Doctor Who: The Crawling Terror (12th Doctor novel) (Dr Who)

by Mike Tucker

  The monstrous beetle was pinned behind a wall of flames, screeching in anger at the prey that had escaped it. With a last helpless look at the burning wreckage of the helicopter, the Doctor turned and hurried across the field, then made his way through the trees and the neat, well-tended graveyard and into the church beyond.

  He closed the ancient wooden door behind him and leant against it, using the cool calm of the church interior to try and gather his thoughts. Things were getting out of control. At least half a dozen people were now dead, and he was no closer to discovering why the village was infested with these monsters.

  One thing was becoming clear – someone or something wanted this village cut off from the outside world.

  He opened his eyes to see the frightened face of Charlie Bevan staring at him from behind a row of pews. Puzzled, the Doctor opened his mouth to ask what on earth he was doing, but Charlie shook his head frantically and pressed a finger to his lips. Then he pointed upwards.

  The Doctor edged forward, peering up into the gloom of the church ceiling. The roof was a tangle of web, heavy with the bodies of cocooned sheep, and hanging amongst them, was the huge quivering bulk of an enormous spider.

  The crash of the Lynx changed everything. Suddenly Ringstone was the most important place in the country. Almost every time Colonel Dickinson hung up his phone it started to ring again. He’d already taken calls from the Prime Minister’s private secretary and the Secretary of State for Defence, both demanding to know what was going on. The colonel had to restrain himself from pointing out that if they stopped interrupting him with pointless phone calls and let him get on with his job, then he might have a better chance of finding out.

  In the meantime his calls to UNIT were being met with polite but unhelpful responses. Apparently all UNIT troops were engaged in a crisis in the Canary Islands. Robots with spiked heads were emerging from the recently erupted El Hierro volcano.

  Dickinson gave a snort of derision. Punk rock robots… Sometimes he didn’t think the people at UNIT lived in the real world.

  There was a knock on his office door, and he looked up impatiently as Corporal Jenkins entered. ‘Yes, Corporal?’

  ‘Land Rover waiting outside for you, sir.’

  ‘Good.’ The colonel nodded in satisfaction. He snatched his cap off the desk as his phone started to ring again. ‘You’ll have to hold the fort here, Jenkins. Tell these wretched politicians that I’ll get back to them with what’s going on as soon as I damn well know!’

  Leaving his adjutant to deal with the on-going barrage of phone calls, Colonel Dickinson marched outside to his waiting vehicle. He clambered into the Land Rover and it set off with a lurch.

  ‘Any idea what all this is about, sir?’ asked the driver as they roared out through the camp gates.

  ‘I wish I knew, Private’ said Colonel Dickinson grimly. ‘I wish I knew.’

  Clara and Angela had been watching from the other side of the hedge, waiting for the helicopter to drive off the beetle, and for an opportunity to get back to the Doctor and Charlie. The crash had put paid to that. Clara had watched in horror as the stream of acid engulfed the aircraft, hissing and boiling as it burned through metal and plastic. Seconds later the rotors stopped turning and the crippled machine started to drop towards them.

  Grabbing Angela by the arm, Clara dragged her into the ditch alongside the road, hunkering down alongside her as the helicopter hit the ground and exploded with an impact that left Clara’s ears ringing.

  As burning aviation fuel set the hedge alight, she and Angela fled, hoping that they could get back into the village centre and make their way to the church from there.

  They set off along the road and Clara took a last look back at where the column of acrid black smoke was billowing into the morning sky. ‘You’d better not be under that lot, Doctor,’ she murmured to herself.

  The two women walked on in silence. The quiet of the English countryside that Clara had initially found soothing was now eerie and ominous. Every rustle of undergrowth or flutter of wings made her jump, fearful of another monstrous insect emerging from the hedgerows.

  They passed yet another road cut off by swathes of white web. ‘Something has been busy,’ said Clara. She was beginning to realise that everyone in the village had been effectively corralled in.

