by Mark Gatiss
A volley of shots rang out, striking the creature in its carapaced tail. The bullets sang off, ricocheting into the wetland. The Brigadier threw a grim look at the Doctor who chose that moment to spin the wheel, almost sending him flying.
The Doctor lifted himself up in the driving seat as Bessie raced on.
‘Jo! Get down!’ he called.
The creature was on the move again, enraged at the Brigadier’s attack, shuffling through the boggy ground with surprising speed.
Lethbridge-Stewart aimed again, peering through the darkness and trying to hit the creature in the eyes. As before, the bullets had no effect.
‘Be careful, man!’ rasped the Doctor. ‘You’ll hit Jo and Noah.’
He powered Bessie forward, screeching to a halt just yards from the couple. Plumes of soil were thrown up in the little car’s wake.
‘Come on! Get in!’ ordered the Doctor.
Jo and Noah scrabbled to their feet. The Brigadier grabbed Noah by the scruff of the neck and pulled him over the side of the car and into the back seat.
As Jo took the Doctor’s proffered hand the creature bore down on her, screeching in fury.
She let out a piercing scream. The Doctor shifted forward, his elbow accidentally brushing the headlight control. Instantly, the two lamps on the front of Bessie’s mud-splattered yellow engine powered up several notches, blazing through the night and fixing the worm in their sights.
The creature screeched and fell back.
The Doctor hauled Jo into the back seat and shot a quick look at the hideous thing before him.
‘Light,’ he muttered. ‘Of course! They’re the same!’
‘What?’ bellowed the Brigadier.
‘They’re the same creatures,’ replied the Doctor with a grin. He reached down and flicked another two switches on the dashboard. Immediately, Bessie’s fog lamps and indicators clicked on, and the little car blazed like a beacon.
The creature bellowed and retreated, its black eyes swivelling on their stalks and sinking back into the wet flesh of its formless face.
The Doctor nodded to himself.
‘Thank… thank you, Doctor,’ gasped Jo.
The Doctor looked into the back seat, frowning concernedly. ‘Are you all right?’ Noah nodded.
‘All right,’ said the Doctor, throwing Bessie into reverse. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ The car shot backwards.
At once, the back wheels sank into the marsh.
An awful silence fell, broken only by Bessie’s engine ticking over. The funnels of light from the front headlights burrowed through the hazy night, pointing away from the monster and towards the aerodrome.
Behind them, Jo heard an ominous wet sound as the creature began to stir.
The Brigadier clambered up on his seat again, rapidly reloading his pistol. ‘Come on, Doctor!’ he whispered hoarsely.
The Doctor changed gear and Bessie stuttered. Still the back wheels churned through the marsh, spewing mud and grass into the air but not moving forward.
The Doctor threw a look over his shoulder to where he knew the beast to be. ‘We’ll have to push,’ he said at last.
‘We?’ said Jo.
The Doctor shrugged. ‘Well… you. Quickly!’
Jo, Noah and the Brigadier clambered from the safety of the car, the latter letting off a volley of shots into the darkness. The worm’s shattering roar blasted over them all.
Noah pressed his hands to Bessie’s boot and pushed.
‘Put your backs into it!’ yelled the Doctor.
The wheels span uselessly. The worm slithered forward, its eyes clicking and swivelling in the darkness.
The Brigadier pressed the gun into Jo’s hand. She looked at him and he simply nodded, throwing his weight behind Noah’s. Bessie moved forward an inch.
Jo dropped to one knee and tried to collect herself. Her agent’s training seemed a long way off now.
She could see the worm looming through the dark, illuminated only by the car’s feeble rear indicators. Its terrible face glowed red. She took aim and fired.
The Brigadier managed to lock his shoulder into Bessie’s metalwork and pushed with all his strength. The Doctor tugged at the gear lever, coaxing his beloved car forward.
‘Come on,’ he muttered through clenched teeth. ‘Come on, Bessie!’
Noah wiped the sweat from his face and nodded at the Brigadier. ‘After three,’ he cried.
