Doctor Who_ Combat Rock - Mick Lewis [82]
Can’t bottle these things up, can we?
Yeah, he’d loved her. She’d loved him. That’s how it’s supposed to be ain’t it? Simple and cosy. No ifs, no buts. No kills, no psychopathies. Good for me, baby. Always were. You were the only one. Cool the rage...
So why didn’t you understand? The biker was rude, he was ripping me off. Couldn’t she see that? So why did she just scream as the blood ran red, red, red and the tattoo laser needle was still in his hand waiting to produce more vibrant colours of death.
Why couldn’t you see, baby...?
I was never any good. Mum and Dad knew that, you knew that... but you didn’t care, because you loved me. When we made love I was tamed, could frame your blonde head in my hands and know the universe was safe both for me, and from me...
So why’d you scream, baby, wby’d you scream and make the universe no longer safe...
‘See the little monkeys run,’ Twist chortled with glee. He strafed another village hut, the fire bursting out from the thatch bright against the dark of the evening.
Pan stared at the back of the pilot’s head. An irritated scab had formed on his bald patch where Twist had repeatedly scratched it. Pan’s gaze was locked on the glint of metal beneath, although it didn’t particularly interest him. Twist’s plate was showing.
‘Jungle rock, monkeys! Hear the blood bloom, see the bodies rattle with the dying of them. Let’s all funk down with the psychedelic sounds of burn, burn, burn.’
Pretty Boy threw an empty beer bottle at him. ‘You’re as crazy as a cockroach with groin itch, Twist.’
‘Combat rock. Let’s all play.’
Combat rock. Yeah.
Everyone’s insane. We’re diving of the high one, and there ain’t no water below.
Everyone’s insane, and our minds are burning. There’s no one here to stop the madness. Clown... Where was Clown? Not here, that’s for sure. Absent without leave, or was that Missing in Action?
He no longer remembered. He no longer cared. Had be ever? Clown was missing, and that meant their conscience was missing too. Missing in Action while the Combat Rock played on...
The storm was sudden and vicious.
Rain lashed in through the ragged gaps in the grass walls, lightning turned the jungle white for flashes of electric time.
Thunder came heartbeats later, and the cannibals huddled around their fire, waiting for the gods to stop their roaring.
Jamie and Santi did their own huddling. But at least they were relatively dry, and the fire provided plenty of warmth.
The interior of the but consisted of one main room, in which half a dozen cannibals were gathered, all of them staring at the travellers without expression. There was obviously another room behind a thatch flap because every now and then a wail emerged disconcertingly. Jamie didn’t even want to think about what was causing that. Next to him a pregnant naked woman lolled on the bamboo slats that formed the floor, an infant playing with her toes. Above her head, ceiling ornaments dangled.
Jamie looked away quickly. He didn’t like those ornaments, and didn’t like the idea of sharing a house with anyone whose idea of good interior design included human skulls and leg bones hanging from hooks in the ceiling. He tried not to concentrate on what was being roasted over the fire, suspended on a long spit above the flames, while the tribespeople sat around in eager anticipation. It was just as well his view was partially blocked by the back of one of the naked men.
Santi let out a piercing squeak that made him jump. She was up on her feet and pulling her muddied skirt even further up her legs, forgetting her modesty in the face of some new peril that Jamie was momentarily blind to.
‘Kechouak!’ she wailed in utter misery
‘What?’ he asked rather helplessly. The natives were turning to see what the problem was too.
Instead of answering, Santi pointed towards