chapter fourteen
Screech.
Bang.
Flashbangflash.
Jack, Martha and Sarah Jane crouched together as streaks of light and metal careened, filling the hospital courtyard above their heads with holes and dust and the smell of ozone.
"We've got to get to the Doctor," Jack mouthed, eyeing the two women from his side of the well manicured stone path, "… it's him they're after. As for me, it's time for my exit."
He rolled, keeping to the ground and continually getting shots off to provide cover as the girls ran for the opposite end, where two double no-break glass doors had miraculously survived the rain of alien projectile fire.
As they reached the doors, blood streaked across their backs, wetting their clothing in a fine spray.
And they kept going.
Jack would pop back up soon; no need to mourn a fixed point in time. Of course, all having been the Doctor's angels once, each woman would attach her own brand of sentiment to the matter of Jack, and move on.
Their hands reached, pushed through the cold, thick glass. It slid quietly shut behind them, killing all sound of the murder being done outside.
They were past the worst of it, at last.
Soon Martha and Sarah Jane were huddled behind a column, listening to a madman they both knew cooing over the whining strains of another baby monitor.
How the hell had that happened?
Sad thing was…
They already knew.