Doctor Who_ Left-Handed Hummingbird - Kate Orman [76]
‘Once every four to six hours,’ he yelled.
The Doctor’s eyes were open wide, the pupils shrunk to points. He was seeing something else, not the room, not them, something else.
And then there was an explosion, inaudible and unseen. Ace felt it ripple through her, sickeningly, pushing her back as she tried to get to the Time Lord. Macbeth was thrown against the EEG machine, knocking it off its table.
The Doctor convulsed and fell halfway off the bed, tangled in the sheets. His back arched against the floor.
Ace forced her way through the tempest, shouting, her voice carried away. She knelt beside him, reaching for his hand.
Her fingers passed right through him.
* * *
‘Sing for me,’ said Huitzilin.
* * *
The Doctor screamed.
The storm stopped, suddenly, the wind falling away into nothing, leaving only the cry.
Ace got a grip on his fingers as he solidified, grabbing her hand for support. And then he started laughing. It was a weak sound, but triumphant.
Every four to six hours. Jesus.
She tried to imagine the long days in the room, researchers coming and going with clipboards and needles and little trays of food, the long silences, and the screaming in between.
‘I’m taking him out of here,’ she told Macbeth, who was sitting next to the shattered EEG machine, looking dazed.
‘You can’t,’ said the lieutenant. ‘Do you think you can handle that any better than we can? Do you realize what happened the first time he tripped? People died. We still haven’t found those hippies. A rabbi in Birmingham went out of his mind and started talking in tongues. In Lancaster, the lunatics burnt down the asylum. One of my psychics miscarried, for Chrissake –’
Ace hauled the Doctor to his feet. He was exhausted, barely able to stand up. ‘What’s the date?’ he muttered.
Ace slid the coloured plastic gun into her sleeve. ‘Come on,’ she snarled at Macbeth.
‘It must be, what,’ the Doctor was saying hoarsely, ‘January the tenth?’
‘Yeah, you missed Christmas. Take it easy, Doctor. Everything’s going to be fine.’
* * *
A hundred miles away, in London, Cristián Alvarez was sobbing for his mother, his grandmother. Anyone. The nurse said soothing words and tucked him back into bed.
* * *
Bernice’s mouth and jaw went hard when she saw the Doctor. The Renault’s engine started with a roar as Ace bundled him into the back seat. ‘It all went all right?’
‘Smooth as milk,’ said Ace. She wrapped a couple of blankets around the Doctor. He wasn’t taking any notice of the cold, or anything at all for that matter. ‘Nobody gave us any bother.’
Macbeth fidgeted outside the car, glancing back at the house. ‘Is he going to be all right?’ There was serious concern in his voice, and something else, something pleading. Like a child who didn’t want his favourite toy taken away.
Ace sighted along the barrel of her pistol at him. ‘Maybe we should take you away in our UFO,’ she said. ‘Do experiments on you. What d’you think, Bernice?’
‘What, keep someone locked up, cut off from their friends?’ grated the archaeologist. ‘Perform experiments on them without their consent? I’d call that torture. What would you call it, Lieutenant?’
Ace slammed the door. Macbeth was virtually hopping from foot to foot. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘I only want to know –’
But the Renault was already backing out onto the road, the melting snow squelching under its tyres. Macbeth gaped at it.
Suddenly the car stopped. The door opened, and Ace got out, striding towards him across the snow. Benny’s face appeared at the window, watching with a worried expression.
‘Nearly forgot something,’ said Ace.
‘Yes?’ said Macbeth, hope trembling in his lungs. ‘Yes?’
Ace smiled, and broke his nose.
* * *
They changed cars at Timbridge Wells, swapping the Renault for a Mini. Ace dived into a pub, emerging with sandwiches and crisps. The sky was overcast, a single metallic colour from horizon to horizon.
Bernice climbed into the back with the Doctor. The Time Lord was leaning on the window,