Dark.
This was what Andrew first sensed. It was dark, depressingly dark. The air was stale, full of fear. He wasn't alone. He sat on something, clogged between two other people. As his eyes accustomed to the dark in some degree, he saw silhouettes around himself, human forms. The room was full of people and sometimes shook as if it would move on some kind of rail and be thrown into the air when it runs onto the joints.
He tried to move but had to experience that he was cuffed: his legs to the bench and his hands next to himself. He heard the dreadful snuffle of the people around him, no one said a word. He was frightened as well, terrifically dreaded. He didn't know what waits for him; he was only sure in that he can't expect the Doctor's help this time.
Two weeks ago, when they got back from the war-hit Haguenau, the Doctor told him that he will be attacked. He didn't know when but was sure in the fact of the attack. Surprising himself, this period didn't pass in constant fear; maybe he was calmed by the thought of that the Time Lord gave his word on hurrying for his aid at the proper time. He wasn't negligent of the bounty hunter threatening him who installed the deflective field onto him but he didn't panic. And he succeeded in hiding all of this from his mother. But he did regret that he didn't say anything to Stephanie; he didn't know how to do that. He should have warned her.
But the Doctor couldn't keep his promise, didn't arrive on time. However, the bounty hunter wasn't late. How could this happen?
The doorbell rang. And Andrew opened the door.
A man stood on the other side of the door who was taller than him with a couple of centimetres and with busted legs. As if he would prepare for a duel on the Wild West.
Suspicion roused immediately in Andrew in connection with the guy. What could wake his suspicion? Maybe the strange pose, maybe the stranger clothes: the vivid red coat with two rows of white stripes on it, the tight leather trousers, the high-legged boots; he looked like some kind of ringmaster in a circus. Then the revolver case hanging from his belt and the pistol springing into the guy's hand made it clear: he has to ran, the man came for him.
He shut the door in front of the man while he was thinking about where he can hide. No matter how many times he played hide and seek in this house, he doesn't have any good idea! The garden would be the most rational solution, he would be able to escape from there onto the street and maybe he could shake the man off somewhere. But what sense would it make? He would have to come home sooner or later and the bounty hunter will wait him here.
He has to inform the Doctor, he saves him, he promised. Andrew scampered towards the stairs but the man already kicked the door in. Two sizzling bullets flew in his direction. Before they whooshed next to his ear he already felt that these will get through the deflective field. This is the man who's responsible for the field. And now he came for the prey.
Andrew closed his eyes in fright but the missiles didn't hit him. However, this much inattention was enough for him to bump into the antique clock standing next to the stairs and overthrow it. The orbs lashed into the wall, burning two tiny holes and the clock clashed to the ground with a deep clunk. Glass shards dispersed onto the floor, clattering, the pendulum bent, the body of the clock cracked, shards flew in the air. Hearing the noise, Stephanie's face appeared in the kitchen door.
"Back!" Andrew yelled at her while jumping onto the first step.
Although the bounty hunter noticed the girl, didn't lavish a bullet on her. Steph jumped back behind the door. In this moment, a tiny orb appeared in the man's hand which he threw after Stephanie. The strange object glided through the slowly closing gap. Andrew only heard a static sputter. His mother wasn't inside, was she?
The boy started to climb the stairs, careful not to dive in his big hurry. His mind was filled by the deep thuds which were created by him at first then his attacker and the horrible, sputtering sound. What could it be?
On the top of the stairs he turned towards his room, appeared in front of the door with three or four large steps and flung it open to step into his room.
'He will catch me soon. He's behind me and will catch me.' The thought stifled everything else. His body protested against the sudden exertion.
Andrew almost didn't realise what he was doing as he searched the desk and the bedside table. At last, here's the phone! He typed in the number and waited.
It was too late. The man kicked in the door of his room, the barrel of the pistol stared at him. Last chance!
"Doctor! Doctor!" he shouted into the phone, knowing that the Time Lord will listen to him. "Help me!"
His attacker came to a halt for a moment as he heard the Doctor name. Then he aimed at Andrew and fired.
The boy felt as the missile scratches his skin and, getting into the blood stream, dissolves to the acrid matter which nicked the wall's plaster. It felt as if it flared up inside. Then the feeling of fervour faded, it was replaced by a dull numbness. The man didn't want to kill, only sedate him.
While he fought for keeping his eyes open, he slowly toppled; the rest of his body failed to serve him. Andrew saw the bounty hunter's boots in front of him and the man's hand as he reaches down for the phone. Then he clasped the boy and started to drag him. If Andrew could have been able to rule his body, he would have grab hold of every way to balk his draught. But he watched helplessly as his socks' heels slowly fray while the man pulls the boy easily after himself.
