Chapter 16: The Beginning of the End

A storm started to gather in the sky, like the thunderball of an explosion gathering together and then throwing itself apart in a violent display of strength. The murky clouds spread across the countryside, like the tendrils of a particularly nasty case of poison ivy, or Japanese knotweed.

An ocean's worth of rain started to pour from the clouds, drenching the grass and trees beneath it. It was a downpour like nothing before it, the rain pelting against anything solid like heavy artillery from an airstrike. Anyone with an IQ in the triple digits would be considering building an ark, and putting in all the animals, two-by-two.

A few lashes of lightening flickered across the sky, too far away and too weak to do any damage to the world below it outside of spooking a few horses. But its purpose wasn't to deal damage to its victims. It was a warning shot, the first shell dropped in the war.

It was a battle-cry.

All across the land, the enemy gathered, preparing itself for the onslaught. It raised its army of life and death, and laid the final plans of combat. Entire worlds trembled in fear of the force that awaited the victim, and civilisations have fallen to dust out of sheer terror.

It was coming. And there was nothing that could be done to stop it.

'Looks like a storm's coming on.' Eric murmured, as the gallons of rainwater trickled down the outside of the window. 'That's strange. Weather said clear skies all week.'

'That was last week.' Lois replied, as she shuffled through the sheets of paper. 'You know what the weather's like. Up one minute, down the next. Like a metronome!'

'Oh, enough about the weather! Have you found it?'

'Are you sure it's in here?'

'…Maybe. I don't know!' Eric cried bluntly, sitting down on the crate next to him. 'We've had so much stuff moved around in here, it was probably burnt for firewood in riots years ago.'

'If we don't find the plans, we could be stuck here for quite a while.'

'I know! Any word on the police escort?'

'They'd have a hard time reaching us. The phone lines have been cut.'

'What?!'

'Not even a dial-tone. D'you think it's the people at the Centre?'

'Possibly…' Eric said, rubbing his head slowly as the news sank in. 'I don't see why though.'

'Isolate us?'

'Maybe. Might as well just shoot us. No need to keep alive.'

Lois gasped out a sudden, solitary laugh. 'You've cheered up, then.'

'Just thinking objectively.' Eric answered, raising his hands in defence. But then, a bolt of inspiration hit him. 'Just a thought…does the television still work?'

'I'd imagine so, yes.'

'Right. Turn it on.'

Lois darted through the doorway, into the next room. The room had been in the same arrangement for years, ever since Eric moved out of the cottage. A padded sofa sat in front of a carbon-dated television set, with bookshelves to one side and a table to the other.

Thankfully, the television was resting on a set of four wheels, which squeaked and screeched away as she wheeled it into the main room. The thick black power cord trailed behind it, like the mark of a rather odd snail.

'Okay, now give me a sec…' Lois mumbled, as she fiddled with the knobs and dials embedded into the side of the set. The screen clicked as the power switched on, but the obligatory hum failed to appear.

'It's not working, is it?' Eric asked, from the other side of the room.

'No. Sorry.' came the weary reply, as the power switch was flicked off. 'Might have to miss Eastenders for today.'

'It makes sense.'

'How?'

'Why the phone's gone dead. Why nobody out there,' he pointed through the window, towards the lightless twilight village 'has their lights on. Everything electronic has been taken out.'

'An EMP strike!' Lois sighed, as she finally understood.

'Seems to be. Could be the army, trying to stop the people in the Centre.'

'Let's hope so. We need all the help we can get.'

As the rain pattered on the wafer-thin windows, all of the figures tightened their jackets around themselves, desperate to preserve what little heat they could. The water was sloshing around the open-top office, the raging winds creating miniature waves that thrashed against the walls.

At the orders of the superior officers, the door had been shut, with lengths of masking tape left around the side to waterproof it. And with that, they left it behind, hoping the weather would soon resolve itself.

'Typical.' Riley grunted, brushing some flecks of water off of his jacket. 'Middle of summer, and we get a monsoon! Just when we need it!'

'Sir!' came a voice from down the corridor. Riley turned to face it. It was Lloyd, his impromptu uniform sopping wet. He charged through the puddles left behind on the floor, his rubber soles squelching away. 'The radios! They're not working?'

'Turn it off and on again, then.'

'No, sir! None of them! None at all!'

'What? None of them?!'

'They just won't turn on.'

'Most likely water damage.'

