Wetworld

by Mark Michalowski

  ‘This?’

  ‘At last.’ He stopped dead and held out the now-snoring otter to Orlo. ‘Take it and go, both of you. Get back to the settlement. Tell them what we’ve seen.’

  Ty just stared at him, at the brown and silver tide flowing along the ground towards them, and then at Orlo.

  ‘Go!’ he shouted.

  Ty squeezed his arm and, with a single, helpless look back, she grabbed Orlo and the two of them ran.

  ‘Now,’ muttered the Doctor to himself, whirling to face the oncoming storm. ‘Let’s just hope your hearing is as sensitive as I hope it is.’ He remembered how the otter in the cage had flinched – and that was when he’d just been using the sonic screwdriver as a torch.

  He raised it and held it out in front of him. ‘Otherwise it’s going to get a whole lot hotter for me.’ He paused and raised his eyebrows appreciatively. ‘Hotter. Otter. Oooh, that’s quite good. I might use that one later.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘When I’ve got a more appreciative audience. Sorry little fellers – this is going to hurt you a whole lot more than it does me.’

  And with that, he pressed the button.

  For a moment, nothing happened. The living carpet of scampering otters continued to race towards him at terrifying speed, the sunlight glittering in their obsidian eyes, their teeth bared. Even the Doctor winced at the wave of ultrasound emanating from the screwdriver, and he stuck one finger in his ear, uselessly.

  And then the otters began to react.

  The ones at the leading edge of the attack skidded to a messy, tumbling halt, some of them falling bum-over-head in their haste. The ones right behind them couldn’t stop in time and went crashing into them. It was like they’d hit a glass wall. But still the ones behind came. More and more of them began to pile up, writhing around, squeaking at the tops of their voices.

  ‘Sorry,’ whispered the Doctor, but he continued to hold the button down, and watched as the otters piled up in a huge arc a couple of hundred feet away from him.

  He gave it another five seconds – until the stragglers had reached the front, climbing up onto the rapidly growing mound of writhing brown bodies, where they too felt the screwdriver’s ultrasonic waves enough to start screeching. Still gripping it firmly, he turned his head to see where the two of them were. Ty and Col were just tiny figures in the distance, rounding the gentle swell of headland where the first settlement had been built. Even as he watched, they paused, looked back at him one last time, and then vanished.

  ‘That should just about do it,’ he said to himself, and lowered the screwdriver.

  The otters continued to shriek and chatter and roll around, clambering over each other like a litter of newborn kittens.

  Slipping the sonic screwdriver into his trouser pocket, he set off at a sprint after Ty and Orlo.

  The ship smelled horribly of rust and mildew and old fish. In fact, as Candy hoisted herself into the airlock, she saw a dead, half-rotted one on the floor and kicked it out of the door. The gridded metal beneath her feet was slippery with algae, but at least it meant she could see where Col’s boots had been – it looked like he’d headed towards the flight deck, the ship’s main control room.

  There was something eerie about the One Small Step now, not least because the light was fading rapidly outside, as it did on Sunday. But mainly because it was just so quiet. When the settlers had boarded, back on Earth, the ship had been humming and buzzing with power and electronics and people. Even after they’d landed and unloaded all their stuff, even after they’d set up Sunday City, the ship had been left on low power, just to keep all the computer systems ticking over. It was where she and Orlo had come to learn Morse code, to play games against the shipbrain, to mess about.

  But now it was like a haunted house. The only sound was a distant drip-drip-drip of water and the occasional creak or groan from the vessel’s rusted fabric. Candy found herself holding her breath without realising it, and felt a sudden need to call out to Col, to find him, give him a hug.

  And then get the hell off the ship.

  Although there was no power for the lifts, there were tube-ladders alongside them all. It was getting dark now, so Candy pulled out her torch, steeled herself, and headed up towards the flight deck. As she heaved herself into the central passageway she could see dim, flickering light from up ahead. Col must be there.

  Her foot clanged dully on the floor as she took a step forward.

