Carson stopped behind her, grimacing. He extended a shaking figure and, following it, Tamara could make out a corpse sprawled over the floorboards, lying amongst a shower of broken glass and splinters of wood, one hand clutching a bloodstained chest. She held out an arm to shush him as she crept forward, painfully aware of the boards creaking and lurching beneath her feet. Her forehead narrowed to a frown as she heard throaty, ragged breaths.
The door collapsed into splinters as a gnarled fist pounded through it. Tamara gasped, jumping backwards, blinking rapidly to adjust to the gloom. Three shapes flung themselves at her as she rolled to one side, springing up to grasp Carson's arm and pull him away. Backing away warily, she took in the sight of the zombies as they shuffled closer, arms outstretched and jagged teeth born in a feral snarl. The corridor shimmered before flashing violently in a sudden burst of white.
"Oh Lord . . ." Carson was shaking uncontrollably. The three figures were still recognizably human--that was the worst thing--but their flesh was nearly invisible under the heavy fungoid growth. Brittle bones were visible under pale, pallid skin, flecked with rings of gray; their skin looked so thin that a mere prick could tear it.
"Come on," muttered Tamara, trying to pull her gaze away from the shapes as they made each slow step, six torn boots thudding into the ground as one dull monotony. "You must have accelerated the process . . ."
"I didn't mean to . . ."
"No . . ." Tamara dragged him away from the creatures as they hissed and spat. "Come on! We must get to the radio!"
The faint whine that had been ever-present as background noise hummed its last and then died with a strangled protest, as the two fugitives ran into the large, square reception hall, stairs in the far corner leading up to an overlooking balcony, each wall housing rows of arched doorways leading deep into the complex. The tiny ceiling-lights flickered before fading altogether.
The receptionist had gone, Tamara noted as she careered to a halt, but her desk lay under a scatter of pens and papers, as though she had left in a hurry, and one of the vases had split in two, showering earth across the floor. She glanced over at the round wooden table and the plush, cushioned chairs--one of them was dotted with blood.
Carson stumbled, collapsing against a desk, only Tamara's tight grip stopping him from falling flat on his face. "We have to keep moving!"
He clutched his heaving chest, his face red. "No good . . . Those things can see in the dark. I don't know where to go now!"
She took a deep breath. "Please, Carson. I can't get out of here without your help."
"Just go . . . leave me. I--I don't deserve to survive this."
"A pity it took you this long to realize that . . ." She hauled him roughly to his feet, glancing back down the corridor, the slow drumming of footsteps getting closer. She could feel faint vibrations running through the tiled floor. "There's a chance, Carson, for both of us--if you help me."
In an instant, the air became far denser, as though a shockwave of sound was rushing up to collide, flooding through the room like treacle.
A sudden implosion of light threw them to the floor. When Tamara looked up, groaning and rubbing her sore eyes to clear the golden dots that bobbed there, half the room had gone. She found herself lying in thick, dry mud, patched by tall grass; beside her stood a long, wooden wall, identical to its earlier state, but the ceiling had just dissolved, leaving everything open to a dull gray sky, long low clouds shrouding the pale moonlight, the walls that had adjoined it shimmering and rippling like a liquid. A muddy haze surrounded the left wall as it crackled and swirled in a smudge of colour, bright and vivid against the encroaching shadow. Branches flailed wildly out into the room, swaying as their leaves shifted and rustled in the unnatural breeze. The tiles in front of her hissed then popped out of existence as more turf crawled in to replace them; the surviving walls were fizzing in and out of perspective.
"Come on!" She tightened her fist around his bony hand, aware of the forest creeping in from all sides, walls and ceiling melting to nothing. A tree materialized metres ahead of her, a looming oak leaning over, lines of shining flowers popping up in perfect rows, seconds before the entire room faded from view, leaving the two of them in a dense, bordered clearing.
"It's too late . . . Please, just leave me here . . ." Carson sobbed, unable to pull himself away.
"No!" Tamara flashed him her most piercing glare, breathing quickly as she felt the ground shake. "I'm going to make sure we both get out of here." She tugged hard on his arm, forcing him on, throwing the two of them in amongst the foliage, driving their bodies against the thick walls of plants.