Where does the man take him exactly? – the question got into shape in his mind, thinking ejected the sedating effect a little. Who is he exactly? Now, as he thought back to the guy's appearance like this, something started to loom: he resembles very much to John Hart from the series, Captain Jack Harkness' former Time Agent partner. Would this be him?
Andrew's train of thought stopped here; he caught a glimpse of something in front of him, although it was as hazy as if he would watch it through a pair of bad glasses. It was another man who surely wasn't on the corridor before. He wore a dark blue uniform. His dishevelled, dark hair reached to his chin, the lower half of his face was hidden by a brown scarf but Andrew could still see a scar which ran on his left cheek until his forehead. He riveted his intent gaze on them. His eyes were familiar. Would Andrew hallucinate?
The respective held a long-barrelled riffle with a binocular, aiming straight at the bounty hunter's nape. As the deadly-meant bullet flew out of the barrel, Andrew saw its flight in slow motion.
However, the bounty hunter, as if he sensed it with some kind of strange sixth sense, jumped to the side in the last moment, pulling the boy after himself. He jinked himself through a door, with Andrew landing on the bathroom's blue-white tiles. The boy didn't feel pain.
The guy can be another bounty hunter who also moves in on the prey, just didn't get here on time. Just like the Doctor.
As Andrew lay on the tiles dazedly, he saw Hart who was sulking to the door frame. The man snapped out the arsenal of his pistol and changed its contents to newer ones. He leant over for a moment but jumped back immediately. He tried once more but a bullet made him hide again.
"The sheikh's hand moves fast!" he said, half fretting and half appreciatively.
Admitting his tight situation, he didn't try another jump but started to fiddle with the gadget buckled to his right arm. His gaze became more and more cloudy.
"Come on, tripe!" he yelled at the machinery. "Charge!"
Because it seemed the tool needs more time to operate with full power, he decided that he'll use another function which needed little energy. He aimed at the boy with it then started to set something up.
Andrew didn't feel anything from all this. However, Hart stepped to him, caught him and jerked him towards the door. He took in as his body falls through the door and saw as the bullet from the stranger's riffle speeds towards him.
The missile made for his chest then vanished. Andrew didn't understand it; no bullets appeared suddenly these days like earlier when he was shot. The thought just got into shape when the bullet, where it vanished, appeared again but made for the man this time. That jumped away quickly not to come by his death by his own bullet.
Hart could have modified the field's function, he drew a conclusion.
In the same moment the Time Agent's relieved outcry sounded. He appeared behind the boy instantly and clutched his shoulder. He sent a triumphant grin in the direction of his opponent who tried to jockey into niche again. The Agent pushed a couple of buttons on the arm-buckled device.
Andrew's stomach started to churn, his bones wanted to get out of his body. Every part of him wanted to escape from its original place.
Then reality creased and the mysterious man could only the empty corridor in front of him. Andrew and Hart vanished.
The boy woke up here, in this dark, muggy, jolting container. Now, as he thought back at his kidnapping, still didn't see any sense in all of this. He still couldn't believe that this happens to him of all people. He stopped counting how many times he regretted that he met the Doctor. Probably lots of times.
The jolting suddenly stopped. Old machines creaked bitterly.
The room became filled with dreadful rustling. It was too quiet to be understood. Someone started to sob. It seemed like, as Andrew, no one else knows what's next.
Then everything was stifled by a sibilant voice which sounded in every pace of the room. Andrew soon realised what that is: someone pumps in gas. He felt as he starts to become dazed again. They sedate him again. This can't be true!
Andrew carefully opened his eyes. He wasn't surprised on that he's not in the container. Bright, white light covered everything; it was unusual after the darkness. His hands touched warm paving. He carefully moved his limbs; they were still numb.
He slowly got on his feet. When he didn't feel dizzy, looked around.
He was standing on the street of a town, the weather was nice. He saw tiny, angular, white walled houses which crossed regular streets. The streets were covered by cobbles and narrow conduits ran on the road's two sides. Grey, antique stationary lamps were spaced out equally next to the road.
The buildings seemed to be houses but he could see into some of them through huge shop windows. They were empty. He couldn't see trees anywhere and there weren't any potted flowers on the balconies. The place was defunct.
