Doctor Who_ The Gallifrey Chronicles - Lance Parkin [74]
‘. . . Now, we’ve had an email on that topic from a viewer called Paul. He asks, “How can the trachae of these insects possibly function given the square-cube law?” I’m very glad you asked me that. The answer is simply. . . ’
‘All I want,’ Fitz said quietly, ‘is someone to tell me what the hell is going on.’
‘We need to get back,’ Trix told him.
‘Binks? Binky?’
Mr Winfield blamed the police for the disappearance of Binks. They’d ushered everyone in the street out of their houses just as they were getting ready for bed, told them there was an armed criminal next door and offered to put them up in a school hall. Mr Winfield had given them his sister-in-law’s address and told them that was where he and his wife would be staying. There hadn’t been time to round up Binks. It was dark, and she’d have been off on some feline amorous adventure. Or she’d just have found somewhere to sleep. Mr Winfield thought that was more likely, as he’d never really bought in to the theory that as cats slept all day it meant they were nocturnal. They’d been allowed back a couple of hours ago, but there was no sign of Binks. It was twenty past six, and starting to get light. Truth be told, Mr Winfield was already getting used to the second moon. The scientists didn’t know where it had come from. That was scientists for you in a nutshell, wasn’t it?
‘Binky?’
He was walking past his neighbour’s house. Marnal, the old writer. The Winfields had moved in ten years ago, but hadn’t exchanged a word with him. Not even a Christmas card. Well, he was old. And a miserable so-and-so.
Mrs Winfield had found one of his books for 30p at Scope. They’d both given it a try, out of, well, loyalty. Unreadable, senseless, risible tat. All that stuff about black holes and people being stabbed dead one minute and alive and well the next, and giant space needles. Rubbish.
There was a hiss from Marnal’s garage.
155
‘Binks?’ Mr Winfield called out, keeping his voice down.
The garage door was slightly ajar. He decided to go up to it.
The inside of the garage was bare, apart from some of the usual rusting paint cans and garden tools. Binks was standing in the middle of the garage, her back arched, howling at the monster in the corner.
Some insects could be beautiful. Butterflies were, no one argued with that, but even some mantises and beetles looked like pieces of jewellery. The monster was not beautiful It had an almost hunchbacked appearance, with a bul-bous body and tiny head. It wasn’t quite symmetrical. The carapace was dull silver, with thick black bristles poking from the gaps. As it stood on its powerful hind legs it rose to about the height of a man. It had two sets of shorter fore limbs. All six legs were moulded into vicious spikes, and sharpened curves and hooks. All the limbs and both eyes were constantly twitching – jerky, distract-ing movements.
It took one step towards Mr Winfield, watching him carefully. It had compound eyes like a fly, and a long, translucent abdomen that it seemed to be using to balance itself, like Binks used her tail. Its innards were visible in the abdomen.
Its mouth was moving in a complicated four-way chewing movement that seemed almost mechanical to Mr Winfield. Juices dripped from its mouth, and the smell reminded him of rotten fruit. Did that mean it was a vegetarian?
He stared at the creature, unsure what to do next.
‘Welcome to our planet,’ he said, trying not to sound scared.
The creature took another step forwards, plucked Binks from the floor and bit her in half, crunching off her head and shoulders. After a moment, it took the rest of her in its maw and gulped it down.
Mr Winfield gasped and stumbled out of the garage, and ran next door trying to find his wife. She heard him coming, and opened the door before he was halfway up the drive.
There were monsters all around him. Standing on his lawn, perched on his roof and in the trees, walking down the street.