She could see the remains of another building rear up ahead. She brushed back an oval leaf, squinting, the muzzy shape consumed by wreaths of fog. The front walls had gone, as had the ceiling, leaving only the battered shell of a hut; but she could see half a corridor leading away from it, sloping down into the ground, and behind that, a long, thin tower clawed up through the distortion, the scanners on top rotating drunkenly in the mist as they clicked and beeped.
"Is that it?" Tamara had to shout to make herself heard over the roar of the maelstrom and the feral snarls of their pursuers, getting louder from all angles.
"Yes! The communications tower, just past the guards' rest-room. Just pray that the radios are still working . . ."
She nodded grimly as she charged for the remains of the hut, her sprint kicking up clouds of dust. Carson's puffing remained right behind her, his breaths quick and wheezy.
The creatures ripped and tore at the vegetation, flinging aside the trailing vines as they pursued. Darker clouds jostled for space high above, the light thinning to dappled shafts as gloom unrolled, the parts of the horizon not shrouded in unearthly mist drenched under rising plumes of grayness. Fog billowed out from the ruined walls of the hut, thick shrouds roiling as they swamped across the clearing, slicing the darkness in two along the seams.
When at last they reached the building, their hearts pounding against their chests, their ears ringing with the torrential din of the creatures, hissing and snarling, all they could do was slump their bodies back against the tattered wall and draw in huge gulps of air. Carson noticed the fierce vibrations first, the feeling of collapse as the wood bent; he dived to one side, wrapping one arm around Tamara and pulling her to the floor, seconds before the wood melted into thick scrubs and bush, leaving just a ceiling hanging high above, shimmering. Her eyes opened wide as she braced herself for its break, but all it did was shiver in and out of focus. The sudden echo of rage, forcing itself through the haze as the creatures shambled after, afforded her little time to wonder. "Come on!" she growled as she leapt to her feet, not looking back for Carson, trying to stay on her feet as she was buffeted from all sides by loose branches and the ghostly winds. Tamara struggled not to loose herself in the confusion, the stench of fungus so strong that the source could only be right on her heels.
Finally, the ceiling lowered, the wooden floorboards making way for hard concrete as the tunnel rose from the ground. She supposed there was a lift up to the communications tower from underground; desperate, she charged on, noticing Carson panting as he ran along beside her, into the sanctuary of the tunnel. She heard him mutter a fevered prayer.
Downwards they ran, the dull metal ringing, the thunderous roars louder still. Tamara didn't know what made her decide, but the second door on the left--bland, metallic-gray and featureless save for the handle--looked as good as any. She yelled as she threw herself at it, forcing down the handle, thrusting her body through and reaching back to drag Carson after her.
"This is one of the blast-shelters . . ."
The words fluttered through her mind rather than sinking in. She slammed the door shut, depressing the lock, thanking the first deity that came to mind for making the door so thick and heavy. She doubted it could be penetrated--for a while.
Her breaths came in long, grateful gulps.
Her weary gaze finally allowed itself to play around the room, her thinned eyes only now able to take anything in. It was sparser than any other in the hospital, the only furnishings a chair, a hard bed, complete with mattress and a small square table, all metal. The air smelt clinically stale, as though recycled.
Blast-shelter . . .
Suddenly she noticed the instrument panel, protruding from the opposite wall, so innocuous and unassuming.
"I could destroy half of Canada from any one of these rooms."
Her chest tightened. She turned slowly around. Carson's wide smile was hardly comforting.
"They were designed to withstand anything. Anything."
She nodded slowly. "That's good."
"Sometimes it is necessary to bury the past, in order to make way for the future, in order to wipe the slate clean. If the problem becomes too extreme, Mecca simply erases it."
"And . . . you think you can do that?"
"I don't know. It might be interesting to try."
"People don't forget, Carson."
He chuckled wryly. "In my experience, they do. Why else am I still a free man?"
"You've done too much."
"Other men have committed worse crimes than myself." His forehead knotted. "Why should they be able to get away with it and not I?"
