Doctor Who_ The Nightmare of Black Island - Mike Tucker [47]
The little girl reached the shed and, with a little wave back up at the house, vanished from view. Rose gave a sigh of relief. She was safe. From the aliens inside the house at any rate. The dark woods were ominous and oppressive, but for the moment they were mercifully free of the roars and shrieks of the creatures. Ali was a smart girl and 112
she knew the woods like the back of her hand. She’d get home OK. . . wouldn’t she?
Desperately trying to convince herself that she was doing the right thing, Rose pulled her head back inside and slid the window closed. The cold rain and fresh air had cleared her head a little and the sickness in her stomach was slowly fading. Brushing her hair back, she crept down the corridor to the door, pressing her ear up against it and listening for sounds of movement from within.
She frowned. She couldn’t hear movement, but rather something that sounded like. . . breathing.
She pulled back from the door, unsure about what to do. Perhaps the six ancient figures downstairs weren’t the only patients that Morton had locked away. Tentatively she reached out for the brass door handle. It turned easily and the door swung open. Rose stepped into the room beyond. And felt the scream start to build in her throat. The big Range Rover swung into the estate, lights blazing, and pulled up on the edge of the wood in a shower of spray. The passenger door swung open and the Doctor bounded out into the rain.
‘OK, you wait here and keep an eye out for us. If anything with big pointy teeth comes out of the woods, leg it!’
Mervyn nodded, his face grim. The Doctor gave him a reassuring smile. The drive up from the pub had been a fraught one. The children were waking up, but it was taking a while and a few monsters still stalked the streets. The dent in the side door and the thick, dark ichor that was splashed across the bonnet of the Range Rover evidence of a closer encounter with one of the creatures than either Mervyn or the Doctor had wanted.
‘Doctor, I’m sorry.’ Mervyn held out an apologetic hand. ‘For earlier. . . ’
‘Oh, don’t worry.’ The Doctor shook his hand vigorously. ‘I do this sort of thing all the time!’ Then, with a broad grin, he slammed the door and vanished into the trees.
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Mervyn watched him go. ‘Yes, I’m beginning to believe that,’ he muttered finally.
Peyne tapped at the controls in front of her in puzzlement. Readings were slowly shutting down across the board. One by one, readouts were starting to drop to tickover levels, lights going dark on banks of instruments.
She glanced over at the others. Her technicians were darting from console to console, the once quiet air of efficiency starting to acquire a tinge of panic.
‘Hadron!’ she barked at one of the hurrying figures. ‘What is happening?’
The masked figure quickly came over. ‘We’re not sure, Priest Commander.’ The voice was muffled and indistinct. Peyne tore off Hadron’s mask with an angry snarl.
‘What do you mean you’re not sure? Subconscious brainwave activity energy is dropping to unsustainable levels!’
‘Yes, Priest Commander.’ The Cynrog technician shuffled under her glare, forked tongue flicking across his thin lips. ‘But the fault is not here. The fault seems to lie with the imagers themselves.’
‘Impossible!’ snarled Peyne, thrusting the flaccid human mask back at him. ‘Check the generators! At once!’
As Hadron saluted sharply and hurried out of the ward, Peyne turned angrily back to the dropping readouts. The Synod was relying on her. The entire campaign plans of the Cynrog rested with her. All had been going exactly as planned until now. Until the arrival of this interfering Time Lord. She gritted her teeth. They could not fail now. Not when they were so close to completion, so close to being able to leave this primitive backwater planet. She longed to feel dry sand under her feet again and the warmth of the suns on her skin,