Doctor Who_ Last of the Gaderene - Mark Gatiss [66]
Very slowly, the black cylinder began to come apart.
There was a series of low, electronic hums and the object split into panels, each folding back like the shutter on a camera.
Shaking a little, Jo raised the torch and let the beam flood over the contents of the cylinder.
Inside, the sleek black lines contoured around her, lay Mrs Toovey, her eyes wide open and her mouth twisted into a terrible mockery of a smile. And nestling on her throat, its tendrils running up and into the old woman’s mouth, was a creature the size of a small dog, its semitransparent shell glistening wet. As Jo watched, its black eyes swivelled round and regarded her with cold menace.
Jo screamed.
Discretion, the Doctor was fond of quoting, was the better part of valour. Sometimes, anyway. With this in mind, he and the Brigadier had decided against taking on the whole of Legion International single-handed and returned to Culverton to await Captain Yates and his troops, whom Lethbridge-Stewart had ordered to return.
The Doctor drove the UNIT jeep right up to the door of Whistler’s cottage and jumped out. The Brigadier followed then, glancing over his shoulder, tapped him on the shoulder with his stick.
‘What is it?’ said the Doctor, turning on the doorstep.
The Brigadier frowned. ‘Pretty quiet, don’t you think?’
The Doctor shrugged. ‘Villages often are. Come on.’ He knocked the toe of his shoe against the door and it creaked slowly open. He exchanged looks with the Brigadier and they both went inside, looking around rapidly for any sign of life.
The Brigadier crossed to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Miss Grant?’ he called.
The Doctor checked the kitchen and then picked up the phone, rapidly dialling the number of the post office. He let it ring for a full minute before replacing the receiver.
‘Anything?’ queried Lethbridge-Stewart.
The Doctor shook his head and made for the door again.
‘She’ll have gone to the marshes.’
The Brigadier frowned. ‘How can you be sure?’
The Doctor let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Because I told her not to.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lair of the Worm
For once, a vehicle other than the thundering black lorries was approaching the gates of the aerodrome.
It was a coach, ultra-modern in design, its sleek lines liveried in black and yellow, its windows tinted to prevent anyone looking inside.
It purred to a halt as the gates were swung open by Legion troopers, then motored forward to park just by the old hangar.
The Master stood outside the building, now dressed in his black, high-collared tunic and tight black gloves. His face was expressionless as he watched the coach arrive.
Its door hissed open and a trooper stepped out on to the broken tarmac. The Master clicked his fingers and the man stepped to one side. At once, a stream of people began to descend from the coach.
They were men and women of mostly middle age, respectable-looking; some of the men even wore Savile Row suits and bowler hats. They all seemed completely unaware of their surroundings, a fixed grin plastered over their features. A florid-faced man with a huge walrus moustache, dressed in the uniform of a general, was among them.
Jocelyn Strangeways, Chief of Staff, filed past the Master into the hangar, stepping over the threshold of the small door through which Whistler had attempted his escape, and disappeared into the darkness.
A sharp, gunpowder stink in the air.
Jo’s head snapped round. Adrenaline pumped into her system.
Bullets shrieked into the marsh at her feet, thudding into the water like pebbles.
Noah was on his feet at once, grabbing her hand. ‘Come on!’
Jo jumped over the black container in which Mrs Toovey lay, closing her eyes to avoid the horrible image. Then she risked a glance over her shoulder.
Fanning out in a wide semicircle from the back gates of the aerodrome were perhaps a dozen Legion troopers, armed to the teeth.
Noah pulled up sharp, his breath coming in great heaving gulps.
‘We can’t stop!’ cried Jo. ‘They’ll reach us.’
Noah looked wildly around. ‘If we carry on this way, we’ll