Donna didn't dare move a muscle. She could hear whatever it was behind the table breathing and it frightened her. It was a sort of low pitched rasping. She could also hear the sound of the large feet shuffling over the broken glass. She was frozen with terror.
If she wasn't so focused on the creature behind her, she may have heard the sound of distant running. She may also have heard the loading of rifles from outside. Had she heard these things, she may not have had such a shock when from outside there came a shout.
"Oi, you two!"
But the warning came too late. The table suddenly flew sideways.
Standing over the Doctor and Donna was a creature, easily over six feet tall, with short stumpy arms that ended in four pointed talons. The face was long and scaly, two sparkling black dots for eyes, no noticeable nose and a mouth housing several sharpened fangs, the ends of which glistened in the daylight.
It let out an almighty roar and raised one of its arms to attack.
"Come on," screamed the Doctor, grabbing Donna's hand.
Donna protested. "I can't run," she said, pointing to her leg.
"They've got wounded," called the voice from before and from nowhere, three armed soldiers ran towards the creature, firing on it constantly.
The Doctor helped Donna up and carried her out as quickly as he could.
"What is it?" Donna asked.
"It's a Prentrilon," said the Doctor.
"What's a Prentrilon?"
"An augmented Terileptil," replied the Doctor.
"Yeah, Earth girl, remember?"
"Terileptils are a race of humanoids reptiles, who, among their many endeavors are incredibly warlike. They had a nasty war with the Drahvins for thousands of years and even tried to enslave the Sontarans at one point."
"The Sontarans won, surely?" said Donna, remembering her own encounter with the warrior clone race on Earth.
"Well, if you can call it winning," said the Doctor, leaning Donna against a wall. "Stay there," he said ran back towards the café.
"Stop shooting it!" he shouted. "Bullets can't hurt a Prentrilon."
As he spoke, the Prentrilon kicked a table like a soccer ball. It hit one of the three soldiers in the head and he fell to the ground, lifeless.
The Prentrilon turned to the other two soldiers and advanced.
"Stop shooting," the Doctor shouted again.
"It's the only way to keep it back," said one of the soldiers.
"Bullets can't stop it," said the Doctor.
"Then what can?"
"This," said the Doctor, pulling the battery out of his torch. He made a few adjustments with the sonic screwdriver.
"Close your eyes," he said and hurled the battery at the Prentrilon.
It screamed and flailed for a few seconds before falling over.
"Is it dead?"
"No. Just knocked out for the time," said the Doctor.
"Doctor!" Donna screamed. "Behind you!" On the other side of the road, a building door was knocked down and several other Prentrilons started towards them.
"Private, a battery," said the Doctor. "Any will do."
"Never mind that," said the soldier. "Hutchins!"
The other soldier snapped to attention. "Yes, sir?"
"Take these two to the base and get her to the Doctor," he indicated Donna.
"Sorry," interrupted the Doctor, "Doctor who?"
"He's just the Doctor," said the soldier. "Go, Hutchins."
"You don't have to do this. We can..." started the Doctor, but he was cut off.
"You're going to need time to get her out. I'm giving you that time, now go!"
He ran towards the Prentrilons firing.
The Doctor started running towards them.
"No," said Hutchins. "We can't help him now."
"Hutchins," said the Doctor. "You'd better tell me what's going on."
"Come back to our base and we'll answer each other's questions."
The walk back to the base was long and tiring. Having taken turns in helping Donna, both the Doctor and Hutchins were pooped when the journey was over.
The base itself had been set up in an abandoned underground nightclub, well barricaded and secured. The three of them entered and were immediately assisted by several other soldiers.
"Get her to the Doctor," said Hutchins.
"Yes," said the Doctor. "I'd like to meet this "Doctor".
"He'll want to talk to you," said Hutchins. "Nobody else knows what these things are, but you do. And so does he."
"Does he now?"
The Doctor and Donna were led through several corridors to a small operating theatre. At the back of the room was a chair, its back to the door.
"Doctor," called Hutchins. "We've got a patient for you. Leg wound. Deep cut from some glass."
"Lay her down on the couch," said the figure in the chair. It was a voice that the Doctor recognised.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The chair turned around to reveal a man. He was almost as tall as the Doctor and just as thin. However, his attire was much more Victorian, a long dark green coat, silver waistcoat and grey cravat. He had curly hair and a strong jaw. It was the Eighth Doctor.