Doctor Who_ Warchild - Andrew Cartmel [62]
‘My goodness,’ sighed Mrs Woodcott. ‘Look at all of you fine young people standing beside that great armoured vehicle. You look like hardened combat veterans. Well, Creed doesn’t, but that’s only because he’s still holding his suitcase. I wish I had a photograph of the three of you. I feel so proud. Like a mother.’
‘Mothers don’t traditionally get paid a bounty for forcibly enlisting their offspring in the security forces,’ said Roz. A passenger jet rumbled overhead, climbing up into the air on the first leg of its intercontinental journey.
‘One must move with the times,’ said Mrs Woodcott.
‘What about them? What about the security services?’
said Creed. ‘The police and the army. Why can’t they deal with this?’
‘Because the state of emergency has swamped them.
They need all the help they can get. Just imagine it’s been a long hot summer in London, and everything is as dry as tinder. Brush fires are breaking out on every piece of open ground and the fire service is stretched beyond its resources dealing with them.’
Mrs Woodcott absent-mindedly squeezed the large handbag under her arm as though checking that something was still inside it. ‘When I speak of brush fires, Creed, you understand that I am speaking metaphorically of the nature of this emergency.’
‘Well what is the nature of this emergency when you’re speaking non-metaphorically?’
‘Probably best not to tell you at this stage.’
‘I want to know what is going on,’ said Creed. ‘Don’t give me this hush-hush bullshit.’
‘He sounds just like you,’ said Redmond fondly to Roz.
‘You all right there, Creed?’
‘Fine,’ said Creed from behind the steering-wheel.
‘He seems to be getting the hang of it,’ said Roz dryly. It had taken her much nagging to get command of the vehicle from Redmond on their first ride together. But Creed had been in the driver’s seat before they even left the airport.
Redmond had seemed perfectly happy to let him drive.
Hadn’t even put up a fight. Maybe it was some gender-based, male-loyalty thing.
Or maybe nearly having his throat torn out had caused Redmond to mellow.
‘You’re lucky you weren’t killed.’
‘I was indeed lucky,’ said Redmond. ‘Very lucky, thank God.’
‘If you were more organized you wouldn’t need to rely on luck so much.’
‘Look, for Christ’s sake,’ said Redmond hotly. ‘For the last time, I did not leave the hatch open.’
‘Well who opened it, then?’
‘They did.’
‘They?’ said Creed from the driver’s seat. The big screen in front of him showed concrete bridges flashing overhead as they swept out of the airport.
Roz and Redmond ignored him. ‘You saw how they chewed away at the rubber seal,’ said Redmond. ‘You repaired it, so I know you saw.’
Roz shook her head unhappily. ‘Still,’ she said, ‘it’s hard to believe they could open it.’
‘Hard or just frightening?’
‘Frightening,’ agreed Roz. ‘I don’t want to believe they’re that intelligent.’
In the front of the vehicle Creed repressed the urge to ask who they were. He had a fleeting wish that the Doctor was here in the armoured car with him. Even after all these years the Doctor still impressed him as the guy you wanted in your corner when things started getting weird.
It would be nice if the Doctor was here.
In the back of the armoured car Roz was thinking exactly the same thing as she got the Styer AUG down from the arms locker, reloaded its spare magazine and began attaching the bayonet.
‘Is that a bayonet?’ said Creed, turning around in his chair.
‘Keep your eyes on the road,’ said Roz. She was still a little stung about Redmond letting Creed drive the armoured car so soon. ‘Yes, it is a bayonet.’
‘I thought they went out with the Crimean war.’ Creed glanced at the screen but the traffic situation hadn’t changed in the last few minutes. There weren’t many cars on the road, and what few there were stayed well clear of the armoured juggernaut that was speeding into west London.
‘Roz had good luck with a bayonet recently,’ said Redmond from the navigator’s chair where he was sprawled.
‘Is that right?’ said Creed.
‘Only don’t ask her about it or