Lethbridge-Stewart prepared himself. With an ear-splitting roar, the creature powered through the marsh towards them, its scales slipping over one another, a great shudder rippling through its snake-like body.
Jo fired. One, two, three, four.
The Doctor slammed his foot on to the accelerator. The car gave a great lurch and bumped forward on to solid ground.
Jo threw herself back into the car, followed at once by Noah and the Brigadier, their legs poking upwards.
The Doctor span the wheel again and Bessie swung in a 180° arc.
For a moment, the creature was fully illuminated in the glare of the car’s lights. It screeched again, as though the light were acid on its flesh, then fell back, water flooding over its hideous body. The Doctor patted Bessie’s dashboard affectionately. Then he put his foot down and the car roared away towards the aerodrome.
He glanced at the Brigadier. ‘Do you think your friend Mr Cochrane might listen to us now?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
RESURRECTION
Whistler sat down in a big, comfortable chair, the circumstances very different to his last visit to Bliss’s office. He was grinning broadly and looking around him with childlike glee.
The Master pulled up a chair and sat directly opposite the old man, smiling pleasantly. Bliss was standing by the window, gazing out into the darkness. Her pale face was clammy with sweat, her great dark eyes wet and intense.
‘What is it?’ asked the Master.
Bliss shook her head. ‘Something out there. I can… sense it.’
The Master cocked his head, interested. ‘You mean your little guard dog?’
Bliss said nothing and took her seat behind the crescent-shaped desk. She raised a fat hand and indicated that the Master should proceed.
Nettled at her high-handed manner, he took his time. He pulled his gloves tight and leant forward towards Whistler’s chair.
‘Now,’ he said calmly. ‘Do you know who you are?’
Whistler’s eyes swivelled from side to side. ‘I think so,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you should tell me.’
The Master nodded. ‘You are Wing Commander Alec Whistler of the Royal Air Force.’
Whistler shook his head. ‘No. I don’t think that can be right.’
The Master shifted forward in his seat. ‘You are Wing Commander Alec Whistler and you flew Spitfires out of this aerodrome during the Second World War. Isn’t that right?’
Whistler’s grin broadened. ‘If you say so.’
The Master’s expression became grave, threatening. ‘I do say so. I am the Master.’
He looked at Whistler, fixing his intense gaze on the old man’s eyes. ‘I am the Master. You will obey me!’
Whistler stared at him. ‘I will?’
‘Now,’ continued the Master in his purring tones. ‘You have something which I’d like to see.’
Whistler let out a peal of giggles. ‘Is it a game?’
The Master rolled his eyes. ‘No, it’s not a game. It’s very serious. Very serious indeed. You have something which belongs to my friend here.’
Whistler’s face fell. ‘Oh. Well I must give it back then, mustn’t I?’
‘Yes,’ insisted the Master. ‘You must. It is a small thing, like a crystal.’
‘A crystal?’ Whistler appeared to be fascinated. Then his attention seemed suddenly to wander, like a small boy distracted by a colourful shape elsewhere. He watched the spinning spools of Bliss’s computer and grinned happily to himself. The Master sighed.
Bliss got to her feet. ‘You will forgive me
if I seem unimpressed by your hypnotic talents.’
The Master glared at her. ‘The embryo within him is obviously preventing his personality from showing through.’
Bliss nodded. ‘Naturally. It’s always like that.’
‘Then you shouldn’t have impregnated him,’ said the Master sternly.
‘I didn’t plan it!’ spat Bliss. ‘He attacked one of my men. The embryo within him was released. It found a new home. Rapidly.’
The Master nodded towards Whistler. ‘We could try getting it out of him. But it’s dangerous. He might not survive.’
Running her hand over her face as though feeling her skin for the first time, Bliss changed tack.
‘We have most of the village now. Why don’t we just tear it apart for the key?’
The Master shook his head. ‘You were right. We should be cautious. It may be damaged. Or overlooked by those zombies of yours. No…’
He stared thoughtfully at Whistler who was happily watching the spinning computer tapes. ‘I have a better idea.’
Jo shuddered as she recounted her experiences on the marsh.
