Chapter 5: Rude Awakening
Darkness swirled like a whirlpool vanishing into a deep abyss. No stars and no light could escape from the black hole. It consumed everything in its path. No thoughts, no sound, no sight. Nothing but the inky depths.
Quietly, the rotations began to slow down. The black vortex filled in and disappeared. The swirling ceased, the motions dissipating into nothing more than ripples on a cool pond. The surface stilled and silence fell as if the entire universe had held its breath at once. In the distance, a single star formed on the obsidian horizon. It grew like the Star of Bethlehem, guiding a lost soul towards its brilliance.
White oblivion enveloped itself around its victim, casting out the dark. It tied itself in knots around the being, forcing it to stir. A searing heat heralded its arrival. Pain ravaged his body like lightning. He arched his back and surfaced from the pond. He gasped and choked, sucking in desperate breaths that his lungs had not felt in ages.
The Doctor groaned. Humid air filled his nose and smelled of petrichor from a distant rainstorm. His tongue rasped like sandpaper in his mouth. He tried to swallow. His throat was tight and just as dry as his tongue. He coughed violently, trying to force out a thick wall of mucus that had formed in his pharynx.
Sleep encrusted his eyes and he found that he could not open them. Hot light pierced through his eyelids like a laser. He attempted to bring a hand up to rub the gunk away, but found that his hands were bound together by what felt like fabric. He scrunched his eyelids a few times to loosen the crusty substance and managed to force his eyes open. Raising his bound hands to shield himself from the blinding rays, he blearily squinted against the light.
Like a rebooting computer, his brain slowly began to wake up. Lingering shocks from sleepy nerves caused him to wince in pain. His eyes finally adjusted to the brightness and he realized that it was coming from the sun. Twin suns, actually. He furrowed his mighty eyebrows in confusion and frowned. What planet was this? How did he get here? Where was the Tardis? Where was Clara?
He tried to sit up but an overwhelming wave of nausea crashed over him like the sea against the rocks. He gagged and rolled onto his side, throwing up what meager contents his stomach contained. A medicinal taste lingered on his tongue. Acid burned in his throat. What he wouldn't give for a glass of water right now.
He moaned weakly and laid back down, panting. His hearts thumped erratically in his chest, quivering more than beating. They jackhammered against his ribs like they were trying to beat out of his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing hard on trying to regulate their rhythm. It was like they were out of sync with each other. He coughed hard, hacking up medicinal-tasting edema from his lungs. His throat burned with the effort. His breathing was still raspy but notably better than it had been before. The pressure alleviated in his chest momentarily, allowing the twin hearts to settle into a more regular tandem.
The Doctor smacked his lips in disgust. That taste combined with the flavor of bile already made him want to throw up again. What was that chemical taste anyway?
Like a punch in the gut, realization flooded back to him. He had been executed.
So was this hell?
The Doctor forced his creaking bones to sit up. He strained without the help of his bound arms but managed. He glanced around cautiously and took stock of his situation. He was dressed in nothing but a thin black robe with ceremonial turquoise inscriptions embroidered across the threads. His skin was red and blistered in the uncovered areas from the blasting radiation of the dual suns above. Something pointy jabbed into his thigh and he found that he was laying on some kind of platform made of sticks and logs resting atop a great lush mountain.
He was at a high enough elevation that only low lying plants occupied the mountain face. Vines trailed up the cut wood, tickling at his feet. Below stood an immense rainforest chattering with life.
Life.
He ached and felt sicker than a dog, but he was alive. How was this possible? He studied his sunburned hands. Blood rushed to them, perfusing his palms from a ghostly pale to a lively pink. The Doctor knew what was in that syringe. No living being could survive a large dose of Oligomycin-A. It shut down cellular respiration, something that all life, from bacteria to Time Lords, requires to be running at every second of every day.
Unless, he realized, the respiratory bypass system he possessed referred to cellular respiration. He really should have paid more attention in biology class at the academy. Was that why he had not regenerated? He had never actually died, just gone into a state of zero-energy dormancy. A coma so deep that his heart rate and breathing would not register on a monitor. Those Kapponian fools had not done their homework.
The Doctor laughed. His joyful peals echoed down the craggy mountainside. He had been so sure that death was what he deserved, but now he was convinced that the universe still had plans for him. He was not going to stay here and help the Kapponians finish the job. He was going to fight for his life. The drug must be wearing off, he thought. Its half-life was usually only a few minutes, but the formula used for lethal injection had been stabilized for a half-life of 24 hours.
How long had he been out here?
