Doctor Who BBCN13 - Sting of the Zygons Read online

  ‘So, while there’s no one to heckle,’ said Martha, ‘tell me more about the Zygons.’

  ‘A bunch of them crash-landed in Scotland centuries ago,’ the Doctor recalled. ‘They thought they were alone on the planet, sat there underneath Loch Ness with their little pet, quietly plotting to take over the world. Didn’t mention popping down to the Lakes now and then to borrow a pint of Skarasen milk.’

  ‘Milk?’ She looked at him. ‘That’s a joke, yeah?’

  He shook his head. ‘The Zygons depend on a Skarasen’s lactic fluid for food. Without it they’d die.’

  Martha shuddered. ‘You’d want to make sure your hands were warm before trying to milk that thing.’

  ‘And bring one hell of a bucket,’ the Doctor agreed.

  Suddenly there was a blur of motion ahead of them.

  Martha

  shrieked as a dark shape rolled down from the steep hillside in front of the car, blocking their way, and the Doctor stamped on the brakes.

  The rear wheels locked and whistled, and, for a terrifying moment, Martha thought she was going to go flying through the windscreen.

  She managed to hold on, but a thumping impact in the back of the seat told her that the sleeping Victor hadn’t fared so well.

  The car screeched to a halt centimetres from the object in the road, and the Doctor quickly turned to check on Victor, sprawled in the foot well with his rifles. ‘He’s out cold, bumped his head. But I think –’

  An awful keening, gurgling noise, somewhere between a blocked drain and a cry for help, rose up from the road ahead of them.

  The Doctor jumped out of the car, and Martha quickly followed him.

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  With a tightening of her guts, she saw what had fallen to block their way. It was panting wildly for breath, rocking on its back like a baby.

  And it was alien.

  The thing was orange-red with a huge, domed forehead, covered in thick, mushroom-like growths. Its features were all bunched up in the middle of its face, and it had no neck or shoulders – the head seemed to sprout straight from the torso, which looked like giant spots had burst all over it. Thick, crusty nodules ran down the creature’s chest like horrible buttons.

  The Doctor started feeling about the grotesque body as if looking for a pulse. ‘Speak of the Zygons, and one’ll come rolling down a hillside at you.’

  ‘This is a Zygon?’ Martha breathed. She saw now that there was a gaping, sticky wound at the back of the oversized head, and its legs were a butchered mess, crusted in thick, dark blood. She caught a feral look in the alien’s eyes. They were the eyes not simply of a creature in pain – but of a creature that hated.

  Then, with a mournful, sink-emptying sound, its chest fell still.

  ‘Dead?’ she ventured quietly.

  The Doctor nodded. ‘Afraid so. If we’d got him talking, perhaps he could have told us something about – No!’ He shouted down at the body: ‘Oh, come on, don’t do that!’

  ‘Do what?’ Martha stared at him – then became aware of a high-pitched whine in the air. She looked back at the Zygon’s body in time to see it glow with light and fade away to nothingness. ‘Is that normal?’ she whispered.

  Frustrated, the Doctor slapped his hand down on the track where the Zygon had been. ‘Molecular dispersal,’ he said. ‘The life signs of the crew are monitored from their ship’s control room. If one of them dies, the body can be zapped into particles like it was never here. . . ’

  Martha looked around warily in case any others might be about to follow it. ‘How d’you think it got those injuries? It didn’t pick them up in the fall.’

  ‘True. So whatever did for him could still be about up there. Let’s take a look!’ With that he went dashing off up the scree-covered hill-23

  side, his suit jacket flapping about him in the gusting wind.

  Sighing to herself, Martha ran after him – glad she’d decided to wear flat shoes today, but terrified of what he might find waiting at the top of the rise. It was more exposed up here. A few cows were grazing, unbothered by the vicious squalls of peppering rain.

  ‘This is no good.’ The Doctor squinted into the grey, spongy landscape of shadows. ‘Can’t see a thing. Whatever took a pop at that Zygon, it could be anywhere now.’ He looked at the cows. ‘Sorry to bother you, ladies, but have you seen anything big and nasty pass this way?’.

  Unsurprisingly, the cows ignored him. Martha shivered. She suddenly realised just how dark it was. No twinkling city lights in the distance, no street lamps. Just her and the Doctor, and the cold, blus-tery night.

