Doctor Who_ Cat's Cradle_ Warhead - Andrew Cartmel [1]
A squirrel was running through the branches above him, pausing to chatter down at him before leaping from one tree to another. The boy stood watching the small animal, a flash of red‐brown among the grey branches, and then he changed direction, running along a winding side track, away from the path that would take him home.
In five minutes he was approaching the clearing with the big fallen tree in it. There would be more rocks by the tree, where he’d left them. Good‐sized rocks for throwing, and he would wait until the men in the jeep went back up to the cave and then he’d –
‘Possibly it’s your choice of weapon.’
There was a man in the clearing.
Sitting on the stump of the long fallen tree. He looked up at the small boy standing at the fringe of the woods.
‘I saw you throw that stone. It was a good throw, but a very difficult shot at that distance. You shouldn’t feel bad about missing.’
Now the man looked down, at something he was doing with his hands. Brodie saw that he was carving, shaping a piece of fallen wood from the dead tree. The man put the carved piece of wood into his pocket and bent down. He reached into the long grass and selected a few small, smooth rocks from the pile under the tree. Brodie’s pile.
‘As I said, perhaps it’s just that you didn’t choose a suitable weapon for the job.’
The man stood up and Brodie got ready to run, but the man turned away from him, walking across the clearing, and Brodie found himself following. The man was putting the rocks carefully into his pocket as he walked. His eyes were a flat strange colour as he turned to look at Brodie.
‘I don’t like that camera,’ said Brodie. He felt the need to explain under the cool gaze of those eyes.
‘Clearly,’ said the man.
‘It used to be great here. I used to have a fort. In the woods. I built it myself last summer.’
‘And then the company came,’ said the Doctor.
‘They’re building across the valley,’ said Brodie. They were walking side by side now, the man and the boy. Like old friends, back into the shadows of the woods.
‘There were trees all over the mountain. Now they’re gone and the squirrels are, too, mostly,’ said Brodie. ‘I don’t even live here. But I can’t stand to see somebody wrecking it.’
‘I know exactly what you mean,’ said the Doctor.
The Doctor?
Brodie tried to remember how long he’d been calling the man that. It was as if someone had whispered the name in his ear. No. It was as if it had been gently poked directly into his mind.
A wind was gathering behind Brodie, rushing up through the thin trees. The woods were turning cold and suddenly Brodie realized how late it was. The sun would be going down soon. Brodie shivered, his skin prickling. He remembered the stories he’d heard, about the witches and ghosts that once lived on the Catskill mountains, wandering these dense wooded hills.
The man – the Doctor – had stopped walking. He was looking at Brodie. Brodie didn’t move.
‘I’d better be getting home,’ said the boy.
The Doctor held out his hand and showed Brodie the piece of wood he’d been carving. ‘Do you know what this is?’
Brodie stared at the shape. ‘A slingshot,’ he said.
‘Or catapult,’ said the Doctor, walking back towards Brodie, holding out the piece of wood. ‘All it needs is a strong piece of elastic or rubber.’ The Doctor smiled. His eyes were calm. ‘I wonder if you could help me with that?’
He handed the wooden slingshot frame to Brodie. It was nicely carved, the smooth wood fitting neatly in Brodie’s hand, feeling good there. Feeling right.
Brodie looked up at the Doctor and smiled back.
* * *
The tyre was lying below a clump of splintered trees at the outside edge of a curve on the access road. It was a tight curve and a large construction vehicle had taken it too fast and crashed, months ago, when the excavation on the mountain was just beginning.
‘They cleared the rest of the wreck away,’ said Brodie, ‘but they left this.’
A beetle was crawling across the dusty waffle‐iron tread surface on the big tyre. Brodie brushed the beetle off and it flew away,