'Even the ones that have stayed inside.'

'Right…' Riley started to stroke his chin. 'I think I'm starting to see a problem here…'

Further down the corridor, safely inside the library, there was a gentle putting. It was almost silent, so quiet that most people present didn't hear it at first. However, it was the carefully trained eye of Alistair that first pricked at the sound.

'Sir?' he said, walking down towards the array. 'I think something's wrong…'

'Wrong? Wrong how?!' Sir Fisher shot back, leaping out of his seat and sprinting across the room.

'It's making a funny sound…'

The white light started to flicker, the otherwise perfect shape shifting into curves and bends. It became more transparent, the opposite sides of the room glimpsing at each other through the veil.

'No…no!' Sir Fisher shouted, running through the light and over to the briefcase. 'This can't be happening!'

'What is it, sir?'

'There must be a technical fault somewhere…but I don't see how! It was built to the exact specifications!'

He popped open the case, examining the crystal. It was glowing, as if it was trying to scream out for help in a desperate stab for survival. As Sir Fisher tried to reclaim it, his fingers recoiled the second they made contact.

'It's hot!' he explained, staring in bemusement at the sight. 'White hot!'

The lights all around him began humming, fading in and out of power like a man on the brink of unconsciousness. And then finally, after much heaving and moaning, they clicked into blackness.

40 metres below them, the menagerie of torches turned off simultaneously. Every single guard then inspected their torch, rapped on the side of it hard, then tutted in irritation, in perfect synchronisation.

'Ruddy cheap batteries…' ranted Fergus to himself.

The Doctor tried to shift himself from left to right, trying to get free of the area. The atmosphere around him was growing thinner and thinner, and constantly on the move, as if something was sucking it out. It was quite a new sensation for him, feeling the edges of his mind slipping away alongside the motion, slowly but surely falling numb. It was new, but that didn't make it pleasant.

He gained his bearings, carefully feeling the movement of the area. It wasn't in a certain direction like the wind or tide would move, but through the fourth and fifth dimensions. After a couple of seconds, or at least what seemed like that, he was almost sure of where he had to go.

Gingerly, he pressed himself against the surge, feeling his body cry out at the resistance. He ignored the pain, carrying on regardless. As he moved closer to his goal, he found himself crying out in pain. That was another new experience; as a Time Lord, he had a much higher pain threshold than most humans, but that didn't mean he was impervious.

The voice started to cheer somewhat, rejoicing in the fact that they finally had found a way to hurt him. The pain increased, doubling, trebling, mounting up as he fought back even harder.

'There we are…!' the Doctor grunted, through gritted teeth. 'Something going wrong?'

'Nothing of value.' the voice replied, a poor attempt at hiding the sadistic glee surrounding it. 'Nothing irreparable.'

'Just preparing up the battleground? Readying the troops?'

'Setting the board, Doctor.'

'Game on, then. First to the finish.'

'D…d…Doctor?' said the man, his voice barely more than a whisper. 'What's happening?'

His voice was tainted with the sense of death, the inevitability of entropy. It wasn't the resilient yell of glory, but the diminutive sigh of defeat.

'I…I can't remember anything.'

'Of course,' the Doctor muttered 'You'll use up anything you've got on hand. Anything you can grrrrab hold of, and suck it until it's dry. Vampires.'

'What's happening? Doctor?'

He repeated his mantra over and over, trying to reassure himself that he was going to be alright, despite the knowledge he was holding onto. As he slowly expired and vanished to oblivion, his cries of 'Doctor? Doctor? Doctor?' faded into nothingness. The Doctor felt a pang of regret in his chest, as he felt the vacuum left by the victim filled in by more of the same.

His body, or what little of it there was left, started to stretch and contort, as he was moving from one form to another to another. As his body fell into its base components and started to reform in new ways over and over, two words rang through his mind, dragging him through the pain:

'Game. On.'

Mel climbed up the steps, using the handrail to force herself through the doorway. To be honest, she was appalled at herself. There were always two sides to a story, surely she knew that? She'd shouldn't have shouted at Eric so easily, and stropping in the cellar wasn't going to help anything.

She'd find the others and apologise, then get on with the matter at hand. That's what the Doctor would do, isn't it?

The whole house was almost completely dark, with the lights turned off and dusk sinking into the scene. Silence masked the house, pierced only by the faint rustling of paper.

