Doctor Who_ Deep Blue - Mark Morris [33]
The largest of the cave mouths seemed to suck him in. As he stepped into the cave, lulling darkness wrapped around him.
The solid walls muted the gnashing of the sea and provided a barrier against the snapping sea-breeze. Chris sighed, halfway to sleep, though not too far gone to notice a curious smell in here. It was strong and fishy, like spoiled crab-meat, but also... musky, hot, animal-like. Horse-sweat and cowsheds and the lion enclosure at the zoo.
He moved deeper into the cave... and started at a stealthy scraping from the murk in front of him. It sounded like someone dragging a sharp, metal implement across granite.
He imagined a ragged figure with wild hair and wild eyes lurking in the darkness, clutching a meat cleaver. He tried to lick his lips, but they were gummed together with curd-thick saliva. He instinctively took a step backwards.
And something flew at him from the darkness, its reverberating screech transfixing him with utter terror, echoing at crazy angles from the cave walls.
Chris caught a brief, terrifying impression of black, spider-like eyes, and jointed, chitinous, razor-edged legs. Then unbelievable pain ripped through him and turned his world a brilliant, scorching red.
„Good lord,‟ said the Brigadier wearily.
The Doctor grinned. „Lethbridge-Stewart, my dear fellow.
How are you?‟
„Same as ever, Doctor. Unlike yourself.‟
„Didn‟t Mike explain?‟ the Doctor asked, glancing at the Brigadier‟s number two, who was standing between his commanding officer and the burly frame of Sergeant Benton, still wearing his civvies.
„Well, er, I tried,‟ Mike said with a grimace of apology
„I‟m sure you did a sterling job,‟ said the Doctor breezily, turning to address him before swinging to face the Brigadier again. Suddenly sombre, he said, „Now, where‟s this body you called me in to see?‟
„Through here,‟ the Brigadier said, indicating with his swagger stick. He led them through a small, scrupulously clean anteroom containing a set of lockers, two large sinks and various items of medical equipment, to a set of double doors at the far end, which he pushed open.
The mortuary was a large well-lit room whose main wall was composed of rows of big square metal drawers, each of them numbered. A small, balding, white-coated man with a scrubby moustache and thick spectacles scurried forward to meet them. „Brigadier Stewart?‟ he enquired.
„Lethbridge-Stewart,‟ corrected the Brigadier severely.
The little man quailed and glanced at the clipboard he clutched in his hand. „Ah yes, of course. You‟ve come to view number thirty-two, I understand?‟
„If that‟s the stab victim who was brought in last night, then yes we have,‟ said the Brigadier.
„Of course,‟ said the man again. „This way.‟ He led them over to the wall of metal drawers and tugged at the handle of drawer 32. It rolled open with a metallic rumble.
Mike Yates gasped involuntarily. Sergeant Benton murmured, „Blimey.‟
The Brigadier regarded the body grimly for a moment, then glanced up. „What do you make of it, Doctor?‟
The Doctor was already leaning over the body, a concentrated frown on his face. After a few seconds he looked up at the little man, who was hovering on the periphery of the group. „Do you have any surgical gloves, Mr...‟
„Booth,‟ said the man, „Yes, sir, I‟ll just get you some.‟
He scuttled away and returned moments later. The Doctor thanked him, pulled on the gloves and began to examine the dead man more closely, touching the spines on his chest and arms, prodding the surrounding flesh. „I understand the man died of blood loss due to his injuries?‟
„Yes, sir. He was stabbed four times.‟ Booth indicated the now bloodless purple-black