Doctor Who_ Deep Blue - Mark Morris [92]
Turlough selected a large two-pronged implement normally used for skewering meat and set to work on the mesh.
Constantly expecting to hear the thump of booted feet on the floors above, he worked feverishly. Several minutes of hacking and twisting later he tugged the mesh away from the frame. That done, he picked up a three-legged stool and smashed the glass of the window, wincing at the noise it made as it rebounded from the outer mesh and shattered into the sink below.
Using the skewer on the outer mesh was tricky as he had to push rather than pull it away from the frame. In the end he climbed into the sink, glass crunching beneath his feet, and kicked the mesh into submission. When he had created a large enough gap, he squeezed through, wincing at the jagged shards of glass still jutting from the window frame that scraped against his skin. He all but fell into the narrow street that the building backed on to, almost landing on the two-pronged skewer that he had decided to bring with him.
He climbed groggily to his feet, bleeding from a dozen stinging scratches, and looked around. There was no sign of either UNIT soldiers or Xaranti, which, only made him think that they were probably lying in wait somewhere. He had to find a place to hide until it was safe to emerge - if it ever would be.
Left would take him back down towards the promenade, so he decided to go right, despite the fact that it was the street in that direction, that bisected this one, that his hotel room overlooked. He only hoped that the two fully-grown Xaranti he had spotted prowling this street had moved on now; certainly they had been moving purposefully enough to have done so.
He moved forward cautiously, keeping close to the wall, shrinking back from the golden thread of sunlight that lay on the road and lapped over the edge of the pavement on his side. When he reached the intersection he poked his head round the corner and looked right and left, ready to turn tail and flee at the slightest movement. However the street, wider and more prominent than this one, was empty. As a right turn on this occasion would again have taken him down to the promenade, Turlough crossed the road, wincing as he stepped through the band of sunlight, and moved to the left.
He crept along from shop doorway to shop doorway, wondering whether he ought to duck into one of them and keep low or try to get as far away from Xaranti Central as he could. But how far away was that? How far did the aliens’
influence extend? Was the ship that arrived in Tayborough Sands an isolated one or part of an invasion fleet?
He was still trying to decide what to do when he heard a scuttle of movement from the end of the street ahead of him.
He glimpsed two fully-grown Xaranti turning the corner and heading in his direction a split-second before throwing himself out of sight behind a parked car. Praying that they hadn’t seen him and that the scraping, scuttling, clicking of their own bodies would mask his movements, Turlough dropped onto his stomach and crawled beneath the car.
Gripping the meat skewer like a talisman, he drew in his legs and lay there in the shade, willing the Xaranti to pass by. If he got out of this one, he told himself, he would take no more risks, would duck into the next shop he could find that contained food and remain there until it was safe to come out.
He could see the Xaranti’s spiny crablike legs rising and falling as they stalked closer to his hiding place. When they were almost parallel with the car, they separated, moving to flank the vehicle. Turlough prayed desperately that there was nothing sinister in the manoeuvre - and then the sweat on his body turned cold.
In unison,