Doctor Who BBCN19 - Wishing Well (14 page)

For a second, there was complete silence in the tunnel as the remains fell from Duncan’s fingers like flakes of burning paper.

Then Duncan turned to look at Martha.

‘Duncan?’ Martha croaked, trying to find her voice. Nervously she began to back away, because there was no sign of recognition in Duncan’s inflamed eyes. No sign of anything human at all.

∗ ∗ ∗

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At the tunnel entrance, Nigel Carson swayed as if he was about to faint. Gaskin caught him by the arms and held him upright. ‘You’d better rest here for a minute,’ he said, steering him to a low wall.

Nigel sat down heavily. He looked awful; his skin was almost white and he had dark rings under his eyes.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ demanded Angela.

‘I’ve no idea.’ Gaskin patted him gently on the shoulder. ‘We should get him back to the house. He looks like he could do with a stiff drink.’

‘But what about Martha? What about Ben Seddon and Duncan Goode?’ Angela ran a hand though her tangled white hair in consternation. ‘What about the Doctor?’

‘I don’t know!’

‘But you must know something! Carson’s been working here – with your cooperation!’

‘As far as I was concerned, Nigel Carson was finishing the tunnel begun by my great-grandfather.’

‘Digging for gold.’

Gaskin seemed uncomfortable. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘What do you mean?’ Angela gave a sudden hiss of annoyance. ‘Oh, I haven’t got time for this! You take Carson back to the house. I’m going to check on Martha.’

‘Angela!’ barked Gaskin. ‘Don’t be silly –’

But, like Martha Jones before her, Angela had already disappeared into the shadows of the tunnel entrance.

Duncan appeared to be in some pain, which wasn’t all that surprising.

He had sprouted angular spikes from his arms and shoulders, and every vein in his body seemed to be bulging up beneath his skin. But it did mean that his responses were slow.

Martha ducked past one outstretched claw, and he simply wasn’t quick enough to catch her. She heard the jagged talons swish through the air behind her back as she rolled across the tunnel floor and sprang to her feet. Duncan whirled round with a snarl and advanced again, but Martha had gained a few extra metres and ran for her life.

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Which turned out to be a bit of a mistake. With a sob of frustration, she realised she was heading deeper into the tunnel. Three more strides took her to the wall of earth that represented the end of the line. Now Duncan was behind her, blocking her way to the exit. She was trapped.

She turned her back to the wall to face him. The veins were white beneath his flesh, pushing up so hard that it didn’t surprise Martha when they started to burst through the skin. She’d studied anatomy as part of her medical training and she knew that whatever was inside Duncan was no longer any human system of veins or arteries. They looked like some sort of wild, pallid root growth surging from his body.

They were exactly like the white weeds growing all around the soil and tunnel wall behind her.

Weeds that moved, creeping and undulating beneath her fingers as she pressed herself up against the wall. They grew around her hands and arms, holding her fast, keeping her in place as Duncan approached.

It didn’t matter how slow he was now. Martha couldn’t move. All she could do was watch, eyes wide open, as the shambling, spiny monster bore down on her.

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Martha felt the tunnel wall shift violently behind her. With a loud scrape of granite, blocks of stone began to push out through the soil and weed. She had noticed them before, but hadn’t had time to register what they represented: Ben and Duncan had reached the well. They’d finished the Gaskin Tunnel.

And now something was pushing the bricks out from the inside of the well; the white weed thrashed like a nest of snakes as the stones fell through in a shower of earth and dust, and Martha opened her mouth to scream as a grimy hand thrust its way through the hole and grabbed her by the arm.

The hand was followed by a head, and no amount of dust could disguise the spiky hair and thin, cheery features beneath.

‘Hello!’ said the Doctor, clambering through the hole. He forced his way out of the gap, trailing weeds and dust. Eventually his long legs unfolded and he fell into the tunnel, holding onto the Martha for support. He looked at her, dark eyes gleaming with joy and a wide, boyish grin on his face. ‘D’you come here often?’

‘Doctor!’ It was a yell filled with both relief and terror. The weed was still holding her, dragging her away from him.