"This isn't a game. You're not playing around with chemicals in the back garden any more, Carson."
"Of course. But I'm ruined. It isn't fair, but that's life."
"You have a chance-"
"Yes, I know." One hand reached for his coat pocket. "If I wipe out these creatures and destroy the complex, no one ever needs know what happened here. No remains, you see; that's what a nuclear device of this scale does. Hiroshima?" The ghost of a smile touched his lips. "That was just a firework."
"You'll-"
"Mecca will concoct their own tale for the press. I will be forgotten."
"Is that what you want?"
"There's no hope of me dying a hero, my dear; I'll settle for the next best thing." His hand emerged, pale white fingers gripping a stubby gun. Tamara noticed he was shaking.
She took a deep breath. "Are you going to shoot me?"
He glared at her, his milky white eyes widening slowly. "Would you rather burn?"
"I'd rather you put the gun down and help me get out of here. That was what we were doing, remember?"
He shook his head. "No; I'm sorry." Beads of sweat dripped from his fingers as he stepped back tentatively. "It isn't going to work any other way."
"Both of us can get through this alive, Carson."
"I don't know if I want to any more . . . I told you that. My--my only aim through all of this has been to learn, to discover . . . Knowing that that one opportunity has been taken away from me . . . what is there left?"
She tutted, shrugging, her calm broken by a seething cloud of anger. "There are hundreds of men like you, Carson: tyrants, dictators, people for whom even the world is not enough. I've met most of them. At least they have ambition. What do you have?" She gave a little laugh. "Nothing. You're only doing this because things aren't going your way. Why should I take anything you say seriously?"
His fingers tightened around the gun. "I . . ."
"We can't all have everything. Sometimes things go wrong, Carson--sometimes it just happens. Face it; accept it; put it behind you. Move on. Learn from your mistakes. You can become a better person. People do change."
"I've tried . . ."
"Then just try a little harder next time. Put down the gun."
There was a heavy clang of metal as it dropped to the floor. Carson sunk to his knees. The tears rolling down his cheeks were as genuine as any Tamara had seen.
The Doctor's eyelids snapped open. "I have a solution to your problem, but first I need a promise."
"Proceed," hissed the Watcher.
"If I provide you with the homeworld of a species with greater sentience than humans, will you leave Earth immediately?"
"Where is the planet located?"
The Time Lord raised an eyebrow. "First let Margaret and the others go-if the Healing is complete."
"It is." The Watcher approached Margaret and willed the tentacles to release their grip. The woman took a long, deep breath and her eyes flickered open. She eyed her surroundings uneasily; her face relaxed upon spotting the Doctor.
He gently gripped her arm as she attempted to remove the filter. "You'd best leave it on, Margaret; the air in here isn't exactly pleasant."
"I feel so relaxed, so full of life. Des, too-my husband. We had the most wonderful conversation while watching the sun rise from our front porch." She approached the Doctor, staring curiously at the fungoid mass before her.
"I'm glad the Ongimpcha afforded one of us a pleasant reverie. And yes, you definitely have a bounce in your step."
Several other bewildered seniors-two men and two women-along with a younger man rounded the corner and halted before the Watcher. The Doctor ushered them over, requesting that they keep on their filters. The gentle shivering of the entity caught his attention.
"Where is the planet, Doctor?"
"Just grant me one last request: are you still in contact with the other patients?"
"No," it hissed, "the Confusion is too great. The Seeds still feed, but we hear nothing."
"What was the last thing you heard?"
The Watcher gurgled and drops of blue slime oozed from its fungoid skin. "The altered patients were hunting the humans within the medical establishment."
"Tamara," whispered the Time Lord, his face drained of colour.
"Doctor, you must tell me the planet's location in the Void now-I am dying . . ."
Margaret shook the Doctor by the shoulder. "Just tell them what they need to know, my dear, so we can all go home."
"Yes," he said, his mind returning to matters at hand. He shot her an affectionate glance. "Let's end all this suffering, shall we?" He approached the quivering Ongimpcha. "There's a race of highly intelligent, nocturnal creatures that, without their leader, are docile burrowers. They have a nasty habit of infesting and destroying people's property; perhaps the Feeding's side-effects will keep them at bay."
