‘Of course. He’s on Daffodil.’
Daffodil, it transpired, was the name of the ward. The woman made Donna sign in and show some ID, then buzzed her through quite cheerfully. Donna felt like apologising to her for her plans to tie her up and make a run for it but instead headed off warily into the depths of the hospital.
It was just a place, after all. The corridors, save for staff walking purposefully up and down, were empty. Occasionally there would be a room – the door closed; again the reinforced glass – with people in, sitting, staring blankly at the television. Many people looked unhappy, but then, they were watching Homes Under the Hammer.
Donna felt ashamed of herself for being so scared. She’d walked into plenty of environments stranger and weirder than this and not felt the slightest quiver of discomfort. These were her prejudices, no more.
A tiny girl, thinner than a ghost, who looked no larger than a child – but could not, of course, be a child – fluttered past the end of the corridor, staring at Donna with huge wide eyes. Then she was gone.
And then Donna hit the inpatient wards.
It was like chaos had broken out. There was shouting, screaming, yelling everywhere. Pure rage. The worst language Donna had ever heard. And, occasionally, a high-pitched bleeping and the shouts and screams of medical staff as they attended yet another emergency.
The door ahead of her was locked, but it did absolutely nothing to keep out the noise and the panic. She flinched as a huge face suddenly popped up on the other side of the glass, the face a rictus of rage, teeth bared, eyes wide, spittle flying. She jumped back instinctively. A medic came and pulled the man away, and Donna wanted to shout for them to stay away. Stay away from the spittle; from the rage; that it was infectious.
A large nurse came and unlocked the door. And Donna walked into bedlam, heart pounding.
Daffodil ward had been done up in bright summery yellow and green colours. It had a heavy antiseptic smell about it, as if the staff spent a lot of time cleaning up unpleasant bodily fluids, and was a men only ward. There were moans and groans from every room; a couple of beds in each, then a run of private rooms. The imposing-looking nurse led her down the corridor.
‘Fourth on the left,’ she said. ‘Don’t agitate him, please. We’re trying to use medication to get him under control.’
‘I’m not sure you should do that,’ said Donna. ‘What do you think is wrong with him?’
The nurse shrugged. ‘It seems to be a sudden schizophrenic break. Becoming oddly common. Modern life, we think.’
Donna shook her head. ‘That’s not my Gramps. That’s not the Grandpa I know.’
‘Everyone says that.’
Donna shot the nurse some evils. ‘He’s fought for this country. He knows how to control himself!’
‘Go and see him,’ said the nurse. ‘But you can’t stay for long: I have to be in the room with you, and I’m busy.’
‘Why?’ said Donna.
‘Because you can’t touch him or loosen his restraints.’
Donna was starting to get seriously worried. ‘You’re kidding?’
The nurse shook her head. ‘It’s for your own safety.’
Her heart filled with trepidation, Donna followed the nurse down the narrow yellow corridor, filled with the groans and imprecations of the lost.
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
The Doctor stared at his origami globe of the world, still amazed.
From Seoul, South Korea, to its antipodes; the deepest rainforest of Boa, in Southern Brazil. A line. Straight through the centre of the Earth.
The Doctor hadn’t been entirely sure if his hunch was correct. The spa had more than proved it for him.
But if it were the case . . . then it was technology way, way beyond where twenty-first-century Earth should be. Which meant a little helping hand from somewhere else in the universe. Which in the Doctor’s long and mighty experience rarely ended well.
He walked on through the night and over the next few days, following the matchstick edge with pin-like precision. He forded a mighty and uncharted waterfall that bounced down like liquid rainbows. He narrowly avoided standing on a previously undiscovered species of toad. He caught the attention of an ink-black puma, which regarded him with untroubled curiosity before they nodded to one another and the puma stalked back into the darkness of its cave.
He felt the tremors, the humming, before he got there. It felt like the ground was pulsating ever so slightly. There was obviously something right ahead. But there was no break in the forest canopy above; no way anything could be spotted by helicopter or satellite.