  ‘Col?’ she called, wondering why there was no noise from up ahead. Something metallic and echoey sounded behind her, away down the passage, and she jumped. But the trembling light from her torch showed her nothing. She turned back and continued her way towards the prow of the ship. Fortunately, the vessel was only leaning at a slight angle, otherwise she’d have had to walk along the walls and jump over the open doors.

  ‘Col!’ she called again, louder, as she approached the entrance to the flight deck. ‘It’s me – Candy! You there?’

  Taking a deep breath, she gripped the edge of the door frame and pulled herself in. The room was bathed in deep orange light from the sinking sun, washing over everything. But it cast shadows over some of the computer consoles where she could see lights flickering and winking. Col must have got the power going. So where was he?

  ‘Col!’ she hissed as loudly as she dared, gripping the torch like a gun. Above her she could see that the other main window was shattered too. A plant creeper or something had grown in through it.

  Candy almost jumped out of her skin as a cracked, broken voice whispered her name, and she swung the torch in its direction.

  Lying on the floor, half-concealed by a desk, was Col – staring up at her with coal-black eyes.

  The Doctor paused to catch his breath only once he was at the old settlement, more than a little disappointed that he hadn’t had a chance to check out the settlers’ ship – but that could wait.

  He glanced back, briefly, at the top of the rise. The pile of otters, like a huge, chocolate sand dune, was slowly disentangling itself and spreading out – spreading out back to the water. Either they’d been scared off by the ultrasound, or they’d decided that it wasn’t worth chasing him. Of course, he mused, it could be that they’d prioritised the dismantling of the dam. He glanced up to see that clouds were once more gathering. He hadn’t thought to borrow an umbrella, either.

  Were the otters acting on instinct, or with intelligence? Attack as a means of defence could be either. Or both. But they’d only attacked when Ty had shot the otter. Most animals would take flight if they saw that happen. Most animals acting on instinct, at least.

  He knew he had to get back to the zoo lab fairly quickly and take a closer look at their new little friend – have a poke about, see what was making it tick. But he couldn’t resist taking another look at the remains of the first Sunday City before he went.

  It was certainly more impressive than the collection of log cabins they’d cobbled together since the flood. Many of the buildings were plastic prefabs, although there were no signs of smart buildings amongst the soggy, weed-encrusted structures before him. A colony on the cheap, he knew – the fission generator had told him that. The river had receded so far that only half of the settlement still lay in the puddled water. The rest appeared to be sitting on smooth, brown mud flats, and the bottom two or three metres of most of the buildings looked like they’d been dipped in chocolate and left out to set.

  At the thought of chocolate, the Doctor realised that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Breakfast was well overdue. He thought again of Martha. If he hadn’t blithely assumed that she’d be safe in the TARDIS, she might be with him now, marvelling at all of this, instead of lying in a hospital bed. That was one of the things he loved about Martha: her ability to get excited by anything and everything. The universe was still a source of wonder to her. Every time she stepped out of the TARDIS there was a childlike glee in her eyes. Sometimes he wondered whether that wasn’t part of the reason he didn’t like to travel al
one. Nine hundred years of scooting about the universe could make you jaded to its delights. And seeing them anew, through the eyes of someone who’d never witnessed them before… It was, he imagined, why Christmas was such a wonderful time for adults. They could experience the joy of it all over again through their children’s eyes.

  Still, he consoled himself, Martha would be up and about before he knew it.

  Now that the water had fallen further, he could see the tops of a few vehicles, further out into the river. Two that looked like huge mechanical diggers, something with a spiky bit on top and a couple of quad bikes, tipped over on their sides like dead insects. Now they, he thought, would be useful – not to mention fun. Save all this running around everywhere. He doubted that they’d work without a good servicing, though.

  Suddenly, a sliver of movement caught his eye. An otter darted splashily out of the water onto the mud and scampered across it, leaving a trail of tiny paw prints. It ignored him, and headed straight for a low, squat, grey building, flat-roofed and with a single small window on the side facing him.

  The otter was followed, within seconds, by another. And then another.

