Doctor Who_ Last of the Gaderene - Mark Gatiss [84]
Benton and his men appeared at the back door of the cottage.
‘Just the chap!’ called the Doctor over the Spitfire’s roar.
‘Jo, I need help starting the propeller.’
Jo gave a rapid thumbs-up sign and signalled for Benton to join her. He raced across the lawn and yelled orders for Dodds and Fisher to open the gate at the far end of the garden which led on to the road.
The Doctor paused before closing the hood over him.
‘Chocks away!’ he yelled and then motioned to Benton to start the fighter’s propeller.
After two or three spins, the propeller sputtered into noisy life. The blades raced round in a whirl, flashing white in the moonlight.
Almost at once, the plane began to shunt forward over the grass. The Doctor smiled and waved as he powered the Spitfire past Jo and Benton, manoeuvring carefully so that the wings just missed the posts of the now-open gate.
As he moved on to the road and prepared for take-off, the possessed villagers finally broke through into the house and began to stream into the garden.
Benton let loose a volley of shots over their heads and grabbed Jo by the elbow.
‘Come on, miss. Time we weren’t here!’
They raced through the gate and on to the road, followed by the rest of Benton’s troops just as the Spitfire powered down the empty road. With a whining roar it soared into the sky, banking to the left almost at once.
‘Good luck, Doctor,’ said Jo quietly.
‘Don’t worry, miss,’ said Benton as they ran over the road and into the fields beyond. Once the Brig and the Doctor get through, we’ll take the aerodrome in no time.’
Jo nodded, casting an anxious glance over her shoulder at the pursuing villagers. ‘That may be true, Sergeant,’ she gasped, breathlessly. ‘But you’re forgetting something.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The creature in the marsh,’ said Jo.
Charles Cochrane MP woke with a very sore throat. He leant forward on the black table he found himself upon and retched.
There was blood in his saliva and the sight of it made him properly sick. He stared at the pool of vomit on the hard concrete floor and then lay back, his head swimming. He had no idea where he was and all kinds of theories, from kidnapping to some Fleet Street scandal, raced through his mind. He reached down and felt himself all over to make sure he was all in one piece, fully clothed and not – heaven forfend
– wearing women’s underwear. Assured on all three counts, he breathed a sigh of relief and risked a glance to his left.
He appeared to be in some kind of aircraft hangar. It was old and very dusty but there were about two dozen more tables arranged along the wall. On each lay a person. Some were asleep. Others seemed to be recovering like himself. Most had some kind of disgusting animal lying on their chests or close by. Cochrane shuddered and then looked down. A semitransparent creature with a segmented tail and round, pitch-black eyes like a shrimp’s was tucked up by his side.
He screamed and knocked it to the floor. It landed with a wet slap. Quite dead.
Hauling himself up on to his elbows, Cochrane peered along the line of his fellow inmates. He recognised most of them. There was at least one other Cabinet member. And surely that was the Strangeways, the Chief of Staff?
He was about to open his mouth when the door swung open and a large, heavily built woman marched inside.
‘Madam,’ cried Cochrane indignantly. ‘Would you kindly explain what on earth is going on?’
Bliss’s face, still fixed in its perpetual smile, was nevertheless chilling. She didn’t answer. Instead, she took a large black canister from her pocket and twisted a silver knob on its end. There was a sibilant hiss and gas began to flood the room.
Cochrane felt his head swimming again. He tried to get up from the table but his legs seemed to turn to water beneath him. His last recollection before he slipped into unconsciousness was the door opening again and a bearded man striding