Doctor Who_ Deep Blue - Mark Morris [96]
Without so much as a qualm, the Brigadier and Benton walked past the smashed remains of the soldier who had fallen from the ledge above. When they had entered the boy’s room and discovered his escape across the roof, the man had gone after him, but the human detritus that still cluttered his mind had resulted in a lack of concentration and he had plunged to his death. It didn’t matter. Individuals were of little importance; the man was simply a tiny part of the Xaranti, the equivalent of a human cell, thousands of which died and were constantly renewed. The Brigadier, who at this juncture was still exercising the human convention of individual hierarchy, decided that their efforts would be best served searching for the boy at ground level, that if he hadn’t already made his way down on to the streets, he would have to do so eventually.
Suddenly the Brigadier and his fellow hybrids within the immediate vicinity stopped dead, their faces blanking over.
As one they turned slowly to face an adjacent street before blinking and swaying as though roused from a trance. There was no need for speech, no need for confirmation; the message each of them had received was clear and unequivocal. Without hesitation, the Brigadier, Benton and their motley crew of infected soldiers and civilian hybrids converged to swarm towards their target.
* * *
Sweat rolled down Turlough’s face and dripped on the tarmac beneath the car. He was shaking as if with fever. The two Xaranti were motionless, their spiny legs so close that Turlough could have reached out from his hiding place and jabbed the meat skewer in to one of them. Surely the creatures knew he was here. Why else would they have stopped?
But if they did know, why hadn’t they attempted to root him out? In some ways he wished they would just get it over with. Maybe they wanted him to make a break for it so they could pursue him, hunt him down. He heard movement at the end of the street and twisted his head to look.
Dozens of feet, many of them wearing black boots into which were tucked green army fatigues, were approaching his hiding place. They did not hurry, had no need to do so.
Turlough knew that all was lost, but still he couldn’t bring himself to crawl out from under the car and give himself up.
He wished he could sink into the ground. His stomach cramped with dread. A pair of boots broke off from the rest and approached the car. They stopped in front of the vehicle.
The owner of the boots dropped down on to one knee and peered under the car. Turlough found himself face to face with the Doctor’s friend, Sergeant Benton. Benton’s face looked red and blotchy as if he had been out in the sun too long. There was a cloudy darkness, like the reflection of storm clouds, swimming in his eyes.
Benton grinned and saliva gleamed on his blocky white teeth.
‘Boo,’ he said in a rasping voice.
Since entering the R and D unit Tegan had barely said a word. Mike, keeping a surreptitious eye on her, had noticed her clenched, troubled expression. He had noticed the way she moved too, slowly and tentatively, like someone in pain who was determined not to show it. Several times he had asked her if she was OK, and had received a brief nod and a preoccupied, ‘Fine.’ Now she was sitting against the wall in the dormitory area, staring into space and taking deep breaths as though resting after an exhausting journey.
‘Is your friend all right?’ Charlotte asked, glancing across the room. ‘She looks very pale.’
Mike had been helping the medical staff tend to those patients most in need of care and attention. He started to nod, then glanced around and drew Charlotte aside.
Speaking quietly, he said, ‘Well, actually, no she’s not. She’s been