  ‘This alien hunter you were on about,’ she said, pulling the overcoat closer around her. ‘Looks like it’s after the Zygons as well as their Skarasens.’

  ‘I wonder who they’ve upset,’ the Doctor mused. ‘I also wonder how many Zygons there are around here – and what they’re planning to do about it. . . ’

  ‘Doctor!’

  Both Martha and the Doctor started at the frantic shout. It was Victor. Straight away, the Doctor was off and running down the hillside, barely keeping his balance as his plimsolls slipped and skidded on the wet grass. Martha wasn’t so lucky, sliding a good deal of the way down on her bum.

  Victor was sitting up in the back of the car, pointing down the winding lane, towards a shadowy hillside. ‘Over there. Came out of nowhere. . . ’

  Martha followed the arrow of his finger – and, as scudding clouds fled the half-moon’s spotlight, she felt a chill go through her.

  There was a figure on the hillside. The figure of a young girl, maybe eight or nine, with pale skin and long blonde hair. As if mimicking Victor, she raised her arm, pointing away from them into the furrowed ridges of the distant darkness.

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  Then the moonlight dimmed as fresh clouds clustered. When they had passed on, the girl had gone too.

  The Doctor turned to Martha, eyes wide and bright. ‘Did you see that?’

  She nodded uneasily. ‘A girl. Pointing.’

  ‘A phantom.’ whispered Victor, dabbing at the bump on his head.

  ‘With an unearthly message from the other side!’

  ‘The other side of the valley, maybe.’ said Martha. ‘What’s over there?’

  ‘Toombs’ Fell, Wolvenlath Mere. . . ’ Victor shrugged. ‘Difficult ter-rain, not for your tourists.’

  ‘This is the night for spotting things!’ the Doctor enthused. ‘One giant water-monster, one phantom child, one shape-shifting alien, a couple of cows. . . ’

  ‘Er, excuse me?’ Martha grabbed his arm. ‘ Shape-shifting alien?’

  ‘Did I not mention that?’ He gave his wide-eyed innocent look.

  ‘Zygons have body-print technology. They capture people and keep them on board their ship – while they go out and take their victims’

  places in the human world.’

  Martha looked at him in dismay. ‘That’s not good. Because if these Zygons are being hunted, what better place to hide than in someone else’s body?’

  ‘Whatever are you talking about?’ Victor demanded. ‘Why have we stopped, anyway? What happened to my head?’ By now he was looking mildly affronted. ‘What are we even doing here?’

  ‘Lots of questions,’ mused the Doctor, jumping back into the driver’s seat. ‘Y’know, I think it’s time we got you home, big fella. Then I think it’s time that Martha and I went on a little hunt of our own.’

  ‘Oh?’ Martha wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. ‘Hunting what, exactly?’

  The Doctor grinned and stamped on the accelerator. ‘Answers!’ he yelled, and, with a grind of sticking gears, the Opel roared away.

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  EdwardLunncreptthroughthedark,wetforest,afour-boreshotgun clamped tightly in both hands. Teazel went ahead of him, his bristly tail wagging. Every few seconds, the fawn English Mastiff would stop to sniff at piles of mulchy leaves or a fallen tree; no doubt about it, he had got the scent of something.

  Lunn barely felt the coldness o
f the encroaching night, and he certainly felt no fear. So much of his life was spent hemmed in by the dreary mahogany of his offices. . . This was his release! The moonlight was fitful but strong enough to see by. He had his gun and his dog, and he was not about to give up this most promising trail for polite company and a game of cards back at Goldspur.

  ‘Good lad, Teazel,’ he whispered. ‘Who’s going to lead Daddy to the big kill then, eh?’

  He’d passed a number of broken trees now, the trunks crushed to splinters. It boded well, as he knew neither police nor soldiers had yet scoured the land around Wolvenlath. And while there were many hunters at large in the District, Lunn had seen none take the same trails as he. He could be in with a real chance of sniffing out the lair of this beast, and that could mean a medal when the King paid his visit. . .

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  Suddenly, Teazel stopped dead before a tangled thicket. His tail held still. He had seen something.

