Doctor Who_ Last of the Gaderene - Mark Gatiss [78]
‘Iron filings!’ cried the Doctor. Then, without pause, he got up, dragged one of the bags of fertiliser across the floor, hefted it on to the table and split the packaging apart with a well-aimed blow with a Stanley knife. Dark, peaty matter spilled out on to the table.
Noah ran back in from the front room.
‘How’s it going out there?’ asked the Doctor.
Noah’s expression was grave. ‘Not good.’
Benton let fly with a devastating punch, knocking a burly man in a cable-knit sweater to the ground. The man, grinning madly, simply rolled over and came at him again, his spade-like hands outstretched. He made to grab the sergeant around the throat but Benton ducked and dodged, slamming the butt of his rifle into the man’s side.
Around them, the scene was very much the same. The dozen or so troops left after the Brigadier and Yates had left for the attack on the aerodrome were struggling to keep back the villagers. Most had now fully absorbed the disgusting embryos and wore the same fixed grins. Some, less advanced in the conversion process, had strange, lumpen disfigurements as though they were suffering from the mumps. What they all had in common was their determination to break through the UNIT platoon.
Private Billy Dodds fell backwards at the combined assault of Ted and Max Bishop. He yelled in terror as their hands clawed at his face, then managed to kick his booted foot into Ted’s groin.
Silently, Ted rolled off him and fell to the ground, his smiling face smacking off the bullet-pocked tarmac. Dodds dragged himself to his feet and retreated behind the makeshift barricade the UNIT men had constructed.
Panting with exhaustion he sank to the ground and noticed Sergeant Benton next to him, hastily reloading his rifle.
Benton cracked the magazine into place and then got up on one knee. Aiming carefully, he shot at the road in front of the villagers’ advance.
‘You lad!’ he yelled at Dodds. ‘Go into the cottage and tell the Doctor we can’t hold them any more!’
‘But, Sarge –’
‘Do it!,’ cried Benton, aiming again with one eye closed.
He gave Dodds covering fire as the inexperienced private scuttled across the road and into Whistler’s cottage.
Dodds ran through the front room and into the kitchen where a strange sight met his eyes. Burst bags of what looked like fertiliser were scattered all over the floor and red rubber hoses snaked from the cooker into a sink full of water. There was a pervasive, sweet smell and for one crazy moment Dodds thought someone might be making jam.
A tall, white-haired man in shirtsleeves was at the sink. A girl and a young boy stood nearby looking extremely worried.
All three had wet handkerchiefs or tea towels over the bottom half of their faces.
The tall man was filling milk bottles, but Dodds peered at the dozen or so on the side of the sink and they appeared to be empty. Each had been sealed with what looked wax; a pan of melted candles on the stove bore witness to this.
‘Would one of you be the Doctor?’ asked Dodds lamely.
The girl pointed to the white-haired man, who was too immersed in his work to reply.
‘It’s all right, came her muffled voice. ‘We don’t know what he’s doing, either.’
Dodds walked up to the Doctor and saluted. The Doctor looked up, noticing the private’s presence for the first time.
‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ said Dodds. ‘But Sergeant Benton says he can’t hold them any more.’
The Doctor nodded. ‘Right. It’s time we got everyone inside the cottage.’
He thrust two of the milk bottles into the private’s hands.
Dodds looked down at them and frowned. ‘What do I do with these, sir?’
The Doctor doled out the remaining bottles to Jo and Noah, then grabbed three for himself. ‘Come on,’ he ordered.
Marching off through the cottage with the others close behind, he opened the front door with the toe of his boot and dashed outside.
He took in the chaotic scene in an instant.
‘All right, Sergeant,’ he shouted. ‘Call off your men.’
Benton appeared from behind the barricade and yelled the order to retreat.
‘Get everyone inside,’ shouted the Doctor.
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