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‘Oh no you don’t!’ The Doctor raised a foot and kicked heartily at the grasping roots. The twisting growth seemed to withdraw slightly under the onslaught and Martha was able to pull herself free.

The Doctor grabbed her hand. ‘Run!’

And immediately skidded to a halt. ‘Stop!’ he cried.

In front of them stood Duncan – or what had been Duncan. Taking in the long grey spines and alien weeds sprouting from all over the man’s body, the Doctor winced. ‘Duncan? You know, you don’t look at all well.’

The inhuman eyes bulged from their sockets like raw onions as they fixed on the Doctor.

‘Maybe I can help. I am the Doctor, after all. Say “aaahh. . . ”.’

Duncan opened his fanged jaws with a roar. Inside the gaping mouth was a strange green glow, not unlike the luminescence of rotting meat.

‘Ooh, that doesn’t look good,’ the Doctor said. ‘What do you reckon, Dr Jones?’

Martha gulped. ‘Well, it isn’t tonsillitis.’

‘A very perceptive diagnosis. I go left and you go right – now!’

Martha let go of his hand and dashed past Duncan on the right-hand side. She was dimly aware of the Doctor moving in the opposite direction. With a snarl of anger, Duncan missed both of them. By the time he had whirled around, the Doctor and Martha had grabbed each other’s hands again and were both haring away up the tunnel.

‘Ha!’ cried the Doctor triumphantly. ‘Badaboom!’

‘What’s happened to him?’ yelled Martha.

‘I have no idea!’

‘But we’ve seen it before – when Barney Hackett changed. . . ’

‘Not quite. Barney Hackett collapsed and turned to dust. Duncan is still very much alive and well.’ The Doctor paused and glanced back.

‘Or at least he’s still alive.’

They ran up the tunnel. ‘Where are we?’ asked the Doctor.

‘Nigel Carson’s tunnel. It leads right back up to Gaskin Manor. Carson and Gaskin are in this together.’

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‘Typical,’ the Doctor complained as they ran. ‘I’m only down the bottom of a well and I miss everything.’

Angela was already regretting her decision to follow Martha. She had to feel her way down the tunnel because she couldn’t see a thing in the darkness. She wondered what could have possessed her to come down here on her own; she wasn’t a fit young woman like Martha.

She told herself that she should stop right now and turn back.

But Angela Hook had never backed down from anything.

Besides which, it was infinitely better than hanging around the mouth of the tunnel doing nothing but argue with Gaskin.

She rested against the tunnel wall for a few minutes to get her breath back. Sadie was always telling her she wasn’t as young as she had been; but then, as Angela always argued, who was?

It was then that she heard the sound of a distant scream. At least it sounded like a distant scream. The tunnel acoustics made it difficult to be sure. The long, ghastly wail had seemed to drift up out of the gloom, borne on a chill gust of air that made Angela think of empty winter graveyards.

It never occurred to Angela to retreat. Summoning all her resolve, she started down the tunnel again, heading into the darkness, towards the scream.

Seconds later she heard the sound of running feet and she was practically knocked over by Martha Jones coming the other way. Angela let out a startled yell and it was answered by a distinct cry of shock mingled with a fair bit of fear. ‘Oh! Martha? Is that you, dear?’

‘Angela? Is that you?’ Martha’s voice – frightened but relieved. ‘You scared me half to death! What are you doing down here?’

‘Never mind that!’ said another voice – the Doctor. ‘Just keep going!’

Angela felt her arm gripped and she was propelled back up the tunnel at speed. She still couldn’t see a thing. ‘What’s going on?

Doctor? Is that really you? Are you with Martha?’

‘Yes, it’s really me,’ came the answer, ‘and yes, I’m with Martha, and yes, we’re all being chased by some kind of alien creature.’

‘What?’

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‘Just run!’

But, although Angela could still do many things at 83, running wasn’t one of them. ‘Oh, Doctor, really, I can’t. My running days are long since gone.’ They halted and Angela could hear Martha panting. They really had been sprinting up the tunnel. Angela had only managed a few paces and he was beginning to wheeze herself. ‘I’m only going to slow you down,’ she said eventually. ‘You two go on ahead and I’ll catch up.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ gasped Martha.

