Hey guys! This is my first Doctor Who fanfic. I wrote this for creative writing class and at wasn't planning on publishing it here, but hey life is full of suprises and I think I can actually continue with it. Here is "Scandal in the Sahara." Without further ado,
Bon Apetite! -irishwerewolf
I am running. Not the kind of namby-pamby running little kids do when they're trying to chase their friends in a cheery game of tag. I am running as if my life depended on it, and to be quite honest it does. My heavy combat boots, caked in a thick layer of dried mud, thud with each step I take. My lungs burn as if a thousand tiny needles were incessantly stabbing me. Adrenaline courses through my veins, swimming in the rivers of blood my body houses. I'm sure I'd be drowning in sweat too if I weren't so dehydrated. The helicopter's swooshing sounds thrum in my ears, perfectly in tune with my heart beating faster with each step I take. The blistering hot dust of the Sahara lifts off the ground behind me, as if it too were trying to catch me.
"Stop where you are or we'll be forced to shoot," a commanding voice plays over the chopper's speakers. 'Oh, like hell they will,' I think to myself. I keep running, trying not to trip over my exhausted self as I hear gunshot rain down on me. Up ahead I see an oasis or at least I think I see it. I've been in the desert for so long, it could be a mirage or far more likely, another sand dune. As my feet carry me as fast as a jackrabbit, I squint and see it really is an oasis. The sun beats down on the trees, making the olive green leaves even more vibrant. The trees started shaking as the helicopter followed me closer to the oasis. The sand of the desert stops where the green starts. The bushes look like pawns in a game of chess, guarding and ready to protect anybody who entered. Then the oasis grew too thick to see through it. I assume the pool of water is buried within its savory cool depths.
A smirk paints itself on my sun kissed face, my cheekbones stained with sunburn. The scorching sand is swirling around me now faster, biting at my skin like mosquitos. The bullets are getting even closer to me now. With one final burst of energy, I sprint, willing my feeble feet to carry me these last few yards without getting caught by the piercing pain of a bullet. Then I feel it, the sharp pain accompanied by rivulets of blood staining my uniform. I didn't know I fell until I felt the blazing hot sand cushioning my face, cradling my body as a fire does a log. The sand the chopper blew up, slowly dies down, falling all around me like snow back home on Christmas Eve.
"Well, well, well. Looks like we finally caught you didn't we?" A man says as he looks down on me, eyes hidden behind a pair of Ray Bans, face masked in shadow. He squats down next to me, unwrapping the cloth. Inch by inch, I start to remember him. I remember his scratchy goatee and his too straight, glimmering teeth. From his pale skin to the deep green of his eyes, I remember every detail about him, especially the part where he tried to kill me. In all my pain, I can manage a glare laced with hate. "I'd love to see you get out of this one. Bleeding from a hole blasted into your shoulder, surrounded by government officials ready to send you to maximum security prison until you are sentenced. Oh, Miss River, you're getting sloppy." I try to turn my head away from him, but he grabs it in his hand and smiles cruelly at me, green eyes boring in to mine. It's as if he's trying to tell me something, but I don't want to listen, especially to him.
"What do you want Cameron?"
"You know what I want."
"Then you know my answer is still no." He glares at me and shouts something in Arabic to the Afghani soldiers on loan to the US government. He drops my head, and turns back to the chopper, phone already in hand with the government on speed dial.
I weakly lift my arm and move it to my back, trying to find where they got me. My fingers graze over my scratchy uniform, moving closer to left shoulder blade. Then I feel it: warm and sticky with grains of sand in it. I follow the trail to ground zero and wince when I feel it. The little grains of sand embedded in the hole in my back. I pull my hand back and open my eyes. I'm not far away from the oasis, a few feet at most. Behind me, men are running around trying to get the chopper ready. A man is prepping the medical equipment to keep me alive. Cameron is sitting inside the chopper, talking on his phone probably to the government, boasting that he caught me and that he's ready to collect the reward on my head. Not a single person is paying attention to me...at least not yet. Slowly at first, I crawl towards the bush closest to me. Then faster, trying not to make too much of a commotion, I slither away into the bush. Checking that nobody saw me, I squirm into the date bush.
'I've been here before,' I think to myself, smiling like an idiot. I know because in the center, there's a small space big enough to conceal a person without them being found. But I know they're going to notice that I'm gone and soon. As quietly as I can, I pull the Velcro lining my pocket apart and reach for the map. I carried around a map of the Sahara with me, scribbling little notes about oasises and secret hideouts I made on them. I pull the crinkled paper apart, searching for the bush I'm hiding in on my personalized guide. My finger, stained with blood, drags itself across, until it stops as it finds its mark. There's an entrance to the underground tunnels in the bush on the other side of the oasis. I peer out a pocket in the date bush, trying to get a look at the chopper. Nobody's noticed that I'm gone yet, but time is slipping past. I hastily fold up my map and slide it back into my cargo pants pocket.