  Angela was looking in concern at where a car was trapped in the web, one of its rear doors hanging open. A handbag lay in the middle of the narrow road, its contents scattered across the tarmac. ‘Do you think…?’

  ‘Let’s not, eh?’ Clara caught her arm. ‘Let’s get to the church, and find the Doctor.’

  ‘You put a lot of faith in him.’ Angela looked her in the eye. ‘Is it well placed?’

  ‘Yes.’ Clara held her gaze. ‘It is. He will sort this.’

  After a moment’s pause, Angela nodded. ‘Then let’s get back to him.’

  It didn’t take them long to get back to the village centre, but even here the streets were disconcertingly deserted.

  As they were about to make their way across the green a sudden noise made Clara start. Something small was moving from behind the war memorial, half hidden in the shadows cast by the two huge elm trees either side of it.

  ‘Something’s there,’ she whispered, dragging Angela into the garden of one of the cottages that bordered the green. Crouching in the flowerbed they peered over the top of the low, stone wall as the small shape stepped out into the sunlight.

  Angela gave a sigh of relief. ‘It’s all right. It’s Emily Nichols.’ She frowned. ‘I can’t see her mother, though…’

  Angela started to rise from her hiding place but Clara caught her by her arm, pulling her back down. ‘No, wait a moment, something’s wrong.’

  Angela shook herself free. ‘What’s wrong is that a little girl is out there on her own. I’m going to get her.’

  Before she could move, the door to the Post Office on the other side of the green swung open and Simon George stepped nervously out into the street.

  ‘Emily!’ he hissed. ‘Over here! Quickly!’

  The little girl didn’t move.

  Obviously agitated, Simon hurried across the road towards her. He was constantly checking the sky above him. Clara followed his gaze. What was he looking for? He had almost reached Emily when the 3-year-old suddenly turned, raised her hand to point at him, and let out a horrifying, almost inhuman scream.

  Almost immediately the air was filled with a deep throbbing hum, and half a dozen huge mosquitoes swept into the village green, their wings a blur of movement in the late-morning light.

  Simon turned to flee, but he had no chance. The mosquitoes swarmed around him as he flailed out at them, but they always kept just of reach. Suddenly one of them swooped down, landing on his back, and Clara heard him scream in pain as the creature stabbed through his shirt with its needle-like proboscis.

  The postmaster slumped to his knees as the mosquito lifted from his back, re-joining the rest of the swarm, rising high into the sky and vanishing over the rooftops. For what seemed an eternity, Simon knelt there, head bowed, and Clara was beginning to think he must be dead. Then, with almost puppet-like movements, his head jerked back upright, and he clambered unsteadily to his feet.

  Clara and Angela ducked down, pressing themselves tight against the wall, as Simon and Emily started to move slowly towards them. All around the green, villagers were starting to appear, drawn by Emily’s scream. They shuffled slowly forwards, arms hanging limply, their faces grey and sallow, their eyes unfocused and glazed. The zombie-like effect it had on the faces of the more elderly of the village inhabitants was bad enough; on the children like Emily it was simply terrifying.

  Clara looked desperately at Angela. ‘We’ve got to find somewhere to hide!’

  Angela nodded towards a narrow passageway leading to the rear of the cottage. ‘Through there.’

  On hands and knees, the two of them scrabbled along the passageway, emerging into a small, neat patio garden
. At the end of the garden was the steep grass slope of the railway embankment.

  As they hurried across the lawn, another horrible wail came from the village green, followed by a recognisably human shout of terror.

  Angela turned, her faced creased with uncertainty. Clara couldn’t begin to imagine how she must be feeling, seeing her home invaded by monsters, her friends and neighbours attacked, violated.

  ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ she said gently. ‘If we go back, if we try to help, then we’re lost too.’

  ‘I know, I just feel so helpless.’ Angela wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

  ‘I know. But we have to go. Now.’

  Angela nodded, and the two women scrambled up the embankment, over the railway line and into the unknown of the fields beyond.

