Doctor Who_ Last of the Gaderene - Mark Gatiss [27]
‘It’s OK, Mr Whistler. We’ll just give ourselves up. Let the police sort it out. We’ve done nothing wrong.’
Whistler thrust out both hands to propel Noah through the fence. ‘There’s more to this than breaking and entering, Noah.
Those people mean business, now for God’s sake get away from here!’
Chapter Eleven
The Beast
Noah tumbled through on to the other side of the fence just as the Legion men caught up with Whistler.
Through the gloom he could just make out the old man struggling to his feet and putting up his hands. A guard raised his gun and brought it down savagely on to the back of Whistler’s head.
Noah felt anger rise like bile in his throat, and was on the point of trying to get back through the fence to help the old man when he pulled back. Better to get hold of Constable Trickett and sort out these bastards properly.
A guard was already halfway through the fence, shoulders flat to the ground. Noah looked around, decided where to go and then, in one swift movement, brought his foot round and kicked the guard under the chin. The man crumpled to the earth with a satisfying thud. Noah took to his heels.
Still there was no searchlight, no harsh klaxon breaking the silence of the warm night. Noah headed for the road back to the village and took the corner at such speed that he felt the ground give way beneath him. He hit the rough track chest first, knocking the wind out of himself.
He flipped over on to his back and lay there for a long moment, staring up at the sky, struggling to breathe. His ribs felt like they had an anvil resting on them.
As he recovered, he heard the Legion troops heading for the road and made a snap decision. They were bound to think he would head for Culverton. Instead, he would double back around the aerodrome, towards the marshland, and give them the slip.
He struggled to his feet, hobbling a little and wincing at the friction burns he had sustained on his long legs. He ducked out of sight as half a dozen guards ran past him towards the village and, crouching down by the grassy verge, he made his way back towards the aerodrome. He thought about Whistler inside there and what they might be doing to the old man.
Noah kept close to the fence and followed it all the way around for about a third of a mile until he could see the back entrance. The gates were open in order to allow egress from the base. A neat pile of the black cylinders stood just outside them.
Noah caught his breath and bent down, watching to detect any movement. Only two or three troopers stood guard, as immobile as statues.
He wracked his brain, unsure what to do for the best.
Should he try and get past them and inside the aerodrome to rescue Whistler? Or scurry back to Culverton to raise the alarm?
The decision was made for him as he leant forward, slipped and put out his hands to break his fall. Both palms connected with the mesh of the fence, sending a shuddering rattle through the structure. Noah tensed.
As one, like identical weather vanes, the black-uniformed guards swung in his direction. None spoke. Noah could hear his breath streaming through his open mouth. Then they raised their guns and fired.
Bullets thudded – one, two, three – into the wet ground at Noah’s feet. He flung himself down and rolled over as gobbets of soil spat out and covered his T-shirt. Without waiting for the guards to pursue him, he took off at a run heading blindly forward into the marshland.
The marshes extended for some acres behind the aerodrome, hillocks of tufty grass interspersed with great ponds of dank water. Noah splashed his way through, oblivious to the jets of mud that rocketed out and soaked his trousers. He had to get help. Had to get back to the village.
Although he didn’t stop running, he was vaguely aware that the guards hadn’t bothered to follow him.
Noah pulled up sharp. Suddenly he didn’t much care if the guards were on his trail. A deafening, bubbling sound was emanating from the ground ahead, as though great