XXV.
What followed was perhaps one of the most unique experiences of Martha's life.
Training to be a doctor had shown her many of the wonders of the human body. Traveling with The Doctor had shown her many of the wonders of the universe. But this experience had taught Martha about the human spirit, and how incredibly powerful it is.
History, and those events that you read about in books and analyze from a world away (not having a clue what it was really like), was happening before her eyes. If there were another way to describe it in her own mind, Martha couldn't find it. Just as the heavy garments and antique atmosphere of 1913 gave her an acute sense of surrealness, what happened after Lucille's declaration filled her with an overpoweringly visceral emotion that she'd never felt before.
Oh, she had seen movies, read history books, heard the elderly members of her family reminiscing. World War II, The Great Depression, the deep American South…all just distant stories. All just pictures in her mind – half-formed ones, ones that didn't hold a candle to the here and now. Next to the bustling, bright, crisp, oblivious activity of London in 2007, this slow, heavy, hot, powerfully real 1939 Mississippi crept into every one of her senses as she watched the men of the GYST House now.
Their clothes, damp with sweat, taught over their tired, overworked bodies. Their expressions, worried and serious and even a little confused. Their voices, deep and then barking and then quiet again. Their smell…such a smell was indescribable. The house creaked and groaned as men walked about, readying themselves. Shotguns loaded, boots laced up, shots of whiskey going round, hats pulled low over dark eyes. A scratchy record played softly in the background.
Night sacks packed with random things, shirts, socks, bibles, cigarettes, bullets, personal tokens to cling to for strength…
Sweet Mama ushered Martha into the kitchen, where she'd been cooking all day. They packed everything: sweet-smelling cornbread, apples, marmalade, chicken, sweet potatoes, jam, coffee grounds, lemonade, bacon left over from breakfast that morning, catfish patties she was planning on frying for a late "snack", string beans and carrots and a big loaf of pound cake. When they'd done they had four baskets full.
Sweet Mama made Charles, Blue, Manny, and Joe carry them.
Lucille came downstairs having changed clothes. She now didn't look quite as glamorous, but still lovely. A blue cotton dress cinched at her waste and flowing past her knees, simple black button up pumps like Martha's borrowed ones, and her hair in a demure bun with a flower in it.
No rouge, no fancy fan. But a bright, brave smile.
Martha took a deep breath as they all now looked to her, crowded on the porch. Mister John stood in the middle, flanked by Howlin' Wolf and Sweet Mama, who had a cane with her for support as she walked.
"I suggest we get a move on," Martha said very softly, truly affected by the sight of them all, rallying round her (and The Doctor). "It'll be dark soon." She swallowed thickly. "Em…which way?"
Mister John took a step down from the porch, and took her hand to lead her. "Church is this way."
They lead the troupe of two dozen men, Sweet Mama, and Lucille off the porch, across the yard, and into the road.
As they began to walk, the cavalcade spread out and Lucille came to take Martha's other hand. Sweet Mama walked determinedly with the aid of her cane and a hand from Earl, keeping pace with them just fine.
Lucille began to hum, deep in her throat, and Martha was stirred inside when she belted the first note. Howlin' Wolf followed soon after, and strummed his guitar.
Sweet Mama had explained, as they packed up all that food, that they would do it like they did in the old days. They'd walk through the streets, from house to house, shack to shack, and call out to the people through song.
They called it a Sounding.
They used to do it when she was a girl, she told Martha, when someone in the church was in a real bad way – so bad it seemed like "the devil was dancin' on their prayers". Everyone in town would gather, starting with the family of the beleaguered patron, and walk through town praying and singing, calling on everyone for help. Sounding the spiritual alarm, so to speak.
Martha didn't argue. They needed a Sounding. The Doctor needed all the help he could get.
So they walked, and as they moved the men began to steadily join in the song. Martha had to let the words come several times, and then repeat, before she mustered the audacity to join in too.
Mister John looked down at her, and when she returned his gaze she found – not for the first time since she met this man – tears welling in her eyes. She found his expression (a mixture of stoic determination, love, and reverence) truly touching.
