Chapter 4: Fear
Her heart pounded dully in her chest. The rush of blood in her ears seemed loud enough that the creature outside would be able to hear it, hear her, find her. Only Jack's hand on her arm kept her from bolting, but it did not cause her fear to abate. It was there, in the room, just at the door. Blocked her in, kept there, and prevented her from escaping. It could get her. It could eat her. It could eat Jack.
She could hear the dreadful click of its claws against the stonework. The very air seemed to reek of tension and fear. It breathed, and it sounded like an ominous growl. It was coming, it was coming, it was coming.
Jack's hand tightened against her arm and the iron grip shook her from some of the fear. She turned toward him, and she could see his face was taut with the same terror that she felt. Only he seemed to deal with it far better than she.
Click, click, click.
It was just on the other side of the altar. It only had to lean over the bench and it would see her. It would get her. She had to run. She had to get out. She had to escape. It was here, and it wanted her.
She could not move. Though she wanted to, she could not move. She could not cling to Jack as she wanted to. She could not turn to him for comfort. She was trapped in her petrified body, but she still trembled. Jack's grip turned to steel.
In the tiny portion of her mind that was not sick with animalistic fear, she wondered at her reactions. This was unlike her. What could cause this reaction? What could make her this scared?
Hiss. Click. Click, click, click, hiss.
It was closer. So close now that she could practically feel the air particles change directions as they impacted against the creature's skin. A lizard-man. Her lizard-man, and it wanted her.
It was coming.
Click. Click, click, click, click.
He had forgotten just how strong the instinct to run could be. His jaw clenched tightly as he fought against the fear. Jack knew what it was like to encounter the Silurians, knew just what might happen should they spot them. Fear could kill. Death by Silurian or death by fear. He would far prefer the other option: Escape from Silurian.
Rose shook against him, but he dared not move to wrap his arms around her. Any small movement, any small sound, might attract the hunter's attention. He remembered the stories, remembered the experiences, and remembered just what it was like to be under a Silurian's thrall. His trainers from the Agency had called it racial-memory malaise. The Silurians could trigger primitive portions of a mammalian brain, causing them to act irrationally because of fear. No human was immune from its effects.
Click, click, click.
It was not so much the sound that caused his body to tense further. It was the knowledge that the monsters were real that caused his heart to pound that much faster. His hand tightened on Rose's arm to the point that were he truly able he would loosen his grip for fear of bruising her.
Growl. Hiss. Click, click, click.
Rose's breaths were coming in short panicked spurts, her eyes wide in the twilight of the temple. If his fingers loosened even a little, he knew she would bolt. He could do nothing for her. He could barely do anything for himself.
Click, click, click.
Maybe they would leave. Maybe they would not be spotted and they could get on with the rescue. In the cynical part of his mind that was not heavily involved in preventing himself from doing something panic-stricken, he doubted they would be that lucky.
It was, after all, one of the Doctor's usual brand of surprises.
He had always known that his past could come back to haunt him. It was really only a matter of time. Now, it seemed that time had finally caught up with him. There really was only one option that had served him well for several regenerations. He grinned. "Morka! Blimey, this regeneration really is like 'This Is Your Life.' Who else is hiding back there? Come on, people, no need to be shy! It's a party, an' Morka here's our guest of honour – or is that me?"
"How does it feel, Doctor?" Morka had apparently decided to ignore his attempt at conversation.
"How does what feel? The floor? Rather cold, really. And quite stone-like. Then again, it is stone. Rather ancient stone. Makes you wonder just how many bums have graced this jail's floors, doesn't it? Now, the bars are a newer touch. They are, after all, steel and the Mayans certainly didn't smelt steel back in their day. Can't say much for the paintwork, though, or the company. You really should take your Velociraptor mongoliensis out for more walks. Might make 'im a little less irritable."
The Silurian snarled as he stepped forward, his sharp claws curling around the bars to the cage.
His grin widened. It was working. "Now there's no need to get touchy about it. Can't you take a little critique? I hear there's a good decorator on Lunar Seven in the year 200450, but that wouldn't do you much good now, would it?"
"How does it feel, Doctor, to have destroyed not just one world, but two?"
Oh. Morka would have to bring up that, wouldn't he?
"I didn't know you were fond of Jung. Or would that be Freud? Are you about to start asking about whether I wanted to kill my mother and marry my father?" He scratched his head, feigning confusion. "Or was that the other way around? Kill my father and marry my mother? This 'how do you feel' nonsense tends to be rather confrontational, don't you think? Why not ask: 'What happened, Doctor?' or 'Why did you decide to do that, Doctor?' or 'What caused that particular problem, Doctor?' Why is it always 'How do you feel?' I just don't get it." He leaned against the cool stone wall and looked curiously at the Silurian.
Morka seemed to have decided to switch tracks. Good. "I've heard stories about you, Doctor. In this universe it's always stories about the Doctor. Nothing about the Time Lords. Nothing about your planet. Just the Doctor. Always the Doctor. You haven't changed much. Appearance, maybe, but the same ruthless methods. How many planets have you destroyed now, Doctor? How many people have you manipulated before turning around and killing them?"
There had been no choice. Not then. Not now. Not ever. It did not matter how much he wanted to change history, he could not, for it was just that – history. It was, he decided, a good thing that it was him in this cell and not his previous self. He would have been consumed by his own guilt and self-recriminations by this point. Then again, that was the sort of man he used to be.