  Chapter

  Six

  The Doctor lay on his back in the dark underneath one of the church pews, listening as the spider shifted around in the rafters above him. With his eyes closed and his hands clasping his sonic screwdriver to his chest, he looked for all the world like one of the stone knights that adorned the ancient sarcophagi ranged around the church interior.

  From outside there had been disturbing sounds. High-pitched, almost inhuman screeches, the fluttering of wings, and all-too human screams of fear and pain. Whatever was happening to this village, it had entered the next phase.

  Charlie Bevan lay under a pew a few feet away, dabbing at his face with his increasingly grubby-looking handkerchief. He had been desperate to get out of the church, but the Doctor was certain that if they tried to make a run for it they wouldn’t get more than a few hundred metres, if that. Bizarre as it might seem with the spider hanging above them, as long as they remained undetected, this was probably the safest place in the village at present.

  There was a sudden rustling noise from high above them, and the Doctor’s eyes snapped open. The spider was moving, the harsh bristles that covered its legs and body scraping against the ancient timbers of the church roof as it squeezed its way back outside.

  As soon as the Doctor was certain that the creature had gone, he and Charlie clambered out from underneath the pews.

  ‘Thank God.’ Charlie Bevan rubbed at his aching back. ‘My stomach was starting to rumble and I was certain that monster was going to hear it.’

  Motioning to the policeman to stay quiet, the Doctor crept over to the church door, carefully turning the huge iron handle and allowing the door to open a little.

  The village was totally still – no voices, no traffic. Even the birds had fallen silent. The Doctor was about to slip outside when movement at the far side of the churchyard caught his eye. Several of the villagers were making their way across the green. The Doctor frowned. There was something wrong about the way they were moving. They were sluggish, their arms hanging heavy at their sides. As they shambled past the entrance to the churchyard the Doctor caught a glimpse of their faces. Every one of them was blank and staring, their skin grey, their eyes dull.

  ‘What’s going on out there?’ whispered Charlie from inside the church.

  The Doctor waved angrily at him to be quiet.

  Suddenly there was a commotion from the far side of the green. There was the roar of an engine and a car sped from one of the lanes that crisscrossed the village.

  As one, the zombie-like villagers turned and started to run towards the noise. The driver didn’t have a chance. Every way that he turned, more of the villagers closed in on him. Eventually he tried to turn a little too fast, and there was the squeal of rubber on tarmac as he lost control of the car and went crashing into one of the drystone walls.

  At once the assembled villages let out a ghastly howl of triumph, and there was the low thrumming of wings as six huge mosquitoes swept into the village square.

  Struggling to untangle himself from the seatbelt and airbag, the driver had no chance to fend them off. As the Doctor watched, the villagers pulled open the door and hauled the helpless man from the vehicle, forcing him to his knees and exposing the nape of his neck.

  At once one of the insects dived forward and there was a cry of pain as it delivered its sting. Almost immediately, the driver stopped thrashing and, as the group stepped away from him, he clambered stiffly to his feet.

  At once the group started to disperse, the driver now part of the shambling horde making its way out of the village green.

  The Doctor closed the church door. Things were starting to move too fast even for him. As he tried to make sense of this latest development, he mulled over everything that had happened over the last few hours; the signal detected by the TARDIS, the appearance of the giant insects, the sealing off of the village, the markings on the stones. Then there was the bombing raid that had occurred during the Second World War. There were so many disparate pieces of the puzzle, but as yet he could find nothing common to connect them.

  Charlie Bevan was looking at him with concern. ‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it? There’s something really bad going on out there.’

  Lost in his own thoughts, the Doctor just nodded.

  Charlie wiped the perspiration from his face. ‘I’ll tell you this, Doctor. No one is ever going to make fun of old Robin Sanford and his war stories again.’

