Doctor Who_ Wetworld - Mark Michalowski [70]
What did I have to lose? So I pointed to the cable. It was unravelling but there was still a lot of slack in it. And I told them to cut it.
‘And before I knew it, they’d jumped on it and were chewing at it like mad.’ A shadow of guilt passed across her face. ‘I didn’t think, ’til afterwards, that it might be electrified.’
‘Nah,’ said the Doctor. ‘Only needed a tiny trigger signal.’
‘Lucky for them,’ Ty said.
‘Lucky for us,’ Martha added.
‘Trigger signal?’ Candy looked puzzled. ‘Trigger for what? What was that thing – a nuclear bomb or something?’ She laughed.
The Doctor gave a shrug. And a wink. ‘Something like that,’ he said.
∗ ∗ ∗ But the feelgood factor didn’t last. Once she thought about it, Martha realised it wouldn’t.
‘We’ve got to get down there, and quick,’ the Doctor said, suddenly fired up. ‘We need to take that drill apart – with our bare hands if necessary – before slimey realises that his little firecracker’s turned into a damp squib. And we need to get the settlers out of there. They’ll be waking up soon and I don’t want slimey to get another shot at them.’
‘It’ll try again?’ Ty was aghast.
‘Wouldn’t you? It nearly worked the first time, and once it works out what went wrong, it’s bound to think about giving it another go.
When the taxi for Mr Slime doesn’t arrive, it’ll poke its nose out, interface with an otter or two and work out what went wrong. And then it’ll have another go. There’s still the power core back in Sunday City’s generator station, remember? Come on!’
And before anyone could say anything, the Doctor was scrambling down the bank towards the drill.
‘How long will it take before they start moving?’ Ty whispered, as they threaded their way between the motionless otters.
‘Minutes,’ the Doctor said. ‘Hours, maybe. Depends when they were last in contact with slimey. As the proteins in their brains break down, they’ll go back to being just otters.’
One or two of them twitched slightly as the five of them made their way across the open ground. Little limbs paddled the air, like dream-ing cats. Martha jumped as one close to her gave a tiny, plaintive squee. The others, the friendly ones, had stayed well clear at the Doctor’s instruction: if slimey decided to make a reappearance (and they were all still worryingly close to the water), he didn’t want them getting caught by it.
‘This is creepy,’ Martha muttered, and Orlo grabbed her hand. ‘If you’re wrong and they suddenly wake up, Doctor, we’re in big trouble.’
‘Nah,’ he said casually. ‘When they wake up they’re going to be just like they were before slimey arrived. They’ll be smart and friendly, just like your little pals back there. And this time, hopefully, they’ll have the common sense to stay away from the water.’
‘You better be right,’ she said as they reached the control room.
‘Where do we start?’ She stopped suddenly, aware of a sound she hadn’t heard before: a soft scraping sound, like a heavy body being dragged across dry soil.
Orlo clearly heard it too. ‘What’s that?’ he whispered as the five of them froze. Martha saw that the Doctor was looking up towards the roof of the control room.
‘It’s the man with the matches,’ he said softly. ‘Come to see why his firework display didn’t go off.’
Moving over the roof and descending rapidly towards them was the puppet-like form of Pallister, still suspended from the throbbing green tendrils buried in his skull. His flesh was even more disgusting, more decayed than before. And as the swamp creature lowered him, Martha could see the bones of his right hand and arm showing through the rotted flesh. The right leg was missing at the hip.
‘Back away,’ muttered the Doctor fiercely, pushing Martha behind him. ‘Move. Now! ’
Martha turned instinctively – only to see a shimmering tide of green-black flesh oozing around the sides of the control centre like a huge hand reaching out for them.
‘You have interfered,’ came