by Mike Tucker
Palmer jumped to attention as he spotted the two officers. ‘Sir!’
‘At ease, Corporal.’ Colonel Dickinson glanced around the village hall. ‘How are these people doing?’
‘Pretty good. High levels of Scopolamine in the bloodstream is the main issue. It’ll take some time for the drug to clear their systems completely, but they’ll all make a full recovery. Other than that, there are a few cuts and bruises from the explosion, a couple of mild concussions and one broken wrist.’
Dickinson nodded in approval. All three men knew that it could have been an awful lot worse. ‘The Scopolamine …’ he said thoughtfully. ‘It can induce short-term memory loss, yes?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, that might be a blessing in the long run. Could save an awful lot of awkward questions.’ He sighed. ‘Well, I’ve got to debrief the Secretary of State for Defence. I’ll leave you to clear up matters here, Captain Wilson.’
Wilson saluted smartly. ‘Sir.’
Colonel Dickinson returned the salute, then gave Wilson a warm smile. ‘Thank you, Captain. You saved a lot of lives today. I’m very grateful to you.’ Pulling on his cap, he turned and pushed his way through the crowd to the open door.
Captain Wilson watched as Dickinson was led off to a car waiting on the village green. As the car pulled away there was the roar of a diesel engine and a truck pulled into the village. They had been coming and going all night, taking away the charred and broken pieces of the Wyrrester’s body, removing the hybrid insects and machinery from the industrial estate. Everything was being bundled into unmarked crates and spirited away by black-uniformed special ops soldiers. Wilson wasn’t happy about it one bit, and neither was the colonel, but their orders were clear. Cooperate, or be relieved of duty. Clearfield’s records had noted the number of giant insects that had been released into the village, and as far as they could tell all of them had been destroyed except for one of the mosquitoes. Wilson’s team had been tasked with tracking it down.
‘Any idea where they’re taking everything, sir?’ asked Palmer, following Wilson’s gaze.
‘I’ve been told not to ask that question, Corporal,’ said Wilson grimly. ‘Department C-19 are in charge, and apparently that’s all the information that we need to know.’
‘It’s probably just like the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark,’ piped up Kevin. ‘There’ll be a big warehouse somewhere, where they’ll lock everything away, and we’ll never hear of any of this again.’
Wilson nodded. If that truly were the case, if the world never heard of the Bell again, then that would suit him just fine.
Angela stood with Clara, Robin Sanford and Charlie Bevan in the meadow on the outskirts of Ringstone, watching as the Doctor unlocked the doors of his police box. He had moved it here as soon as the soldiers had started arriving, muttering something about ‘never forgiving Winston Churchill for offering that reward’.
Angela didn’t know whether to take him seriously or not. She turned to look at Clara. The young woman looked very pale and very tired. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Me? Oh, yeah. I’m fine.’ Clara smiled
‘But that thing … It really did take over your body, didn’t it?’
‘All in a day’s work.’ She tried her best to keep her voice light, but her smile faded at the memory.
Angela held her gaze. ‘The thing is, you really mean that, don’t you?’
Clara gave her a hug. ‘Trust me. I’ll be fine.’
‘Right, we should be on our way.’ The Doctor glared at army trucks and soldiers swarming through the village. ‘Getting too busy around here for my liking.’
‘Do you think they’ll try and repair the Bell?’ asked Robin anxiously. ‘Try and start up the experiments again?’
‘Well, they’re stupid enough to try,’ said the Doctor witheringly. ‘So, just in case, I’ve done enough damage to the machinery to keep them busy repairing it for decades.’
‘And what about Clearfield?’ asked Charlie. ‘What will have happened to him?’
‘I really don’t know,’ said the Doctor quietly. ‘He stepped into the influence of the techno-circle at the exact moment that it went into reverse phase. His body was either totally dismembered at an atomic level by the teleport beam, or …’
‘Or he’s on Typholchaktas?’ Clara starred at him in horror.
The Doctor nodded. ‘He finally gets to see his alien world.’
Clara shuddered. A single human being alone on a planet of billions of Wyrresters. Even after all that the scientist had done, she wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone.
The five of them stood in silence for a moment, but then the clatter of an army helicopter whirling through the night sky spurred the Doctor into action.