"Wh-where are they located?" hissed the Watcher.
"The planet Frontios, in the Veruna system." He projected a mental image of the planet's location within the Milky Way galaxy.
"The Seeds have arrived . . . A colony of humans dwell on the surface . . . The Seeds have penetrated the planet's surface . . . Invertebrate lifeforms . . . Feeding has commenced . . . Immense, complex brains . . . Ability to manipulate gravity . . . The humans call them Tractators." The entity ceased to shiver and inflated slightly in size. "The Tractators are a prime host; we are grateful, Doctor."
"Least I could do for judging you so quickly." He breathed a sigh of relief. "In case you ever come across my people, you've never heard of me and you discovered Frontios yourself, agreed?"
"Agreed."
"Now, could you grant me one last favour and return us all to a safe distance from the hospital back on Earth?"
"It will be done."
"And once we're gone, you will ignore the Seeds on Earth for good?"
"Yes."
He gave the Watcher a wink and turned to the group of patients. "Our little excursion has come to an end, ladies and gentlemen." He put a hand on Margaret's shoulder and she shot him an affectionate glance. "Just click your heels together three times and we'll be on our way."
With that, reality did a somersault and faded to black.
"God!"
Tamara jerked upright as the metal of the thickset doors bulged under a thunderous crash. The grey doors buckled inwards and the hinges shuddered.
Carson shot to his feet, struggling to form words, rubbing at the tears blurring his vision. "This--this isn't possible . . . That's titanium!"
The dull colours twisted and faded, melting and crackling as they coalesced with the plainness of the air. A gnarled fist pushed itself through, cracked fingers clenching as they groped for a victim.
"This room is collapsing," Carson spluttered, reaching out for the gun. He pointed it at the door, firing a random shot, his heart jumping as it recoiled in time with the wild scream of the monster. Tamara pulled the gun away, throwing it across the room; she took the man's arms, hauling him over towards the far wall. "Is there any other way out of here?"
He shook his head. "I don't know!"
She had to shout to make herself heard above the assault on the door, which was now crumpling and folding inwards as the air around it hissed and popped. "There must be!"
His mouth was wide open as he struggled to form words, his face as pale as death. 'I don't know!'
She fumed as she spun away, her gaze running over the walls, the ceiling and the floor. Suddenly it hit her: the metal on the far wall was plain and blank, but one area was slightly grayer than the rest, not flushing in perfectly, as though placed there later. Quickly, she dashed over and gritted her teeth as she began to rip them away. "Help me!"
Carson hurried over. Tamara pulled a thin, stiletto-like blade from her belt, forcing it into the wall and prying at the odd patch. Sure enough, she was able to lever it away, revealing a dark and narrow service hatch, the edges sharp and rough. She took a deep breath as the hatch clanged noisily against the floor, before hauling herself up and crouching low to crawl into the passageway.
The blackness swallowed her whole as she made way for Carson. On her knees, she shuffled forwards, her clothes and skin scraping against the metal. She froze as a billowing cloud of air rushed up behind her, flinging her hair into her eyes and making the whole hatch shake. Looking back, she frowned as zombies sauntered into the room, the door falling and fading into swirls of green and brown.
"Quick!" She moved on as she felt Carson nudge her, his breathing so rapid that she thought he might pass out. His face was a sickly pale, a chalky white.
Suddenly, the path split into two, both sections winding on until fading into nothingness. "Which way?"
Carson thought for a moment. "Those things . . . I can't remember! I'm sorry, I just can't-"
"You have to, Carson."
He cried out. "Okay, okay." He sniffed, then looked back to her decisively. "Okay. It isn't far. We follow the path around, exit into the corridor and the lift up to the comm room should be just there."
"Good."
Wordlessly, they pressed on.
Tamara's eyes darted quickly around the clearing as the lift doors slid open with a dull whine, revealing a collapsed area of forest, trees hanging loosely across paths lost under overgrown bushes and plants, the tall comm tower suddenly just metres away. The atmosphere inside the small chamber had been suffocating, particularly with the flickering, sparking light jolting in and out of life.
