Doctor Who - The 8th Doctor - 54 - Anachrophobia by Jonathan Morris

Author:Jonathan Morris
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Military Art and Science, Doctor Who (Fictitious Character), Space Opera, General, Science Fiction, English, Fiction, Time Travel
ISBN: 9780563538479
Publisher: BBC Pubns
Published: 2002-03-03T08:00:00+00:00

The process was accelerating. On each occasion the soldiers drew time back, the more rapidly the mustard gas seemed to take effect. Barely thirty seconds had passed since their previous attempt. Their time was running out.

‘It is curious,’ observed Mistletoe, ‘how rapid and dramatic the onset was, is it not? Presumably the exposure was cumulative, or temporally advanced in some way?’

Anji checked the wall-clock; nine eleven. But time had only been rewound for the clocks and the soldiers. As far as everything else was concerned, time continued to roll on apace. The mustard gas thickened and gathered, its droplets beading the window, its mist hanging malevolently over the beds outside.

Bragg turned towards them. His face had reverted; jowly, heavybrowed, with slicked-back hair. Both of his eyes had been burned away to leave charred, gaping sockets in the flesh. He stared unseeingly into the isolation chamber.

‘Anji.’ His gravelly voice, relayed through the lntercom, had lost its mechanical quality. ‘I am. . . Bragg. They have. . . left me.’

Anji approached the intercom.

‘Anji,’ Bragg’s voice crackled. ‘You can save us. There is a way.’

‘What is it?’ Anji leaned into the mic. ‘What should I do?’

Bragg drew in a ragged breath. Blood seeped out of his eye holes and dribbled over his blackened lips. ‘Let me into the. . . quarantine chamber.’

‘No,’ whispered Mistletoe. ‘No, it’s a trick.’

‘What?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? He knows that whatever happens the game is up. But if he can infect one of us –’

Anji’s thoughts suddenly turned to the Doctor, Fitz and Shaw. They were still somewhere out there. ‘But what about –’

Mistletoe patted her hand. ‘Your friends are perfectly safe, my dear.

These creatures transmit their. . . condition by taking the subject back a minute or so in time. And at the moment,’ Mistletoe giggled, ‘ they don’t have that much time left. ’

Anji spoke into the intercom. ‘There’s nothing we can do.’ She forced herself to remember that the real Bragg was dead. What was it Lane had CHAPTER NINE

167

said? They are no more. Whatever it was that was standing outside, it wasn’t Bragg. It was his killer. ‘I’m sorry.’

Bragg stared at her and bared his teeth. Then, in a sudden jump-cut, his head had turned back into a clock. He swung himself away from the window and, with a furious scream, grabbed hold of a steel bed and shoved it, sending it clattering across the floor.

Beside him, Ash began to shake wildly. He staggered backwards and slammed into a DT unit. He collapsed, his limbs contorting in agony.

The glass of Norton’s face cracked and foam surged out, covering his uniform. He sank to his knees and retched, a low, click-clicking gurgle, and howled. His head splintered as it hit the floor.

Bragg roared and launched himself at the glass. His hands scrabbled and banged at the surface, but no avail. He rang out discordantly. The note reverberated and slurred, dropping in pitch, like an unplugged record player.

His head casing fell open, springs uncoiling, foam and wheels and pulleys and lumps of wet meat spilling out from where his mouth would have been.

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