Lucille sang her lungs out. Hearing her sing in the juke joint was vastly different to hearing her sing this gospel song. Her voice was…well, it was just beautiful. It was at this moment that Martha remembered something The Doctor said to her the very first night they arrived here, lying side-by-side on the muddy bank of the creek: "…Lovely Lucille…though she died before things really took off…" As she was seized with the dread that accompanied the realization, Lucille's voice seemed suddenly extremely precious to her.
Precious Lord, take my hand!
Lead me on, let me stand!
I'm tired, I'm weak, I'm lone!
Through the storm, through the night
Lead me on to the light!
Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home!
Howlin' Wolf played his guitar and sang along side her. And Martha wondered, how many would die tonight? She couldn't ignore the very strong possibility. It gave this Sounding a potent, emotional undercurrent that added considerably to the already somber atmosphere.
When my way grows drear, precious Lord linger near!
When my life is almost gone,
Hear my cry, hear my call!
Hold my hand lest I fall!
Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home!
Sweet Mama chimed in, a motherly and nurturing yet sturdy and formidable voice that guided them all. Was Martha mistaken for getting them involved in this? Was there another way?
When the darkness appears and the night draws near
And the day is past and gone!
At the river I stand!
Guide my feet, hold my hand!
Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home!
Then GYST House and Orchard men acted as a deep, soulful chorus. Did The Doctor know they were risking these people's lives? Of course he did – he always did. It was in his eyes, in the hospital corridor before they split up.
Precious Lord, take my hand!
Lead me on, let me stand!
I'm tired, I'm weak, Lord I'm worn!
Through the storm, through the night,
Lead me on to the light!
Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home!
Martha merely sang quietly to herself, too overwhelmed with emotion to muster much volume. If any of them died tonight, it would be her fault. It was her idea. She had to make sure to do everything in her power to protect as many of them as she could.
Mister John sang to her.
I'm tired, I'm weak, I'm lone…
Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home…
She felt he was trying to communicate something to her about his people. About his time. About his heart. And Martha felt that, if she had been born in this time, lived in this place, and met this man – she might fall in love with him, marry him, bare his children, and live the rest of her days singing songs like these. She thought, almost out of instinct: he's my Joan Redfern…
She understood now. Any resentment or heartache she had previously felt for watching the two of them fall in love in 1913 faded away.
It wasn't a sympathetic thought – it was a simple certainty.
Just as simple as the certainty that she was irrevocably in love with The Doctor. That she was not from this time, and that she would leave it behind when this was all over. She had goals, and ambitions, and dreams of her own – from her own time. If she had been born here, would any of those dreams exist? Maybe. But would they be possible? She doubted it. So she was grateful for the ability to witness this. That's all she could offer of herself to him now – a witness. And she would remember this for the rest of her life.
If they survived.
Martha was not a religious person, no. But she could appreciate how these people, steeped in tradition and raised to revere a higher power, channeled such beliefs for good. One could argue about the negatives and positives and the philosophy of religion for ages – but there was no denying what she was experiencing now.
Seemingly hard-living, "sinful", arrogant and stubborn men gave themselves over to Sweet Mama's leadership and The Doctor's cause, and before her eyes – people came out of their houses.
They walked along the road as the sun went down, and the breeze carried their voices across the fields and in the trees. Howlin' Wolf's guitar gave a charge to the air, and people came out. They came out, and though their expressions were curious – they instantly knew what to do. Perhaps this Sounding thing hadn't happened in a long while, but that didn't seem to matter.
Sweet Mama called, gesturing with her cane: "Come on out, ya'll! Come down to the church! The devil is dancin', the light is goin' out! The children are in danger! Come on out! This is a Soundin'!"
They marched faster. Men and women joined them from every house they passed, almost. Sweet Mama urged them out, and Lucille sang. A few men on horses with greasy overalls (Mister John said they were fresh off a shift building train tracks along the river miles away) rode along side the cavalcade.
"This is a Soundin'! Come on out!"
