Doctor Who_ Wetworld - Mark Michalowski [32]
At the thought of chocolate, the Doctor realised that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Breakfast was well overdue. He thought again of Martha. If he hadn’t blithely assumed that she’d be safe in the TARDIS, she might be with him now, marvelling at all of this, instead of lying in a hospital bed. That was one of the things he loved about Martha: her ability to get excited by anything and everything. The universe was still a source of wonder to her. Every time she stepped out of the TARDIS there was a childlike glee in her eyes. Sometimes he wondered whether that wasn’t part of the reason he didn’t like to travel alone. Nine hundred years of scooting about the universe could make you jaded to its delights. And seeing them anew, through the eyes of someone who’d never witnessed them before. . .
It was, he imagined, why Christmas was such a wonderful time for adults. They could experience the joy of it all over again through their children’s eyes.
Still, he consoled himself, Martha would be up and about before he knew it.
Now that the water had fallen further, he could see the tops of a few vehicles, further out into the river. Two that looked like huge mechanical diggers, something with a spiky bit on top and a couple of quad bikes, tipped over on their sides like dead insects. Now they, he thought, would be useful – not to mention fun. Save all this running around everywhere. He doubted that they’d work without a good servicing, though.
Suddenly, a sliver of movement caught his eye. An otter darted splashily out of the water onto the mud and scampered across it, leaving a trail of tiny paw prints. It ignored him, and headed straight for a low, squat, grey building, flat-roofed and with a single small window on the side facing him.
The otter was followed, within seconds, by another. And then another.
He didn’t like the look of this. For a start, he’d just been chased across the countryside by thousands of their chums, and there could well be thousands more swimming upriver at this very moment. They may even have worked out that swimming would get them to him faster than running. But he was intrigued by the purposefulness of their behaviour. They weren’t just sniffing around to see what was what – they were heading for one very specific building.
Perhaps that was a food store and they could smell the goodies in there. Although, after all this time, any food in there would surely have rotted or been washed away by the flood.
Whatever the reason for their interest in that particular building, it was a puzzle that would have to wait a while. With one last look back, he set off up the hill.
Col gazed at Candy blankly. In the dim light, it looked as though his pupils had dilated fully, engulfing his irises. Blue eyes, she remembered. Col had the palest blue eyes – a legacy from his Irish ancestors.
And now they were just black.
‘Col!’ hissed Candy wanting to go to him, but scared to move. ‘It’s me – Candy!’
Col’s expression didn’t change, but he blinked slowly, like a hungry insect.
‘What’s happened?’ Candy continued.
‘Candy. . . ’ Col’s voice was a low murmur, almost inaudible. He raised a hand, weakly, as if to push her back.
‘In my head,’ he whispered. ‘It’s in my head.’ His lip trembled, but his eyes stayed fixed, emotionless.
Candy felt herself panicking: what was he talking about? Had he slipped and hurt himself?
‘It’s all right, Col. Let’s get you back to –’
Col blinked, slow and insectile again, and raised his hand.
‘Stay back,’ he said. ‘It’s not safe. . . not safe here.’ He paused and blinked again. ‘It’s looking for things,’ he