Doctor Who_ St. Anthony's Fire - Mark Gatiss [45]
He tried to stand but his shattered ankle crumpled under him and he fell flat on his pain‐wracked face.
Moaning, he attempted to sit up. A sound behind him made him crane his exhausted neck around.
A yellow tendril was returning from the jungle perimeter, spreading a ghostly light over the meteorite‐pocked ground.
Priss gave a little yell of terror and hauled himself bodily through the mud, his leg flapping behind him. He clenched his tiny, pearl‐like teeth as nausea and agonizing pain coursed through his body.
He looked back and saw that the tendril was only feet away.
Desperately, he told himself to concentrate on the journey to the trench. If he looked back again he would be lost.
He slammed his claws into the soil and pulled himself forward, his tunic filling with mud as he progressed. He could hear himself sobbing with terror and the rustling of the storm‐tossed jungle and the horrible, sickening sucking sound of the yellow effervescence as it glowed towards him.
Priss’s claws found the lip of the trench and, with a supreme effort, he tumbled over, hitting the stagnant water below with an agonized howl.
He moved his arms and one good leg. There was silence.
Priss sighed heavily in relief. He was safe. The thing had not followed him.
Grunting in pain, he sloshed through the trench towards the ladder and began to drag himself back towards the surface, using his uninjured leg alone to push his body upwards. He had to be sure it had gone.
Priss elbowed his way to the top of the ladder and gazed out over the steaming ground.
Nothing. The ticking of insects was gradually returning and the grooves gouged by the dead soldiers were rapidly filling with murky water.
He was about to turn back and negotiate the ladder a little more carefully when a flash of something in the corner of his eye made him look again.
The whole of the top of the trench was suddenly alive with the yellow ooze, glowing and crackling with terrible life.
Priss let out one long scream as it swamped him and then his body shattered into scaly fragments, dropping down into the trench water like lumps of offal.
Instantly, the mustard‐coloured haze drifted down into the trench and absorbed Priss’s remains. Slowly, almost thoughtfully, it retreated into the darkening jungle.
* * *
The Doctor and Ran emerged into Grek’s quarters but the commander was nowhere to be seen. Ran punched the wall in frustration but the Doctor laid a calming hand on his arm.
‘Look,’ said the Doctor. ‘I want to show you something.’
He fished about in his trouser pocket and pulled out the lump of mud he had scooped from the battlefield. Placing it carefully on the wooden planked floor, he pulled several chunks of rock from out of it.
‘Are those some of the meteorites that just came down?’ asked Ran, his scaly brow furrowing.
‘Yes.’
The Doctor put his hand into his waistcoat pocket and produced a single clean fragment.
‘But this stone,’ he advanced towards Ran, holding the object between thumb and forefinger, ‘this stone I took out of your shrine with my penknife.’
Ran looked worried. ‘It’s a Keth‐stone isn’t it? I remember them from when I was a child.’
The Doctor picked up one of the meteorite fragments and held the two stones together. ‘Two peas in a pod. They’re unquestionably from the same source.’
Ran folded his arms, his twitching face settling a little. ‘So my ancestors used meteorites in their shrines. What of it?’
The Doctor pocketed the fragments, feeling like Alice with her two halves of mushroom. ‘Why are these prized above all the jewels in the shrine? And why are they called Keth‐stones?’
‘They must have some old association.’ Ran shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’m a soldier, not a theologian.’
The Doctor cleared his throat. ‘I’ll be frank, Ran. I need your help. I have a theory about all this but, like all theories, it has to be put to the test. I also have something to tell you about Betrushia.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
The Doctor smiled slightly. ‘Well,