  He didn’t like the look of this. For a start, he’d just been chased across the countryside by thousands of their chums, and there could well be thousands more swimming upriver at this very moment. They may even have worked out that swimming would get them to him faster than running. But he was intrigued by the purposefulness of their behaviour. They weren’t just sniffing around to see what was what – they were heading for one very specific building.

  Perhaps that was a food store and they could smell the goodies in there. Although, after all this time, any food in there would surely have rotted or been washed away by the flood.

  Whatever the reason for their interest in that particular building, it was a puzzle that would have to wait a while. With one last look back, he set off up the hill.

  Col gazed at Candy blankly. In the dim light, it looked as though his pupils had dilated fully, engulfing his irises. Blue eyes, she remembered. Col had the palest blue eyes – a legacy from his Irish ancestors. And now they were just black.

  ‘Col!’ hissed Candy wanting to go to him, but scared to move. ‘It’s me – Candy!’

  Col’s expression didn’t change, but he blinked slowly, like a hungry insect.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Candy continued.

  ‘Candy…’ Col’s voice was a low murmur, almost inaudible. He raised a hand, weakly, as if to push her back.

  ‘In my head,’ he whispered. ‘It’s in my head.’ His lip trembled, but his eyes stayed fixed, emotionless.

  Candy felt herself panicking: what was he talking about? Had he slipped and hurt himself?

  ‘It’s all right, Col. Let’s get you back to—’

  Col blinked, slow and insectile again, and raised his hand.

  ‘Stay back,’ he said. ‘It’s not safe… not safe here.’ He paused and blinked again. ‘It’s looking for things,’ he said softly. ‘In my head. It’s… It’s trying to learn.’

  ‘Learn what? What’s in your head, Col?’ She dropped to her knees. ‘C’mon, Col. Please… let’s go, let’s get out of here.’

  There was another long pause.

  ‘We have things that it doesn’t… It wants to use us.’

  ‘Stop it, Col, you’re scaring me!’

  Col gave a long sigh and his body jerked as if electrified. His mouth twitched a faint, almost curious smile.

  ‘Intelligence. It wants our intelligence… It needs it.’

  Candy didn’t understand.

  ‘What does it want to know?’

  ‘No… no… It doesn’t want to know things,’ he said, his voice distant. ‘It just wants to know. It needs intelligence.’ He paused again, and a dreamy, faraway look spread across his face, despite the expressionless eyes. ‘It’s so strange, Candy.’

  The torch almost slipped from Candy’s sweating hand, and, for a moment, Col’s face was swallowed up by the darkness.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ she asked as she found him again, still not quite understanding why Col wasn’t moving – or why she wasn’t trying to move him.

  ‘No pain,’ Col murmured. ‘Strange that, eh?’ A weird smile cracked his face. Candy wondered if he’d been taking drugs or something – something he’d found on the ship. Was that why he’d been so keen to come back here?

  ‘Well you can tell the Doctor about it later, when we get back. Can you move? Can you sit up?’

  Col gave another sigh and then, as if the urgency of the situation had finally sunk in, placed the flat of his palm against the floor and tried to push himself upright. He managed a few inches.

  ‘What’s that?’ Candy whispered.

  There was something behind Col, something that had been hidden when he’d been lying down. It looked like black rope, a couple of inches across, dangling from the back of Col’s neck down to the floor.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Behind you, on your neck. Look, just move over here – we can worry about that later.’

  Col forced himself up into a sitting position, his legs bent sideways, blocking Candy’s view of whatever it was. He reached behind his head with his free hand – and a look of puzzlement, and then fear, swept across his face.

  ‘What is it?’ Candy asked.

  For a few seconds, Col said nothing as he felt around behind him. And then, as if wanting to show Candy, he turned his head sideways.

  Attached to the back of Col’s head, just above the nape of the neck, was the rope. Only it wasn’t rope: in the torchlight it was glossy and wet. And then Candy realised that it led to the shattered window. It was the creeper that she’d seen as she’d arrived.

  But the worst, most horrible thing, was that it was pulsing, very gently, as though pumping fluids. Into Col’s head. She saw his fingers splayed out around, where it joined his flesh.