Several old ladies that resembled Sweet Mama so much, but that were so unique in their own ways, came out clapping and raising their hands to the sky. Elderly men patted their younger counterparts on the back and shuffled along.
Martha feared for these people – they didn't know the real danger. They didn't understand. She looked to Mister John with concern.
"It's alright, Martha," he assured her. "We'll protect them. But this is a Sounding, and it's just what you and The Doctor need, if what you said back in the orchard was right. Like you askin' us to trust The Doctor, I'm askin' you to trust this town. It's alright. We're stronger than you think."
She swallowed thickly and nodded. He squeezed her hand and they marched on.
They passed through town, drawing out shopkeepers and farmers and even teenagers. Some joined the precession, some stood and watched. Martha urged John to instruct those that stayed behind to lock up their houses, board their windows, fear the night. He did, all the while assuring her that they were doing the right thing – that this would work. He seemed to understand she needed that.
And, in the back of her mind, she hoped The Doctor would hurry. Else, if her fears were correct, he'd be turned as the sun disappeared and the moon began to shine. Martha was capable of a lot – the many times she'd had to step in without him gave her confidence in that – but without him now, she just wasn't sure how to see them all through this.
It was too early, and yet…it was time. She felt it as certainly as she felt that there was no turning back now. The Sounding was happening, the darkness approached, and it was now time to fight.
Martha steeled herself and her eyes became fixed on the steeple of the small, white church ahead.
«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»
Henry Lawson White ran.
He had abandoned the train at half journey, knowing that with the planned stops and general chaos of passengers de-boarding and transferring and the like that he would make it there faster on foot.
Surely there would be questions concerning his disappearance, but none of that mattered now.
They were so close!
He had but to be patient, and soon The Doctor, this Earth, and the raging war half a lifetime away would be theirs!
As he ran, his gleaming eyes rose to the rapidly darkening skyline. Oh, tonight…tonight we shall turn you, my friend, into our never-ending beacon! You shall shine brighter than you've ever shined, and illuminate the subjugation of this child planet The Doctor loves so!
When word came to the Senate, about the Clade warrior that had been captured, a sense of relief and renewed determination stirred within the Consciousness. They had finally received the chance they'd been hoping for – a chance to turn the enemy's technology against them! They would win this war, yet!
The warrior was damaged, nearly done in. It resisted, but in doing so burned up the last of its strength. When the thing died, they set quickly to work. Scavenging its memory database, searching tirelessly for some clue as to how to deliver a defeating blow to their ever-swelling ranks.
They could not produce soldiers fast enough; such was the devastation of the Clade onslaught. They had to find something, some weakness, some useful technology, or they'd be defeated.
They learned many things. The Clades' beliefs and ambitions were almost akin to their own. They even operated in much the same fashion – a collective Consciousness, constantly communicating, working in unison across a near-infinite range of distance. Except that the Clades were machines. Their language strings of code; their "minds" hard drives which stored and analyzed information, solved problems based on equations and calculated scenarios.
They shared memories by downloading stored data onto a central hub, which every Clade accessed remotely. All this they learned, but they'd been locked out of the part of the database that would allow them to decode any information about their weaponry or military tactics. A special lockdown programmed into every Clade in case of capture.
The Haemovariform were not deterred however. They studied what they had right in front of them, and found something – something that didn't appear particularly useful at the time, but that they analyzed and perfected nonetheless.
It took them nearly four years to decipher everything. All that while, the war raged on. The Clade was kept preserved and secret.
But it was not until they discovered the data memory download of an encounter on Earth, that they found a use for this new piece of technology. The encounter on the child planet was of a marooned Clade weapon, the search drones that went to retrieve it, and a man called The Doctor.
A Time Lord!
The last of the Time Lords. With a mind as infinite and full of knowledge as the whole of the universe. A man with the power to manipulate the Time Vortex. With detailed, intimate knowledge of planets and star systems, species, and war. A man who had destroyed whole worlds in one breath! Such a man they needed now.
Almost immediately upon this discovery, fate smiled on them. The distress signal came from Earth.
All that followed was as planned.