Slowly, she walked towards the sound, almost creeping towards it. She passed over the threshold of the room, watching the dual occupants inside sort through the sheets of paper. Eric and Lois, both hunched over a cardboard box each. A floorboard creaked beneath her, and the two glanced up to see her.

'Oh. Hi.' Eric said, before returning to his work.

'Eric, I'm sorry,' Mel said, walking towards him. 'I shouldn't have lost my temper before. I should've listened to what you had to say first.'

'It's alright,' he replied, nodding his head gently.

Mel took the gesture happily, before getting back on track: 'So what are we doing?'

'At the moment? Looking for the plans for the cottage. When the Centre was first formed, we had a few tunnels installed. One to the Centre, in case we needed to escape. One leading from the cottage to the church, just across the green. The latter's been here for years; we just renovated certain areas.'

'The only problem being,' Lois added 'that we don't know where it is.'

'It goes from the office in the Centre to here, but the entrance from this end was only marked in the plans.'

'What would it be filed under?' asked Mel, whilst she looked up and down the office.

'It wouldn't.' Lois replied curtly. 'Needless to say, the filing system rather fell apart during the '92 riots.'

Mel hummed in agreement, as she saw the disorganised mess all around them. Her uncle had once searched through his entire office for a single sheet paper, and turned out every filing cabinet, box and notebook in order to find. But even that monstrosity paled in comparison to this abomination.

'But what would it be called?' she asked, peering over the nearest pile of papers.

'Er…Grover Plans. White, A4.'

'Okay…ah ha!' Mel cheered, as she leapt across the room. She dipped her nimble fingers into a mess of papers in one corner, and pulled out a single sheet.

'That's it!' Lois shouted, double-checking it full of incredulity. 'How did you do that?'

'Oh, it was simple, really,' Mel smiled, folding her arms. 'I came in here before looking for the kitchen, and saw the paper. I just remembered where it was.'

'Good memory you've got.'

'Thank you. Would be much easier if the lights were on, though…' Mel added hastily, walking towards the light-switch.

'Anything electric's not working.' Eric explained, reaching out a hand to stop her. 'We've tried.'

'Oh, right.'

'Probably an EMP strike from the army. We'll just have to wait and see what happens.'

'Yes…' Mel started, before clicking her fingers: 'I think I saw some candles in the kitchen. We could light them before it gets too dark?'

'I'll help…' Lois finished, heading towards the kitchen. However, she stopped suddenly. Her feet were firmly planted onto the ground, rooted like great oaks. 'Mel…?'

Her comrade walked towards her, smiling away. The second she rounded the corner, the smile vanished from her face.

'Oh no…' Mel groaned, stepping backwards subconsciously. Just underneath the door, slipping through the crack at the bottom…

…was a faint green mist.

The Doctor screamed, howling out any remnant of pain remaining in his body. He was being forced out of the ground, ejected from the host like a failed parasite.

The dirt wasn't moving out of his way like when a corpse rises from its grave, but it was reforming around him. He placed his hand through the top layer of earth, bursting back into the real word.

Rebirth.

As his hand clawed about in the new-found fresh air, he was instantly aware of the pounding of hundreds of minute pellets of rain hitting his flesh.

His other hand broke through the ground, slipping through like gel. Gradually, he pulled his head and torso up, shifting through the grass. He gasped for breath, at last free of the stale reproduction of his bypass system and able to enjoy the fresh air.

Finally, he tugged his legs through the layer, resting on the ground for a short while. It turned solid again, back to the normal ground he was expected. If he were to try digging back where he had just come through, he'd get nothing more than a few handfuls of dirt.

The rain poured over him, a non-stop rushing of water. He was already soaked to the skin, every stitch of fabric on him dripping wet. His muscle memory reached for the umbrella, but it wasn't there. Of course. He left it behind at the apartment.

He stared above him, watching the lightning crack the sky open and the clouds zoom about like swarms of insects. A surging of potential, the possibilities of life, death, creation and destruction all mixing together in a celestial crucible, ringing with the intent of war. Focussing on the spectacle before him, he balled his fists together and let a scowl consume his face. It was coming.

The field started to warp around him, the trees bending and the grass curling inwards. It was already acting against him, trying to drag him back down one last time. A large black hole formed directly beneath him, tugging him down like quicksand. As he started to struggle against the force, he could be heard to utter only a single pair of words:

'Oh dear.'