by Doctor Who
And from up ahead they could all hear the same sound. Not an echo, but another of the creatures. ‘We’re trapped between two of them,’ Jack realised.
‘It’s cold, it’s foggy and there’s nothing here,’ Rose announced. She was standing with her arms folded, close to one of the stones on the top of the cliff.
In front of her, Sofia was shining her torch slowly round the stone circle. The upright monoliths stood like soldiers waiting for orders –dark shapes wreathed with mist.
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‘Just a few minutes more,’ Sofia said.
‘Why? There’s nothing.’
‘I want to test a theory.’
‘What theory?’
Sofia switched off the torch. Her pale face seemed to glow in the suffused light. The tendrils of thin mist that wrapped themselves round her made the woman seem wraith-like, ghostly, as she stepped towards Rose.
‘This creature must be part of it. So the systems are starting up on their own, without intervention.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about a problem. My problem. It may all be coming to an end. I must know.’
Rose took a step back, away from the advancing woman. ‘You’re mental,’ she muttered.
‘And if the systems are activating themselves, then these stones will also be active all the time.’
‘Active – what do you mean? What do they do?’ Rose was seriously spooked now.
Sofia’s face seemed as old as weathered rock as she took another step forwards. Then she suddenly lunged at Rose and grabbed her wrist, pulling her.
‘Don’t you know?’ she hissed, her face close to Rose’s. She seemed suddenly much older than Rose had thought. Then she turned Rose round, so she was facing the nearest stone – just a metre away.
‘When they are active, when we turn them on, the stones drain the energy from anyone who touches them. They take it all, anything that can nourish and feed them. And leave just the empty skin.’
She shoved Rose away from her, holding her by the hair, forcing her face towards the stone.
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Therewasafainttinglingsensationonhercheek,likestaticelectricity. Rose pressed back, trying desperately not to let her face touch the stone. But inch by inch Sofia was forcing her head forwards, both hands tangled in Rose’s hair as she pushed. Rose grabbed the woman’s coat, tried to push her away, but there was no way she could stop her.
So she didn’t try. She let her legs collapse beneath her, falling suddenly downwards rather than forwards. Her face was still perilously close to the smooth, cold stone, but as Rose fell Sofia cried out in alarm and surprise. Her hands were wrenched from Rose’s head.
Rose twisted as she dropped down, determined to stay away from the stone. At the same time she kept hold of Sofia’s coat, trying to pull her down as well – downwards and forwards.
As Rose twisted, she saw Sofia crash into the stone. Crawling away through the churned-up snow, she heard Sofia’s shriek of pain and fear – watched her stagger back, hands over her face as if burned.
Rose didn’t wait to see what the damage was. She was struggling to her feet, slipping in the slush, stumbling forwards – towards the car.
She wrenched open the door and hurled herself inside. The door slammed shut, and a moment later Sofia was there, dragging it open 75
again. Rose held on tight, let it open enough that she could slam it shut again, and pushed the handle across to lock it. Please don’t let her have the key, she thought.
The key was still in the ignition. With a sob of relief, Rose turned it.
The engine creaked and coughed but didn’t start. She turned the key again.
And the windscreen cracked.
Sofia was kneeling on the bonnet of the car, hammering at the windscreen with the butt of her torch. Another crack with each blow. Another couple of goes and it would break. The woman’s face was a snarl of rage as she raised the torch in both hands like a dagger, preparing to strike again.
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 76
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.
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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, un
perturbed.
‘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.’
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‘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 wrig-gled 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 79
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 their 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 rea-sonable 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 80
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 81
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, th
eir 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 head-phones 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.
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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.