And now they were so very close to sealing their victory. In time, millions of soldiers at the ready – and millions upon millions more easily to follow suit.
The device, and The Doctor, were key. With the device, the sun's light could be harnessed ten-fold. The moon cast in a ceaseless pool of light! Light enough to triple the signal a hundred times over!
Light enough to turn The Doctor, and all the humans Henry Lawson White had infected, to the Consciousness permanently.
He ran faster.
The landscape flew past him in a blur. His eyes gleamed silvery white.
He smiled.
The Doctor was close, getting closer. He could sense it. Sheriff Downey's interrogation played in his mind like a radio frequency crackling and fading in and out. The Doctor's determination invaded his senses. One more step…one final step and he was captured!
He doubled his pace.
Henry Lawson White entered the town of West Point under cover of night. He had made the journey, what would've taken him nearly twelve hours by train, in two. His strength was fed by the strength of his recruits, both that unconscious brood at the county hospital and the subjects he had infected over a period of months. He couldn't have infected them all himself. So he began with a mere few. Who spread the lupine virus far and wide. And the Consciousness was strengthened by his voice – in town halls, over the radio.
It had taken him twelve months to conduct his work. Time moved so slowly on this planet. Time for a Time Lord was instantaneous yet endless. Isolated yet boundless. Oh, this Doctor would serve them well. No one would dare stand against them with a Time Lord in their ranks!
A Time Lord with a world of time energy stored in a little box somewhere in this town.
He found the bunker, and there found Jackson Prewitt readying the device. Jackson Prewitt was a fool and a coward, but he was useful. Even until his very last breath.
Henry Lawson White fed on Jackson Prewitt to replenish his strength, and then waited for Edward Mills and Homer Pike to bring him The Doctor.
«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»
To his satisfaction, The Doctor saw that people were already hurrying to their homes to escape nightfall.
He could hear Morris inside the station doling out orders. His men would be ready to secure the town soon enough. He trusted Morris to do as he instructed without fault.
Trusting Ed, on the other hand, was another matter.
Ed was waiting by the Lincoln.
"No, no…" he gestured as he walked past the car and into the street. "As much as I love any excuse to ride in that beauty – and, truly, it is a beauty – we're on foot, you and me."
"Fine by me…" Ed grunted and followed him.
"Come on then," The Doctor chirped over his shoulder. He wished he had his coat. The effect of walking through town with the EEG/Polarimeter/TARDIS tracker slung over his shoulder would be better with the long-flanked garment flowing behind him in the slight breeze. Ah well.
Ed was silent as they walked. The Doctor saw this as good an opportunity as any to get some answers.
"Tell me something, Ed," he asked casually, sliding one hand into his trouser pocket as he observed the townspeople hurrying along for shelter. The air was tense – like a charge of electricity before a lightning storm. A warning as subtle – but just as effective – as a feeling. These people weren't stupid. A town could be as tightly connected as any family. All relying on their instincts and the looks in each other's eyes to take their cues. And with The Doctor walking through their midst carrying a strange device, a purposeful gait to his steps, they knew something was up. Good people. He continued with Ed: "How do you think those lupine cells got into Sheriff Downey?"
"What?" Ed frowned, a confused look crossing his face.
The Doctor shrugged as they dodged out of the way of a passing locomotive. "Weelll, I mean that werewolf didn't get here until well after you and the Sheriff started following orders from mister H.L.W." He over-pronounced each letter of the Mayor's initials. "Until well after Downey was already dead."
He paused, turning to face Ed by the side of the road. His gaze was razor-sharp.
"So how do you suppose those lupine cells got there?"
Ed clenched his jaw. "I told ya already, I don't know."
"Oh, but I think you do," The Doctor pressed, "because…" he eyed Ed up and down astutely, then pointed the tracker device at him. Ed tensed up, unsure if it would harm him or what. The thing practically went ding! The Doctor's eyes settled into satisfaction again. "They're inside you, too."
Ed swallowed. "I…I know."
