Doctor Who_ Deep Blue Part 16

They were near the end of the beach now, most of the holidaymakers behind them. June began to relax a little, even though they would have to run the gauntlet again on their way back. A little further along the sand gave way to jutting rocks, seaweed-slimy rock pools and the silently howling mouths of cliff caves. There were few people around here. The whispering of the tide sounded like a secret that the sea would reveal only to them.

June stopped and looked out at the water, fascinated and soothed by the s.h.i.+fting mosaic of green, blue and grey, coins of golden sunlight bobbing and sparkling on the waves. Terry let his hand slip from hers and moved on slowly. He clambered up over the first of the rocks, stepped carefully around a few pools with his flip-flopped feet, and ambled aimlessly towards the nearest cave, a dark, vertical gash in the sun-drenched cliff.

June watched him go, then turned back to the sea, enjoying her moment of communion with it. If she hadn't felt so nervous of her fellow human beings, she could have sat on a rock and gazed at it for hours, intermittently dozing, allowing the rhythmic liquid breath of the tide to transport her to another place.

Despite her state, the sea managed to weave its mesmerising magic. June was certain she had remained conscious as the sea's never-ending patterns kaleidoscoped in front of her eyes, yet suddenly she was jerking not so much awake as aware, aware, with no idea how long she had been standing there. She looked around, hoping to catch sight of Terry pottering among the rock-pools, but there was no sign of him. She almost called out but didn't want to attract attention to herself. with no idea how long she had been standing there. She looked around, hoping to catch sight of Terry pottering among the rock-pools, but there was no sign of him. She almost called out but didn't want to attract attention to herself.

He couldn't be too far away. If she didn't see him when she climbed up on to the rocks, she'd no doubt find him poking about in one of the caves, looking for interesting stuff that had been washed ash.o.r.e by the tide. She sidestepped a great swathe of clear jelly at the base of the rocks and headed towards the caves.

The rocks were relatively dry, though the mossy seaweed that provided them with a furry green coat was still damp and slippery underfoot. As she stepped down from a jagged crest of rocks on to a relatively flat area, the nearby entrance to the first of the cliff caves gushed with light.

It was sunlight, of course. She must have looked at the cave at the exact moment that the sun inched far enough across the sky to flood the entrance and drown the shadows inside.

Not that the shadows had been hiding anything interesting.

The sand in the cave, still damp from the lack of sunlight to bake it dry, was strewn with bladderwrack, an old blue fis.h.i.+ng net, pop bottles, driftwood and more blobs of the jelly-like stuff that the sea seemed to have coughed up like phlegm.

She walked past the cave and stopped outside the next one.

The entrance was four feet high at its apex and she had to crouch down to peer inside. There was nothing to see. The interior was no bigger than a tepee. On to the next one, and still no sign of Terry. She glanced back the way she had come. Surely she was now for enough away from the people on the beach to be out of earshot? She walked towards the next entrance, calling her husband's name - and was rewarded almost immediately by what sounded like a rustle of movement.

She smiled and all but skipped the last few steps to the mouth of the cave. She was immediately struck by an unpleasant smell - like dead fish and rotten vegetables - but she took a step inside. Instantly the stench wrapped itself around her like a winding sheet, making her gag. She clamped her hands over her mouth and nose and took a hasty step backwards. The stench was pungent as ammonia; her eyes began to water, her surroundings dissolving into a blur of watery shadows. Something must have died in here, she thought. There was no way that Terry would have lingered here.

Without any warning a figure stepped into view from behind a shelf of rock in front of her, making her jump. In the dim light its head was a bleached skull, its hands held out before it, palms up. As it moved towards her June's heart skipped a beat and then she gasped as she realised that it was indeed Terry, after all. His sungla.s.ses and her blurred vision had made his eyes look like nothing more than dark, empty sockets. She blinked to clear her vision, and was only partially successful. Terry's outstretched hands looked dirty, but as he stepped forward into the sunlight she saw that they were not black, but red.

'Blood,' he said before she could speak.

There was a beat of silence as she took this in, then, 'My G.o.d, what have you done to yourself?'

He frowned as if he didn't understand the question, and shook his head. 'Not mine. It's all over the wall.'

She glanced behind him, fighting off the smell. 'My G.o.d,'

she breathed. 'Terry, we've got to tell someone.'

Then the interior of the cave erupted.

June's first thought was that a bomb had gone off. All at once sand was geysering up and out of the cave in a great plume, covering them both. June felt it blasting through her hair, stinging her eyes, crunching grittily between her teeth.

She was thrown backwards, on to her knees, swiping at her face as if she was being attacked by bees. She coughed, sneezed and spluttered, her eyes streaming.

She straightened bolt upright, however, when she heard Terry begin to scream.

The first, a terrible, wrenching scream of mortal agony, was rapidly followed by a succession of others. June felt every muscle clench at the sound, felt a bolt of coldness tear through her stomach. Despite the stinging pinp.r.i.c.ks of sand in her eyes she forced herself to open them. When she saw why why Terry was screaming, she forgot her own discomfort in an instant. Her eyes widened in terror and disbelief. Terry was screaming, she forgot her own discomfort in an instant. Her eyes widened in terror and disbelief.