Then he felt the temperature drop. It was not yet near nightfall, but he could feel it. The wind had an icy reach, even though that should be impossible in the 38 degree heat of the jungle.
And there it was again. An icy tingle. The Doctor moved towards it instinctively. And finally the clearing opened ahead, revealing a sight that, even though he had been expecting it, still took his breath away. He stopped and put his hands in his pockets, his eyes following upwards.
‘All right,’ he said quietly, gratified and saddened to see his hunch confirmed. ‘And the great gate was a knife edged wind,’ he quoted softly to himself.
Chapter
Thirty-Nine
Donna passed the central doctor’s station on her way up the corridor. A junior doctor, who looked about 12 years old, was desperately trying to placate one patient whilst writing out a prescription for another. She looked far too young to be there and didn’t even glance up as Donna passed.
Heavy security guards were trying to pull two men apart. Even as they did so, Donna heard their voices getting higher and higher, as it seemed as if they were going to turn on one another.
The private room at the end of the corridor was small, but it wasn’t the padded cell Donna had been fearing. Instead it was just a normal room, with a window looking out over nicely tended gardens.
Looking at the bed, Donna got a real shock. It was a normal hospital bed – but with Wilf lying in it, the sides up and two leather straps across his body, holding him tightly down. Donna’s hand went to her mouth in horror.
‘We ran out of humane restraints,’ said the nurse apologetically. ‘Sorry. We haven’t had a crisis like this in quite a while.
‘Gramps?’ Donna said quietly, entering the room.
But the man on the bed scarcely resembled her grandfather at all. His face was contorted with fury; there was spit on his beard. He was howling incoherently, twisting in the straps.
‘Gramps!’ Donna ran to the bed, her heart pounding. ‘What’s wrong? It’s me, Donna. What’s wrong?’
‘You scum! I’ll show you! I’ll show you!’
Donna retreated.
The nurse nodded, in a not unfriendly way. ‘Yes, sorry. He’s been like that for two days.’
‘Have you sedated him?’
‘Nothing we’ve found seems to have worked yet. He’s had enough diazepam to fell a horse. We’ve tested him for dementia, but it isn’t that.’ She frowned. ‘More and more drug-resistant cases we’ve seen coming in. You’ve seen it out there. We’re overwhelmed. We can’t cope.’
‘It’s infectious, you know,’ said Donna.
The nurse shook her head. ‘A lot of people think mental illness is catching,’ she said sternly. ‘It’s wrong and it’s stigmatising.’
‘Yes,’ said Donna. ‘Normally you’re completely right. But this is different. It’s completely different. Can’t you tell?’
The nurse shrugged.
‘But it’s everywhere!’ Donna went on. ‘People keeling over! Getting agitated! You must see this is different!’
The nurse shook her head and folded her arms severely. ‘Since I arrived in Britain,’ she said, ‘I’ve just been waiting for this. All this stress. All this pressure. How much is your house worth? What does your job pay? What’s your commute? Only two hours? Mine is four hours. What are you driving at the moment? How attractive is your other half?
How fat is he? Stuff stuff stuff, let’s go supersize, double portions, double measures, schools, mortgages, stuff, stuff, more stuff, screens parked in front of your kid’s faces, screens parked in front of your face so you don’t even . . . you don’t even look at your own children . . .’
Her voice trailed away.
‘My only surprise,’ she said softly, ‘is that it’s taken this long.’
Wilf’s muffled curses could still be heard from the other end of the ward.
‘Still,’ said Donna. ‘Still. It is . . . I can’t tell you how I know. But it is a disease. And I think . . . it’s a disease of the blood.’
‘That’s what they used to think,’ sniffed the nurse. ‘What do you want us to do, let it? There might be some leeches left down in the basement.’
‘No,’ said Donna. ‘But we have the same blood type . . . can you give him some of mine?’
‘He hasn’t lost any blood,’ said the nurse sternly. ‘There’s absolutely no need.’
‘I’m telling you! There’s something in his blood making him act this way,’ said Donna.
