Doctor Who BBCN08 - The Feast of the Drowned Page 8

  There was another deranged chorus of hooting from along the river

  – from the other way this time – and fresh uproar from the restaurant barge as the clientele craned to see. ‘That’s the tug on the news,’

  someone cried. ‘The one that towed the wreck!’

  ‘It’s ghosts! They’ve taken it over!’

  ‘Who’s riding it?’

  Rose stared, dumbfounded. ‘Oh. My. God.’

  The Doctor was balancing precariously on the prow of the tug as it ploughed through the water, wrestling with a tarpaulin that was covering the cabin windows, yelling something at whoever was inside.

  ‘New orders from Rear Admiral Crayshaw to all units,’ one of the soldiers shouted. ‘That boat’s run a blockade and must be stopped.’

  ‘We’ve got our hands full with this lot, sir,’ cried another.

  ‘Doctor!’ Rose sprinted away from the wharf and back dong the bank, racing to keep level with the tug. ‘Look, the river’s blocked up ahead! Police and soldiers.’

  ‘Rose!’ The Doctor looked across at her and waved cheerily. ‘You all right? What are you doing here?’

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  ‘What am I doing?’

  The Doctor had turned now to see both the river patrol boat and the ship with the soldiers, dead ahead. ‘Don’t like the look of them much.’ He pointed to the restaurant barge. ‘Hard to stop these things in a hurry. Need something to soften the impact.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Get everyone clear!’

  ‘You’re not joking,’ she muttered, adrenalin sweeping her straight on to the deck of the barge. She jumped on to a prominent table for ten, almost slipped in the salad and kicked a lobster flying. ‘Heads up, everybody,’ she yelled over the resultant screams. ‘Party of two on their way, and I don’t think they’ve booked.’

  Vida wondered if she would ever be able to prise her fingers loose from the ship’s wheel. It was sinking in, now – bullets. Orders to kill. For a moment, going to pieces seemed like a great idea. Then a sense of outrage had overtaken her (sense? Ha!) and she in turn had overtaken every other boat on the river in the powerful tug, following the Doctor’s frantic instructions about which way to spin the wheel.

  But it wasn’t just her fingers she could no longer feel; she was numb inside. How long could their luck hold? They were still running blind.

  The Doctor had freed a portion of the tarpaulin from the windows, but

  – Hang on, what was that he was shouting?

  His head suddenly pushed back in through the tug’s broken cabin window. ‘Vida, does this thing do a handbrake turn?’

  She sighed. ‘Left or right?’

  ‘Right.’ He blinked. ‘No protests? No argument?’

  ‘Is there any point?’

  The Doctor grinned. ‘You do think I’m cute.’

  She put on the brakes and spun the wheel, almost sent him tumbling into the Thames.

  ‘Come on, everyone off!’ Rose pointed to the tug, now speeding towards the restaurant on a collision course. ‘Shift yourselves, then!’

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  Some of the diners had spotted the danger already, were already clearing out. But those at Rose’s feet were just sat staring up at her in a mixture of shock and dismay. She grabbed a stuffed chicken breast from one woman’s plate and chucked it off the barge. ‘Well, go on!’

  she shouted. ‘Fetch!’

  ‘What the hell are we doing?’ Vida asked, as the Doctor helped her scramble out through the broken window on to the prow of the boat.

  She hoped she didn’t cut herself.

  Then she saw the barge looming up ahead of them and decided that, hey, a cut or two might not be so bad as long as she could avoid the broken limbs, the multiple head injuries, the awful, gut-twisting smash of-

  ‘Jump!’ yelled the Doctor, yanking her off her feet.

  ‘Come on, everyone off!’ Rose yelled at the diners again. ‘Quick and calm, yeah?’ She was going to add some of that guff they told you in fire drills about not stopping for your belongings – but it was pointless, because she already had a full-blown stampede on her hands.

  The gangplank groaned under the weight of so many people clomping across it, both customers and the staff from below deck, brought up by the headwaiter with seconds to spare.

  The tug was powering towards them in eerie silence, about to crush the nose of the barge against the river bank. The Doctor was poised at the prow, holding the hand of some slimline blonde – where did he find them?

