Doctor Who_ Illegal Alien - Mike Tucker [55]
He fished his hat from his pocket and clamped it on his head.
'Clever, for a human. I'm going to need to borrow your car? They were on the street. Mullen already had the keys in his hand. Before he could react the Doctor had snatched them from his grasp. He dodged past the policeman and into the driver's seat, gunned the engine and lurched forward.
'You can't...! Where are you going?' Mullen was grappling for the door handle.
'Belsize Park,' the Doctor called. 'Clever man, name of George Limb.'
He roared off into the night. Mullen beckoned feebly after him. 'But how am I going to...?'
***
A face of blistered, scabrous metal. Wide, weeping holes for eyes. A mouth eaten by corrosion into a loopy, deranged grin.
The huge, grinning head crashed down upon Ace. With a yell she threw herself to the floor as two hydraulic arms crashed in empty air. She rolled around the thing's legs and sprinted for the wall. Anything to put a bit of distance between her and it.
It turned. Slowly. Jerkily.
Its torso was partly tangled up in a huge, filthy, torn length of tarpaulin which flapped and wound about its feet.
One of its legs dragged behind it. One arm thrashed erratically. Half of its side was blown away; tubes hung leaking from inside its body. Blood human blood, congealed, thick had been roughly smeared over many of its broken joints. Tendrils of human flesh were still attached to its cracked breastplate.
It was dying.
Ace watched, fascinated and repulsed. She had seen Cybermen die before she'd even killed a few herself but this was entirely different.
Pathetic. Revolting.
Sad.
The setting merely added to the agonising pathos. The room, bare of furniture, was prinked out in a pink floral wallpaper design, tiny delicate flowers, faded with age. The curtains, drawn across the window, attempted the same drab floral optimism. The carpet was daddy floral. Disease shuffled towards her across a bed of roses.
A part of her wanted to be sick; a part to reach out and touch the thing. It stopped in front of her, swaying slightly.
She extended a cautious hand...
With a visceral snarl it lunged, huge arms flailing and closing. Again, Ace tried to dive, but the Cyberman was moving faster now A metal glove caught her a glancing blow to the head. Dazed, whiteblind for a moment, she scuttled across the floor like a Cybermat. The Cyberman swung an arm; she rolled, and felt a metal hand full of her hair ripping at the scalp.
There was nothing in here to fight the monster with. She darted towards the door and grabbed at the handle. The door didn't budge.
It was locked.
Again she had to dive to avoid the lunging Cyberman.
Again she rolled around its crippled legs. Even in this state it could easily wear her down. She only had to tire a little.
The Cyberman lurched forward, then stopped. Turning, it had managed to get its good leg tangled in the lengths of tarpaulin. It twisted, trying to free itself. Ace grabbed at a corner of the filthy oilcloth and pulled with all her strength.
The already offbalance Cyberman crashed to the floor. Ace leapt over its thrashing body and threw back the curtains.
She strained to lift the heavy sash frame. It was stuck. No.
Nailed. She ripped the Walkman from her jacket pocket and hammered at the glass.
She stopped. It was hopeless. She could see that, outside in the darkness, the window was barred.
The Cyberman was on its feet, lurching towards her.
There was a loud click. The door to the room swung open. Ace's heart surged. Mr Limb.
She leapt towards the door. There was a figure in front of her. A figure she didn't recognise. Tall, blond, dressed in black.
He was laughing.
She landed at his feet. With a leer he thrust her roughly to the ground in the path of the advancing killer. From behind him he brandished a wooden pole, about five feet in length.
Ace recognised it as an old, carved standard lamp, the base and the shade missing. Where the bulb should have been two metal prongs stuck viciously out. An electric flex snaked out through the door.
He jabbed at the Cyberman