Carson jumped as the doors clanged shut. He held one hand to his heart as he looked back up to the tower, wiping more tears from his face with the back of one sleeve. "Finally."
Tamara managed a tight smile. "We may be out of this." She broke into a gentle jog, hurrying over to the rounded entrance to the tower, which would once have been surrounded by the rest of the sprawling hospital. Now, the odd trace of metal poking up from the soil was the only testimony. "If we hurry."
They charged across the clearing, shadows whirling into coalescing strips and spluttering all around them. When they reached the inside of the tower (a tall, domed chamber, everything functional and metallic save for the expansive control consoles stretched along each wall and the central column channeling power that reached up to the ceiling) Carson headed straight for the nearest row of switches, situated up a staircase and along a thin gantry walled by iron railings, bordering the entire room.
His fingers immediately hovered over the various instruments, stabbing down onto keys and flicking switches, fighting to keep his mind free of fear and struggling to make the shapes clear in the dull light. Anxiety deepened Tamara's frown as she looked over his shoulder, constantly checking back to the entryway for monsters.
The speakers crackled into operation with a sudden burst of static. "Come in . . . Min . . . ki . . ."
Carson bellowed into the microphone. "This is Doctor Carson, Security Clearance 7AZ. Over."
A brief silence followed, before: " . . . author . . . cleared . . . go . . . head . . . ver."
'The situation is critical. Repeat: critical. The project is out of control. We require urgent backup." He turned to Tamara and took a deep breath. There aren't many left alive. We are going to have to pull out. Repeat: this is over. The base needs to be . . . "--his bottom lip twitched-"to be destroyed. Over."
The reply could not have been more casual: "Will do, doctor. Over and out."
The radio clicked and fell silent. Tamara let out the breath she had been holding. "Now we wait?"
Carson nodded nervously, his face even paler than before. "Indeed."
Carson finally cracked as the roof fell inwards, blurring and vanishing before it could hit the floor. The greyness of the walls exploded in a sudden flash; when the disturbance rippled into clarity, all that could be seen was the forest, penetrating the room. He threw himself to the floor, wailing, his face quivering as tears streamed down it.
Tamara looked on in horror as zombies flooded down into the open room, skittering down the walls on all fours like grotesque spiders, a torrential sea of gnashing teeth and jagged, outstretched claws. Snarling, mouths twisting into hooked grins, they leapt one by one onto the ground, landing soundlessly, spreading out in loping gaits to form a large circle around Carson and herself.
She shrank back, slowly shifting her gaze, but there was no visible link in the rapidly tightening chain. The zombies slashed pointed nails at the air and hissed venomously as they inched ever closer.
"Humans have some pleasant qualities, but a well-seasoned time traveller like myself would make a far more satisfying meal."
The creatures stopped in their tracks. The voice had drifted in with the darkness and cold breeze through the extensive gap in the chamber opposite Carson and Tamara; the gantry above buckled wildly against the adjoining concrete walls. With a commotion of grunts and snarls, the creatures turned away and disappeared through the gap like cats abandoning their prey for a lame, obese mouse squeaking in the night.
Tamara blinked: the zombies were gone. Only seconds earlier, she'd prayed for one of the creatures to choke to death on her collarbone.
But that was then. They had been saved by a voice from heaven; come to think of it, that sounded like the Doctor's voice. "Come on Carson, let's get out of here!"
"They'll be back-I know it! How do you know there isn't one waiting in the stairwell for us?" Carson whimpered pathetically.
She shook his huddled from. "Snap out of it!" She pointed to the gap in the chamber. "Would you rather jump out of the tower?"
The physician shook his head, shivering.
"So let's go!"
"Yes . . . yes, let's get out of here." He stood up and dusted off his labcoat. They fled through the open doorway and into the stairwell, keeping their senses on high alert.
"How long before the National Guard arrive?"
Carson glanced at his watch. "Ten minutes or so."
"Let's hope they spot us immediately!" She came to a halt beside the tower's exit doors, pulling the physician beside her. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she pushed the door open a crack and peered out. "Oh no! What the hell's he doing?" she hissed.