He stuck a dirty finger into his mouth and pointed it into the wind. Judging by the position of the suns and what his time sense told him, approximately 38 hours had passed since his execution. According to his addled calculations, this meant that there was still 33.37% of the initial volume of the drug remaining within his body.
Another wave of nausea pounced on him. He barely had enough time to throw his face over the side of the platform before a second round of vomiting consumed his frail body. His stomach grumbled with hunger and queasiness. It spasmed with a lack of anything left to throw up, but he kept heaving anyway.
A small bird-like creature speckled with orange and blue scales landed on the platform, staring at him through beady black eyes. It cocked its head, studying him with a quiet trill of curiosity. Through watery eyes, he noticed that it did not possess feathers but instead colorful grasshopper-like wings. It pecked at his ear and he instinctively swatted at it. Terrified, the creature shrieked and took off like a bat out of hell. It must not be used to its meals moving.
The Doctor scooched himself up higher to watch it as it fluttered away. It descended onto another wooden platform a few yards away and began gnawing at something that laid above. He lowered his gaze and found that there were many such platforms dotting the summit like altars offering food to the gods. Maybe the bird things were considered gods.
To his disgust, he realized that each "altar" held a body. There had to be hundreds, all in various states of decomposition and predation. Executed prisoners, like himself. The winged creatures circled above like vultures. It was only then that the Doctor noticed the horrible stench in the air. It was heady and unbearable. It hung densely in the air like a heat haze.
He dropped his head and dry heaved again. The smell made him retch even harder than before. Sweat poured down his face in rivers, dripping from his nose as he gagged. Soaked curls clung stickily to his forehead. He wiped his brow with a clammy hand and fought to catch his breath.
He collapsed back onto the scratchy sticks, deciding to rest and focus on expelling the rest of the poison from his body. He estimated that when 10% or less of the original dose remained, he would feel well enough to move off this platform in search of food and water. He frowned. That meant he needed another 41.7 hours. Time he did not have.
Groaning, he steeled himself. He had to find something to drink before dehydration and exposure finished him off for good. He was not sure if he'd have the energy to regenerate if he did reach that stage and he was not about to find out.
He held his wrists up to his face so he could see what bound them. A turquoise sash was wrapped loosely around his wrists, obviously not intended to bind but to hold the arms in a certain position after death. The Kapponians were a highly ritualistic race. There must have been some kind of ceremony.
He brought the sash to his teeth and pulled until his hands came free. Sitting up again with the help of an elbow, he untied a similar sash from around his ankles. He peered over the edge and found that the platform was only a few feet high. Carefully, he swung his legs over the side and attempted to plant his bare feet on the ground below. Instead, a stick he had been holding onto snapped and he landed flat on his back with a thud. Dust kicked up into the air and he fell into another coughing fit. He spat out the bitter phlegm and rolled onto his stomach, moaning. He rested a moment before putting one limb in front of the other and crawling away from his grave.
It was so hot and steamy. Sweat seeped from his skin but would not evaporate, making it very difficult to cool off. There was no breeze to speak of. He needed to find shade and water, quickly. He may have been in a rainforest, but it was the dry season. No clouds offered him any respite from the tortuous rays of the suns.
Sticks and stones poked into his skin from every direction. Fresh bruises blossomed across his back from where he had impacted the ground. He tentatively touched the back of his head and hissed with pain. Deep red blood coated his fingers. His vision swam and he could feel himself entering a state of delirium. He needed to make it into the treeline to have a chance.
The boundary was only a couple hundred yards away but to him it seemed like miles. He did not have the strength to crawl that far, and he definitely could not walk, but he was on a gentle incline and perhaps he could use that to his advantage. Searching the immediate area, he spotted an ornate metal shield which laid at the base of one of the nearby platforms. It must have belonged to a warrior.
He scraped and scratched his way over to the object, wheezing with exertion. Everything in his body ached, stung, or burned. Sharp little rocks dug into his palms and knees, leaving bloody abrasions. Insects swarmed his face and bit at his exposed skin. His nails bled from dragging himself. He had to take frequent breaks lest his hearts start to beat erratically again.
After what seemed like hours, he finally reached the shield. Its metal surface scalded his hand when he touched it. He drew back sharply, shaking it off with a hiss. A short plant with large fan-like leaves sprouted at the base of the altar. He plucked some of the leaves off, using them like a pot holder to handle the hot shield. He turned it over and laid more leaves onto the inside of the shield.
He placed the ornate side face-down into the soil and clambered over the concave metal until he was half-sitting, half-laying in it. With a shove from behind with his hands, the shield began to slide down the mountain like a sled.