‘It was horrible. Poor Mrs Toovey…’
The Doctor laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. They were sitting on the bench on the village green. Next to them, the Brigadier was trying to get in touch with Captain Yates on the R/T set.
‘You say there was some kind of creature?’ asked the Doctor.
Jo nodded. ‘It was on her neck. Just sitting there. Its eyes…’ She put her face in her hands.
‘It’s all right, Jo,’ soothed the Doctor. He glanced around at the village green. It was still covered in stalls from that afternoon’s fête, but they were completely abandoned. The eerie face of an illuminated clown grinned back at the Doctor. He looked away.
‘By the way,’ he said, turning back to Jo. ‘I’ve forgiven you for going up there against my express wishes.’
Jo looked up and gave a tearful grin.
The Brigadier came over. ‘Right,’ he barked. ‘That’s that. Yates and Benton are on their way.’
The Doctor nodded. ‘You managed to circumvent the exclusion order?’
‘Not exactly,’ murmured Lethbridge-Stewart. ‘The Secretary of Defence has disappeared.’
Jo and the Doctor exchanged looks.
‘In his absence, Mr Cochrane’s deputy – an eminently sensible chap – listened to my story and… er… authorised us to steam in with all guns blazing.’ The Brigadier seemed very pleased with himself.
The Doctor got to his feet. ‘Well, I suggest we adjourn to the Wing Commander’s cottage and await your reinforcements, Brigadier. We don’t exactly represent a fighting force on our own, do we?’
‘No.’ The Brigadier looked around the deserted village. Rubbish littered the ground along with more sinister detritus: spectacles, handbags, as though their owners had no further use for them.
‘Place is like a graveyard,’ he concluded.
The Doctor looked up as a figure bounded across the road towards them. ‘Hello, here’s Noah.’
Noah strode up to the bench, shaking his head. ‘Still no sign of my dad or Uncle Max.’
‘Or anyone,’ said Jo grimly.
She shot an appealing look at the Doctor. ‘What do you think’s going on?’
The Doctor frowned. ‘Well, from what you’ve described, some kind of alien parasite. Living off the people of Culverton.’
Noah groaned disgustedly. ‘And the… the aerodrome staff are helping them?’
The Doctor shook his head. ‘I rather think they’re one and the same.’
Captain Yates and Sergeant Benton sat in the cabin of the leading UNIT vehicle as the convoy powered along the narrow East Anglian lanes towards Culverton. Neither spoke, their mouths set in grim, determined lines as always on the eve of conflict. Both felt a quiet satisfaction that the political inertia had been dispelled and a clear call for action finally given.
Yates checked the magazine of his rifle and set it down on the seat next to him. Benton slipped his hand around the gear lever and the lorry thrummed forward with added speed.
A lone figure, like a matchstick man, stood in the box-hedge that lined the lane and watched them pass.
Captain McGarrigle’s smile was unchanging. He cocked his head to one side.
The Master was in the middle of explaining an idea. ‘We could gather our little herd early.’
Bliss’s face clouded. ‘What are you suggesting?’
The Master shrugged. ‘There’s little to be lost and very much to be gained. If we harvest now, the embryo within Whistler will emerge. Naturally.’
Bliss was appalled. ‘And the embryos within all the others! They won’t live long.’
‘They were never meant to. Or had you forgotten? They are here merely to keep their hosts warm for the… others. Their function is simply to obey me.’
Bliss glared at him.
‘I mean… us,’ said the Master, spreading his hands wide.
Bliss sat down heavily behind her desk, her nose twitching. Again, something shifted behind her face, like a candle shadow flickering inside a Hallowe’en pumpkin.
The Master hid his distaste. ‘Well?’
Bliss nodded slowly. ‘Each life is precious to the Gaderene. We are not so numerous that we can be cavalier with the embryos. No. We must locate the ninth key, but by other methods.’
Displeased, the Master threw himself down into a chair.
Bliss suddenly stiffened and cocked her head to one side as though listening.
The Master was about to sigh when she spoke, urgently and with great rapidity, almost as though another voice were running through her. ‘Troops. UNIT troops. They’re heading this way.’
