Chapter 8: Countdown
Of all the stupid things she could do she went and did it. Of course she did. She fell into a cenote. Just like the Doctor. And now, just like the Doctor, she was caught.
The Silurian's claws dug painfully into her already sore muscles as it hauled her roughly against it. "Who are you?" The words were spoken with a strange sibilant tone.
She kept her mouth shut. Maybe if she pretended not to understand, it would stop. Maybe if she pretended not to understand, it would...
Who are you?
The words were violently forced into her mind, and she felt dazed. It hurt so much more than her muscles. It hurt like the memory of gold and losing the Doctor - the old Doctor - and Jack. It hurt like the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. It hurt.
"No," she said through gritted teeth. She was better than the pain, better than the fear, better than the creature that loomed over her.
No?
"Yup." She tried to stand without leaning heavily against the alien, but her muscles were incapable of supporting her weight. She hurt.
Foolish mammal. The tone was almost sympathetic. However the Silurian's baleful gaze belied any implied kindness that the creature might possess.
Rose was about to reply when she caught movement next to the pyramid. It was the briefest of glimpses, but she thought that she had seen the reassuring form of the Brigadier. He was here. He had come.
Suddenly, the fear and the pain no longer seemed to matter.
With just a glimpse of the Brigadier, and she felt braver and stronger than before. She grinned. "Maybe I am."
The Silurian's third eye began to open, revealing a sliver of reddish light that only grew as the lid was raised. Somehow, she knew what that meant. She knew what would happen had she not seen the Brigadier.
The eye meant her death.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she warned. She saw movement at the edge of her vision, but she forced herself to focus upon her captor.
The creature looked rather surprised. You wouldn't?
With the soft scrape of a shoe against stone, the cavalry arrived. "I'd say that would be quite true," the Brigadier said as he pressed his weapon against the Silurian's side. "I wouldn't hurt her because the consequences would be deadly. Release her."
When the grip on her arms loosened, she wobbled toward the Brigadier. She was safe. The Silurian could do nothing without consequences. It was over. And now she could focus on the Doctor and...
The sharp staccato of a rifle on full automatic filled the clearing with echoing sound. She gasped as each impact caused the Silurian to shudder before it collapsed bonelessly to the ground.
She had been released. The Silurian had let her go. She'd been safe. It wasn't going to hurt her anymore. Yet the Brigadier…no. Not the Brigadier. It was the soldier. A soldier that she had not seen before. A soldier who let his battle-stance drop into a slump, his shell-shocked eyes wide and bleak.
"It was threatening her," the soldier said, but in his trembling voice she heard a different tale. He was scared. Terrified, in fact.
She knew how he felt. It was the Silurians. However, no matter how much she feared, she had not killed. Not like that. Not in cold blood. Not because of fear.
Some of her horror must have been visible in her face, for the soldier winced. "Sir, permission to return to the caravan. I..."
The Brigadier nodded. "Return to Captain Harding, Corporal. Let him know that the enemy has been sighted and give him the sit rep for the ruins."
He saluted. "Yes, sir."
"And Corporal," Alistair added. "The Silurians use a form of mind-control. Once you're finished reporting to Harding, take a break to clear your head. That is not a suggestion."
The soldier nodded and hurried toward the edge of the clearing and disappeared into the jungle. Once the soldier was out of view, she gave into the temptation that had struck her once she had first seen the comforting form of her friend.
She hugged him. "Thank you, Brigadier."
"Rose, how many times do I have to tell you it's Alistair?" he asked, giving her a brief squeeze before he let her go.
She wrinkled her nose. "I can't. It'd be like calling my Mum Jackie, or my Gran Elizabeth. 'S just not right."
"Are you implying that I'm too old for this?" he asked with a grin.
Oh. Yeah, that did sort of sound like she thought he was old, didn't it? "'Course not! That'd be like sayin' the Doctor's too old for this sort of thing. Or me. Or Jack. 'S just…"
Alistair laughed. "It's all right, Rose. I know what you mean." His expression sobered as he ushered her carefully toward the edge of the jungle. "Are you hurt, though?"
"Jus' some bruises and scrapes." She shrugged. She omitted the soreness in her left shoulder and that she suspected she might've sprained her wrists.
He looked sceptical, but he seemed to understand her determination. "Right. I need you to tell me everything, Rose. From the beginning."
The jungle seemed to fight against his movement. From the stray branches and vines to the roots on the forest floor, all seemed intent to catch on his clothes or try to make him stumble. He needed to get to Naachtun. He had to. Now. The Doctor and Rose needed him. But the rain forest wasn't helping.
"tZ'aaletalaab na in wac'tZiyal. Caalum ni tri'nik ca malam." Atan's hushed voice was barely audible over the sounds of the forest. At the blue-painted man's signal, two warriors detached themselves from their party and quickly outpaced them.