  More to the point, what was Rose doing just watching when that thing was about to smash this deck into matchwood?

  Rose raced to the side of the barge and leaped desperately for dry land. There was an awesome, splintering crash behind her, and as she hit the ground it shook with the force of the collision. Mucky water rained down over her as she chanced a look back, saw the barge lurch and lift as it was crushed against the bank. The rending, scraping sound threatened to gouge out her eardrums.

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  ‘Doctor!’ she yelled, her eyes fixing on the mangled mess of the two vessels. Both were sinking already, taking on water with alarming speed. There was no sign of him, and her insides felt gummed up with fear. Surely he couldn’t be –

  Then suddenly there he was, hauling himself over the side of the knackered barge with the blonde. She had a cut on her forehead, but otherwise they seemed OK.

  For how much longer was another matter. Rose glanced behind her to find soldiers were charging up the street towards them. Quickly she jumped up and ran over to where the diners were milling about like lost lambs in search of a shepherd: Rose had decided to volunteer for the job.

  ‘Ladies and gents, we’re sorry for this disruption to your evening,’

  she announced, as poshly as poss. ‘These soldiers you see approaching will gladly give the first twenty customers a full refund for your abandoned meal, together with generous compensation packages for any distress you may have experienced. . . ’

  Already, the canniest of the clientele were dashing off towards the soldiers, and it didn’t take long for the rest to catch up. Soon they had formed an impenetrable serum, all but blocking the street.

  ‘Should keep the marines off our back for a minute or two,’ Rose said, turning to the Doctor as he approached with the blonde. He was limping a bit, but smiley as ever. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Right as a trivet,’ the Doctor replied. ‘D’you think they minded me barging in like that? Sorry.’ He bustled them off ahead of him, heading back towards the courtyard. ‘Vida Swann, meet Rose Tyler.’

  ‘Hi. You must be the assistant he told me about.’ The blonde smiled approvingly and looked up at the Doctor. ‘You were right, I can see they come in very handy.’

  Rose raised an eyebrow. ‘Assistant, am I?’

  ‘Well, not so much an assistant. More of a companion, really.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Or associate – how about associate? No, sounds like something off Crimewatch. My aide? Sidekick?’ He smiled at her.

  ‘P’raps you’re just Rose.’

  ‘I like the sound of that better,’ she agreed, smiling back.

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  ‘I don’t like the sound of those,’ said Vida. Rose listened too: sirens, getting closer. ‘We’re not out of this yet. This whole city will be after us now.’

  ‘Oi! You, girlie!’

  ‘Including that short, greasy bloke.’ The Doctor turned to Rose.

  ‘Why’s he waving his fist at you?’

  ‘Oh, God,’ said Rose. ‘It’s my taxi driver. I had to do a runner and I didn’t have the fare. . . ’

  ‘But this is perfect!’ The Doctor welcomed the taxi driver with open arms. ‘Can you take us to the headquarters of the European Office of Oceanic Research and Development?’ He turned back to Rose with a confidential air. ‘Vida works for them. Could be a useful temporary base of operations. We’ll get Mickey and the others to meet us over there, I want to look at –’

 
The taxi driver finally found enough voice to butt in. ‘You expect me to take you anywhere?’

  ‘We can pay you, now! Pay you loads!’ He nudged Vida. ‘Flash some cash, then.’

  Rose smiled at her sympathetically. ‘He’s a lousy date.’

  Vida pulled out a twenty from her jacket pocket. ‘And why do I get the feeling that now I’ve met him, I’m just going to go on paying?’

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  LeonardHuntleysataloneanddisgruntledinthesilentunderground workshop. It was close to 11 p.m., and the systems had lowered the brilliant lights to a more sympathetic level. He’d been off duty for almost an hour, sat here in the sterile gloom, and still no sign of Crayshaw. No word of what had happened to the Doctor either, for that matter, Once the soldiers stamped out from the decontamination chamber empty-handed, it was as if no one dared even to discuss it.

  Go home, he told himself. He’s obviously, not coming. Our friendly, neighbourhood intruder has led him a merry dance and worn the old boy out. Are you going to stick around all night?

