Doctor Who_ Peacemaker - James Swallow [56]
Godlove released a low gasp of air and sank to the ground in a heap of angles, his body abruptly robbed of any support. Nathan thought 137
of a puppet with its strings suddenly severed. What little colour still remained in the conman’s face ebbed away and his sightless, misted eyes went dark as the spark of life finally left them. The host body, the husk of meat and bone that had been Godlove, was no more. Nathan stared at the dead man. Only moments ago the youth had been on the verge of ending the man’s existence, but now, seeing Alvin in the stark pallor of death, he could not find the wild anger he had felt before. Nathan searched inside himself and all he could bring forth was sadness. He felt nothing but sorrow and pity for Godlove.
An agonised gasp drew his attention back to the Doctor. His breathing was coming in rapid chugs of air and sweat beaded his face.
Nathan made to move closer to him, but the Doctor shook his head violently.
‘No! Stay back! Keep away!’
The rattling dance of the wires stilled and they hung suspended all around him; and then with blinding speed, each razor-edged tip turned and buried itself in the Doctor’s flesh. He cried out in agony, bearing his forearm with a savage yank of his sleeve. The cables bored into the meat of him, burrowing through his skin like worms through mud.
Nathan’s stomach knotted with nausea at the sight of it, unable to turn away from the horrible spectacle. He imagined the wire tendrils of the Clade weapon infiltrating every organ inside the Doctor’s body, tapping into every part of him. The full horror of it shocked him to his core; and the man was willing to do it for the life of one woman.
He glanced at Martha, saw her crying. He knew immediately that the tears were not of pain, not for herself, but for her friend. For the harm he was doing to himself. She closed her eyes as the Doctor screamed, the echo of the sound resonating down the long, dusty tunnels.
The Doctor fell to his knees clutching the ugly gun to his chest.
Nathan caught a strange scent in the air, like overripe fruit, sweet but with the tang of decay. In the silence that followed, a chill ran down his spine, turning his blood to ice water.
Nathan ventured forwards a step. ‘Doc?’ He asked. ‘Doc, talk to 138
me.’
‘He. . . shouldn’t have done it. . . ’ Martha whispered.
The youth placed a careful hand on the Doctor’s trembling shoulder.
‘Doc?’
‘It’s difficult. . . ’ The reply was hollow and distant. ‘So strong. . . ’
Slowly, the Doctor turned to face Nathan and he flinched at the expression on the man’s face. From the moment he had first met him, when his dreams had been driving him to panic, Nathan had known the Doctor was a good, decent person. There was something in his manner, in the light in his eyes that was noble and true. Nathan hadn’t even questioned it; he had just trusted the Doctor, because that seemed like the right thing to do.
But that man, the man who had helped Nathan fight down his fears, who had pulled him back from the brink of losing himself to his rage –that was not who was there before him now, crouched on the floor of the cavern. For the first time, Nathan was afraid of the Doctor.
‘Don’t touch me,’ he growled, and Nathan drew back his hand as if it had been burned.
‘Doctor?’ Martha breathed. ‘Are you still in there?’
He came to his feet and took quick, stiff steps across to where the girl lay against the wall. ‘No time,’ he said, biting out the words as if each one gave him pain to voice it. ‘Must be now. Before. Too late.’
The gun in his balled fist came forward, moving of its own accord, shifting to point at Martha’s injury. The tendons stretched