The nurse looked at her as if she was about to get her turfed out. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I realise you’re upset about your grandfather. But you have to realise we’re doing everything we can to make him comfortable.’
‘Well, you aren’t,’ said Donna. ‘Because you have absolutely no idea what’s the matter with him.’
‘I’m sorry to say,’ said the nurse, ‘we see a lot of this in dementia patients.’
‘He’s not a dementia patient! He does the crossword every morning. OK, it’s the Metro one, but it still counts!’
‘I’m sorry,’ said the nurse in a final tone that clearly indicated to Donna that she’d been up against bigger and uglier relatives than her and generally taken the upper hand. ‘I’m afraid it’s time for you to leave.’
‘Well then, you’re going to have to find me a bed,’ said Donna, folding her arms. ‘Because I’m not going.’
The nervous 12-year-old junior doctor sidled past. She stopped in the doorway, awkwardly, fiddling with her glasses. She had a long plait down the back of her white coat which made her look even younger, and a soft voice.
Donna gave her the stink eye. If a long-serving staff nurse couldn’t shift her, she didn’t think this one was going to have much luck.
‘Um, Mrs Mott—’
‘It’s Noble actually,’ said Donna. ‘There’s two ways of being a grandfather.’
‘All right, Mrs Noble, if you could just—’
‘It’s Miss Noble, actually . . . Oh god, never mind. Look, I’m not moving.’
‘No, no.’ The doctor shot a quick look at the staff nurse. ‘If you could just pop into my office, Miss Noble . . .’
Donna found herself following, preparing a few choice words with which she was going to let the doc know exactly who she was dealing with here, and why she was very, very wrong to go up against Donna Noble . . .
‘Sit down, please,’ said the doctor. The tiny office was windowless and cheerless. There was a mop in one corner and large towering piles of files in another. It looked like a place for hastily convened bad news.
Donna sniffed. ‘Now, let me tell you . . .’ she began.
The doctor raised elegant hands, with short manicured nails in protest. ‘Please . . . Please, Miss Noble. Please. I want to help you. I heard what you said to Agnes. We’re . . . You’re right. This is completely different from anything I’ve ever experienced. We’re completely overwhelmed. I do want to help.’
Donna looked at her, suspicious. In her experience people saying those words usually ended up in a huge heap of trouble.
‘This . . . blood thing. You think it’s in the blood?’
Donna just stared at her, trying to work out where she was going.
‘It’s just . . . I have never seen so many cases. So many injuries, so many deaths. We’re a psychiatric unit. We’re here to help people. But there is no helping them. Our drugs are completely powerless. Nothing is working.’
‘That’s because it’s not a psychiatric illness,’ said Donna. ‘I keep saying it, nobody’s listening.’
‘I’m listening,’ said the woman. ‘I’m Dr Kaur. Asha.’
Donna blinked. ‘It’s a virus. They have a virus in their bloodstream that attacks them, makes them furious. You get it through the internet.’
The woman shook her head. ‘That’s not possible.’
‘It’s not naturally possible, no. That’s why it comes via the internet.’
At this the young woman started shaking her head.
‘Oh Lord, why is nobody ever harder to explain to than ruddy scientists!’ said Donna. ‘You know all the science you know isn’t all the science there is, right? You know there are things out there, right? Aliens?’
‘Well, I’ve never seen one,’ said the woman primly.
‘You’ve never seen a blooming virus either, with the naked eye, but you believe in those, right?’
Donna took a deep breath. She was not going to get angry. She wasn’t.
‘Look. You show the internet to someone from a hundred years ago and their head would explode. Now there’s stuff out there in the galaxy that will do the same thing today. You just have to go with it.’
There was a long pause. Donna wished she’d nicked the sonic screwdriver again, so she could have shown off some cool stuff.
‘You know nothing else is working,’ was all she could say. ‘You know this isn’t right, Asha. You know it’s weird and strange and scary and nothing you’ve ever seen before. Why is alien so difficult a concept to understand?’