The Doctor smirked to himself, pleased that his efforts had paid off. He lifted his feet to take away the "brakes" and allowed himself to glide down the gentle slope. Luckily, the path ahead of him seemed relatively obstacle-free. He slid towards the treeline much faster than he could have ever hoped to crawl. He picked up speed and entered the jungle, leaning his weight to one side of the metal or the other in order to crudely steer. If he hadn't felt so awful, it might have been fun.
Suddenly a huge thick tree came into view. It rose imposingly from the soil like a titan. Smaller trees flanked it and he knew he had no hope of steering around it. He dug his heels into the dirt, attempting to slow himself down. Dead leaves and mud flew out to the side like a boat's wake. Collision imminent, he rolled off the sled just before it slammed into the great tree. He tossed a little bit with the momentum, but managed to come to a stop in a copse of ferns.
The shield impacted the tree with a loud metallic clang. The trunk shook from base to canopy. Yellow leaves rained over him like snow. He braced himself with his forearms and army-crawled to the base of the tree. He propped his back against the rough bark and rested. He was finally in the shade. It was at least 20F cooler here than in the sunlight.
Spent, he closed his eyes and passed out.
When he awoke several hours later, the suns had set. Triple moonlight shimmered on the shiny inner surface of the shield. The wind had picked up and finally he felt a semblance of dryness on his skin. It whistled through the alien trees, picking up leaves and dust as it coursed through the forest.
Vines dangled around him like snakes. He studied them and vaguely remembered that on earth many vines carried water within their xylem layers. Taking one of the greener vines within his hands, he twisted and bent it until it snapped. A small amount of water trickled down his hands. He lapped at it greedily, grateful for any drop he could get. It was bitter and smelled of latex but he did not care. He squeezed the vine over his open mouth and wrenched a few more drops of the precious liquid onto his tongue. It was nowhere near enough to hydrate him, but it did help wet his parched mouth.
A bright flash lit up the forest followed by a tremendous crack. The Doctor shot his eyebrows up. His hearts picked up their pace in excitement. He looked up to the sky through the blanket of branches and leaves. A great streak of lightning crackled across the sky. Thunder boomed overhead and the wind started to whisper through the boughs. Small animals of various kinds scattered beneath his feet, taking shelter wherever they could. Another bolt of lightning split the sky and then a miracle happened.
It started to rain.
The Doctor chuffed hoarsely. Maybe some god was watching over him after all. He lifted his shaking arms to the heavens as if in prayer. Rain pelted his body with fat droplets. He stuck out his tongue and caught them in his mouth. His robe quickly became soaked and clung to his skinny body like cellophane. The coolness against his sunburnt skin brought him more relief than he had ever felt in his life.
He turned the concave part of the shield upwards and laid it level onto the ground. Immediately, it began to collect the precious water. He bent down and sucked up what he could from the rapidly growing pool. It was sweet and earthy, and as far as he was concerned, the best he had ever tasted. With his dehydration shrinking, he already began to feel much better.
A great flash nearly knocked him backwards. He brought a hand up to shield his eyes. An enormous boom shook the leaves from the trees. Pieces of bark whizzed through the air like shrapnel. Small bits of it smacked into his arms. His ears rang like a tuning fork. He chanced opening his eyes and was met with the warm glow of fire. Lightning had struck a tree about thirty yards away, splitting it nearly in half down the middle. Realizing the danger, he managed to squirm away from the tree he had been resting against. The last thing he needed was to be struck by lightning.
The inferno blazed hot into the night, undeterred by the pouring rain. Sparks danced in the wind, landing at his feet. Luckily, every ember sizzled out upon contact with the wet ground. The stricken tree stood alone in a small clearing, lessening the chance of the flames spreading. Water evaporated from the split trunk in a great plume of steam.
Finding a long and straight stick on the ground in front of him, the Doctor used it as a crutch to clamber to his feet. He noticed something gelatinous sticking out from a coniferous tree across from him and reached out to it curiously. It was black like pitch and stuck to his hands. It smelled vaguely of Juniper resin and perhaps it was. Humans left invasive species wherever they went.
He took the sash he had stashed into his robe and coated it in the stuff. He tied it to the end of his stick and hobbled off towards the burning tree. The hissing conflagration radiated intense heat from its center. The water on his skin dried up almost immediately. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He had to do this quickly before he overheated.
With a burst of determination, he charged the fire, brandishing his makeshift torch like a spear. He pierced the wall of flames and the resin instantly erupted into a blaze of its own. Withdrawing, he retreated hastily into the woods.
Fire. He had fire. He thanked whatever deity had smiled upon him and laughed into the storm with joy.
For the first time, he believed he had a fighting chance to survive.
