Doctor Who_ The Paradise of Death - Barry Letts [89]
In front of him was the little pile of parcels of meat, now topped with Rudley’s shirt. ‘How good are you at lobbing grenades?’ the Doctor had asked. Good thinking. But the essence of an attack with grenades was to put them in precisely the right place at precisely the right time. He had to catch the creature’s attention, and that meant waiting until it was near enough for him to place the bundles of meat right under its nose.
‘Go on!’ cried Jeremy. ‘What are you waiting for?’
‘Quiet, boy!’ said the Doctor.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but unless something happens soon, I don’t think I shall be able to stop myself running away.’
The Gargan came nearer. The Brigadier judged the distance. Not yet – not yet.
Now! With the easy overarm action learnt at Sandhurst all those years ago, he lobbed the haunch of venison wrapped up in Waldo Rudley’s shirt high into the night sky, to land less than a yard from the creature’s nose.
‘Hole in one,’ said the Doctor.
The Gargan lifted its head to the full extent of its serpentine neck and glared suspiciously around. It uttered a tentative squeal. Hearing no response, it lowered its head and sniffed the bundle. Then, picking it up in its front teeth it tossed it into the air, caught it and, with a couple of quick chews, swallowed it down.
‘One might almost say, “Howzat?” ’ said the Doctor.
The Brigadier was waiting with the meat wrapped in the tail of his own shirt in his hand. Like being watched by the Sergeant-Instructor, he thought, as he sent it on its way.
‘He likes the taste of you,’ said the Doctor as the animal chewed the new morsel.
Sarah’s scarf... the Doctor’s handkerchief... Jeremy’s sock...
‘Did you have to leave me to last?’ said Jeremy, the quaver still in his voice, as the Gargan mouthed the latest offering.
The chanting had stopped, as the villagers watched their sacred beast devouring its dinner. Its occasional roar had turned into a continuous purring growl of satisfaction. It gulped Jeremy down, sniffed the ground as if to make sure that there was nothing left, turned and ambled away up the hill the way it had come. It was evidently satisfied that it had devoured its prey.
‘You make gifts to the Gargan,’ said Kaido to the Doctor. ‘You are indeed my brother.’
‘Waldo!’ said Sarah, ‘Can you hear me?’
His hand remained still in hers. His eyes were shut, and his breath was slight.
Sarah gripped his hand fiercely, as if to force some of her own vitality into the lifeless body.
‘Please wake up,’ she said. ‘It’s Sarah.’
She was aware that there were tears running down her face, but she didn’t wipe them away. They were an irrelevance, a small hiatus in the intensity with which she was willing Waldo to live.
Whether she sat like this for minutes or for hours she was never to know. There was nothing to indicate the passing of time and nothing in the world to be aware of, bar that too still face.
Was that a movement?
But no; it was nothing but the flickering of the light as a rogue draught caught the wick of the lamp.
But that – yes, it was a tiny movement in the hand she held so closely.
‘Waldo!’
A flicker of his eyelids and then he was looking at her, straight into her eyes.
‘Oh, Waldo,’ she said, taking his hand in both of her own.
‘Sarah,’ he said, his eyes looking deep into hers. He took a shallow, rasping breath. ‘I’m sorry that we...’ His voice trailed away as he struggled to take another breath.
‘Don’t try to talk,’ Sarah said in anguish.
But he persevered, and in a surprisingly strong voice, he spoke again. ‘I wish we...’ His voice stopped. A look of surprise came over his face and he gave a rattling sigh which seemed to go on for an impossibly long time. His eyes unfocused and his fingers went limp in her hand. His mouth dropped open.
‘Waldo,’ she said yet again. But even as she said the word, she knew there was nobody there to hear it.
Suddenly the Doctor was there, with his fingers on the pulse point in Waldo’s neck. After a long moment, he closed Waldo’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
She looked up at him.
‘If I hadn