Asha frowned. ‘So why do you think a blood transfusion? We don’t even keep blood here.’
‘Because it’s a virus in the blood. It’s OK, I know he’s A+. Like me. Give him mine. We can . . . I’m sure we can dilute it a bit. It’s an alien virus that goes round the blood, and it makes you angry. I’ve seen it. It makes you angry enough to give you a heart attack. To make you do all sorts of things . . . Please. Please give him some of mine. Can’t you at least try?’
The young doctor looked at Donna’s outstretched, imploring arm. ‘You have good veins,’ she said eventually.
‘Yeah, whatever,’ said Donna, who was trying to focus on what she had to do and not the actual doing of it. ‘Can you hurry this up?’
The woman blinked. Then she appeared to make up her mind.
‘Follow me,’ she said.
*
Agnes the nurse eyed them suspiciously as they went back into the little single room and Asha pulled the curtains around Wilf’s bed.
‘I’m just going to take a blood sample,’ she said loudly. ‘Totally routine.’
She efficiently ripped open a plastic sealed unit of tubing with a syringe on the end and expertly hung up a bag on a loop.
‘OK, sit down.’
Donna did so promptly, feeling the blood drain from her face. Oh she hated needles.
‘I’m just going to send it . . .’
Asha checked Wilf’s chart. Donna showed her her NHS card so they could double-check her blood type. Asha paused slightly and took a deep breath.
‘This is deeply unethical,’ she said.
Wilf muttered and shouted out loud.
Donna couldn’t even bear to look at the restraints. ‘No,’ she said, touching the leather straps. ‘This is unethical.’
Wilf screamed out loud and started to swear, a long list of everything he was going to do to people once he got his hands on them. His hands and feet were twitching, as if desperate to hit out at something.
Donna winced and held out her arm. ‘Do it quickly please.’
Asha cleaned inside her arm with an antiseptic wipe, then brought down the needle.
‘It’s good this kind of thing doesn’t bother you,’ she said, thrusting it through the skin and prodding it round to find the vein beneath. ‘Some people can’t bear needles going straight through their skin . . .’
&
nbsp; ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ said Donna, biting her lip. ‘I have been through so much more than . . .’ She looked away.
‘You’ve gone very pale,’ said Asha. ‘Ah, there it is! Never my strong point, getting it first time.’
‘I think I might be sick,’ said Donna.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Now I’m just inserting the tube . . .’
She had inserted the other end in Wilf’s arm, who had responded with a large amount of hollering and fairly colourful language.
‘Do you need any help in there, doctor?’ came the nurse’s low tones.
‘No, I’m fine thank you,’ shot back Asha, working speedily and expertly, as the blood finally started to flow from Donna’s arm into her grandfather’s.
‘OK,’ said Asha. ‘Well, I hope this is worth it . . . Oh for goodness’ sake. Nurse!’ she shouted, as Donna slumped gracelessly to the side.
Donna awoke to cold water being thrown on her face. She groggily wondered when the last time had been she’d woken up knowing where the heck she actually was.
Agnes and Asha’s concerned faces were in hers.
‘Seriously. You just fainted,’ Asha told her.
‘I hate needles,’ said Donna faintly, feeling her head go around like a washing machine.
Asha blinked. ‘You were the one who insisted I stuck one into you.’
‘Yeah,’ said Donna.
Asha looked at her, her mouth twitching. ‘Well, that was quite impressive.’
‘Not really,’ said Donna, taking a long drink of water. ‘It’s stupid to be scared of needles.’
‘Not you,’ said Asha.
Donna tried to stand up but it didn’t work out so well, and she quickly sat down again, thoroughly dizzy.
‘You all right there, love?’ came the gentle voice she knew so well.
‘Gramps!’ she said.
Wilf was looking up at her with tired eyes. ‘What am I doing here?’ he said. ‘The last thing I remember, there were some boys on a bus . . .’
Donna shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ she said. ‘How do you feel? Are you all right?’
‘I’m very sleepy,’ said Wilf. ‘And a bit hungry.’
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