The thing that had erupted from beneath the sand was an impossibility. Part bull, part spider, part scorpion, it was ma.s.sive, its jointed, spiny legs at least eight feet long. Even its bristling, multi-eyed head, which looked tiny in relation to its muscle-packed abdomen, was substantially bigger than June's. It was tearing apart the figure pinned to the ground between its two front legs. Blood was gus.h.i.+ng out over the sand as it feasted, trickling down the rocks, swirling around June's feet like a sticky incoming tide.

Within seconds Terry had stopped screaming. His body jerked spasmodically. His mouth was open and full of blood.

His sungla.s.ses had fallen off and his eyes had rolled up into his head.

The scene was so appalling, so unbelievable, that June was numbed almost to the point of inertia. But acting with an odd, distant composure, she stepped out of her flip-flops, turned from the scene and walked away. She moved carefully as she picked her way across the rocks, taking pains not to slip. It was only when she reached the edge of the formation and she had jumped over the blobs of jelly nestled in the crook between rocks and sand that she began to run, heading back the way she had come.

She had progressed no more than a dozen yards when she heard a scuffle-clatter of movement behind her. Breathing hard, she glanced back over her shoulder. The creature had evidently finished with Terry and was now scurrying unevenly across the rocks towards her.

In an instant the fragile veneer that had s.h.i.+elded June from her emotions shattered. Gut-wrenching terror surged through her like an electric shock. Her legs took up the challenge, doubling their pace, and as she ran she let out a piercing scream that seemed to tear her throat, releasing the taste of blood into her mouth.

Now she didn't care that the people on the beach were looking at her. Rather, it urged her to cry out for help, her voice raw and ragged. However, no one came to her aid. The people either stood transfixed - some of them with gleaming, hungry eyes - or screamed and turned tail.

Seconds later the stink of dead things overwhelmed her and she fell, struck from behind. It was only when she saw her own blood spilling on to the sand that she realised she'd been sliced open. She tried to roll over, to get back to her feet, but it was no use. She tried to crawl but her limbs wouldn't let her.

Then it was upon her and there was only the scuttling, stinking blackness of its body. Her last thought was of her children, miles away in Sheffield, excitedly awaiting their parents' return.

The Brigadier took off his cap and leaned forward in his chair until his forehead was touching the desk. The hard surface was cool, comforting. Not for the first time that day he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift.

It was proving increasingly difficult to hold on to his thoughts. He remembered speaking to Yates on the RT and arranging a UNIT clean-up team to deal with... with some sort of incident at the guesthouse where Yates was staying.

And more recently he had spoken to the Doctor, hadn't he?

But not his his Doctor. The younger chap he'd met earlier, the one in the cream coat. What was it this new Doctor had told him? It was something about the threat that was facing them. He'd said a word - Doctor. The younger chap he'd met earlier, the one in the cream coat. What was it this new Doctor had told him? It was something about the threat that was facing them. He'd said a word - Xaranti Xaranti - that, even though the Brigadier was sure he'd never heard it before, nevertheless seemed to resound in his head like some newly-roused memory. - that, even though the Brigadier was sure he'd never heard it before, nevertheless seemed to resound in his head like some newly-roused memory.

He was not too far gone to realise that whatever was wrong with him was something rather more serious than mere stress-fatigue or overwork. Perhaps he ought to relinquish his post, declare himself unfit for duty, hand over the mantle of command to Mike Yates. To do so, to admit to any kind of weakness, was anathema to him, but he was nothing if not a realist. He knew he couldn't go on like this. For the first time in his military career he simply had no idea what to do next.

And if he couldn't make proper, informed decisions then he might very well end up endangering the lives of his men - not to mention putting the country, or even the entire planet, at risk.

He raised his head wearily from the desk and was reaching for the RT - first of all pausing to scratch the infernal itching that had started on his shoulder and was now spreading down his arm and across his chest - when the door opened and Benton blundered breathlessly in.

The Brigadier jerked upright as if he had been caught napping and for a moment his mind cleared. 'Benton,' he snapped, 'don't you know to knock before entering a superior officer's... er... office?'

If Benton noticed the Brigadier's moment of confusion he didn't let on. In fact, he looked a little confused himself.

'Sorry, sir. It's just that... well, there's a monster on the beach, sir.'

'A monster?' repeated the Brigadier scathingly. 'Can't you be a little more precise, Benton?'

'Sorry, sir.' Benton looked as if he was concentrating hard.

'The local police have just rung in. They say there's a large, insect-like creature running amok on Tayborough Sands beach. Quite a few fatalities already it seems, sir.'

'Right, Benton,' said the Brigadier, not quite with relish, but certainly galvanised - however temporarily - by the prospect of action. 'Get the men ready to move out in force.

And try to get hold of the Doctor, let him know what's going on.'

'He probably knows already, sir. His hotel is right on the seafront.'