"Who?"
She slapped a hand over the man's face and held a finger to his lips. "Care to become zombie chow?" she whispered.
Carson shook his head and Tamara removed her hand. They both jumped as the concrete staircase creaked and buckled. Block by block, the walls of the stairwell faded into shadows with wavering pine trees seeping through.
"Come on." She grabbed the physician's arm, but he resisted.
"But they're outside!"
The entire stairwell began cracking under its own weight, it seemed, and showered them with pebbles of concrete. "You'd really prefer to stay in here?" She yanked him out the door, through the billowing fog, and they darted behind a nearby cluster of cedars. Carson's jaw dropped.
Under a spotlight of moonbeams, the Doctor waved his trenchcoat at his side, taunting the band of fearsome creatures like a matador. He dodged their lashing claws, slowly backing away from the hospital grounds-or what remained of them. Gone were the spacious, timber lodge and concrete extensions; in their place a glen of pines and cedars, the hospital's foundation barely visible between their roots.
Gone were all of Carson's files, journals, test results, lab equipment, Luna samples-his life's work. Then again, gone was any evidence of his failed, fatal experiments. Not a witness left, save for the Doctor and Tamara . . .
Carson's eerie grin frightened the woman and she returned her attention to the Doctor. The horde of fungoid zombies was frighteningly close to her friend; she decided it was time to test the waters and cried out his name.
"Ah, Tamara! I'm so happy to see you!" He shot her a nervous smile. The piercing hisses and foul odour of the creatures were unsettling. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine; Carson's here, too." She pulled the man to her side from the cover of trees.
"Hello, Carson. Bet you're curious to know where it all went wrong, eh?"
"Doctor, look out behind you!" Tamara pointed out the remnants of the perimeter fence, contorted and torn apart by inter-dimensional fatigue. The Time Lord ducked through an opening in the fence, while the beasts tore the section apart in a fury of claws and teeth.
Tamara and Carson followed the beasts, keeping a prudent distance away. "Where were you, Doctor?" she yelled. "And why have our zombie pals suddenly lost interest in devouring us for dinner?"
"You're not smart enough-no offense," he cried back.
"Nice to see you, too!"
"I didn't mean it like that! These creatures are the hospital patients, but severely infected by that fungus we discovered." The Doctor narrowly missed tripping over a stray tree root. "Besides their obvious carnivorous tastes-a very unfortunate side-effect-that fungus is naturally attracted to sentient beings with complex brain structures. And like it or not, human minds just don't measure up."
Carson's head jolted as if snapping out of a daydream. "It feeds on brain cells?"
"No, on the resulting chemical reaction when it enters the system of its host."
"Of course! That would explain-"
"This isn't exactly a good time for a scientific discussion!" The Doctor's hearts beat wildly as he struggled to catch his breath; he doubted he could divert the creatures for much longer.
"How do we stop them?" Tamara yelled.
"Hopefully you won't need to; I'm just awaiting a promise."
The clearing was suddenly filled with the deafening whir of a helicopter overhead. A spotlight lighted on Tamara and Carson, proceeding to trace a circular path ahead of them.
Momentarily distracted, the Doctor stifled a yell of pain when the closest of the creatures shredded his trenchcoat with one swipe and left a large gash on his forearm. He quickly backed up, cradling the wound, just as the spotlight picked him out along with the dozen altered patients on his trail. Horrible, deathly screams erupted from their bulbous, pulsing torsos.
"The light-they're killing them!" The Time Lord waved his arms wildly, urging the helicopter to leave the scene; instead it initiated a slow descent. The silhouettes of the creatures in the spotlight shivered violently, their screams almost deafening. Ignoring the biting pain of his arm, he waved the scraps of his trenchcoat and sprinted for the cover of the forest nearby.
As the creatures struggled to pursue him, he yelled to Tamara: "Tell those idiots to turn off the spotlight; they're killing the patients! Trust me on this one . . ." Tamara then lost sight of her companion under the veil of darkness and evergreens with the zombies following suit.
