Doctor Who_ Deep Blue - Mark Morris [102]
This time panic surged through him so powerfully that his body jerked and spasmed in the soldiers’ hands. Then he was floating, weightless, and he thought: This is it. This is death.
It took him a moment to realise that his limbs were free and that there was no longer a hand gripping the back of his skull, holding his head underwater. Turlough thrashed and flapped, kicking down with his legs, trying to find solid ground beneath him. He was disorientated, his lungs were as painful as open wounds, and his heart was a thick, heavy pulse that seemed to be squeezing his thoughts smaller and smaller. The sea felt stronger than he was, the inexorable suck of its tide upending him, dragging him along the sea bed. Just as the crushing weight of unconsciousness threatened to engulf him completely, his head broke the surface of the water.
The sun was a hot, bright slap across his eyes. Turlough desperately wanted to suck in air, but he emerged coughing and retching, seawater rushing back up out of his mouth and nose, tasting like blood. Finally the water stopped coming and Turlough took a deep, gulping breath, then immediately winced; his lungs felt bruised, as if he had been kicked repeatedly in the ribs. He was still floundering in the water, barely holding his head above the surface. Steadying himself, he planted his feet firmly on the ground and stood up.
He was surprised to find that the sea only came up to his thighs. He blinked, swiping water from his face, and saw that he was facing the shore. The Brigadier, Sergeant Benton and the four UNIT soldiers who had been holding him under were behaving very curiously indeed. They were convulsing, their faces twisted in anguish, as if a powerful electrical charge was being passed through them. As Turlough watched, astounded, the six men collapsed one by one, the Brigadier on the beach, the others in the shallows as the froth of dying waves fizzed around them. Up on the promenade, Xaranti hybrids which Turlough had glimpsed patrolling to and fro like border guards, were convulsing and collapsing in a similar manner.
What was happening? Could it be something to do with the Doctor? As if thinking about his friend had willed him to return, Turlough heard the familiar grinding roar of the TARDIS’s engines. Next moment, by the sea’s edge, a faint blue outline shimmered into view and quickly solidified. The door opened just as an extra-large wave surged up the beach and slapped over the rim of the TARDIS, drenching the emerging Doctor’s white cricket boots. He looked down at his soaked footwear ruefully. ‘Slight miscalculation,’ he said.
Then, as the wave receded, he leaped out of the TARDIS and ran across the wet sand towards the unconscious Brigadier.
‘Help me get these men inside,’ he shouted to Turlough, heaving the Brigadier expertly on to his shoulders in a fireman’s lift and jogging with him towards the TARDIS.
Turlough, dripping wet, waded towards the shore. He had an entire skeleton of bones to pick with the Doctor. ‘You abandoned me!’ he exclaimed, hearing the wheedling quality in his voice that Tegan always commented upon, and hating it. ‘I could have been drowned.’
‘Yes, yes, we’ll talk about that later,’ the Doctor said briskly. ‘Now come on, we haven’t got much time.’
‘Before what?’ Turlough said.
The Doctor nodded up at the vast, drab bulk of the Morok ship towering above them. ‘Before that thing takes off and gives us all a tan we’ll never recover from.’
He disappeared into the TARDIS with the Brigadier and emerged again almost immediately. Turlough sighed. He could see now why Tegan always got so frustrated. She simply never had time to sit down with the Doctor and properly air her many grievances; there was always something