Doctor Who_ Father Time - Lance Parkin [46]
The Prefect gave him a swift chop to the shoulder, and Barry sank to the floor.
‘Now, Doctor,’ the Prefect said, ‘where is the Last One?’
Barry pulled himself up, pushed his way between them.
The Prefect elbowed him in the stomach, Barry doubled up.
Barry grabbed the man’s shoulder, and pulled himself upright.
The Prefect turned to face him. ‘The capacity for learning is clearly not one of your attributes.’
‘You sound like her,’ Barry said, cocking his head towards Debbie.
The Prefect smiled, and starting heading towards her.
‘Oh, well done,’ the Doctor said scornfully. ‘You’ve led him right to –’
Barry headbutted the Doctor, left him lying where he fell and ran up to the ‘Prefect’.
Barry lunged to punch him, but his opponent was too fast, stepping out of the way and delivering a blow to Barry’s shoulder as he went past.
‘You’re asking for it, now,’ Barry warned him. ‘You want a go? You want a go?’
The Prefect frowned at Barry, then lashed out. Barry fell to the ground, and this time had the sense to stay down.
* * *
The Deputy swung the hoverdisc around, increased the speed.
Another neutron blast whizzed past. His opponent was a nurse, not a fighter. She’d fired a gun before, but the Deputy doubted she had ever managed to hit a target, let alone a moving one.
Nevertheless, she was the main threat at the moment: a single stray shot from her would be enough to kill either him or the Prefect.
The Deputy set a course towards the woman, steadied the disc and unslung his machine pistol.
* * *
Barry watched, helpless, as Kim Dawkins was torn apart by machine-gun fire.
He’d seen pictures, he’d heard about it from mates who’d been in the army. But this was different. One minute she was a person, a good looking woman, the next she wasn’t anything.
Barry felt sick. He pulled himself upright. These people, whoever they were, wherever they got their flying machine and that walking robot thing (Barry reckoned it was probably the army – they had all sorts of secret weapons), they were trying to kill a ten-year‐old girl.
Barry wouldn’t let them.
He tried to get up, but couldn’t.
His side ached. Broken ribs – he’d had a broken rib before, and recognised it.
The man who’d done it – the Prefect, the Doctor had called him – was striding up to his wife, who, true to form, was just cowering there. This lot were soldiers – he should have realised before. As with policemen and ex-policemen, you could always tell if someone had ever been a soldier. Both were too old now, but they’d kept fit.
They had twenty years on him. The little guy on the flying thing looked old enough to be his dad.
Barry forced himself up on to his knees.
It didn’t matter how good their training was. It didn’t matter how fit they’d kept themselves. Barry was in good shape himself: he was thirty years old, at his peak. He lifted weights. These people knew the theory, but he’d put what he knew into practice, on the football terraces, and round the back of the Dragon. He didn’t need any Bruce Lee stuff, just his fists.
He stood, took a deep breath. The rib may not be broken – just bruised.
The Prefect was only a few feet from his wife.
Barry took a couple of steps forward, and, encouraged by how easy that had been, took a few steps more.
The Prefect saw Barry coming, but did nothing – he underestimated his opponent.
Barry grabbed the man’s shoulder – barely registering that it was almost solid muscle – and pulled him round, punching him just above his stomach. He was wearing a bulletproof vest underneath his green jacket, but he’d still hurt him. Barry had the advantage, and used it to pull the man down, bringing his knee up to meet the man’s nose. The man couldn’t get much grip in the ice, and was sliding about. There wasn’t much hair to grab, so Barry just balled his fist and hammered it down at the base of his skull.
Barry should have felt the man’s legs give way, but the man just broke away and headbutted him. Barry could feel his nose getting warmer. Blood.
He took a deep breath through his mouth.