Before I can seal the Velcro of my pocket, my fingers brush against something. I pull it out to look at it. I find it's a picture of home. My house back in Vermont. The beautiful rose bushes lined up in front of the navy blue house, the smoke wafting out of the chimney in delicate tendrils, the twilight of a summer's eve dawning behind the sweet little cottage. A tear beads in my eye as I look at him, my husband, Dr. John Smith. A common name for a very uncommon man. I smile as I think back to the last time I saw him and how we danced that night on the Eiffel Tower. I can still smell the fragrance of the lilies he gave to me and I can hear him whispering in my ear, "I'll see you again soon, love," before slipping away.
I'm shaken back to reality when I hear a few shouts as they realize my disappearance. I can dwell on home and getting back later, now need to get out of here. I slide the picture back into my pocket and seal the Velcro. I crawl out of the bush wary of the soldiers getting ready to look for me. I hear the shouts coming closer and I know they'll be on me like bloodhounds searching for their master's quarry. I hop out and crawl. The bullet wound in my shoulder silently screams, and I wince continuing on. I duck behind a bush as a soldier shouts behind me that they're going to start with the bushes at the edge, searching every nook and cranny until they find me. I desperately worm my way around, careful not to draw any attention to myself. Any sound to set them off, will mean the death of me. Cameron walks around, apart from the search party. He knows me too well.
I try to keep my heart rate under control and silence my labored breaths as he saunters past. I hear the faint crunch of his boots hidden under the light carpet of decaying palm leaves. He treads lightly, taking care to watch where he steps out of habit. Cameron growls like an animal gone wild with starvation. I slip under a bush, rustling the leaves of the one next to it as I find a way into the safety of its fruit laid branches. He stalks over to it, emerald eyes flashing with anger. I see the bush concealing the secret entrance a few feet away. If I can only get to i-
"River..." he calls out, "I know you're here." A shiver runs down my spine and I wince as it hits the bullet wound.
"Just come out and we can talk about this like adults," he tries to reason with me. "You don't have to hide anymore, River. You can come back to the States with us and return to your home in Vermont. You just have to tell us what your husband is doing. We know he's hiding something and that you're helping him. Just tell us and you can go home and never have to deal with us ever again." He steps close to the bush next to me, certain that's where I'm hiding. "Come on out River Song. We promise we won't hurt you." I hear the click of the button on his gun holster, thinking, 'Yeah right.' He pounces like a leopard at the bush, trying to find me buried deep within. I take this as my opportunity to sneak out of my hiding place and run like hell for the entrance to the tunnel. I slip out, only to see him staring right at me, gun pointed for the other side of my wound.
"Now River, you have two options. You can either tell me about John's plans or you can become food for the vultures. I'm sure they haven't had a decent meal in a long time." I stare him in the eyes, gathering what courage I had, and said, "No." He pulls back the trigger, ready to fire.
"River," he warns, voice shaking with fury. "You're a great fighter, the best I've ever seen. You've managed to evade my forces, not to mention those of all the other countries after you, for ten years now. You're better than out best soldier times five."
"Oh, that hurts Cam. Only five times better?"
"River, you don't have to do this. You can tell me what John is doing, and I won't have to pull this trigger."
"But, you see I do have to do this. You know me Cameron. You know that I'd sooner die with his secrets than live knowing that he's going to die," I say defiantly.
"He's going to die anyway. Might as well tell me before you have another bullet to match the first."
"Just shoot me already." I hear the blast from his gun and then nothing.
My eyes shoot open and it feels like I'm drowning. It's too dark to see anything and it feels like I'm choking. I'm not in water because if I were my clothes wouldn't be clinging to me. Water runs over a cloth covering my face and I struggle, trying to get it off my face. My hands are tied behind the board I'm strapped to, rope digging into my wrists. My mind rushes, trying to figure out what's going on. I'm not in water, I'm soaking wet with a cloth over my face and I feel like I can't breathe. The flow of water stops and the cloth is removed. I blink several times, trying to get my eyes open. When I get them open, I see Cameron standing with a smug smile on his face and a dripping wet gunny sack in hand. 'If I weren't tied down, I'd slap that stupid smirk off his face,' I think as I glare daggers at him.
"So," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm, "You want to tell me where John is now?"
So...what'd you guys think? Should I continue or is that a good stopping point? Also, you're already pretty close to the review box, so why don't you just go ahead and tell me what you thought while you're down here