Several armed guards, sporting green camouflaged combat gear and service rifles, filed out of the helicopter, but Tamara barred their path and held up her badge, covering the registration date with her thumb. "Agent Tamara Scott, MI5. The situation is under control-halt at once!" She fixed her dishevelled hair in vain with her other hand.
The commanding officer of the troop, a tall, brawny man with blue eyes overshadowed by thick eyebrows, approached her. "Captain McDonald. Stand aside immediately, ma'am; this is a matter of national sec-"
"Don't argue with me, soldier," she looked the commander straight in the eye and shot him a fiery glance. "That spotlight is killing those things-those people! Turn it off now!"
Captain McDonald hesitated a moment and then signaled the pilot to extinguish the spotlight.
Although the loss of the spotlight meant the Doctor could only see a few metres ahead, the grunts and hisses of the creatures allowed him to keep a safe distance apart. In future, he would be more specific in his demands to interdimensional psychic mushrooms.
"There you are, Doctor." Margaret and the other healed patients stood a short distance downhill in a small clearing, caught in the moonlight.
"Everyone get back!" He waved them away with his arms, tripped over a large rock in his path and fell flat on his face. "This hasn't exactly been my day," he mumbled with a mouthful of earth and pine needles. He shook the stars from his head, got to his knees, but was knocked down with a forceful blow to his back. With a deep groan, he rolled over to catch sight of the hissing, pulsating creatures gathering around him.
"Is this death?" His voice trailed off and he raised his arms to shelter himself from the inevitable attack . . .
Tamara sheltered her green eyes as two sets of high-beams and a monstrous roar of engines closed on her and the soldiers like a pair of rampaging dragons. Two camouflaged, canopied cargo trucks screeched to a halt before them, each unloading a dozen National Guards. The men lined up before Captain McDonald, standing rigid in salute.
"A half dozen of Doctor Carson's patients have fled into the forest." McDonald pointed out the area where the Doctor was last spotted. "These patients are extremely dangerous and propose a serious health risk to civilians. Secure the area and keep the patients at bay."
"But don't fire your rifles!" Tamara cut in.
McDonald gave her a stern glance. "Agreed. The patients are highly sensitive to light, so use your flashlights to detain them." Commotion arose from the soldiers. "Those are your orders, now carry them out!"
"Yes sir!" they shouted in unison and filed into the woods.
The captain returned his attention to Tamara. "You have a lot of faith in your friend if you think he can hold off those things alone-with a trenchcoat!"
"I trust him with my life."
"Terrific," Carson added, "then head into the forest-all of you!"
Tamara, McDonald and a remaining soldier turned round to discover the physician clenching the pilot's arm and pressing the nozzle of his handgun into the man's head. Immediately, the soldier leveled his rifle at Carson's chest; the physician cocked his gun in response.
"The only irrational one here is myself, so you'd best put down the rifle."
McDonald gave the soldier a nod and he set the rifle on the ground slowly.
"What the hell are you doing, Carson?" Tamara exclaimed.
"Making my escape, of course. The MKULTRA incident and ensuing trial nearly ruined my career." Sweat trickled down his forehead as he shivered with insanity. "The Luna experiments have left me a broken man, Tamara; life imprisonment will be the nail in my coffin!"
"Don't be a fool, Carson. I have authority; I can put in a good word-"
"Shut up! Into the forest, all of you-now!"
"All right, doctor." The captain encouraged the soldier to join his lead and back away. "We're backing into the forest. Come on, Tamara." He was shocked to see her approach the deranged man.
"Stay back, or I'll fire!" Carson yelled. His hand twitched while keeping a firm grip on the gun. The pilot shut his eyes and clenched his teeth.
Tamara chuckled to herself. "Know anything about safety, Carson?"
"Wha-" The woman lunged at the physician and tackled him to the ground. He pulled the trigger instinctively but it only clicked. She smacked the gun from his hand and pinned him down.
"You had the safety on," she said before delivering him a right hook. Carson went limp. McDonald, the soldier and the pilot stared in astonishment as she got up and darted for the forest. "Keep an eye on him!" she yelled back. "I'm off to help a friend."
