Doctor Who_ Warchild - Andrew Cartmel [91]
Roz silently agreed with him. She thought of their battle to get up the stairs.
She’d swung the front door open and her heart had seemed to stop for a moment. The White King had been sitting there on the steps, looking up at her with that strange smile and then he’d given some kind of signal; Roz didn’t know what, but there must have been a signal, because all at once the massed force of dogs came surging in from the darkness, in through the broken kitchen window, through the shattered front door. They came flowing past the White King as he sat watching calmly, like a general observing his troops go into battle.
Roz realized later that what she should have done was shoot the White King. Kill him and perhaps the attack would have ended then and there.
There was no doubt in her mind that the White King was the leader of the pack. That somehow he was responsible for this whole nightmare. He certainly was something more than an ordinary dog, although she couldn’t imagine what.
She didn’t know what he was and she didn’t care. Leave speculations about mysteries to the likes of the Doctor. Roz had no time for theories. She was hard-headed and practical.
The Doctor would probably be fascinated by the White King and want to study him, measure him, maybe run an experiment. Extend the frontiers of knowledge. Not Roz. She just wanted to put a bullet in the White King’s head and see what effect that had on the pack. That was her idea of a useful experiment.
She was willing to bet one well aimed bullet like that would instantly cause the pack to lose its discipline and order, send it falling back into chaos. Perhaps the dogs would begin tearing into each other, forgetting all about their common enemy.
She told Redmond that and he’d smiled and said, ‘That’s what they used to say about my country. They used to say we’d turn into savages if the foreign military pulled out.’ But he agreed with Roz. The only thing he disagreed about was that he wanted to be the one to shoot the White King.
But they both missed their chance. They didn’t even give it any thought at the time. Their only concern had been survival, as wave after wave of savage animals launched themselves into the hallway of the small house. They must have fired five-hundred rounds between them, the muzzle flashes of their automatic weapons lighting up the narrow hallway and staircase in bursts of flickering white light. They’d moved cautiously and calmly, making a slow retreat from the front door, up the stairs, along the upstairs hall and finally into the bedroom.
They’d pushed Norman Peverell along ahead of them, into the safety of the room, slammed the door and shoved the bed against it.
After a while the frantic barking in the hallway had stopped.
‘I really think you ought to use the window,’ said Redmond.
‘For the last time, no,’ said Norman Peverell. ‘As I told you, I’m fine.’
Redmond sighed, drawing the curtains aside. ‘Shame,’
he said, staring down at the silent masses in the dark garden.
‘I was rather looking forward to the spectacle of you peeing on the enemy.’ He glanced at Norman. ‘You’re sure you wouldn’t like to?’
‘Absolutely certain, thank you.’
‘Ah well,’ said Redmond, ‘might as well do this then.’ As he spoke he swept the curtains aside and opened the window.
‘What are you doing?’ said Roz. She hurried over to Redmond as he climbed on to the windowsill and stepped out of the window.
‘Where are you going?’ she hissed. Redmond smiled at her and ignored the question. She leant out of the window as he moved further away, feet searching carefully for the narrow outside edge of the windowsill. His hands were above him, out of sight. He winked down at Roz.
‘It’s perfectly safe,’ he said. ‘I’ve got my hands on the gutter. Runs along the edge of the roof.’
‘For God’s sake, Redmond. Get back inside.’ In the garden below Roz could see the dogs. They were on their feet now, milling around excitedly. They were all