Doctor Who - The 8th Doctor - 38 - Casualties of War by Steve Emmerson

Author:Steve Emmerson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Science Fiction, General, Space Opera, Doctor Who (Fictitious Character), Fiction
ISBN: 9780563538059
Publisher: BBC Pubns
Published: 2000-09-03T07:00:00+00:00

‘Well,’ the Doctor whispered softly in her ear.

He seemed hesitant. Uncertain. She wanted to grab hold and kiss him.

‘Goodnight, then,’ he said.

And the butterflies died.

Chapter Nine

As the sun climbed over the horizon the sky looked like an artist’s impression of peace and tranquillity. Broad but gentle washes of pale blue with the paper showing through; streaks of yellow, green, purple and red hinted with such sublime subtlety that they could be seen without being really visible. For Iris Cromby, this was the most beautiful part of the day. It was the moment when you could see God’s hand in things. The time when you realised just how perfect nature actually was.

There was a childlike wonder at the break of day that had remained with Iris Cromby all her life. She might as well be in a different world, an improbable place, soundless except for coruscating birdsong. It was like a world detached from our own, into which the world of human activity bled slowly as the first hours passed.

To Bill Cromby, daybreak in August meant time to start work. Through the kitchen window, Iris watched him bringing out the horses and handing them over to Laura Rawkins and Maggie Fowler. Iris noticed that he led them using his left hand, the right arm still hanging at his side. He had snapped the dislocated shoulder back last night, but he must be in some ample pain with it, she thought. But Bill wasn’t one to complain. He got on with his life regardless of the hurdles put in his way. If he’d lost his arm completely, she was quite sure he’d still be out there this morning. He spent some time explaining to Laura and Maggie what he wanted them to do today, and they left for the fields with the horses trotting behind. Then he stepped back into the barn and Iris wondered what he was up to. After the events of last night, she’d be in there as little as possible if she was him. The place was tainted. No wonder the horses refused to settle.

As she busied herself with the washing-up, Iris watched for him coming back out. And as she watched, the rattle of crockery ground to a silent full stop. Iris could see no movement inside the stable door. Only darkness.

Without bothering to dry her hands, she grasped the shotgun and rushed from the kitchen. The stable door was still wide open, but she sensed something 156

Casualties of War

terribly wrong. Lifting the gun to her shoulder, Iris peered round the edge of the door.

Bill Cromby gawked up at her from his position crouching on the floor about halfway down the stables. His face contained a curiously blank look and he was holding something that he raised to show her. It was a lump of earth, his realised, lowering the gun and stepping inside the cool shade.

Cromby gazed around at the scattered lumps of earth at his feet. Last night they were chunks of dead body. Now they were nothing but clods of dirt.

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