  ‘What’s happened?’ His voice was low and cold and fearful. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘It’s OK, Col,’ Candy managed to say, feeling the sick rising in her throat. She swallowed it back. ‘Just move over here and we’ll have a look at it. We’ll get it off.’

  But Col didn’t move. She watched his fingers probe and explore the interface between him and the thing.

  Suddenly, his body jerked and his hands fell by his sides. Candy dropped the torch and, panicked, hunted around for it with her hands, her eyes never leaving Col’s silhouette.

  ‘It’s learning,’ he said, and blinked. As she found the torch and brought it back up to his face, she saw that the whites of his eyes looked darker now, greener. Maybe it was just the light. Maybe.

  ‘Go, Candy – get away. Tell the Doctor—’ He broke off as his body arched, like he’d been given an electric shock.

  ‘I’m not leaving you,’ she said firmly.

  ‘It wants to use us. It wants us to be—’ Again he stopped, his head tipped back, mouth open. ‘I can’t stop it, Candy. It’s flicking through my head like a book. Oh…’ Col paused, a frown etched onto his face.

  Candy didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t leave but she was terrified of staying.

  ‘Col!’ she hissed again. ‘You’ve got to help me – move over here and—’

  ‘It’s too late,’ he said with a slow, painful exhalation of breath. ‘Too late.’

  ‘It’s not!’ Candy almost shouted. She didn’t understand quite what was going on, what the thing was doing with Col, but she knew that Col was still there. And if he was still there, then she had to do something.

  ‘Tell them I’m sorry,’ he said, lowering his eyes until he was staring straight at her.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For letting it find out.’

  ‘Find out about what? Col, what are you talking about?’

  ‘Pallister,’ Col said, a look of intense sadness on his face. ‘Pallister’s who it needs. Oh Candy… what have I—’

  ‘Forget Pallister. Col, we’ve got to get out of here.
’

  But Col stayed where he was. Slowly, painfully, as if every movement was agony, he reached back behind his head with both hands.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘Tell them I couldn’t help it. Tell them.’

  And then he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. Only then did Candy realise what he was going to do – and that it was too late to stop him.

  She didn’t close her eyes quickly enough to block out the sight of Col wrenching the vile, alien tendril from the back of his head; not quickly enough to prevent her seeing the spray of glutinous ichor that poured out of the severed end; and not quickly enough to miss the look of peace and serenity that passed across his face just before he died.

  EIGHT

  The Doctor arrived back at the zoo lab to find Ty and Orlo fastening the cage door on their newest recruit.

  ‘Doctor!’ cried Ty with relief, flinging herself at him and giving him a huge bear hug.

  ‘Numbers eight and… nine,’ he managed to gasp.

  ‘Eight and nine what?’ she said, letting him go.

  ‘Ribs – that you’ve just broken,’ the Doctor gasped, rubbing his sides.

  Ty began to apologise, but he just grinned and waved her away.

  ‘They’ll heal. Now we’ve got work to do. How is he?’ He gestured at the otter, still snoring away.

  ‘Seems fine – should be coming round in about half an hour.’

  ‘Good, good,’ the Doctor said thoughtfully. ‘Now – this…’ He quickly grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from the desk and began scribbling. ‘… is what I need, equipment-wise. Think you can rustle this up for me? Or at least point me in the right direction.’

  He shoved the paper into Ty’s hand and strode over to inspect the new otter.

  ‘We’ve got to work fast,’ he said. ‘The otters are demonstrating if not intelligence, then distinctly purposeful behaviour. We already have that—’ He indicated the scratched outline of his ship on the wall ‘—to prove that they’re aware of the TARDIS. And I’ve just seen them going into one of the exposed buildings from the first settlements. A whole cartload of them – cartload? Is that the word? What’s the collective noun for otters?’ He clicked his fingers in the air repeatedly and then beamed a huge grin. ‘Romp! That’s the word. Romp! Well,’ he added, ‘one of them at least – but certainly my favourite. Isn’t that lovely? “A romp of otters”.’