Elena Morales, who had refused to stay behind, whispered at his side. "Atan says Naachtun is just ahead. He is sending warriors ahead to scout."
Jack nodded. Though he agreed with the need to reconnoitre, he rather wished that he was the one doing the scouting. At least then he would know what was going on rather than letting his imagination run wild. He wanted the natives to provide a distraction, nothing more, nothing less. The Silurians had technology and abilities that were far beyond the tribe's ability to counteract, yet he had seen them win against the aliens. Well, not truly win, but they had forced them back.
How?
Even now, he could feel apprehension growing with him. The feeling of mental intrusion only increased with every step that they took, but Atan seemed not to feel its effects. Elena, however, shivered though the jungle was far too warm. She felt it too, but why didn't the natives?
His thoughts were interrupted by the return of one of the scouts. "ni u'caba Morales, crelenik piil inic sa ga cabal." The warrior gestured frantically at Elena once Atan had nodded his approval.
"What?" he asked. "What is it?" His inability to understand the language of the native tribe was maddening.
"There are apparently some people who don't understand the Marsaalu at Naachtun. They want me to go with them," Elena replied.
She nodded at the scout, but before she could move much further than a few paces, he interrupted her. "I'm coming with you." His tone brooked no argument. If there was someone who didn't understand the native tongue at the temple, it could only be Rose. Or the Doctor, though he doubted the Time Lord would have the same language issues that he had.
Without bothering to let her answer, or even doing more than nodding abruptly toward Atan, he gripped the spear that the warriors had thoughtfully provided and followed in her wake. Finally. Something that he could do, and a reason to move ahead to Naachtun.
His friends, his family, needed him.
The trees obscured his view as he followed behind Elena. The sounds of the jungle seemed somewhat muted as they approached the ruined city, almost as if the creatures themselves feared the danger at Naachtun. He sighed as he stepped over the scattered roots and rubble that traced the path. Fear had become a constant companion, but he forced it back. If the natives could handle the effect of the Silurians, then so could he.
He hoped.
The snap of a twig caused him to pause, though Elena and the warrior moved on. He noted through the corner of his eye that they were being ghosted by someone through the trees. The movements spoke not of a native's instinctual grace, but the well-trained agility of a soldier.
He was about to warn the others of their company when they moved to the side, leaving him with a clear view of the forest ahead. A group of soldiers were clustered around an older man wearing the bars of a…
He blinked. Was that the Brigadier?
The man moved, and just behind him he could see a woman wearing a colourful shirt. No. Not just any woman.
Rose.
He must have spoken her name out loud. Her head turned and suddenly she was running. To him. She was safe. Rose was safe.
"Jack!" His name caught upon a sob as she threw herself into his arms.
"Rose." He buried his face into her hair and tightened his embrace. She was alive. She was safe.
Rose pulled away from him after brushing her lips briefly over his. She was here. She was okay. She was…
Smacking him?
He blinked owlishly at her as she shook her finger at him. "Damnit, Jack, if you ever pull that heroic 'staying behind so I can escape' thing again I'm gonna kill you! So you've been warned. But the Brigadier wants to talk to you."
Without bothering to check that he was following her, she headed toward Alistair. He was rather surprised to note that the older man was looking quite well, despite having - in all likelihood - marched some distance through the thick jungle.
He moved to the Brigadier's side, gracing the other man with a wide grin and extending his hand. "Alistair! Good to see you again."
The Brigadier nodded, shaking his hand with a firm grip. "Good to see you, Jack. And your friends?"
Oh. Right. He had forgotten about them. That really wasn't like him, but he should make some allowances for the events of the past several hours.
"Elena Morales, this is Rose Tyler and Brigadier Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart. Rose, Alistair, meet Elena. And I'm afraid that I don't know the warrior's name."
Elena smiled. "His name is Cacoch."
"Pleasure. Jack, have they...?" The Brigadier's voice trailed off as he met his gaze. In the other man's eyes, he could see the question. Did they know about the Silurians?
He nodded. "Yes. They've encountered and fought the Silurians at Naachtun at least once. They rescued me from one of them, as a matter of fact."
"Good. Miss Morales, you can translate for me?" Alistair asked.
"Yes, I can. What would you like me to ask?"
"I need to speak with the leader of the natives. I'd like to ask for their help in dealing with the problem at Naachtun."
He let their voices fade away as he turned toward the city that he instinctually knew lay just beyond the trees to the north. He focused upon a point somewhere in the distance and worried. Rose was safe, yes, but the Doctor was not. And, knowing the Doctor, he was in deadly danger.
Time, he knew, had started to run out.