  The Doctor turned to face him, an eyebrow raised. ‘War stories?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘Robin was a private in the Home Guard back in the 1940s. He lives on a farm on the far side of the village. Been living there since he was a child. Used to come out on a Saturday night, have a pint or two too many, and start going on about how his platoon fought off giant bugs from outer space during the war. Became quite a laughing stock around the village. Tends to keep himself to himself these days.’ Charlie tailed off. ‘Never even considered that he might be telling the truth…’

  ‘Thank you, Charlie Bevan!’ The Doctor’s eyes were blazing. That was the last bit of the puzzle he needed. Giant bugs from space. That just couldn’t be a coincidence. ‘This farm, how far is it?’

  Charlie shrugged. ‘A ten, fifteen-minute walk.’

  The Doctor muttered an ancient Gallifreyan curse under his breath. Avoiding the insects was tricky enough as it was, but insects assisted by their human allies…

  ‘You’re not thinking of going out there…?’

  ‘Do you want all this to stop?’ The Doctor’s voice was sharp. ‘Because if you do then I need to find out exactly what is going on. Robin Sanford has information, and I need to talk to him as quickly as possible.’

  ‘But we’re never going to get through the village without being spotted!’

  ‘I can show you a way.’

  A nervous voice echoed around the deserted church. Charlie Bevan nearly jumped out of his skin. The Doctor spun around trying to locate where the voice had come from. The pale, frightened face of a young boy was peering out at them from underneath the heavy velvet drape that hung over the communion table.

  ‘And how exactly are you going to manage that?’ asked the Doctor, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

  ‘There’s a secret passage,’ said the boy matter-of-factly.

  ‘Of course there is.’ The Doctor’s face broke into a broad grin.

  The Land Rover sped past mile after mile of stationary traffic, the frustrated drivers venting their anger by sounding their horns angrily and demanding to be told what was going on. Colonel Dickinson just ignored them. In the sky ahead he could see the column of black smoke that marked their destination.

  At the head of the queue was a roadblock with two soldiers diverting the traffic along alternative routes. As the Land Rover approached, the soldiers sprang to attention, one directing them to park on a lay-by just outside the village perimeter. As the Land Rover crunched to a halt on the gravel, an officer hurried to meet them.

  ‘Good morning, Colonel.’ The officer saluted sharply.

  ‘Captain Wilson.’ Dickinson returned the salute. ‘What’s the situation here?’

  ‘We’ve set up a forward com
mand post, sir, and we have squads stationed at several points all around the village. Can’t get in, though. See here.’ The captain led them through the bustle of soldiers and equipment to where a sheath of web hung between two large elm trees, totally blocking the road in front of them.

  The colonel reached out to touch it, but Captain Wilson caught his arm. ‘I wouldn’t do that, sir. Couple of the men tried to climb it when we arrived; we’re still trying to cut the stuff off them. All roads into the village appear to have been sealed off the same way, the railway line too. Plus there’s some kind of communication blackout. Landlines and mobile signals are both down. We’ve managed to boost RT signals, but it’s very glitchy.’

  ‘Any word from inside the village?’

  ‘Not a peep, sir. We’ve had spotters checking from all around the perimeter. Definitely movement in there, but no communication in or out.’

  The colonel nodded then glanced back at the queue of traffic. ‘What are we telling the locals?’

  ‘Simply that there was an accident during manoeuvres. For the moment that seems to be doing the job, but the longer the communication blackout goes on the more unlikely it is that our cover story is going to hold water.’

  ‘And what about that?’ The colonel gestured towards the column of smoke. ‘Any chance of recovering survivors?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir.’ Captain Wilson shook his head. ‘We tried to send a rescue team in, but…’ He broke off. ‘It’s easier if you just see for yourself.’

  He handed the colonel a set of binoculars and the two men climbed up onto the back of one of the Spartan armoured personnel carriers that sat grumbling in the roadway.

  The colonel raised the binoculars and Captain Wilson pointed towards the church. ‘In the shadows near the tree line.’

  The colonel focused the binoculars, and then took a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Good God.’

  The beetle lurking under the trees was huge. The size of a car. The colonel gave an involuntary laugh. ‘A ruddy Volkswagen Beetle…’