Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [83]
‘What do you see?’ Laska turned to look at Fitz as if nothing else mattered.
Fitz, square-jawed and staring at the creature, said nothing. His right hand ran over the steering wheel while his left gripped the gearstick.
‘Tell me!’ exclaimed Laska desperately.
‘I see a dog,’ replied Fitz simply. ‘At least, I think it used to be a dog. . . ’
‘Thank goodness!’ said Laska. She started laughing hysterically. ‘We might both be mad, but at least we’re sharing the same delusion. Folie à deux.’
‘I was never very good at French,’ said Fitz. ‘Don’t think I’ve got the nose for it.’
Laska was giggling, thinking of jokes involving dogs and noses, very much the antithesis of Fitz’s grim determination. The relief that flooded over her was so all-encompassing, so profound, she frankly had no clue, and cared less, as to what happened next.
Suddenly Fitz slammed the car into first, let up the clutch. It shot forward, wheels spinning noisily against the gravel. Only now did Laska notice some dark stains further up the drive, as if a car had skidded completely off the road.
If there had been a crash, there was no sign of it now.
Two seconds to impact.
She gripped the arms of the seat. The dog stood motionless in the centre of the road, still staring at Fitz.
A second to impact.
150
At the last moment the hound leaped into the air, over the onrushing bon-net, and straight at the windscreen. There was an earsplitting crack of bone on glass; blood sprayed across the windscreen.
The dog’s legs, its huge taloned paws, struggled for a grip, trying to push the creature upright. It forced its grotesque head, like a skinned skull, erect, turning its burning eyes to look at Fitz and Laska within the car.
The car was still travelling towards the gatehouse; if anything, it was picking up speed. Fitz’s foot was planted firmly on the accelerator; his face bobbed from side to side, trying to see where he was going.
The hound powered its head forward, against the glass. There was another sickening thump as bone and blood smeared across the windscreen.
It was beginning to crack.
Laska was babbling now, all feelings of comfort and acceptance replaced by an instinctive terror.
The dog raised its head for another strike.
‘Hold on!’ said Fitz pointlessly. He tugged at the handbrake, jerked the steering wheel with his other hand.
The car lurched to one side, screaming wheels taking it sideways towards the gatehouse. Laska could see the ornate yellowing structure sliding towards Fitz’s window.
There was a metallic thud as the car clipped the building. Momentum threw the dog into the air as the car settled back on its wheels. Laska could just see claws and eyes disappearing into the smoke of the protesting tyres.
The car gripped the driveway and lurched forward like a rocket. It was as if a great fist was pushing against Laska’s chest, reaching down into her guts.
But she was laughing again. They were out on the lane now and she knew that every moment took them further from the dog.
This time, Fitz joined her. ‘I quite enjoyed that,’ he said, changing up a gear to ease the car’s shrieking protests.
Laska glanced over at Fitz. He was leaning towards her not out of new sense of intimacy but because his door had crumpled badly. His trousers were blossoming from white to red.
‘You’re hurt,’ said Laska.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Fitz. ‘The adrenalin’s doing its job. I’ll survive.’
“Tis but a flesh wound!’ And she chuckled again, a bright and warming relief flooding through her veins.
‘Right,’ said Fitz sternly, as they came to a rest at an anonymous junction.
‘You’d better start telling me where I’m taking you.’
Liz looked up from the diaries. ‘I grant you there are parallels,’ she said. ‘But that can’t be anything other than coincidence, can it?’
151
‘Shall I be straight with you?’ asked Smith.
‘That would be helpful.’
‘No, I mean. . . Shall I? Would you believe me?’
‘Only one way to find out.’
‘My name’s not Smith. I’m not a psychiatrist. I’m not even human.’
‘OK. . . ’ Liz