The sunlight thrilled Andrew. He was now listening to the whispers. He took his eyes away from the houses and saw dozens of people not far from where he stood. He made his way towards them while trying to exile the emergency sirens sounding in his mind. He had a very bad intuition. He was all of a sweat about the dead town.
As he got nearer, Andrew could observe the other captives. In general, they could be at the same age with him, boys and girls. He didn't see old people or adults, all of them were young, not more than twenty years old. They wore different clothes, some of them were seedy and some of them were elegant. Maybe they were kidnapped as well as him. After all, he was wearing the same clothes in which he was caught.
He moved his toes in the socks. He didn't feel cold. But their heels really did wear away.
He heard the others talking but didn't understand a word. What he thought at first was that too much people chatted at once. Then he realised: they don't talk in English. To be precise, the language didn't remind him of any of the Earth's languages.
He was on an alien world and he has no chance, without the TARDIS' translation program, to make himself understood. This made him more frightened than anything.
The crowd slowly grew as newer and newer youngsters arrived, with dread on their faces. The same dread which expression Andrew thought he has on his own face. Watery eyes, tear-smeared faces, limbs thrilling with fear.
Everyone was frightened and maybe this was what they tried to conceive.
Then came the silence. The youngsters fell silent. A voice spoke, stronger than everything. It came from the speakers. Whoever is the talker, they succeeded in silence everyone immediately. Although Andrew didn't understand a word, the speech still took a reassuring effect somehow. Fright was replaced by hope on others' faces as well.
But the respective, a man on the score of his voice, changed tone. He didn't threaten but he reminded Andrew of Mr Kramer, the History teacher. He speaks exactly like this when he calls their attention to the circumstances of black marked exams.
So he put the reward first and now the punishment.
The man fell silent but the voice still fumbled in Andrew's ears, it was simply enticing.
Then a tiny shake ran over the ground and a pillar rose out of the ground with a longish display on top.
Andrew saw surprised as it shows Arabic numbers, or rather their futuristic version. The display was a clock and told of noon.
A deep horn sounded which filled everything and the numbers started to twirl. The clock counted back. At the same time, a gap opened on the pillar and dozens of sheets flew out of it. The youngers started to jump and snatched at the slips of paper which lazily made for the ground in the lull. As a juvenile caught one of them, they took a look at it and started to run. Lots of people did he same without gaining any papers.
One of the sheets feathered towards Andrew, the boy snatched at it and took it into his palm. He smoothed it out to be able to study it.
It seemed that he keeps a map in his hand. The town's map. However, the captions could have been written in the alien language because he couldn't solve their meaning.
He felt a sudden push. While he swung backwards, a beefy boy took the map out of his hand. He started to grin maliciously and started to run. Andrew slowly stayed alone on the square.
"I didn't need it anyway!" he yelled angrily after the boy.
He caught a glimpse of a crummy, pimple-faced lad who started his way with a red-haired girl who was taller than him. They had a map. Andrew decided that after his was taken away from him, he follows the couple; maybe they can easily act upon theirs. He didn't know, what the game is going on about but he thought of it as some kind of competition. He didn't have any idea about what the winner gets and what the loser. But he didn't want to be a loser.
He could have been on the way for a long time.
Since the 'competition' started, he was lumbering in the trail of the couple from a relative distance. At the beginning he was afraid of that if they notice him, they react as aggressively as the boy who took the map from him. But for his relief, they didn't show any interest in him. They were more occupied with conciliate the town and the map than with his presence. If they did notice him, they didn't attend to him.
He didn't know exactly how long he followed them. Although he sometimes caught a glimpse of a clock pillar, didn't slow down to look at them; he didn't want to lose sight of his 'guides'.
The sun still shone as brightly as it did when they started their way. That probably could have been hours ago. His clothes stuck to him, wet from sweat; his trousers scoured him off and his heels were cracked by the paving. But he didn't pay attention to the inconveniences; he was only interested in getting to the finish, wherever it is. He didn't have any idea about what happened when the countdown expires. He was sure that it won't mean any good.
Panting from the continuous strain, his thoughts slowly started to be surmounted by desperation. Did he do the right thing when he went after the boy and the girl? It's not that he had a better idea back then or has one right now, but maybe he became lost for good because he followed them.
He tried to forestall the depressing thoughts but he wasn't able to. The Doctor let him down and he should find a way home, alone on an alien world. What good is this stroll anyway? They are only running to and fro!
The couple just got to a smaller square where a waterless ruined fountain stood. The human-form statue, which was carved to decorate the well, had his head and one of its hands missing. It held a broken-tipped marble spear in its other hand.
A shot banged.
