Doctor Who_ Winner Takes All - Jacqueline Rayner [39]
Were the footsteps going to pass his door? No. They stopped right outside it.
And tried the handle.
A legitimate visitor would knock at this point, or call out or something.
No one knocked, and no one called out. Instead, they tried shoving the door again. The door opened a centimetre or so, the magazine beginning to scrunch up. A rough, male voice said, ‘Open up, Smith.’ Darren Pye.
Mickey didn’t say a word. He began to back away, as quietly as he could, looking for something else he could use to keep the door shut.
‘I know you’re in there, Smith. I know your freaky friends brought some of them games here, and I want ’em.’
‘Well, you can’t have them,’ called back Mickey, forgetting he was pretending not to be there.
It sounded as if Darren was giving the door a kicking. Amazingly, the magazine was still wedged tightly beneath it, preventing it from opening, but any moment he’d have it off its hinges.
But then the noise stopped. Mickey suddenly stood up straight, alerted by a feeling that he couldn’t quite place. A tingle in the air, and for some reason Pancake Day came to mind… He heard a shout of alarm from outside the door, probably the nearest anyone had ever heard Darren Pye get to shock and fear.
Then Mickey realised: this was what it had felt like just before the aliens – the Quevvils – had burst into his flat. The Doctor’s warning had been right; they must have been able to fix their teleport system, and they’d just materialised the other side of his front door.
They’d be after the Doctor. Had to be. But maybe they still thought Mickey was an expert; maybe with the Doctor not here they’d try to kidnap Mickey again… Or, worse, maybe they’d worked out that Mickey wasn’t an expert, and they wouldn’t want to risk him spreading details of their plans or their underground base or their true nature…
There was no other exit from his flat. Even in full health he couldn’t hope to outmanoeuvre the Quevvils and their flying quills and their laser guns; with his dodgy knee he had no chance. Mickey hurried back as fast as he could, eager to find a hiding place. But then he heard voices from outside.
‘How on Earth did you do that?’ yelled Darren Pye.
Then came the voice of a Quevvil: ‘This human has witnessed our materialisation! He must be destroyed!’
Mickey froze, waiting for the hiss of the laser beam, the scream of the dying man. But it didn’t come.
‘No!’ yelled Darren Pye. ‘I can help you!’
There was a pause, then a Quevvil said, ‘Explain.’
Darren was gabbling now. ‘I know what you are, right? I know what you’re doing. I heard those freaks talking. You’re aliens, right, and you want to kill these insect things. That’s cool. I saw you appear before, out of thin air like that. I want to help.’
A Quevvil – Mickey had no idea if it was the same or a different one – said, ‘You have not yet explained how you intend to help us.’
‘I’ve already sorted it. Spreading these things over the country. Getting people who know what they’re doing.’
And the unsurprise of the century: Darren Pye was the dealer. The death dealer. The one who would send your anyone to their death for less than the price of a telly. And thinking of tellies, he probably had a fair idea where Mickey’s had gone too; why else would he have been hanging around here to hear the Doctor and Rose talking, to see the Quevvils appear…
And the Quevvil replied, ‘We have already located the person we need. We have come here to fetch him.’
‘What, that Doctor freak?’ said Darren. ‘He’s not here.’
Mickey didn’t know what happened next, but Darren let out a yelp. ‘No! Look, I said I could help you. I’ll tell you where he is. All I want is that you make me your sole dealer on