Doctor Who_ Relative Dementias - Mark Michalowski [92]
‘What the hell was that?’ asked Claire, squeezing the Doctor’s hand so hard that Michael was sure he saw the Doctor flinch.
‘Directed energy weapon,’ said Ace knowledgeably, rummaging in her rucksack.
‘What?’ said Scar-face.
‘Just keep your head down,’ she said, finding what she was looking for.
‘If you come out now,’ a thin, elderly voice called from outside, ‘we’ll let you live. We just want Eddie. The rest of you will be unharmed.’
‘As if,’ Ace muttered, twisting the cap on the silvery canisters she held, no bigger than a can of shaving foam. She held her breath and sprinted across to the side of the window. Michael could see her counting silently to herself, Then she spun round and lobbed the canisters through one of the broken windows.
‘Down!’ she called to them all, throwing herself under a table.
Moments later, every remaining window in the pub exploded inwards in a shower of glass shards and splinters. Michael, Douglas and Scar-face felt the fragments pattering on their heads as the sound of the explosion rang in their ears. Douglas cautiously peered over the bar to see Ace kneeling on the window seat looking out onto the street.
‘Yes!’ she said exultantly, punching the air. ‘Come on – out the back! They’re only stunned.’
As Michael dusted himself down, feeling the cuts from the tiny slivers of glass, he realised that Ace and Claire were bringing the Doctor through, Eddie shuffling along in front, confused and scared. The Doctor’s gaze seemed sharper, more in focus now He paused and stared straight into Michael’s eyes.
‘I’m...’
‘Come on, Professor,’ cut in Ace, as she gently guided the Doctor past him, through the door to the back of the pub.
Michael watched them go, heard the glass crunch under their feet: the theme tune to the last three years of his life.
Chapter Fifteen
The night air was cold, and there was already a thin, sugary crust of frost on the ground, catching the moonlight. Michael’s breath swirled around him as he followed the others out into the darkness of the car park amidst the crates and the bins and the empty stale bottles. As soon as they were clear, Douglas and Scar-face made off into the darkness without a backward glance.
Michael watched them go, reminding himself that they were just civvies, scared and out of their depth. He reached into a crate of empties at his side and armed himself with two beer bottles, hefting them in his hands. Not much as weapons went.
Whatever Ace had thrown through the window had shaken their attackers, and they were clearly playing it cautious. He caught up with Ace, the Doctor, Claire and Eddie as they headed across the small patch of grass between the car park and the church. If Ace was leading them to the church, he hoped she had a plan. He kept glancing behind him, but it looked like their attackers had given up – for now. No doubt they’d be regrouping. And attacking again. Only this time they’d be more careful.
As he watched Ace and the others slip in through the vestry door, he paused, realising what had just happened. It was like being back in UNIT all over again. He’d gone AWOL only to find himself up against it. Again. What scared and disturbed him the most was the automatic ease with which he slipped back into it, as if the uniform were indelibly tattooed on his skin in shades of green and khaki. In his hands were the two bottles. He lifted them, as if to