Grabbing hold of Clara’s hand, he hurried her over towards the TARDIS and pushed her inside. Clara managed to shout a hurried series of goodbyes before the doors slammed shut and the light on top of the police box started to flash steadily.
Angela watched in amazement as, with a swirl of wind and a grating, asthmatic roar, the police box vanished from view.
‘Well, I’ll be damned …’ Robin Sanford stared open-mouthed at the patch of grass where the box had just been. ‘I knew that I’d heard a wheezing groaning noise that night!’
With a laugh, Angela linked one arm with him and the other with Charlie, and led the two men back towards the village.
Epilogue
Józef Razowski gave a sigh of relief as the soldier finally waved his truck forwards, and he swung onto the A303 and moving traffic at last.
He had been stuck in almost stationary queues for most of the day; every road that he had tried to turn down was either blocked off or choked with vehicles. With the radio seemingly dead, there had been no way of finding out what was going on, and the soldiers that he had tried to engage with had been unable to tell him anything other than there had been ‘an incident’.
He snorted. An incident. That could mean just about anything. It was the same in Poland; the authorities would never give you a straight answer.
He pressed his foot onto the accelerator, desperate to make up for the time that he had lost, and the radio that had been unhelpfully dead all day suddenly blared back into life. As he reached forward, fumbling with the controls to try and reduce the volume, something hit the windscreen of the van with a load ‘thump’.
The impact made him jump and he grasped the steering wheel with both hands once more as the van lurched across the carriageway.
The windshield was covered in thick yellow goo, legs and pieces of wing splashed everywhere. The bug must have been enormous; he could barely see out.
Cursing under his breath, he reached for the windscreen washer, and, as the wipers stared to clean the remains of the huge insect from the glass, he finally managed to find a radio channel with music, and settled into his seat for the long drive ahead.
Acknowledgements
Huge thanks to Justin Richards and Albert DePetrillo, for inviting me to be part of a whole new regeneration cycle.
To Sue Cowley, for weaving my own personal web.
To Ian Furey-King at www.ackacklivinghistory.org.uk for invaluable information about Second World War searchlights.
To Polly and Beans, and their pet Steve, for hospitality and support.
To Steve Cole for encouragement.
To Nick, Rocky, Colin, Paul, Pete, Peter and Spike, for getting me that second bookend.
To Lee Binding, for superb attention to detail.
To the cast and crew of Doctor Who, with special thanks to Marcus Wilson.
To Moogie and Baz.
And, most importantly, to Karen, for saying ‘Yes’.
Available now from Broadway Books:
JUSTIN RICHARDS
ISBN 978-0-8041-4088-1
‘Vastra and Strax and Jenny? Oh no, we don’t need to bother them. Trust me.’
Marlowe Hapworth is found dead in his locked study, killed by an unknown as
sailant. This is a case for the Great Detective, Madame Vastra.
Rick Bellamy, bare-knuckle boxer, has the life drawn out of him by a figure dressed as an undertaker. This angers Strax the Sontaran.
The Carnival of Curiosities, a collection of bizarre and fascinating sideshows and performers. This is where Jenny Flint looks for answers.
How are these things connected? And what does Orestes Milton, rich industrialist, have to do with it all? As the Doctor and Clara join the hunt for the truth, they find themselves thrust into a world where nothing and no one are what they seem.
An original novel featuring the Twelfth Doctor and Clara, as played by Peter Capaldi and Jenna Coleman
Available now from Broadway Books:
JAMES GOSS
ISBN 978-0-8041-4092-8
‘Release the Doctor – or the killing will start.’
An asteroid in the furthest reaches of space – the most secure prison for the most dangerous of criminals. The Governor is responsible for the cruellest murderers. So he’s not impressed by the arrival of the man they’re calling the most dangerous criminal in the quadrant. Or, as he prefers to be known, the Doctor.
But when the new prisoner immediately sets about trying to escape, and keeps trying, the Governor sets out to find out why.
Who is the Doctor and what’s he really doing here? And who is the young woman who comes every day to visit him, only to be turned away by the guards?
When the killing finally starts, the Governor begins to get his answers …
An original novel featuring the Twelfth Doctor and Clara, as played by Peter Capaldi and Jenna Coleman
