Doctor Who_ Last of the Gaderene - Mark Gatiss [80]
The old man realised at once that another of the vile creatures had found a home within the Captain.
With the speed of a panther, McGarrigle strode across the room towards Whistler.
In a searing flash of memory, Whistler saw the Captain attacking him outside by the perimeter fence.
As the younger man leapt at him, he pulled one hand free and swung the chair round, catching him a brutal blow on the side of his head.
The Captain crashed to the floor but rolled over at once, bringing his fist up and punching the old man in the stomach.
Whistler cried out and fell backwards against the desk, his spine connecting painfully with the hard metal.
In a second, the Captain’s broad hands were on his face and Whistler knew at once what was happening. Fingers flashed to cover his nostrils and a warm palm was suddenly clamped over his mouth. McGarrigle was trying to suffocate him.
Whistler was no longer a young man. He had no hope of defending himself against an adversary like the Captain, six feet of sinewy muscle possessed by an alien intelligence. But as he struggled under his opponent’s deadly grip, rapidly losing consciousness, he knew that he owed it to the traditions by which he had lived his life not to go down without a fight.
He still had his wits. And his wits told him that the Captain always carried a pistol in his belt...
The alien’s hands were clamped firmly across Whistler’s face, strong and implacable. The old man struggled violently, almost convulsing himself beneath the Captain’s grip, and his hands thrashed at McGarrigle’s belly, raining ineffectual blows on the wall of hard muscle. But then he found the gun, felt its cold presence and struggled to release it from the belt.
The strength was draining from his limbs. The room, already dark, was swirling into a deeper, everlasting blackness and there was a roaring in his ears. Then something else came back to him. The interrogation. Bliss’s interrogation. The lamp. She had reacted to it as though scalded. There was a black lead by the side of the desk. He knew there was. With one hand still struggling to release the gun, Whistler made a final effort and slapped his other hand hard against the side of the desk. He found the cable at once. His fingers slid down its length and came upon a bulky rectangle fixed into it. He clicked on the anglepoise lamp.
The Captain reeled back, hissing like a reptile, his hand flying from Whistler’s face to cover his eyes.
Whistler gulped air into his bursting lungs and shook his head to clear the explosion of red dots that was bursting before his eyes. He knew he only had seconds.
His opponent was already recovering. His hands flew to Whistler’s throat. The old man tugged at McGarrigle’s belt. A press stud opened and the gun clattered to the floor. Whistler grabbed it, took aim and pumped six bullets into the Captain’s chest.
The alien was slammed back against the desk, his head hit the metal with a sickening crack and he slid down, blood smearing the elegant blond wood behind him. The lamp fell to his chest, throwing its harsh light on his face. Whistler saw the Captain’s huge dark eyes dilate and then something hideous stirring beneath the skin of his face.
Getting shakily to his feet, Whistler didn’t need to see any more. He pulled the gun belt from the corpse, reloaded the pistol and raced from the office.
Chapter Thirty
Siege
The ring of black-uniformed Legion troopers outside the aerodrome’s perimeter fence had been boosted by some new arrivals.
The Brigadier watched as Mrs Toovey and Jobey Packer emerged from behind the soldiers, taking their place in the human barricade, both smiling. Soon after, they were joined by Graham Allinson and Anthony Ayre.
‘They’re using pensioners and boys now,’ said the Brigadier bitterly. ‘It’s like they know we won’t attack.’
Yates nodded. ‘What I wouldn’t give to be facing a gang of straightforward monsters right now.’
The Brigadier gazed steadily at the enemy. ‘But that’s what they are, Yates. Inside them, anyway. Hostile invaders.