Andrew ducked instinctively but the target wasn't him. The red-haired girl shrieked as the boy dropped next to her. She just stood numbly and screamed. She was in danger.
He mended his pace. Half a minute could have passed until he got near to the girl. He saw a tiny flash and he pushed the screaming girl away just on time from the way of the bullet which glanced off the fountain's rim, sparking. The girl overcame with more dread as she stared at Andrew.
"Calm down!" he spoke but knew that the girl can't understand it.
He looked at the boy, lying in a pool of blood. He was dead. However, the girl was watching him which was a good sign. Maybe the effect of shock was gone and he'll be able to take her from the open space somehow.
"Come!" he caught the girl's hand but she shook him off.
He bent down to the shot boy and freed the map from his hand. Andrew watched the point from where he saw the flash, maybe they have a luck once more to avoid a missile. He squeezed the girl's hand again then shouted at her.
"Come on!"
The girl gave a start then stood up and let herself dragged away. Andrew only hoped that she understood his tone and that they're in danger. They circled the fountain when the riffle sounded again. The bullet broke down the stem of the statue's spear and, ricocheting, swung into Andrew's shank.
Andrew threw himself to the ground at the feeling of dread and pain; the girl did the same. They were now in the hiding of the fountain.
Andrew pulled the holed trouser leg up to see the problem's size. The wound was bloody but the bullet hit only flesh and left immediately. It hurt when he moved it but he thought that he can walk but he'll limp. He tore off the leg of his trousers and bound it around the wound as tightly as he could. As he finished, he looked over his shank and noticed a couple of tinier wounds.
He started to smile bitterly and looked at the girl.
"Misadventurous leg! The Theron also picked this one…"
"Theron?" The girl's voice was high and she still shook from excitement. It seemed that she identified the word. "Pluvia?"
"Yes," Andrew nodded. He didn't strike out how this helps on the cleft of communication but at least he could make the girl talk.
He was sure that the girl doesn't understand him but maybe he can let her know something elemental. He thought back at the tales he watched as a child. If it worked, maybe it will work for him as well.
He slowly lifted his hand and poked himself with his thumb.
"Andrew."
The girl looked questioningly then realised what the boy wants.
"Alea," she repeated the movement which she saw Andrew make.
Well, he knows her name.
Alea lifted the map and held it in front of Andrew. The boy took a look at the sheet then shook his head, signalling that he can't understand it. The girl looked at him, confused. Then something came into Andrew's mind and reached his hand towards the girl and poked at the map. The girl smiled and gave him the paper. Andrew took stock of the map again, tried to recognise the place on it where they can be. If he doesn't understand the captions, he can still identify the objects in the area!
He had to err in his hopes; the map was showing a recurring pattern: square-based houses, regular houses and little, round squares in the confluence of the roads. They could have come on any route. But, on the top of the map, there was a large, oblong illustration with a caption on it: maybe that's the finish. He turned the sheet towards Alea and was pointing at the building's picture.
The girl looked at the point then nodded. She didn't speak, either; she already realised that they don't understand each other. She poked the map with her finger and drew an imaginary line right until a square. This can be the assumed route.
Andrew took stock of the showed direction and looked around, maybe he can see something which would help them getting out. They're in danger here, that's for sure. Whoever shot at them isn't that stupid to waste bullets until they are in a foxhole. They should elicit an unnecessary shot from him somehow and they could get into safety if they're fast enough.
His kidnapping came to his mind: the other guy fired immediately as he caught a glimpse of Hart or Andrew. Is this shooter as nimble as the other was? If the field would still be on him, he would try to jump out but the wound shows that it isn't. His life is at stake now. And the girl's, as well. Neither of them can be a bait; one of them would die.
On the spur of the moment, he lifted his head to look over the fountain's rim but ducked quickly. However, there wasn't a flash, not a bullet came. He repeated the movement, nothing happened. The shooter, it seems, plays safe and doesn't waste a bullet to shoot him in the head. The rifleman can't aim trimly for that or doesn't trust himself enough.
"Or he's not a good shooter…" he started to smile wanly. "The first shot was a hit but they didn't expect it," he started to talk, maybe he can more easily see it through, "he shot at a standing target with the second one but when we were moving couldn't hit us," he stared at the broken end of the spear, "it only glanced off. Moreover, the time between shots is long; he loads or aims slowly."
Andrew had to use this out. If one of them would rush towards the opposite house's corner, then maybe they could bring him making a wrong-headed shot. And the other one of them would easily get through.
