Doctor Who_ Last of the Gaderene - Mark Gatiss [42]
The trooper had no intention of letting go, his grinning face seemingly untroubled.
One whole corner of the floor tile came loose.
The Doctor cried out, feeling his body jerking upwards like a cinder in a chimney flue.
He gripped the tile in both hands and tried to swing both himself and the trooper closer to the wall. They hung in the air like two links in a paper chain.
The Doctor swung again and this time he heard the trooper’s foot smack against the metal wall.
‘Try and hit the red button!’ he shouted.
The trooper didn’t react. ‘Can you understand me?’ yelled the Doctor above the colossal roar of the jet engine. ‘Hit the red button! Kick it, man!’
He swung them again. The trooper’s whole body slammed against the wall. His grip on the Doctor’s leg loosened and he slipped back, his hands sliding until they came to rest on the heel of the Doctor’s shoe.
‘Don’t let go!’ bellowed the Doctor. ‘You can reach the button. Try again!’
Sliding his hands deep under the floor tile, he swung his body again. There was a loud crack and three-quarters of the tile came loose.
The trooper’s hands scrabbled at the Doctor’s foot but it was no good. The whole shoe came away and, still clutching it, the man was sucked remorselessly upwards. He didn’t scream and the strange smile never left his face even as he was pulverised by the deadly blades of the jet engine.
The Doctor swung himself wildly at the wall, just as the floor tile gave way. He felt the wind rushing past his face as he flew upwards but lashed out frantically with the foot that was protected by his remaining shoe as the red button flashed by.
His toe banged into it with devastating force and, at once, the distant engine overhead shut down.
The Doctor fell a good ten feet to the hard floor and groaned as his chest connected with the tiles.
Panting with exertion, he struggled weakly to his feet and limped out of the wind tunnel.
Behind him, blood began to rain down on to the gleaming white tiles.
Chapter Sixteen
Jo Alone
Plumping up a cushion, Jo rearranged herself on the sofa and smiled.
Mrs Toovey shook her head and wiped a tear from her eye.
‘Oh it’s been such a tonic having you here, my dear,’ she said, laughing. ‘I’ve not enjoyed myself so much in ages.’
She gazed into her teacup. ‘Now... where was I?’
‘The Wing Commander,’ said Jo.
Mrs Toovey passed a hand over her face and let out a short squeal.
‘Yes. You see, he always fancied they’d give him one of those... you know... “dogs of war” nicknames. He thought he ruled his men with a rod of iron and all that.’
‘And he didn’t?’
‘Oh they respected him, right enough. Loved him, I daresay, but he’s far too much of a pussy cat to be called, you know, “Bulldog” or something.’
Jo flicked her fringe from her eyes. ‘So what did they call him?’
Mrs Toovey’s laugh pealed like bells. ‘Well, he was such a love to them all. All those brave boys... they named him after that painting.’
Jo frowned and shook her head.
‘You know,’ cried Mrs Toovey. ‘The old Victorian woman in the black dress...’
A delighted smile crept over Jo’s face. ‘Whistler’s Mother?’
Mrs Toovey nodded rapidly, her eyes disappearing in a forest of amused creases. ‘Mother!’ she chortled. ‘Lord bless him!’
Jo laughed too, pleased she’d been able to cheer the old lady up. But there was still no sign of Wing Commander
‘Mother’ Whistler. Nor the Doctor, for that matter.
‘So he decided to stay on here? After that war?’
‘That’s right. He loves it here. The countryside. The people...’
Mrs Toovey looked into the middle distance, suddenly lost in thought. She sighed deeply.
Jo leant over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘So he hasn’t taken too kindly to these new people?’
Mrs Toovey shook her head. ‘Oh you mustn’t get the wrong idea, Miss Grant.’
Jo held up her hands. ‘Jo. Please.’
Mrs Toovey smiled. ‘Jo, then. No, the Wing Commander’s not some old fossil, raging at the world. There’s something...
bad about those folk up at the aerodrome. He said it himself.
Something... evil.’
Jo suppressed