  ‘Probably,’ Huntley murmured, sighing.

  The suggestion from

  Crayshaw that he stay behind for a meeting had sounded to him suspiciously close to an order. Besides, there was no one at home expecting him. A few online chess players waiting for him to perform his next move, a half-empty bottle of wine and a TV dinner. All in all, the meeting with Crayshaw had seemed a far more exciting prospect – if it ever actually happened.

  Then a low, sonorous whine started up. Someone was using the lift.

  Huntley jumped up, wiped his clammy palms on his jumper. He’d 81

  agonised over whether to keep wearing the protective suit even though he was off-duty, just to prove his dedication or something.

  But the wretched thing made him sweat buckets and he was nervous enough already.

  With a heavy industrial clunk the lift doors opened and Crayshaw emerged. He walked stiffly over, still wearing his dark glasses despite the gloomy lighting.

  Huntley cleared his throat. ‘Is everything all right, sir?’

  Crayshaw said nothing, but kept walking towards him.

  ‘I mean. . . has the intruder been caught yet?’

  ‘Come with me, Huntley,’ said Crayshaw. ‘You will see what has been caught.’ He walked straight past without a glance, heading for the door to the decon chamber.

  Huntley frowned. Crayshaw had lingered there alone before following his marines back out again. Surely he’d sniffed out all the clues he was going to? ‘Er, forgive me, sir, but I was wondering what it was you wished to discuss with me?’ No response. ‘Is it something to do with what the Doctor told me, or –’

  ‘There’s something I want you to see,’ said Crayshaw, entering the access code.

  The doors opened more smoothly than they had earlier. Some kind of sonic interference had completely scrambled the circuits, but luckily the systems boys had got on the case and fixed both outer and inner doors. You had to hand it to them. . .

  No. On second thoughts, you didn’t – they got enough credit around here as it was. But they hadn’t been singled out by Crayshaw for the sharing of privileged information, had they? They weren’t being shown into a shadowy decon chamber and the dank, filthy access corridor beyond in the dead of night. OK, fair enough, they probably wouldn’t be jealous of that part, but even so. . .

  Crayshaw led the way along the gloomy corridor, his step unerring and sure.

  ‘Not been used for a while, this area,’ Huntley observed. He was speaking to cover his unease, but the eerie echo only added to it. ‘I 82

  suppose you’ll order the remaining parts of the Ascendant to be taken down here in due course?’

  ‘Why should I do that?’ said Crayshaw quietly. ‘You’ve made nothing of the other sections. This Doctor provided more information than the rest of you after only a few minutes.’

  Huntley frowned. ‘You know, I didn’t mention this before, but. . .

  when the Doctor spoke to me, he did say something about aliens.’

  ‘Aliens?’

  ‘Aliens under the sea.’ He forced a laugh, but it came out stran-gulated and high-pitched. ‘High-tech sea monsters, I suppose. And I know that there have been all sorts of hoaxes and stunts concerning aliens visiting the Earth, but I firmly believe that there is a rational explanation for. . . ’

  As they came to the drainage chamber beneath the cargo lift, Huntley found the words drying in his throat. There were people clustered around the circular pool. They stood perfectly still. Ordinary people, of all colours – some suited, some scruffy, but all of them soaking wet, dripping on the grimy floor. Breathing slowly and heavily, in ragged unison. ‘How – how did these people get here?’ asked Huntley.

  ‘The overspill pipeline.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘It stretches from the river bed to the drainage pit.’

  Huntley stared, bewildered, at the silent figures. ‘How could they possibly get down there without drowning?’

  Crayshaw smiled. ‘They didn’t.’

  Now, with terror, Huntley recognised the awful grey pallor of the people in the chamber. He saw the red strafes on their cheeks and neck, the dull gleam in their eyes, as if moonlight had pooled there and turned slowly to stone. They looked like dead people, but-

  ‘Is this some kind of sick joke?’ he whispered. ‘You think I can’t see they’re still alive?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Crayshaw softly, raising his hands. ‘They are full of life.’