The girl's smile became wider and wider as she watched Andrew. She defined the boy's fervid talking as a good sign.
Andrew looked at Alea and clouded up a little. He has to go; he can't send the girl. If he argufied amiss, she can still find out something else. He just has to inform her of the plan. But he doesn't have the mode to do it.
She's an intelligent girl, maybe she'll realise. He took a deep breath and, as his stinging leg allowed, made a rush towards the shielding of one of the houses. He didn't pay attention to the pain which was stabbing into him step by step. He heard as Alea exclaims from surprise. He counted the seconds in his mind, imagined as the rifle fires and he falls onto the cobbles, dead. But he had to try it.
The weapon banged.
And the bullet didn't hit him.
He was possessed by a limitless relief. He spun in delight and started to wave to Alea to follow him. The girl nodded and started to run. As she got to Andrew, they ran along together, got to the corner and out of the sight of the shooter.
They only have to get to the finish.
Maybe one or two hours could have passed until they got near that oblong building. They heard gun-fight several times on the way but they were never targets. Andrew always thrilled those times; it was bad thinking that maybe someone stayed there after every shot, fallen onto the hot cobble, wounded or dead.
There was a clock on the building's wall, as well which showed that they have only twenty minutes left. They were walking on the town's streets for almost twelve hours!
Both of them were exhausted, tired and shattered. The enormous building almost filled their field of vision; its gate could have been a couple of metres high. The two thick gate wings were put onto rails which neared each other unhurriedly. The gate will be closed soon!
Form different directions, firstly feathering then more and more frequently came the 'contestants' and waddled through the gate.
Everyone was used up. Most of them came alone but he saw a blonde girl who helped a young, wounded boy.
So this was the objective: getting this far, surviving the shooters before time runs out.
"What kind of madness is this?" Andrew exclaimed involuntarily.
Alea looked at him and the boy shook his head quickly, signalling that what he said is irrelevant. They started towards the slowly narrowing gap with renewed force.
In this moment, a sparking laser-series cut suddenly over the place. Andrew and Alea threw themselves to the ground. The boy watched from a laying position as more and more laser missiles hit their targets. Someone took the last chance to shoot. Cries of pain and screams of death filled the square.
Andrew and the girl were lucky because the shooter didn't pay attention to them; Alea jumped and also helped up the boy to reach the gate while the shooter fires at someone else. However, Andrew came to a halt: he noticed a boy who was shot but wasn't in direct danger. Maybe he can be saved. Andrew squeezed Alea's arm and pointed at the wounded kid. The girl's eyes widened then extracted her arm from Andrew's palm and rushed in the direction of the gate.
Andrew shook his head disapprovingly but didn't blame the girl. It's only his problem if he wants to play a hero. But why does he have to be one?
He started towards the boy while watching where the missiles are. When Andrew got there, bent down to him, reached under his arm and helped him up. The lad looked up at him with a grateful expression. Andrew escorted him towards the gate when he noticed the blonde girl nearing from the opposite direction. Her ponytailed hair swung from the left to the right, her T-shirt stuck to her swelteringly. She held something in her hand.
She ran past them and rushed out onto the square, into the laser-shower. She lifted the longish object in his hand and it suddenly released a green energy-canopy which absorbed the laser-rays. She went from person to person in the shelter of it.
She wants to help!
Andrew supported the boy to the gate then let him go on his own account. He turned to see how the girl is doing. The canopy became larger since then; the girl was followed by two other girls and a boy in its shadow. The shooter, as if they wouldn't be able to do anything in their anger, concentrated every shot onto the canopy.
However, the device held on. The girl nodded towards Andrew, instructing him to go in as well. As he turned, realised that the gate's closing sped up. They will be the last incomers; who comes after them, stays outside.
He ran in and found himself in a huge hangar. It was empty, just like the town. He saw tired and wounded youngsters everywhere who panted from exhaustion. The energy-canopy's green light eye-hurting in the hangar's semi-darkness. He looked at the blonde girl who turned the gear off; the hangar became darker.
The girl noticed him watching her. She swept a curl from his face and smiled at him. She started towards him while saying something which Andrew didn't understand so he only shrugged as a reply.
Now, as excitement slipped away, tiredness suddenly poured onto him. He felt as his knees sink in and the pain stabbed into his shank again. He started in the dark to find a corner where he can sit down. He can't have a company now, anyway. He took the last steps and let himself onto the ground. He rested his back against the hangar's cold wall. He blinked a couple of times and noticed the blonde girl's worried face above himself. But he didn't care about it now. He just wanted to sleep.