Disclaimer: Gradually, I am at least owning more and more of the plot of this fanfiction...well, it's something...
Thanks to Brownbug, ShirouHokuto, Ilssii-Koschei and Son of Whitebeard - my ever-faithful reviewers! :D
Here?
From his vantage point on the crest of a low hill of rubble and earth, the Doctor surveyed the wasteland. Rubbish and refuse were piled into grey heaps across the landscape, with the only splashes of colour coming from skips and abandoned trailers. Here and there were stacks of building materials – bricks, concrete, piping – untouched for years and slowly rusting away or fading to become as colourless as the dusty ground. Seagulls wheeled in the murky sky, their cries ringing out across the still air, but apart from them, the place appeared deserted.
He was here, though. The Doctor had tracked the Master on foot from Broadfell, following that familiar sense of the other Time Lord's presence almost as though he were tracking a scent. On reflex, he inhaled deeply and held his breath, scanning the wasteland again for any sign of movement.
The Master was sitting among some discarded oil drums at the bottom of a mound of rubble when he sensed the Doctor's arrival. Abruptly, he sat up straight, throwing aside an old tramp's coat that he held in his hands and drawing back his hood. He inhaled, confirming – yes, it was the Doctor. Well, he supposed it was only a matter of time.
He rose to his feet and bent to pick up a length of iron pipe, which he hefted in one hand.
Well done, Doctor – you've sniffed me out. He raised the pipe over his shoulder and swung it into the side of one of the metal barrels with a deafening clang – and then again, again, again…
One two three four…
The sound shattered the silence that lay across the wasteland, and the Doctor pricked up his ears, turning his head this way and that to try and determine the direction.
One two three four…
There it was again – a deliberate rhythm of four. So the Master knew he was here. The Doctor turned and began to run towards the pounding beat.
One two three four…
The Master smiled as he sensed the Doctor begin to move towards him. In his ears, the drums continued, relentless and unchanging – but now…
One two three four…
Can you hear it now, Doctor? He flung the pipe to the ground and sprinted up the slope of the mound of rubble.
Weaving in and out of stacks of corroding metal beams, the Doctor could feel the distance between himself and the Master closing in. The clanging had ceased, so he followed his telepathic senses, honing in on the Master's unmistakable psychic fingerprint. He rounded a corner and skidded to a halt as his eyes landed on the peak of a towering pile of rubble. There, a slender black silhouette against the white sky, stood his long-time adversary. As he watched, the Master yelled out, a defiant shout of challenge, and the Doctor flinched in spite of himself. Suddenly, the Master crouched and sprang into the air, leaping a good thirty metres upwards before vanishing behind the rubble. The Doctor drew in his breath sharply and, gripped by concern, set off running with renewed urgency.
Hurtling across the loose gravel, the Master was moving with an agility that almost frightened him – no, it exhilarated him. So much energy – it coursed through him, filling his muscles, pumping in his veins – and it felt so good! He was more alive than ever! He felt like laughing aloud even as he bounded across the wasteland – the chase was on. Atop a stack of steel bars, he paused and waited. From around a corner, the Doctor appeared, gasping for breath; the Master laughed, feeling his energy rush through him and glow through his skin, turning his flesh transparent.
"Please, let me help," the Doctor called out. "You're burning up your own life force."
Oh, how predictable. The Master smirked, deliberately allowing the energy to pulse out of him once more – and then, with a mocking laugh, he jumped down from the stack of bars and out of sight of the Doctor.
He didn't listen – he never listened! The Doctor dashed after him, around the stack of bars and across an open space – where, to his confusion, he was greeted by the sight of Wilfred Mott, jogging towards him with outstretched arms. No time to waste, though – he could sense the Master moving away faster than he could run.
"Out of my way!" He shoved roughly past Wilf and scrambled up another stack of beams to frantically scan the landscape for any sign of the Master. Behind him, more voices were joining Wilf now, chattering excitedly.
"Did we do it? Is that him?"
"Tall and thin. Big, brown coat," Wilf confirmed. Still desperately hoping against hope, the Doctor squinted across the plain. Nothing – not a flicker of movement anywhere in the desolate wasteland. His hearts sank.
"The Silver Cloak! It worked!" came the voice of an elderly lady, and he finally turned his attention back to Wilf, who was accompanied by a group of a dozen or so greying pensioners. "'Cause Wilf phoned Netty, who phoned you, and her sister lives opposite Broadfell, and she saw the police box. And her neighbour saw this man heading East!" Bewildered, the Doctor looked from one to another, noticing with a prickle of alarm that they were all gazing at him proudly, beaming from ear to ear.
"Wilfred," he said in a low voice, "have you told them who I am? You promised me-"
"No – I just said you were a Doctor, that's all," Wilf replied. "And might I say, sir – it is an honour to see you again." He stepped back and saluted, which the Doctor returned, relieved.
"Oh, but you never said he was a looker!" the lady exclaimed, eyeing the Doctor appreciatively. "He's gorgeous! Take a photo." She pulled a camera from her pocket and shoved it into the hands of a balding man who stood behind her, tottering forwards on her high heels. There were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the group, and before he knew it, the Doctor found himself surrounded by pensioners with his arm around the lady, who introduced herself as "Minnie the Menace".
Some distance away, the Master had realized that the Doctor was no longer pursuing him, and stopped. Now that the initial thrill had passed, he began to realize just how much energy he was using as the raging hunger struck. A flicker of movement from the edge of a nearby scaffold caught his attention out of the corner of his eye and he snapped into focus, honing in, moving towards the scaffold with the lethal grace of a predator.