The sound of crackling flesh and sorrowful moans led the Doctor to peer through his fingers. The fungoid skin of the creatures was shrivelling, crackling and dropping off in chunks.
"It's about time," he mumbled and propped himself up.
"What's happening, Doctor?" Margaret asked, helping him to his feet.
"The Ongimpcha have moved on. Their Lair's influence is now out of range of the Seeds-the spores-so they're becoming inactive."
The creatures dropped to the ground; patches of the patients' natural skin were now visible.
"Are they dying?" The Time Lord felt the woman tremble.
"I honestly don't know."
The shrivelled, fanged face of one of the creatures crumbled away, revealing the pale, withered features of a man.
"Des!" Margaret ran to her husband and kneeled beside him. Cradling his head in her lap, she lightly stroked his face. The man's eyes flickered open and, with much effort, he managed to form a smile. The first rays of dawn wandered towards them from the nearby clearing. The old woman hugged her love gently. "It's our sunrise, Des."
Like passing dreams, Des and the other infected patients began fading away. "Spore outbreak and interdimensional fatigue has taken a toll on their bodies," the Doctor whispered.
Margaret quietly sobbed as her husband disappeared from her grip into morning air. A herd of footfalls erupted around them as many camouflaged soldiers emerged from the trees.
"Is everyone all right?" asked one of them.
"Yes, just a bit shook up," replied the Time Lord.
"Are these the diseased patients?" asked another, pointing to the others in the clearing.
"There are no 'diseased' patients here; Carson killed them all. Feel free to test Margaret here and the rest, but I assure you they are quite healthy." He helped the shivering woman to her feet. "Let's get them blankets, shall we? Some food and water would be nice, too."
"Right." The soldier turned to the others. "King, Laurier, Clarke-get these people back to the trucks; O'Neil, take a look at this man's wounds. The rest of us will continue securing the area."
As the majority of the soldiers dispersed back into the labyrinth of trees, a familiar face appeared. "Tamara!" The Doctor rushed to his companion and gave her a big hug. She opened her eyes wide in surprise but then returned the gesture.
"It's good to see you, too."
"Wait here a moment." He caught up with Margaret, being escorted to the cargo trucks by a young, freckle-faced soldier. The woman wore the young man's combat jacket and crossed her arms across her shivering chest. "I'm sorry for your loss, Margaret."
"Me, too, dear. But we did have one last sunrise together."
The Time Lord gripped her shoulder affectionately. "How does it feel to live in the light again?"
"A little like being scared of the dark, I suppose." She chuckled to herself. "I'll be able to read Des the letter from his late father now-I'm sure he'll be listening . . ."
"Me, too. Goodbye, my friend." She waved as he returned to Tamara's side.
"So what do you think they'll do to Carson? Lock him up?"
The Doctor inspected his bandaged arm. "I doubt it. He's likely destined for years and years of counselling. As for the hospital and the missing patients, the world loves a cover-up." His face lighted with a childish grin.
"Back to the TARDIS then, while the National Guard try to tie-up loose ends?"
He felt his pockets. "Mind if we make a small detour first?"
"So your companions' corpses attacked you in the console room, or so you imagined?"
The Doctor lowered his cracked, jet-black sunglasses and gave Tamara an annoyed, jaded look. "Something like that."
"Creepy! Like something out of Night of the Living Dead." They reached the top of a hill and were greeted by a tall blue police box lit by the rays of sunshine that punctured the forest canopy. "Home sweet home."
He dropped the sonic screwdriver into his vest pocket, reached under his collar and revealed a medallion-like key dangling on a chain.
"Next vacation, I pick the destination-agreed?" Tamara took his shredded trenchcoat.
"Agreed." The Time Lord unlocked the TARDIS doors, which creaked open on their hinges. He backed away hesitantly. "After you."
"Thanks a lot." She fixed him with a sarcastic grin and proceeded inside. "No monsters in here-yet," she called out. The Doctor disappeared inside the blue box and the doors creaked shut.
With a sound like a herd of elephants performing Beethoven's ninth symphony, the TARDIS vanished, observed only by the chirping birds, buzzing crickets and the spirits of the forest.