"So nice to have a fan. Are you going to give me a last meal? Or a phone call? A last wish? Something? 'Cause, otherwise, I'm afraid that I just can't recommend this cell for special merits in the 'Galactic Guide to Jails and Other Such Uncomfortable Locations.'"
"Your sense of humour is no defence. Do you have any idea what you have done, Doctor? Despite how you hide behind your words, do you know? Do you know how many you have killed? Do you know what you did to my people? My planet?"
"Oh, I've done quite a bit. Slept, faced a killer Christmas tree, had a good cuppa, had a sword fight – very Star Wars, that bit, without anyone being someone else's father. That just would've been weird. Had dinner, slept some more, went on a trip, fell in love, had an adventure, danced, played on a beach…Yeah. I'd say I know what I've done. Do you?" He looked innocently at Morka. Judging by the being's expression, he was rather annoyed. Good.
Morka's third eye began to open, a red beam piercing the torchlight. That was not what he had intended, not at all. Before he could do more than brace himself, the eye fixed him in its baleful gaze. He felt Morka's words in his mind.
So many lies. So many falsehoods. So many deceptions. Where does the truth begin in your world, Doctor? Do you see them? Do you see my family? My children? My future? They were destroyed because of you. All because of you.
Pain shot through him as he struggled against the telepathic rapport. He would not allow the Silurian to rummage about in his mind. He could not allow this!
"Release me," he ordered through clenched teeth.
Now, Doctor. Now you will know. You will know what it felt like to lose everything. This planet will be ours once again, and you? The same thing will happen to this you as your brash white-haired earlier incarnation. This is your destiny. This is your fate. This is your punishment.
He screamed.
He could read and re-read the pages of notes that he had compiled over the course of the past hour. He could change their order or read them back to front. It would not change his conclusions. Nothing, it seemed, had changed over the past month since Christmas.
Torchwood was, admittedly, in UNIT hands, but that was it. That was all. Harriet Jones was still burning from her actions on Christmas Day. She was still aching from the health scare and votes of no-confidence. She had apparently decided that the Doctor was the Earth's next enemy.
He shoved the papers away in disgust. Foolish woman! Foolish, frightened woman! Didn't she know? Couldn't she guess? The Earth existed, continued to exist, because of the Doctor. And she saw him as an enemy.
Harriet Jones was fishing. She was trying to put together a portfolio of the Doctor – in as many of his incarnations as she could. He picked up his mug and took a sip of the lukewarm tea with a grimace.
His eyes drifted toward the phone that lay on the faux mahogany desk of the office Bambera had so thoughtfully assigned to him. The enforced restrictions to UNIT HQ grated his sensibilities, but there was only one way that he could go home. Only one possible way to shut Harriet Jones' fishing expedition down.
Just one.
He picked up the phone and began to dial from memory.
She heard the Doctor scream.
Her terror spiked. What could cause the Doctor, her Doctor, to scream? He was in pain. He needed her, but the creature would find her. Would get her and eat her, but the Doctor needed her.
She heard the Doctor scream.
She had to get to him. She had to save him. She had to do something, anything, but she could not sit here and do nothing. She could not sit here like a frightened animal because of some stupid creature that wanted to eat her. She was better than this. Better than that. She could fight it. She could win. With Jack's help, she could win.
She tensed, preparing herself to fight. Her paralysis was over. Her fear was overwhelmed by need. She had to get to the Doctor. She had to save him.
Then her mobile rang.
And her plans were destroyed in the extreme pulse of fear that filled her body.
The clicking of the claws grew louder, rounding the altar.
The mobile rang again, echoing ominously in the too-tiny temple.
In her mind she heard another voice from another time. Coming to find you. Coming to get you! Can you see me? I'm here!
And it was.
It did not matter anymore. The silence was broken, their hiding spot no longer safe. He pulled out his blaster as he cursed in a language that he hoped the TARDIS would not translate.
At his side, Rose fumbled for her mobile, trying to turn it off but it was too late. The Silurian was coming. He could hear the ominous 'click, click' of its claws as it rounded the altar. He had to get her away, had to protect her. He had to work through the fear.
The alien loomed over them, casting a dark shadow over what had once been their only source of protection. No choice. He gave Rose a firm push, instructing her with a firm tone, "RUN!" He would stand for no argument.
She hesitated for a moment, but she must have seen the determination in his face because she bolted for the door without comment. Good. She would continue running, which meant he could concentrate on what he had to do. He aimed.
"Foolish primate," the Silurian said. If he were to examine the tone he might have called it sympathetic.
The third eye was opening, a glint of red in the twilight of the temple. Fear pounded through his body. The rush of blood in his ears drowned out all other sound. It was just him and the alien. Nothing else existed. Nothing else could exist outside of the fear.
The fear did not control him. He controlled the fear.
He pulled the trigger.
But, before the trigger could fully depress, the weapon was torn from his hands though no claw had touched him.
The eye was open.
He fumbled for his knife, the carbine, the backpack. Something, anything that he could use. There had to be something. There had to be! He had to get to it. He had to...
The eye glowed. Red filled his vision as he stumbled back. He had to find something to fight it. Something.
The red was everywhere. It was everything. It filled his existence. It was his existence.
Red and pain were everywhere. They were his everything. In the smallest part of his mind, he spared a last thought for Rose and the Doctor. It wasn't supposed to end like this…
But it did.
To be continued...