  ‘Here we go, then.’ Lunn muttered to himself, a thrill going through him as he held up his gun in readiness. He peered through the twisted branches and saw something moving in a small clearing beyond. He couldn’t see much detail in the moonlight but enough to be sure this was no great beast. It was the size and shape of a man, hunched over, peering about for something. Lunn felt a flash of disappointment. So much for being the only hunter on this patch. . .

  But then the figure turned sideways on, and a gasp escaped Lunn’s lips. This was no man. It was some inhuman monster. Its huge head sprouted straight from its chest, lending it a disturbing, almost foetal appearance.

  Obliging of you to give me such a big, fat target, thought Lunn, bringing the shotgun up shakily to his shoulder. ‘Time you went back to hell, whatever you are. . . ’

  Then he heard the wet crack of a stick, snapping close behind him.

  Teazel started barking. Lunn whirled around to find another of the creatures was creeping up behind him. Its eyes blazed with malice as it reached out with twisted fingers and lunged for his throat.

  Horrified, Lunn opened fire. The shot went wide, but Teazel threw himself at the monster, barking furiously, his teeth tearing at its orange flesh, driving it back.

  Lunn turned to find the first monster was now running towards him.

  He crashed away through the wet wood and bracken, the rasp of his breath loud in his ears. But not loud enough to drown out the howl of his dog in the thick of the forest behind him.

  He ran on and on, forcing his way through bushes and brambles, until suddenly he found himself out in the open. The dark sky was furry with cloud, the sleepy eye of the half-moon gazing down on the shadow-world below. He heard more crashes behind him. The things were still coming after him. He had to reload his shotgun-But there was another one here in the field. He caught a glimpse of its dark form as it ducked under a fence and came running towards him.

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  Cursing under his breath, his heart pounding wildly, Lunn staggered off again through the thick mud of the fresh-ploughed field. It led onto a slope of pasture. At least it was a downhill run, he was grateful for that.

  Until he saw that at the end of the slope there was nowhere to go.

  He had reached the edge of the fell, with only a steep, sheer drop down to the waters of Wolvenlath Mere.

  They’re herding me towards it, he realised.

  Lunn stumbled to a halt close to the straggly hedges that guarded the lip of the precipice. Then he turned to face the sinister beasts.

  There were five of them now: one cutting off his flight to the left, one guarding the path to the right, three more closing on him from the front. Mechanically, he reloaded the shotgun. But he knew that even if he downed one of these devils, the others would get him. And then. . .

  ‘Human,’ rasped one of the creatures in a gurgling whisper.

  The beasts can speak.

  ‘Stay back,’ he called in a high, wavering voice, willing his fingers to work, his hands to stop shaking. ‘Stay away from me!’

  ‘Remain still.’ The night-creatures were closing on him. ‘You cannot escape.’

  ‘We have need of you,’ hissed another.

  Lunn stared round at the beasts. ‘Can’t escape, you say?’ He blasted at the nearest of the creatures. Its death cry rent the air as he turned and blundered through the hedges at the cliff edge, holding his breath.

  ‘Pursue!’ came the terrible, inhuman hiss as they ran to get him.

  Lunn shut his eyes, and not a whimper escaped his lips as the ground fell away beneath his feet.

  ‘Here we are then.’ announced the Doctor, rolling up in the car beside an ornate stone archway crowned with intricately carved ivy. ‘Excess marks the spot.’

  Martha saw a brass plaque declaring that this was the Goldspur estate. ‘And not before time.’ she said, rubbing I he small of her 29

  bruised back. The last mile had been ‘specially bumpy, the narrow muddy lanes churned up and potholed.

  ‘Splendid run, chauffeur.’ called Victor. ‘Got a place to stay? Or are you dossing in the pure, tonight?’

  The Doctor considered. ‘Maybe if we sweet-talked old Haleston. . . ’

  Martha shook her head. ‘No way. They’d take one look and stick me downstairs with the servants.’ She frowned. ‘And even if they didn’t, I’ve seen Gosford Park! You need two changes of outfit just to go to the loo. Me – one dress. One crumpled, dirty, dishevelled dress. So we are not going in there tonight. OK?’

  The Doctor reflected on this outburst for a moment, then turned to Victor. ‘Any good hotels in the area? B and Bs? Tents?’ He glanced back at Martha. ‘How do we feel about tents?’

