Part 19 (1/2)

He edged around the corner, the torch beam dancing ahead. A huge spider in a glowing yellow web sprang out and confronted them. Hastily the Doctor raised his hand and whispered, 'Nothing to worry about. Come on.'

They moved slowly forward again. All at once the Brigadier's head slumped forward and he whispered despairingly, 'I can't go on, Doctor...'

'Nine times seven,' the Doctor responded.

'What...?'

'Quickly, Brigadier. Work it out. Nine times seven.'

'Um... er... sixty-three.'

'Fourteen times eleven.'

'Er... er... I can't...'

'You can. can. Fourteen times eleven.' Fourteen times eleven.'

'One hundred... one hundred and fifty four.'

'Three thousand, seven hundred and eight minus one thousand, six hundred and forty.' Slowly, the Doctor firing maths questions at the Brigadier, they moved on.

Approaching from the other end, Benton too could feel the mental tugging. In his case, it was still feeble, half-hearted, a sensation he was able to shrug off by barking out orders to his men, urging them to concentrate. Some of them were bearing up well, but others seemed less able to cope with the Xaranti infection, pointing their guns at every glowing phantom and cheesily grinning skeleton.

Benton wondered what would happen if and when they did did find the Xaranti. Given the state of the men, he doubted that the Doctor would get much of a chance to communicate with it. It was ironic really: the creature was likely to die at the hands of its own infected prey. find the Xaranti. Given the state of the men, he doubted that the Doctor would get much of a chance to communicate with it. It was ironic really: the creature was likely to die at the hands of its own infected prey.

'Go steady there!' he hissed as the men jostled for position behind him, growling bad-temperedly at one another. 'Let's stay in line, stop arguing, and keep an eye out for the real enemy, shall we?'

His words continued to have a placatory effect for now, but how long would it last?

All at once the corridor widened a little, and the track gleaming in the dim torchlight ahead of them cornered sharply to the left. Just before the bend stood a troll-like creature with glowing orange eyes, brandis.h.i.+ng a luminous placard announcing: TURN BACK - SWAMP AHEAD. No sooner had Benton taken this in than he heard a commotion behind him. He half-turned, opening his mouth to deliver a few choice words - and someone blundered into the back of him, jabbering incoherently.

Benton was so surprised that he was caught off-balance and careered into the wall with such force that it jarred his shoulder and propelled him on to his knees. His torch went flying, landing with a crack, its beam remaining mercifully intact. Shuffling toward him was Corporal Burke, one of the youngest of his platoon, eyes wide and staring, a mumbled, incoherent stream of words trickling from his slack mouth.

He was dragging his rifle along the floor behind him. His right hand was scratching his chest and left shoulder so vigorously that he was probably drawing blood.

'Corporal Burke,' Benton grated, rising to his feet and stretching out an arm to steady the young soldier. 'Corporal Burke, back into line this minute.'

Abruptly the young man's face contorted with rage, he released a gurgling, animal-like cry and suddenly he was lunging at Benton's face with his rifle-b.u.t.t.

Benton swiftly twisted aside and the b.u.t.t glanced off his already-bruised shoulder, re-igniting a white flash-fire of pain inside him.

Burke dropped his rifle with a clatter and ran past him as if he intended to engage the troll ahead in physical combat. He was almost there when something black and huge, moving with scuttling, breath-taking speed, appeared as if from nowhere and plucked the man off his feet like a spider s.n.a.t.c.hing a fly.

The young corporal looked up into a face full of bristles and black spider-eyes and screamed. The creature's tail whipped up over its back in a great arc and its scorpion-like sting speared through the back of the man's neck, killing him instantly.

Benton gaped at the creature for a moment, unable to say or do anything, then recovering his wits, he shouted, 'Fire!'

Instantly the small, confined s.p.a.ce became filled with the shattering din of gunfire and a lethal, horizontal rain of bullets.

The scream was a jagged blade of sound, tearing through the very fabric of the walls. Tegan jumped out of her skin and grabbed the back of Mike Yates's jacket. As the din was abruptly cut off, she said, 'Please tell me that was just a sound effect.'