What emerged from around the corner made him stumble back in shock. His hearts nearly skipped a beat – and without a second thought, he turned tail and fled.
Squirming anxiously, the Doctor strained his senses as the Master's presence grew fainter. The camera clicked; the balding man held it at arm's length, peering down his nose.
"Did it flash?"
"No – there's a blue light. Try again," Minnie answered.
"I…I'm really kind of busy, you know." The Doctor made to pull away, but Minnie objected.
"Oh, it won't take a tic. Keep smiling!" He tried to ignore her hand sliding down his back, one eye on the camera in the hands of the balding man, who seemed to be moving agonizingly slowly. As his gnarled finger depressed the button, there were several bright flashes and two white-hot beams of laser light streaked across the sky. Startled, Minnie's hand dropped, and the Doctor's hearts leaped into his throat – he knew those ray guns…
It can't be…no, not now… The balding man frowned in puzzlement, turning the camera over in his hands, and Minnie stepped forwards to assist him. The Doctor, however, was already gone, halfway up the stack of beams with his back to the group. Wilf broke away from his friends and approached the Doctor, moving as though his years had finally caught up with him.
"Doctor?" he asked tentatively. "Doctor – was that…?" The Doctor made no reply, teeth clenched in concentration as his head turned this way and that, searching the wasteland. In the distance, darting between the huge gravel heaps, his eyes caught the dark shape of the Master moving almost blindingly fast across the weed-choked ground. In a single gravity-defying leap, the slight figure cleared a trailer. Two more shots came from behind a scaffold just as he dropped; for a heart-stopping moment, there was stillness, and then he was off again, pelting across the wasteland. The Doctor's eyes moved to the scaffold from where the shots came. He knew what he would see, but some part of him still dared to hope…no, there could be no mistaking those solid figures: Daleks – two of them – skimming across the ground in pursuit of the Master.
Reeling, the Doctor dropped lightly to the ground, Wilf following more slowly.
"But…how…" the old man stammered, white-faced.
"Listen to me, Wilf," the Doctor interrupted. "They haven't seen us yet – they're chasing the Master. You have to get away from here. How did you get here?"
"Well, there's our bus – just over there, on the road. But Doctor, I don't underst-"
"Get everyone to that bus. Now!" he snapped when Wilf opened his mouth again. Jolted into action, Wilf waved his hands for the attention of the group.
"Look here, you lot – listen up." They turned, and at the expression on his face, fell silent as one. "We've got to go – there's…there's something dangerous here." He looked over at the Doctor, seeking reassurance; already striding in the direction Wilf had motioned, the Doctor nodded gravely. Muttering their consternation, the pensioners began to move. Wilf could see that the Doctor was more agitated than he was letting on, the group's seemingly almost interminable slowness causing him to grow ever more on edge.
"Come on – pick it up," Wilf urged them, motioning with his hands. Mildly put out, they nevertheless pushed themselves into a faster gait.
"What are we running from, then?" Winston asked breathlessly.
"It's…no – no, I can't tell you," Wilf answered, avoiding his eyes. "Just trust me – it's-" Winston's lined face creased into a frown.
"All these secrets, Wilf! You won't even tell us who this Doctor is! Do you really trust him that much?"
"I'd trust him with my life," Wilf replied staunchly.
"Then tell us who he is – give us a reason to trust him!" Wilf shook his head, sending a pleading glance at the Doctor, who was peering back at the horizon.
"For pity's sake, man – stop being so mysterious!" another man growled, and there were nods of agreement as the group ground to a halt.
"I think it's very exciting," Minnie spoke up, but her words went largely unnoticed.
Throwing uneasy backwards glances in the direction he had seen the Daleks, the Doctor felt his anxiety growing with every second. After whatever had happened to him when he was resurrected, the Master might not seem to be thinking entirely clearly, but at least he had had the sense to run from the Daleks. They wouldn't follow him forever, though. They might know the Doctor was around. Even worse, if their schemes involved secrecy, they might do a sweep of the area to clear out any humans who had seen them. And now, he was faced with a dozen or so squabbling pensioners.
"They're Daleks," he said quietly. Silence fell over the group, and he repeated, louder, his voice rising with urgency. "There are Daleks just over that ridge. If they see us, you will all die. Now move!" Thrown into a panic, they broke into an ambling half-run as fast as their aging, arthritic joints could carry them. Minnie's camera fell from the balding man's shaking hand and shattered on the cracked concrete. Unheeded, the glass was trampled into splinters beneath their feet as they hurried on.
Turning a corner, the bus came into sight, parked on the edge of an access road to the construction site that had long fallen into disrepair. There was no sign of the Daleks, but the Doctor refused to let his guard down – he knew from experience by now that all too often, Daleks had a nasty habit of turning up without warning – and they pressed on. The driver reached the bus first and began fumbling in his coat pockets for the key – impatiently, the Doctor pulled out the sonic screwdriver and the doors hissed open. He hurdled the first two steps and leaned back out the door, reaching to assist the flustered people into the bus as they jostled forwards.
Wilf was the last to board, an elderly lady leaning on his arm for support. She collapsed into a chair and pulled out a handkerchief, with which she fanned her forehead. The engine coughed into life, and with a rumble, the bus was moving, bouncing off potholes as the driver accelerated down the neglected road.