The Master frowned. ‘They’ll try and attack the aerodrome.’ He slammed his gloved fist into his hand. ‘Can you not use your friendly Cerberus out there?’
Bliss frowned. ‘I do not understand the reference.’
The Master smiled. ‘No. Of course not. It’s an old Earth myth. A monstrous creature that guarded the gates to Hades.’
Bliss almost looked upset. She shook her head, sending flecks of spit cascading to the floor. ‘It is not so easy as it was. He… the creature, I mean, is becoming difficult to control.’
The Master looked at her with interest. ‘Then raise the villagers. Order them to attack the Brigadier’s tinpot army.’
Bliss considered this, then nodded rapidly.
On the desk before her stood the executive toy known as a Newton’s Cradle. She took the anglepoise lamp from the desk and set it down carefully on the floor. Then she lifted back the first steel ball on the cradle and set it swinging.
As it hit its neighbour, a series of gears swung into operation with a soft grinding sound. The whole surface of the desk flipped over, revealing a complex bank of chattering screens and read-outs.
Bliss’s face glowed green in the light from the screens. She flicked three switches with careful deliberation. A low, bone-shaking hum began to emanate from the desk.
‘It is done,’ she murmured flatly.
The Master smiled. ‘Excellent. Now, let’s see what we can do about our friend the Wing Commander.’
An eerie phosphorescence hovered over the now-quiet marshes like the skirts of a ghostly woman. The moon had emerged from a flotilla of thin clouds and hung low in the black sky like a sickle edged with mother-of-pearl.
Somewhere, a curlew was disturbed. Branches clattered as it took to the air. Then a low, throbbing sound became discernible, rippling out from the aerodrome like a muted heartbeat.
A fat, oily bubble rose to the surface of the marsh water, remained for a long moment and then burst. It was followed at once by another, then another. Soon the marsh was fizzing and bubbling furiously, as though carnivorous fish were in a feeding frenzy beneath its surface.
Then, with a horrible sucking sound, one of the black cylinders shot from the water. It slammed against the bank, coming to rest by the one con
taining Mrs Toovey.
Another two sprang from the water, like ship’s ballast escaping a wreck. Soon the marsh was awash with them; dozens and dozens of the ebony coffins, floating on the stinking water or coming to rest in the soft shallows.
Somewhere, the low, rattling hum from Bliss’s desk increased in pitch.
There was a strange, sticky sound coming from Mrs Toovey’s coffin. One of the old woman’s gnarled hands appeared over the edge, gripping the slick surface and hauling her upright. The vile thing clinging to her upper body reacted as she stumbled to her feet, coiling itself tighter around her throat and face. Its fierce little eyes blazed.
One after another, the coffin lids shot back, folding in on themselves and revealing their contents. Men, women and even children shuffled wetly from their caskets, orientating themselves in the black night; each and every one with a foul parasite clinging to their flesh.
John, Helen and little Nichola Trickett stepped from their confinement, their faces ghastly pale, and began wading through the shallows. The embryo within John was firmly established, warm and comfortable within his face. His wife and child still bore their infection for all to see, the creatures gradually burrowing into their mouths like fungus.
The army of villagers advanced, fetid water sluicing over them as they made their way forward, staggering like an invading army; harvested early by Bliss’s clarion call.
Slowly but surely, they made their way towards the village…
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE NINTH KEY
The Doctor sat in an armchair, thoughtfully chewing a knuckle. The Brigadier came through into the living room.
‘Yates is here,’ he said.
The Doctor nodded. Outside, the familiar sound of trundling trucks and jeeps formed a constant background noise.
Jo and Noah came in, holding two plates of hastily prepared corned beef sandwiches. The Doctor took one and absently stuffed into it his mouth.
‘What’s up, Doc?’ asked Jo smiling.
The Doctor smiled in return. ‘Oh, I’m just trying to think this thing through, Jo.’
He leant forward in his chair, interlacing his fingers. ‘Alien parasites. That worm creature behind the aerodrome…’