  ‘Will you stop speaking in riddles, and. . . ’

  Huntley stopped.

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  The old man had taken off his dark glasses. His eyes were huge, pale and shiny, like colossal pearls. His white skin began to unravel, melting and twisting like candlewax.

  ‘We want you to join us for the feast, Huntley.’ Crayshaw’s voice was growing softer, more sibilant, almost feminine as his body dwindled and stooped, as the scarf slipped away.

  Huntley screamed, staggered back, knocked into one of the silent onlookers – a mature lady in green tweeds. She toppled over; there was a splash. Huntley registered dimly that the pool was full almost to overflowing with dark water. A strong, salty smell flared his nostrils.

  There were further splashes as more and more of the ghoulish figures flopped into the water. He watched them, numb with fear. Not one rose again.

  ‘This is their home now,’ said the thing that had been Crayshaw,

  ‘Their new life has begun. And so too will yours.’

  ‘Let me go.’ Huntley covered his face with both hands. ‘I won’t tell.

  I won’t say anything to anyone.’

  ‘But you know of anti-cellularisation. Of alien things.’

  ‘No. No, I don’t.’

  ‘You are a solitary creature, Huntley. You may escape the feast. We cannot allow you to talk of this.’

  ‘No, please. . . ’ Huntley babbled. ‘I swear I don’t believe in any or it.’

  ‘Then let us arrange a demonstration.’

  Through his fingers, Huntley glimpsed something sinewy and thick rise up before him. Grasping hands pulled him into the pool, and it was like falling into glass. The salty water poured into his mouth, thickening like old porridge; filling him like hunger. He glimpsed large silvery eyes staring into his own, felt a shooting pain at the back of his neck.

  By then the blackness of the water was absolute, and he was lost.

  Rose and the Doctor caught up in the back of the cab. Vida sat in the front seat. Her mobile phone was pressed to her ear, though she wasn’t talking, just staring out of the window in silence. The taxi 84

  driver, mollified by cash, was playing country and western music. The duelling banjos and jaunty guitars made a bizarre soundtrack for the conversation.

  ‘This big secret underground base you trashed,’ said Rose, ‘why was it built, then?’

  The Doctor shrugged. ‘Started off as usual Cold War paranoia, I expect, leading on from Q Whiteha
ll.’ He must have caught her blank look. ‘You know, those deep tunnels for routeing power and communications between all the big government places, in case a nuclear war kicked off.’ He kept his voice low, glanced over at the cab driver.

  ‘Nowadays, with all this interest in the Earth from outer space. . . I’d say there were quite a few secret scientific bases in operation all over London.’

  ‘All under it, you mean.’ Rose looked down at her lap. ‘I’m sorry I messed up. Didn’t look after Anne like you told me.’

  ‘It was no one’s fault,’ said the Doctor quietly. ‘She’ll have got her dearest wish by now. Gone to join her son.’

  Rose nodded, though the thought hardly made her feel better. ‘At least Mickey stopped Keish going after Jay.’

  ‘Just as well. I’ve seen him.’

  ‘Mickey?’

  ‘Jay. Not some spooky see-through apparition. The real Jay. Or what he’s become, anyway.’ Rose shivered to see the haunted look on the Doctor’s boyish face. ‘S’pose he was holding up OK, considering he’d been subjected to some kind of alien vivisection. But I can’t see him sending Keisha a postcard any time soon.’

  ‘Will he be all right?’

  The Doctor said nothing. The next song came on, some mournful dirge about a mother losing her son.

  ‘Why couldn’t you take him with you?’ she asked quietly. ‘Funny story there. We were about to escape – very daringly, I might add

  – when a load of water tried to trap us and a pirate and a U-boat captain turned up out of nowhere, and dragged him back down a 300-foot shaft into this big black puddle. . . ’

  ‘Oh. Is that all?’ She wiped wetness from her eyes. ‘Doctor, I so 85

  wanted to get to Jay. Swim to him, through the water. Once I saw him appear like that in the shop, I felt sure that he was there, under the river. . . The real him, you know. And I was sure that I could get to him. Whatever was in my way, I could overcome it.’

  ‘But you didn’t go.’