Before Mike could answer the air was filled with the cacophony of a hundred small explosions. Instinctively the two of them ducked, then almost immediately Mike raised his head. 'Come on!' he shouted and began to run towards the sound.

Until the shooting started, Turlough had begun to feel like the only person left in the world. He sat on the padded bench in the back of the jeep, gazing at the Ghost Train building until the images on its frontage blurred. The only sound to break the silence was the plaintive cries of seagulls. He stretched and wondered idly whether he ought to find some shade.

He yawned and tried to put aside the guilt he felt at sitting out here whilst the rest of his friends were monster-hunting inside. He was only following the Doctor's orders, he told himself, and he had had accompanied the Doctor into the heart of the Xaranti s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p, so he was hardly a coward. He just didn't throw himself recklessly into situations like Tegan did, that was all. He was more thoughtful, had a greater sense of self-preservation. That didn't make him selfish, which was what Tegan had called him on several occasions, merely... accompanied the Doctor into the heart of the Xaranti s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p, so he was hardly a coward. He just didn't throw himself recklessly into situations like Tegan did, that was all. He was more thoughtful, had a greater sense of self-preservation. That didn't make him selfish, which was what Tegan had called him on several occasions, merely...

careful.

The scream from inside the Ghost Train shattered his thoughts. Turlough sat bolt upright in his seat, half-expecting the doors to burst open and disgorge either a fleeing line of terrified soldiers or the Xaranti creature itself.

It struck him that if the creature did did appear ahead of anyone else, he would be its only possible target. With this in mind, he stood up, intending to s.h.i.+ft into the driver's seat for a quick getaway if necessary. appear ahead of anyone else, he would be its only possible target. With this in mind, he stood up, intending to s.h.i.+ft into the driver's seat for a quick getaway if necessary.

As he stood, two things happened simultaneously. He registered slight movement some distance behind him and a sudden eruption of gunfire exploded from within the building, of such duration and ferocity that it sounded like one long, unbroken roar.

Turlough hunched his shoulders and glanced in that direction. As yet there was nothing to see. He turned and looked behind him. What he saw made his stomach clench, his throat tighten and his legs turn to water.

About twenty Xaranti hybrids, in various stages of transformation, were shuffling towards him. At their head he recognised the UNIT sentry - Corporal Manning - who had been on the gate. He was still in the early stages of transformation, his eyes staring, his expression zombie-like.

Behind him was a policeman in uniform, his eyes black and starting to bulge. A young man in a pair of denim shorts displayed a chest and shoulders covered in Xaranti spines; a girl of no more than thirteen had a hump on her back swelling and squirming beneath a pink Osmonds Osmonds T-s.h.i.+rt. T-s.h.i.+rt.

They were all moving slowly as if in a trance. It was if they were being summoned, drawn towards the Ghost Train like metal filings towards a magnet. They seemed oblivious to their surroundings, which Turlough hoped meant they would be oblivious of him too.

Part of Turlough wanted to stay still in the hope that the hybrids would not notice him. However, the greater part - the cowardly part, Tegan would have said - wanted to put as much distance between himself and these... these things as possible. He took a deep breath and jumped to the ground, little clouds of dust puffing up around his feet. The instant he moved, the hybrids reacted, as he had feared they might.

The girl in the pink T-s.h.i.+rt hissed, her head darting to follow his progress with an almost snake-like swiftness. Her back bulged more intensely, and then, with a ripping of cloth and a wet tearing of flesh, burst open, to release a thras.h.i.+ng, b.l.o.o.d.y ma.s.s of glistening crablike legs.

Turlough made an involuntary whimpering noise in the back of his throat. He didn't want to see any more. Panic made his movements jerky as he ran to the driver's side of the jeep and wrenched open the door. He threw himself inside, the smell of hot leather mingling with his fear to make him feel sick. For an awful moment it struck him that the driver of this vehicle might have taken the keys with him, but no, there they were, dangling from the ignition. He leaned over, grabbed the handle, slammed the door shut and locked it. He turned the ignition key and the engine revved into life.

Only now did he look up through the windscreen. He had had a vague idea that he could escape down the route dead ahead, but his heart sank as he saw a crowd of hybrids approaching from that direction.