Doctor Who_ Storm Harvest - Mike Tucker [81]
The Cythosi turned and lumbered from the observation dome.
The Doctor chewed on his fingernails. Somewhere out in the storm was a creature who didn’t know if it was Cythosi or man. A mad thing
– and he had sent Ace after it.
Ace sat slumped against the damp wall of the cave staring into the dark, trying to shut out the memories of what had happened. She could still see the huge machete raised before her, still hear the sickening noise it had made as it had sliced into MacKenzie’s neck.
The corpse lay slumped on the floor not far from her. Ace turned away, trying not to look at it, but even with her eyes closed she could still see the headless figure, its blood leaking over the wet stone floor; still see the expression of disbelief that had remained on the professor’s face even as his head separated from his shoulders.
MacKenzie’s death had sent the Dreekans into a whirling frenzy.
She and Rajiid had been lifted into the air and daubed with his blood before being paraded around the cave. Garrett had stood staring at the corpse in silence, his eyes blank, as if the murder had somehow been performed by someone else. One of the Dreekans had tried to prise the blade from his grasp, pointing excitedly at Ace and Rajiid. Ace had felt his gaze drift over them and had steeled herself for one final effort, one desperate attempt to fight back.
But Garrett had pushed the man to one side and dragged himself across the cave, slumping on to the stone dais that had been set up as his throne. There he had sat, staring at the blood dripping from the machete blade, while the Dreekans danced and whirled around him.
They had lit more fires, throwing handfuls of dried leaves on to them, filling the cave with pungent, choking smoke. It became like an oven. Ace’s head had begun to reel, and everything was dream-like.
Outside the cave the hurricane had built and built. Water streamed from the cave mouth, forming dark pools among the swirling sand patterns. The trickle from the roof had become a torrent, tumbling from high in the smoke-filled cave and vanishing through cracks and fissures into the depths of the planet.
Ace had no idea how long the ritual had gone on. She had become at 156
one with the blur of flames, the roar of water and the beat of drums as she was whirled around and around.
Now everything was quiet, the fires little more than glowing patches on the wet floor. The Dreekans were sleeping in piles, bodies sprawled across the rocks, oblivious to the storm raging outside. She and Rajiid had been bound and dumped in a corner. She had come to a couple of hours ago.
Ace raised her head, searching for Garrett. His throne was empty Her eyes were still streaming and sore from the smoke.
There was a groan alongside her. Rajiid twitched in his sleep. She managed to lay a hand on his forehead. He was hot. It was impossible to know what had been burnt in the narcotic fires of the Dreekans. Why the hell had she involved him in all this?
She looked up again. Straight into the face of Garrett.
She almost cried out, but he clamped a hand over her mouth. He was staring at her with wild, pleading eyes, his face almost human again.
‘Please,’ he whispered, ‘please don’t cry out. I’m going to help.’
He pulled the machete from behind his back. Ace tensed.
Garrett sawed at her bonds and her hands were suddenly free. She scrambled backwards, poised to lash out if he tried anything.
‘What the hell is going on, Garrett?’ she hissed.
‘I don’t know what’s happening to me’ He held his arms out, staring down at his hands. ‘I get so many different voices in my head, telling me so many different things.’
As he leant back into the soft firelight Ace could see the metal cylinder of the weapon slung around his neck.
Garrett suddenly lunged forward, gripping her arms. ‘Tell me what’s happening to me!’
Ace shook him free. ‘I don’t know!’
He slumped back on to his haunches. He