"Go on…"
"I mean…I had a feelin', but…" he licked his lips, his frown deepening as that narrow brain of his worked something out. "It wasn't like the others. I should be sleepin', right? Like…like my brother? Only that ain't what happened. I'm awake, I'm here talkin' to ya…so…I don't know how they got there."
"Are you afraid?" The Doctor asked sincerely.
Ed looked as though he wanted to say yes, but only for a moment. "We better keep movin', Doctor." He gritted instead.
"Fair enough." The Doctor turned on his heel and began walking again.
As he did, he heard something on the wind. Drifting toward him through the trees, from somewhere far away. Voices. Many voices; singing. Somber and soulful. He thought of Martha. He smiled faintly.
'At a girl, Martha…he thought gratefully. And in the same instant, he genuinely could not wait to get back to her. Been a while since I saw you, Martha Jones.
But there was a lot to do before he would. So he shoved that desire down and pressed on.
"Sooo…" he sang to himself, adjusting a wire or two on the device as he walked. "Something new, then, eh? Something advanced…something plotting in the dark for a whole year. Slowly infecting people as he goes…and no one knows…because the symptoms never show…ooh, that rhymed! I love when that happens!"
Ed grunted but didn't speak.
"Ohh, you've gotta lighten up, Ed! You'd be rubbish as a Companion. Even The Brigadier has a since of humor…" Met with sullen silence, The Doctor continued his vocal thinking, aiming the detector ahead of him as he walked. It pulsed and the rotor sped round and round, guiding him towards the tracks, as he suspected it would. "A way to strengthen the bond without enacting a coma-link. No, that was your little friend who crashed. Behind the times, that one. But such a speedy evolution for your Mayor, wouldn't you say? Of course you wouldn't, you never say anything above a good-natured grunt, do you, Ed? Just as well, you don't need to…"
They made their way towards the tracks, where a freight train – that same one Morris had wanted to search earlier – was parked. The detector pulsed and whirred, indicated an energy signal ahead. But it wasn't the kind of signal he was looking for. Still, interesting. He followed it, all the time acutely aware of Ed's now heavy (and quite telling) silence along side him.
"He's trying very hard to hide something from me. Perhaps until just the right moment. And what might that be, I wonder? Certainly not whatever's here in this train…" He sped up his pace, Ed following suit. "That'd be too easy. Nah, it's gotta be…" he glanced down at the detector. Another signal, coming from somewhere in the woods. "Bingo…" he winced at the word, but felt the thrill of the discovery nonetheless.
The Doctor heard something ahead, though he instinctively knew he wasn't supposed to hear it. He also knew that Ed heard it, too. Being a werewolf, himself. He carried on as if he hadn't, but said: "Another interesting thing, Ed."
"What's that?" Ed sort of croaked.
They came upon a particular car of the train, and the detector indicated that this was the source of the first signal. The Doctor pried open the door easily. Inside were the sleeping bodies of Lenny Wilkes and…someone else. Perhaps that Slick Tony bloke? The first werewolf, the source. Or one of the sources. The Doctor stared at them for a moment. They were waiting. They were older models. Ed was the new model. Hm.
He closed the door again, and turned to face Ed – who now quite distinctively had a look of thinly veiled anticipation on his face. Visible even in the shadows cast by the pale yellow pole lights. Nightfall had come. The sun had gone down. The Doctor eyed Ed expectantly, picking up on that noise again, this time behind him.
"Earlier you said 'we'." He said calmly. " You said 'we only did what we were told'."
"Yeah?" Ed's eyes darted behind The Doctor. "What of it?'
"Wellll…I assume since Downey's been dead for a while, you meant that you had a third partner. Homer Pike, I'm guessing? Who is standing behind me right now, isn't he?"
Ed suddenly relaxed, and Homer's footsteps became clearer now that he'd been revealed. The Doctor didn't turn. He wasn't afraid. This needed to happen, and Ed would serve his purpose soon enough. His job was to get The Doctor to the mayor – to the source. He had known that all along, and this was the way.
"Sorry, Doctor." Ed told him. "Looks like you're the one on the wrong side."
With that, a hard blow came down on the crown of his head, and the lights went out.