Doctor Who_ The Hollow Men - Keith Topping [103]
The creature dipped beneath the ground for the last time, like a Jules Verne sea creature slipping below the heaving waves.
The quaking motion that rippled the field became less pronounced as the alien creature retreated, or took stock, or did whatever alien blobs do when attacked by resourceful women bearing torches. Ace was about to let out a cry of delight when she remembered the scarecrows.
She got to her feet just as a pair of stickmen made a clumsy but effective grab at Joanna. The woman‟s scream was choked off by a fist of hay.
Ace hurled herself at the creatures, but they shrugged her aside with flailing arms that felt like pillars of concrete.
Implacable, they returned their attention to the older woman, their hands tightly pressed against her throat.
Joanna‟s skin was already overlaid with blue, her eyes bulging.
Before Ace could react, a third scarecrow lunged at her, knocking her to the ground.
The creature reached down, as if offering to help Ace to her feet. Then the musty hands covered her face, the harsh prickles of straw pressing against her eyelids and into her nose and mouth.
And Jack threatened to engulf her utterly.
The Midnight Hunter reached down to pat the broad neck of the horse, drawing the last drops of patience from the snorting creature. The Hunter‟s grey eyes were fixed on the village, as fascinating a prospect as any quarry he had pursued. Centuries-old hands gripped the reins tightly, feeling the pent-up power of the horse, and of nature itself.
The force that invigorated the Hunter, that spurred on his followers, came up from the ground and out of the trees. The breath of life, as ancient as the creation of the world.
With the silence of a midsummer zephyr, the Wild Hunt began to gather behind their leader. First came the foxes, lithe darts of red, noses alive to the smell of the midday soil.
Then came the Yell Hounds, their breath like fire, their eyes glowing like metal daggers in a forge. Their claws bit deep into the earth, but left no mark. Finally all the creatures of the forest came. Stoats and weasels, badgers and deer, harvest mice and bats. Hawks flew overhead, calling out in joyous celebration, eyes alive with inspiration and desire. An owl settled on the Midnight Hunter‟s arm. Its eyes imparted all the information the old warrior needed.
He straightened the old metal helmet as if for war, and took a deep breath.
With a great cry, the Hunter spurred his horse, and the creatures swept as one down into the village.
The Wild Hunt, after centuries of rest, was resurrected.
Rebecca let out a piercing wail that could have been death or childbirth. Trevor‟s blood was like ice flowing through a long-dead body. Only his eyes were alive, watching the scene, transfixed.
Trevor saw Hatch return to his car. Moments later the politician was driving away, the engine note dwindling as the country lanes swallowed him up.
Rebecca pulled herself from the ground where she had fallen. There were flecks of mud on her face and dress, her forehead damp with sweat.
Her eyes were terrifyingly alive, reaching out to Trevor. As he struggled he became aware of the straw hands holding him in place, of the seat at his back, and the strewn splinters of glass that lay in his lap.
Rebecca walked towards the car, her mouth hanging open.
Saliva trailed down her chin. Her hands were outstretched, the blood-red nails sharpened, like claws.
With a shriek Rebecca pulled the scarecrows away, hurling them contemptuously to the ground. Her prize was Trevor.
She dragged him from the car by his hair, raking her fingers down his face. Cutting his eyebrows and lips.
Smashing her small fist into his nose.
Her hands raked down again and again.
Steven Chen glanced over his shoulder. Three scarecrows were still in pursuit, scything through the cornfields like the shadow of sunset. Denman was struggling to keep up, his face red with exertion.
„Come on!‟ shouted Chen. „They‟re right behind you.‟
„I‟ll be OK,‟ said Denman, his breath coming