  ‘No tents.’

  ‘No tents. . . Gypsy caravan? Stable? There’s this police box I know of, but. . . ’

  There’s quite a decent hunting lodge that borders the back of the estate.’ said Victor cheerfully. ‘About a half-mile round the track. Pop-ular with tourists come high season, but at this time of year, they may have room.’ He flexed his bandaged hand. ‘I think the war wound’s up to it – hop back in and I’ll take you.’

  Martha considered walking. Then she thought of the eerie apparition of the small girl out in the wilderness. She consulted with her spine and decided that perhaps they were both feeling up to one last jaunt in the motor car after all.

  An hour later, Martha was feeling happier. Mrs Unswick, the owner of the Lodge, was a plump woman in her fifties with long, plaited hair and a knowing look in her eyes. At first, she had seemed suspicious of her prospective guests’ lack of luggage. But Victor had vouched for them, the Doctor had chatted the old girl up a bit, and soon she was happily revealing she only had one other paying guest that night and would be glad to make a couple of rooms available.

  Martha had bagsied the one with the biggest bed and, after a ruth-less tournament of stone-scissors-paper, had also won the right to the 30

  first bath. Only when she realised it was a tin bath and a jug of hot water in a freezing cold room did she wonder if the Doctor had played to lose.

  After a quick clean up which left her shivering even under five blankets, Martha discovered fresh clothes in the wardrobe – a long fawn overcoat, a flowing khaki wool skirt trimmed with black satin and a woollen shirt-blouse patterned with a dark check. With delight, she wriggled into the warm checks, pulled on the skirt and went downstairs.

  She found the Doctor in the sitting room with Mrs Unswick, in front of the fire. It was a large room that seemed smaller thanks to the heavy drapes, densely striped wallpaper and so many dark wooden cabinets dotted about, crammed with china ornaments. A stag’s head stared glassily out from a plaque on the wall, with framed maps of the area on either side.

  ‘Ah! Clara’s clothes suit you very well,’ said Mrs Unswick approvingly.

  ‘Thank you for the loan – I can give the Doctor his coat back now.’

  Martha smiled. ‘Is Clara your daughter?’

  ‘Goodness no, my chickabiddy!’ The large woman gave a laugh tha
t rattled the china. ‘Never had time for kiddies, not in my London days and certainly not now. Clara worked here as my maid till a week ago. I had to let her go – always sticking her beak into other people’s business, was Clara.’

  The Doctor raised his eyebrows. ‘And so you took her clothes?’

  ‘Compensation!’ said Mrs Unswick firmly. ‘She made off in the night with some of my best silver! Still, it’s all done with now. Like. . . poor little Molly Melton.’

  ‘Mrs U thinks we saw a ghost this evening,’ said the Doctor, his eyes agleam.

  ‘The poor girl went missing from the fields round Kelmore two weeks ago,’ Mrs Unswick explained. ‘Molly was always one to playa little too far from home, they say. And one night she never came back.

  A week after that, the village lay in ruins. Some say they saw Molly just standing there, watching it all. Like a vengeful wraith, making 31

  certain no one else would ever come home in her place. And now it’s said she points the way to danger. . . Warning the innocent away.’

  ‘Never thought of myself as innocent before,’ said Martha.

  But Mrs U had finished her tale, and the only sound was the crack and spit of logs in the fire and the heavy tick of the clock on the mantel, the only movement the dance of the woman’s shadow in the firelight.

  ‘Of course, Molly could have been abducted by shape-changing creatures from another world,’ the Doctor suggested brightly.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Doctor,’ Mrs Unswick chided. ‘She’s a spirit, and that’s that.’

  ‘A sprightly spirit. She had it away on her ghostly toes in a blink. . . ’

  The Doctor got up and looked at the framed map. ‘Ah! The surrounding area. Now, we left Lord Haleston and his little discovery here. . . ’

  He started tracing his finger along a pathway. ‘We stopped the car when our friend fell into the road here, and Molly’s image appeared to us. . . here!’ He tapped the glass. ‘Yep, pointing towards Wolvenlath, just as Victor said.’ He looked enquiringly at Mrs Unswick. ‘Any dangers to the innocent there that you know about?’