He was rather proud of himself. The 'you don't want me for an enemy' line belonged right up there with 'no second chances.' Maybe he should start a list of the best lines to deliver to the megalomaniac of the moment. Though it might be a little awkward to hold up a hand and ask for the evil-doer to wait while he pulled out a list. He'd have to rethink that option.
I could say the same thing, Morka finally replied. However, you already have me as an enemy, Doctor. Those names - they are just titles. Figurative speech. They mean nothing. They are nothing. As are you. I will return to allow you to watch as this planet returns to its rightful owners. I do hope that you weren't too attached to this life. It will be your last.
There had been only one time, just one, where someone had killed a version of himself and he had not regenerated. On an alternate Earth in an alternate history - the same alternate world that had spawned Morka and his kin - his third self had died. No regeneration. No more Doctor.
However, that planet had been created. That history had been spawned and moulded due to the machinations of one of his people. His death had been orchestrated. The Silurian could kill him - this version of him - yes. But it would not be his last life. Not yet. Though it would be a record for his shortest lifetime - a record he'd thought his ninth incarnation would hold. That, however, did not answer Morka's monologue.
That was another thing that he did not understand. Was there something about him that encouraged the local megalomaniac to indulge in a monologue whenever he was about? True, it tended to give him time to come up with another option, but now he was rather tired of it all. "You've had your warning, Morka. What you do now is on your conscience. Not mine."
What? No prattling, no lists, no threats? The Silurian seemed astonished.
He shrugged. "There's a time for everything, and everything for time. Or something like that. Really, I can't be charming all the time. Might get a little boring, that. And that's not the sort of man that I am. Definitely not boring."
Where were they? All his best lines, all his best annoying habits, all his best options, and nothing. No Jack. No Rose. Just him and a Silurian with delusions of grandeur. Just him and no plan.
No way out.
And if he did not think of something soon, well…time was running out. Not for him. Not really.
But for the entire human race.
He was a man of action. Give him a mission and he would complete it to the best of his ability. However, part of those missions inevitably meant waiting. Waiting for supplies, waiting for soldiers to arrive, waiting for transport, or waiting for targets to reveal themselves.
He hated waiting.
And now, he was doing it again. He knew, with the certainty of his long experience, that this lull would not last for long. The Silurians would not let the death of their comrade pass easily. Indeed, he was quite astonished that the calm had lasted this long.
The snap-crack of a branch being pushed aside caused him, and every soldier in his company, to turn as one toward the sound with their weapons at the ready. Even Rose and Jack were not immune to their movements as they echoed them. The foliage parted to reveal the first of what turned out to be twenty colourfully-painted locals.
"Stand down, men," he ordered, shifting to an at-ease stance. His relief was almost palpable, but he did not allow it to appear in his expression.
The young woman, Elena, turned toward him and gestured toward the brightly-painted warrior who had moved to her side. "Brigadier, Atan is the leader of this tribe. You wished to speak with him?"
"Yes, yes, I did. We need his help. His people know this jungle - how to move silently, where the best hiding places are, and how to sneak closer to Naachtun without the enemy noting our presence. My people will take care of the attack, but we would like Atan's help to approach the ruins without detection. Time is of the essence."
And he was back to waiting. Listening to the rapid-fire exchange between Miss Morales and Atan, he tried to determine what the words might mean but he eventually decided they were best left to it. He had to trust the woman to relate his words to the best of her ability. However, that did not make the waiting any easier.
Alistair could feel the seconds turn into minutes as time slipped away. The same strain that he felt was echoed in Rose's and Jack's eyes and he spared them a comforting glance. They were worried about the fate of the Doctor. He, though he had known the Time Lord in many incarnations, had faith. The Doctor might be in the middle of this particular brand of trouble, but he could handle himself.
The Doctor was fine. He would just need a timely rescue. Some things, after all, do not change. No matter the incarnation.
"Brigadier? Atan has agreed. Members of his tribe will accompany your troops as you see fit," Elena said.
He smiled. Now, finally, the waiting was over. It was time for his orders. Asking Elena to translate, he sent one-third of his troops to scout the area with Atan's people leading the way.
Alistair tapped his chin thoughtfully before he spoke. "The Doctor is probably still inside the pyramid. We cannot use the same entrance that he did, so our most likely point of entry for the pyramid is at the base of the steps or through one of the nearby ruins. Elena, does Atan know of another way inside?"
Elena did not have the chance to translate his words as his radio beeped urgently. "Phoenix, this is Greyhawk. The party has started. Repeat. The party has started."
That sobered him immediately. For the benefit of those without military training, he translated. "They're coming."
In the distance, he heard the sharp rat-a-tat-tat of weapons fire. Roars and other unintelligible sounds echoed eerily through the forest and he lifted his radio. "Harding, this is Phoenix. Come home. Repeat. Come home."
He had the feeling that they would need the heavy weaponry.
And he felt the fear begin to build.
To be continued...