Doctor Who_ Wetworld - Mark Michalowski [72]
His legs were kicking frantically, mud spattering everywhere, and she knew it was only seconds before he passed out through lack of oxygen.
Even now the thing would be trying to insinuate itself into his mouth, his nose, his ears. She caught sight of his eyes for just a moment.
‘Stand back!’ someone ordered.
Martha turned. It was Ty, and she was holding a tiny gun. ‘What –’
The words stuck in Martha’s throat as she watched Ty expertly snap two glass and metal cartridges into the top of it – the same cartridges she’d seen the Doctor filling with liquid back in the bio lab. Why had Ty got it?
‘I said stand back!’ Ty shouted again, raising the gun and gripping it with both hands.
‘What are you doing?’ Martha yelled, refusing to move.
‘Plan A,’ Ty said grimly – and fired.
There was a soft pht of compressed air, and Martha spun to see a feathered dart bounce harmlessly off the creature’s flesh and fall to the ground. She glanced up to see Ty looking straight at her.
‘Just checking,’ she said, and lowered the aim of the gun a little.
For some reason, her brown eyes were filling with tears. ‘I’m sorry, Martha. I’m so sorry.’
For a second, Martha heard an echo of the Doctor’s own voice in Ty’s – the times he’d apologised to others, for things done to them that he had no control over; things that he felt, maybe, he could have stopped.
In that second, Martha realised what Ty was doing – if the poisoned dart couldn’t penetrate the creature’s flesh, there was only one way to get it into its system.
Through the Doctor.
Martha leaped forwards. ‘No way! You can’t!’ she cried.
But it was too late. She could almost see the dart leave the tranquilliser gun. Almost see it as it trailed through the air.
In silence, it buried itself in the Doctor’s leg.
Martha sank to her knees as the creature continued to envelop the Doctor. The tide of alien flesh rolled lower, down over his thighs and over the dart. His body twitched as if he were still fighting against the creature’s grip.
If the poison were strong enough to kill the creature, Martha knew, then the Doctor was as good as dead. She’d seen what had happened to Pallister when the Doctor had shot him before. And for this one to have any real effect on the creature it had to be ten – no, a hundred! –
times as strong.
Martha watched as the swamp creature cocooned the Doctor, like a fly caught in green amber. His struggles suddenly ceased, his body flopping limply in the creature’s grasp. Silently, the alien monstrosity continued to drag him across the mud to the corner of the building, towards the water.
And then, suddenly, it stopped, and a weird change came over it.
Like condensation on a cold glass of beer, the surface of the creature’s skin began to frost over.
Martha stared, puzzled, unable to understand what she was looking at. The cloudiness began to spread from the area of the Doctor’s head, like a wave, radiating outwards. It spread down as far as the Doctor’s feet, still protruding, almost comically, from the alien flesh. And then, with a horrid ripping sound, the creature’s tendril burst, showering her with warm, slimy goo, and the Doctor fell heavily to the ground, gasping and choking. Ty was at his side instantly, Orlo and Candy just a second behind, pulling the stuff from his face and out of his mouth. Martha just knelt there, stunned, as he coughed the alien muck up.
Behind him, the massive bulk of the swamp creature’s tendril had flopped to the ground, thrashing and writhing. It smacked against the side of the building, spattering it with dark slime. Martha watched as the wave of frostiness continuing to spread out over