Chapter 15
"—and he's armed, so you can see why it really wouldn't be pertinent for you to go," the Brigadier explained to the Duke, even as the Doctor was revving the engine of his car.
"But Brigadier, I—" the Duke sputtered.
"I'm afraid I must insist, sir." And without waiting for a response the Brigadier bounded down the front steps of the manor.
Jo stood at an impasse, hesitating beside the car.
"Quickly, Jo! Get in!" the Doctor practically shouted.
His shouting didn't help. In her head she understood it. The amount of pain he must go through… He must hate himself. She couldn't imagine it. And she wouldn't make him think she feared him. She wouldn't wish that on anybody. At the same time, though…
His breathing was closer. And the door was locked ohgodthedoorwaslocked.
And so she got into the back seat, diagonal to him. It was a compromise between her rationality and her primal fear. She hadn't really known what she was getting into when she had started this. But she did now. And part of her wanted to run, run far away as fast as her legs could carry her. But another, stronger part told her to stay, to help this man. And she was Josephine Grant. When given a decision between personal selfishness and doing what she believed to be the right thing…
She smiled and she saw his mouth twitch upward. She could give him this, at least.
Seeing her make her decision, Sgt. Benton slipped into the seat next to her, behind the Doctor. He squared himself behind him, protectively.
The Brigadier fell into the front passenger seat, and the instant he slammed the door the Doctor peeled out, throwing up a cloud of dusty gravel.
"For heaven's sake, man! Be careful!" the Brigadier shouted as he managed to position himself right-side-up in his seat. The Doctor responded by changing gears and pushing the gas pedal even harder.
The Brigadier was a rational man. He saw problems and he fixed them in the most proper, English way possible. And currently the problem was sitting next to him, attempting to kill them via automobile accident.
What had he been thinking? Hiring a vampire. This whole business had been inevitable really. And Ms. Grant was pulling an incredibly brave face for the Doctor's sake but who knew what sort of fear lay under the surface. Demmed business.
And yet if he hadn't allowed the Doctor to work on this investigation…
Ms. Grant would be dead. And Henry Chatham would be condemned to a life of perpetual torture.
The Doctor seemed to be a reasonable enough man (if you discounted the clothes) when he wasn't thirsting after blood. Should he fire him? Report his existence to the government?
He bared his teeth. He hissed, like an animal.
The Brigadier was at a loss. He honestly had no idea what to do. So he clung to the seat and told the Doctor to stay on the damn road. He wasn't one for moral dilemmas. Guns wouldn't solve this one. He would wait to make this decision.
The car shot down the road, heading towards a fork. "LEFT!" the Brigadier shouted, pointing wildly. The Doctor spun the wheel and the car seemed to balance for a split second on only two wheels before crashing down and continuing on its precarious course.
The radio suddenly crackled to life again. "What is it, Yates?!" the Brigadier hissed, testily.
"He's on Fambridge, now, sir!" came the panting voice of the captain. "He's going too fast, though. We'll never catch up with him!"
"We'll cut him off at Limebrook, then. Call reinforcements!" He then switched the radio off, without bothering with the obligatory 'over and out.' "Right, here!" he suddenly shouted to the Doctor. "I said right!"
"There!" Jo yelled, her finger outstretched. The bright lights of a car shone through the night. It rocketed along at unimaginable speeds towards the intersection they were approaching. About a quarter of a mile behind it the unmistakable square silhouettes of UNIT jeeps followed it, not quite keeping pace.
The Doctor slammed on the gas again. The car accelerated even faster than before and hit the intersection just as Mr. Wesley's car passed it. The wheels screamed as they scraped along the road to make the turn.
The small group could see the outline of Mr. Wesley's gaunt form in the open-top car. He swerved wildly along the country road at precipitous speeds. The Brigadier kept one steady hand on the car door and raised himself up, over the windshield.
"What are you doing?" Jo shouted.
The Brigadier took out his trusty pistol and aimed at Mr. Wesley's tires. He shot once, twice, three times, each time the recoil making him sway dangerously back. The man was swerving too extremely, though, and none of the bullets touched the car. The Brigadier continued shooting methodically until finally the gun clicked without response.
The Brigadier swore loudly before sitting back down. He stared at the car in front of them. It was no use going on like this. The man was going too fast and they would lose him eventually. He twisted his head to look at the Doctor, hoping the man had some idea.
The Doctor grit his teeth, seemingly gauging the distance between his car and the one in front of him. He took a deep breath and blew it out, quickly. Then he turned to the Brigadier.
"Take the wheel, man!" he shouted.
"What?!" the Brigadier, asked, flabbergasted.
"I said TAKE THE WHEEL!"
Without waiting for a response, the Doctor let go of the wheel, braced one foot on the seat of the car and one hand on the door, and then flung himself into the air.