‘What bit of “we’re all being chased by some kind of alien creature”

didn’t you understand?’ asked the Doctor.

‘Well, all of it, actually.’

‘OK,’ said the Doctor quickly, ‘So it’s not exactly an alien creature, more your human-alien proto-mutant life form, but you get the general idea: it’s chasing us and we’re running.’

‘Sorry, can’t help,’ Angela said.

‘Listen,’ replied the Doctor, and then said nothing. He didn’t have to. They all stood in the dark for a moment and heard the sound of something approaching from further down the tunnel making inco-herent snarling noises.

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ said Angela, turning to run.

But it was hopeless. They could see the distant white speck that was daylight at the tunnel entrance but it might as well have been a mile away. Even with both the Doctor and Martha holding on to Angela, they couldn’t move fast enough. The tunnel simply wasn’t wide enough for them to frogmarch her at speed. Within seconds Angela had stumbled and Martha half fell on top of her.

‘I’m sorry, Martha, I can’t do it! I should never have come down here!’

‘Come on,’ Martha shouted, ‘it’s just a bit further!’

‘We won’t make it,’ said the Doctor quietly. In the faint light of the tunnel entrance, Angela saw him glancing anxiously backwards.

Martha looked equally fearful.

‘Leave me here,’ Angela said. ‘You two get moving.’

‘We’re not leaving you,’ Martha told her.

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‘Too late,’ said the Doctor as the most hideous creature Angela had ever seen suddenly loomed out of the shadows behind them.

Gaskin lowered Nigel into a chair in the conservatory. ‘There you are,’

he said, patting him on the arm. ‘Rest easy for a minute.’

Nigel didn’t need any persuading. He seemed as weak as a kitten and had barely resisted Gaskin’s suggestion that they return to the manor. Now his head lolled back in the chair and his eyes remained half closed.

Gaskin straightened up with a groan. ‘Oh dear,’ he said quietly.

‘There was a time when I could climb mountains. Now look at me.

Puffed out helping you back from the garden!’

Nigel said nothing. His head sank to one side and a string of saliva drooled from his lips.

‘Yes, well,’ muttered Gaskin. ‘Thank you for your concern.’

He wondered what to do next and decided that a drink was needed.

He fetched a bottle of brandy and poured a stiff measure into two glasses. He put one on the little table by Nigel’s chair and raised the other towards the prone figure in salute. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Carson, old boy. Cheers, anyway.’

At that moment Jess came into the conservatory and sat down by her master. ‘Hello, girl,’ said Gaskin, rubbing her ears affectionately.

‘At least you’re pleased to see me. . . ’ Jess looked over at Nigel, her ears suddenly upright.

A low growl sounded deep inside her, something Gaskin didn’t hear very often. ‘What’s up, Jess?’

The dog lowered her head flat to the ground and whined.

‘Something’s got you all bothered, hasn’t it?’ Gaskin bent down and patted her flank. ‘What is it? You know Mr Carson, don’t you? What’s the trouble, Jess?’

The dog refused to explain, so Gaskin stood up and poured himself another brandy. He looked thoughtfully at Nigel Carson while he drank it and then said, ‘Nigel? Nigel, can you hear me?’

Nigel didn’t stir. ‘He really is out for the count,’ said Gaskin thoughtfully. He put down his brandy glass and then, very carefully, felt in 109

Nigel’s jacket pocket. He found the object easily enough, a rock the size of a cricket ball wrapped in a handkerchief. He put it on the table and unwrapped it. Jess got to her feet with a warning snarl.

‘It’s all right, Jess. I’m only having a little look.’

The stone looked harmless enough, although a bit unusual. On closer examination it didn’t really feel like a rock, or a fossil, or indeed anything at all that Gaskin could liken it to. It wasn’t artificially made, but then it didn’t seem altogether natural either. It looked organic, smooth like an egg, but heavy.

Jess growled, and then gave a nervous, unhappy bark before backing away from the thing, ears flat to her head and her tail swishing low.