Dead of Winter - James Goss [28]
His smirk faded as he noticed the creature again. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Sorry if I’m pointing out the obvious, Dr Bloom, but you’re a nasty piece of work. I mean, you’ve got me tied up next to a little girl. And is that thing really going to eat us?’ He wrinkled his nose and turned to me. ‘You know, I should be used to this kind of thing by now, but I’m really not.’ He seemed different, Mother. Less… odd, less like a schoolteacher, more… friendly and fun and somehow charming. He pointed at the towering creature with his shoulder. He winked. ‘Now then, Maria, don’t you worry about that thing, the Doctor will probably be crashing through that door in a second.’
‘The Doctor?’ demanded Dr Bloom. ‘Who is this heroic Doctor you’re going on about?’
‘Ah,’ said Rory, visibly growing. ‘Bit taller than me, bit weirder, goes crashing around, breaking things. Always rescuing me at the last moment.’ He coughed and repeated loudly: ‘At the last moment.’ His eyes wandered over to the door, and for a second he looked hopeful.
‘Did he by any chance wear a bow tie?’ I asked, suddenly fearful.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Looks silly, doesn’t it? Why?’
‘I think he may be dead,’ I said.
‘Quite right.’ Dr Bloom laughed like a drunk uncle. ‘Kosov threw him off a cliff.’
‘Oh,’ said Rory. He seemed crushed. The moment of triumph had passed. I felt so sorry for him, but also disappointed – I’d used the secret word and very little seemed to have happened.
He went silent for a moment, then he looked up. There was a different tone in his voice. Worried. Defensive. Really angry. ‘Where’s Amy?’
Dr Bloom leaned back against his desk. ‘She is down on the beach,’ he admitted eventually.
‘Oh.’ Rory thought about this. ‘That is not good,’ he said, really angry.
‘Not good at all.’ Dr Bloom nodded in agreement. ‘So you see, my dear sir, you’ve not won anything at all, have you?’
What Amy Remembered
I sat in my chair on the beach, watching the figure come striding out of the fog towards me. It was so cold, and I could hear the distant singing from the sea.
The figure walked through the waves, each footstep making a churning noise as it pushed against the churning sea. The mist rolled across, hiding it from sight for a second. The fog was all around, almost choking me. I was breathing it and it felt thick – like cold soup. Cold soup that glowed. I tried not to breathe it in, choking on it. I realised that the fog itself was making the strange whispering, singing noise – like it was calling my name.
Amy, Amy, Amy, Amy… over and over.
I couldn’t see anything, not even my own feet – just this cold green glow. I have never felt so alone. I missed… my husband. I missed… the Doctor… I missed my boys so much.
Something moved and shifted in my brain, like the singing buzz along a railway line before a train turns up. Something important was coming. Something was clicking into place.
I was almost blind and alone and I could hear something walking towards me… Slap! Slap! of wet footsteps on the beach. In a panic, I grabbed at the bath chair, turning it somehow, desperately tugging at the wheels and trying to drag it into life, to get me away – but the wheels were stuck in the sand. But the more I struggled, the looser I could feel my bonds getting – perhaps, just perhaps, I could get free if I tipped the chair.
I started to rock the chair backwards and forwards, all the while hearing those footsteps, expecting an arm to shoot out from the mist and grab me. But finally, with a crash, I went down, head-over-heels, shooting out of the chair like a brilliant failure of the Scottish Space Programme.
I landed on the wet sand with a firm thud and tried to stand up – but my legs were still too weak to take any notice of me. Try as I might. I also couldn’t see which way to go – disoriented, I realised even the wheelchair had vanished in the fog. I was crawling on my hands and knees in wet