'Is it, by George?' said the Brigadier, wondering whether he already knew this. 'Well, try and get hold of him anyway. Tell him not to go near this dratted creature until we get there.'

'I'll tell tell him, sir...' Benton said, clearly implying that if the Doctor was set on a separate course of action, then nothing Benton could do or say would make a blind bit of difference. him, sir...' Benton said, clearly implying that if the Doctor was set on a separate course of action, then nothing Benton could do or say would make a blind bit of difference.

The Brigadier flapped a hand, acknowledging the fact that the Doctor was a law unto himself. 'Just do your best, Benton. I'll put a call through to Captain Yates, get him to meet us down there.' The Brigadier again reached for his RT and glanced up at Benton, who was hovering by the desk, as if waiting to be dismissed. 'Well, jump to it, man. Chop chop.'

White bonnets and yellow faces. Flowers. Daisies. She was surrounded by daisies. Lovely. But there was something wrong with them. They were all identical. And they were in rows. Regiments. Hovering in mid-air. And mid-air was pale green.

Charlotte's eyes focused on the curtain. It was attached to a rail, which, if she wished, she could pull all the way round her bed to conceal herself from the outside world. What that consisted of was a bit of a mystery. Noise, certainly. There were people talking. Footsteps moving rapidly to and fro.

Things clanking.

'Charlotte,' said a voice.

Her eyes flickered in the direction of the voice and she saw a man with a look of concern on his thin face, sitting at the side of her bed. Remembering that his name was Mike Yates brought all her memories rus.h.i.+ng back. Like a wave, they filled her mouth and throat like sludgy water, and she found herself gasping for breath, struggling to sit up. A band of pain clamped across her stomach and she fell back, head pounding.

'Hey,' said Mike gently, 'take it easy. You're safe now.' He covered her hot hand with his cool one.

The suffocating effect of the memories subsided, but the pain of them did not diminish. 'My dad,' she whispered. 'He's dead. You killed him.'

It was not an accusation, merely a statement of fact. Mike nodded. 'I had to. If I hadn't killed him, he would have killed you.'

She remembered the spines on her father's body, his black, bulging eyes. She shuddered. 'What's happening?' she pleaded, her voice cracking, tears not far away. 'Mike, what's happening?'

'There's some sort of... contamination,' he said carefully.

'It's affecting people. Making them change.'

'Contamination? What do you mean?'

He raised his hands, looked apologetic. 'We don't know yet.

That's what we're trying to find out.'

Charlotte's head was buzzing. Her thoughts hurt. There was a dislocated, unreal feeling to all of this. She s.h.i.+fted position in bed slightly, and was once again aware of the pain in her stomach, like a big bruise. Fearful, she said, 'My baby.

Is my baby...?'

'It's fine.' Mike smiled back, squeezing her hand to rea.s.sure her. 'The doctors say your baby's going to be fine. You just need to rest. You went into shock after the attack.'

Momentary relief washed over her, but then she thought of Chris and her dad again. 'Does Mum know?' she asked.

'About the baby, I mean. I hadn't told her, you see.'

'Not yet. She's under sedation in another ward. Do you want me to tell the doctors not to tell her?'

Charlotte nodded weakly. 'I want to tell her myself.'

'Of course you do,' Mike said.

There was a sudden crackle of static from his jacket pocket and a tinny voice said, 'Greyhound One to Greyhound Three.

Are you there, Greyhound Three? Over.'

Everyone in the ward turned their heads to look at Mike.

He raised his eyebrows in selfconscious apology and took the RT from his pocket.

'This is Greyhound Three. Would you mind hanging on a minute, sir? I need to find somewhere a little more discreet.'

He put the RT back in his pocket and flashed Charlotte another quick smile. 'Won't be a minute,' he told her, then stood up and walked briskly out of the ward.

A few minutes later he was back, his face grim. 'I'm going to have to go,' he said. 'There have been one or two developments.'

Charlotte reached out and grasped his hand. 'You will come back and see me, won't you?'

'Of course I will. Just as soon as I can.' He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. 'Now you get some rest, and I'll be back before you know it.'

The seafront was in chaos, police and holidaymakers milling around in confusion. A crowd was standing in the road like sheep, immobilised by shock. Several times the Brigadier had to lean on his horn to encourage the crowd to part enough to allow the UNIT convoy to edge through. On the promenade a dozen or more empty emergency vehicles were parked haphazardly, lights flas.h.i.+ng.

The whole situation had a feeling of aftermath to it, which the Brigadier recognised only too well. He knew that the emergency vehicles were empty because their crews were tending to the wounded. This, coupled with the fact that there was no panic among the crowds, merely a sense of stunned incomprehension, was evidence enough that the creature was no longer running loose nearby, but had moved on to pastures new. UNIT'S job was to track it and, if possible, contain it. Seeing the Lombard Hotel looming large on his right, he reached for the RT on the pa.s.senger seat. job was to track it and, if possible, contain it. Seeing the Lombard Hotel looming large on his right, he reached for the RT on the pa.s.senger seat.