busy energy. But its energy had changed. It was the feeling on the streets. An edginess. Groups of people eyeing each other suspiciously. As if they were thinking, did you write that? Was that you? Who said that? Are you a troll? Can you infect me? The fear and the pain was breaking out of lonely bedrooms; spilling over onto streets and public spaces.

  Sylvia was waiting for her at the gate looking anxious. Donna left Fief on the street corner, telling him to watch out for kidnappers. She didn’t need the third degree right now.

  ‘Took you long enough,’ Sylvia sniffed. ‘Where you been, darkest Peru?’

  ‘Um . . . Anyway. What’s happened?’ said Donna. ‘What’s happened to Gramps?’

  ‘He got attacked by a clutch of young hooligans on the bus,’ said Sylvia. ‘I told him a million times, why are you going to the library? What do you need those books for? We’ve got two hundred channels on the television.’

  ‘So he’s in hospital?’

  ‘No, well, it was just mild concussion, they checked him out, sent him home. But then –’ she leaned closer – ‘he started . . . he started getting these rages. About anything. People on the news. He started sending off letters to the papers. But you have to do that by email now. More and more of them: people in the papers. People who were different to him. Some of them got published, and it just made him foam at the mouth even more . . . It’s not what he’s like at all.’

  Donna swallowed. ‘I know that, Mum.’

  ‘No, you need to know . . . When I was a girl . . . I mean, I don’t even remember him raising his voice. And in those days, that wasn’t usual at all.’ Sylvia bit back tears. ‘Of course, your grandmother on the other hand . . .’ She turned away, her voice tight.

  ‘Where is he, Mum?’ said Donna. ‘Let me go. You go and sit down. I’m sure you’ve been rushed off your feet.’

  Sylvia looked a little pale. ‘He . . . he’s in the Moverden.’

  Donna stood back. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘It all got . . . it got a little out of hand.’ said Sylvia. ‘There was a . . . policeman. And they brought his doctor.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call—’

  Sylvia shot her the filthiest look. ‘I did. Continuously. Sorry to spoil your fun.’

  ‘I was out of signal range,’ said Donna hanging her head. ‘Sorry. I’ll go there now.’

  The Moverden Hospital was the local psychiatric unit. ‘You’ll end up in the Moverden, you will’ had been the preferred taunt of teachers, back in the days when it wasn’t illegal to treat children like that, or stigmatise mental illness.

  It didn’t, however, take away the uneasy feeling many people had about the place; the nervousness, the averted eyes going past it. It cast a shadow. Donna knew it was wrong to feel this way. But she still did.

  The bus took forever to get there, trailing through rainy back streets. From every damp window Donna could see the glowing blues of people on their screens, their tablets and their laptops. Incredible. The threat of death was not enough. Still couldn’t get people off the devices that were killing them. She handled the phone in her lap, resisting the urge to fiddle with it. But then, look what had happened when she’d been out of reach.

  She opened it up. She wanted to text the Doctor, but she didn’t think he’d appreciate it. Plus, his phone was unbelievably out of date; it probably had an aerial. He wouldn’t have the faintest idea what to do with a text message.

  Sitting next to her, Fief glanced over. ‘We are ready to leave?’

  ‘No!’ said Donna. ‘I told you fifty times, I’m going to see my grandfather.’

  ‘It’s strange,’ said Fief. ‘To have . . . Do you not value all life the same? Is every individual not important?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Donna. She wasn’t really in the mood for a philosophical discussion.

  ‘But you hold some more important than others.’

  ‘Your family is more important to you. That doesn’t mean they’re more important than other people in general.’

  ‘Except they are to you,’ said Fief, musing. ‘Those two statements can’t both be true.’

  Donna turned to him. ‘Don’t you have a mother, Fief?’

  Fief shrugged. ‘I was a Cadmian child,’ he said. ‘We are part of one thing.’

  ‘And you don’t get sad when another Cadmian dies? Like, at all?’

  ‘But there will always be another one. The wind always blows in the sound fields.’

  ‘Well, I’ll never get another grandfather,’ said Donna, sternly.

  Fief looked puzzled.

  Donna leaned her head against the window, still tired. She would have gone and taken the TARDIS to get to the hospital, but she
wasn’t the least bit confident of driving it and, knowing her luck, she’d materialise in the middle of an operating theatre. She didn’t quite have the Doctor’s knack for getting out of tricky situations.

  There was something else. She didn’t want Fief inside the TARDIS until she absolutely had to take him. And even then, she wasn’t going to take him. The Doctor always kept his word. Donna felt absolutely no such compunction.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Seven

  The hospital had high walls with barbed wire on them and a gate you had to buzz through. It looked like a prison. They had made an attempt to cheer up the lobby, with plants and bright paintings, but it somehow just contrasted more with the reinforced wired glass of reception. Despite the many, many signs announcing that it was a non-smoking premises, a heavy smell of old cigarettes hung over everything like a pall.

  Donna rang the bell at reception. ‘Hello?’

  A tired-looking woman shuffled slowly up to the window. ‘Yes?’ she said.

  Donna was busy rehearsing what she’d say to gain entry. She wished she’d asked the Doctor for the psychic paper. That would get her in. Maybe claim it was an emergency? How? Maybe get herself admitted? No. That was a terrible idea. She could call Fief in from the car park. Get him to hit a few people. No. That wasn’t the answer either. Partly because it was wrong, and partly because they’d all end up in here. She searched her tired brain to think of something. Her voice came out tight and anxious and expecting a ‘no’ and she had a stab of that insecurity that came to her sometimes; that she was useless.

  ‘I . . . I want to see Wilfred Mott?’

  The woman glanced at her computer. Oh yes. Donna bit her lip. Of course it would be on the computer. And the computer would say ‘no’ and then she’d have to start . . . she glanced around the corridor, wondering whether she could just slide in behind one of the staff? Perhaps she could steal a white coat from somewhere? That wasn’t illegal, was it? Maybe she could pose as one of the cleaners? Her brain racing, it took a moment or so for her to hear the woman behind the heavy glass.