Doctor Who: Combat Rock (26 page)

They were making their way across a jungle glade where the sun streamed blindingly down upon them, when Agus stopped. He held up a hand and his handsome features were serious. He turned to Victoria.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I hear something.’ He was drawing his Luger from its holster when the arrow hit him in the windpipe.

He stepped back a pace as if performing a solitary waltz, clutched at the shaft as the blood began to bubble, well, and then spurt. Then he was on his knees, gazing at Victoria with a mixture of surprise and apology on his face.

Victoria’s scream was lost under the crack of rifle shots.

Three soldiers fell, two more staggered under the impact of arrows, joined their colleagues in the grass. The rest whirled, firing their pulse rifles in the perceived direction of the attack.

Trees flashed into flame, but still the arrows and bullets came.

Another soldier fell against Victoria, sliding down her body, his arms embracing her, an arrow shaft jutting from his right eye. She shook him off and ran for the far side of the clearing, followed by three surviving soldiers.

A man came out of the undergrowth to meet her. He was white, dressed in combat fatigues with a sleeveless jerkin. He clutched an old-fashioned rifle in one hand, aimed it almost lazily, picked off one of the soldiers behind Victoria, while he held out his other hand to welcome her. An arrow streamed across the clearing from the far side to drop another soldier, and that left one. He fired his pulse rifle at the white man, who didn’t even try to dodge. The pulse went wide, igniting a palm behind him. The man smiled and loosed off a shot which caught the Indoni soldier in the chest, digging up a rose of blood and propelling him back into the grass.

Victoria stopped running, unsure what to do, but deciding it was probably time to stop screaming too.

More white men were emerging from both sides of the glade. They’d obviously been hidden securely enough in the jungle to avoid the erratic firing of the Indoni soldiers. They were a bizarre-looking group. One all in black, carrying a bow, with a shaven head and piercing eyes; another fat and sweaty with a bullet belt over his shoulder and a chainsaw strapped to his waist. He was also equipped with a bow and sheath of arrows and Victoria’s gaze was drawn inexorably to his left eye lodged horrifically halfway down his cheek.

Behind him came a man dressed in leather and white lace with long luxurious dark hair and eye make-up. He bowed mockingly at Victoria as he ejected spent shells from his ancient-looking rifle. The man who had appeared first clapped her arm heartily. He was tall with saturnine features and the most evil eyes Victoria had ever seen. He smiled, and it was the uneven yellow-toothed smile of a wolf. Next to him, two more: a good-looking man with raw cheekbones, slicked-back hair, a cigarette tucked behind one ear and a rifle tilted on his shoulder, and lastly an untidy-looking psychotic with long straggly hair and lost eyes, plucking absently at the string of his bow as if eager to use it again.

‘Welcome to your nightmare,’ the saturnine man said.

Some of the others laughed. The fat bearded man looked at her intently and began rubbing his crotch.

She had fallen into bad company.

The river journey was over.

The canoe was gliding across the surface of an extensive lagoon, the sun hot upon the tops of the travellers’ heads. It was like no lagoon the Doctor had seen before, and he paused in his rowing, fascinated. The water was tinged with purple, and now and again volcanic burps broke the surface, and wisps of steam rose lazily above the lake. But the most striking thing about the swamp was the silence. There were no birds; the twisted trees around the shore were empty of jungle wildlife. The lagoon itself was studded with black flowers seemingly floating like lilies upon the water. The Doctor prodded one of them with his oar, and lifting it slightly, uncovered a clump of purple fungus connected to the flower, membranous and buoyant. It resembled a pickled human brain, and was certainly the same growth the Doctor had already encountered, a piece of which had been lodged on the spinal column of the mummified chieftain in Akima.

‘Curious,’ he said aloud, narrowing his eyes mysteriously as he turned the growth over on his oar to examine it more thoroughly. A bulbous-headed fish broke water beside his oar, watched him malevolently with its one eye and proceeded to clatter its teeth around the wooden oar, as if hoping it was edible. The Doctor shook it free with a cry and the fungus fell away too. He sat back hastily, as if fearing the fish would attempt to snap at his face.

The canoe slid on through the ranks of black flowers, Tigus standing for’ard, and shading his eyes against the sun.

Soon, what the Doctor had determined to be the far shore of the lake revealed itself to be an island, and it was not long before they could make out the wooden landing pier stretching out into the lagoon.

‘Oh my word!’ the Doctor exclaimed as he saw the heads paraded on stakes above the pier. Wina emitted a moan of horror and Wemus duly consoled her. The guerrillas didn’t bother slapping him away this time. They were tired, and their destination was within sight: they didn’t care any more.

Now they could discern individual heads and the Doctor was puzzled to spot what were obviously Papul features among the grisly trophies. He stood up and climbed over the sacks of provisions cluttering the canoe to stand beside Tigus.

‘This is the Krallik’s solution to war? Kill everyone?

These are your people he is brutalising too, you know!’

Tigus gave him a withering stare. ‘The Krallik says there
is
no solution in war. There is only rage and death. Those who rage and those who die. It better to rage for what you believe, than die for what you don’t. Sometime, if we lose our way, we cease to be the one, and become the other.’

‘Sound like you rehearse that well, brother,’ Kepennis said confrontationally.

Tigus didn’t even look at him. ‘This is Traitor’s Dock.

Soon you join your friends here.’

Kepennis shut up. Wemus gave him a warning glare not to open his mouth again.

The canoe nudged in under the hanging heads, bumping against the wooden struts of the pier.

‘Right then,’ said the Doctor cheerily, ‘we’d better meet this Krallik of yours, hadn’t we? There are quite a few things I’d like to say to him.’

‘You meet him soon enough,’ Tigus said, throwing a rope around one of the stakes and vaulting onto the pier. There were other canoes tethered along the dock, tapping each other in the lazy swell caused by the new canoe’s arrival. The guerrillas leapt ashore, gesturing for their hostages to follow suit, levelling rifles just in case they felt like arguing.

They walked along the planks, and onto the island. A fringe of palms couldn’t completely conceal the building that lurked beyond. When they passed underneath the trees and saw the head-shaped temple in all its macabre glory, the Doctor stopped in wonder.

‘So this is the heart of terror, eh?’

‘Where’s the Krallik, then, huh?’ Drew piped up brashly

‘Bring the bastard on, and let’s play.’ That earned him a rifle butt between the shoulder blades, but his grunt of pain soon degenerated into sniggers as they walked towards the gaping doorway.

A guerrilla came out to meet them wearing a black and white striped balaclava and with bullet belts criss-crossing his naked chest. He spoke to Tigus excitedly.

‘What are they saying?’ the Doctor asked Wemus to translate for him.

‘He say the jungle reclaim Agat.’ Kepennis answered for his friend. ‘Many Indoni heads have been hunted.’

‘And that pleases him?’

‘Yes, alien.’ Tigus broke in. ‘It please me that Indoni no longer prosper in Papul town: He glanced at Wina. ‘It please me to hear Indoni die.’

They entered the temple.

Several more guerrillas were slumped around the single room, eyeing the hostages with some curiosity. Several glanced appreciatively at Wina’s lithe form, causing Wemus to put an arm protectively around her waist.

The Doctor’s attention was immediately drawn to the sacks of purple fungus that were leaning against one thatched wall. ‘What do you intend doing with those, might I ask?’ His question was to Tigus who was barking orders for someone to fetch them food and drink. The rest of the weary group collapsed on grass mats, Wina and Wemus sitting together, both looking tired and miserable. Kepennis folded his arms around his legs and lowered his head to sleep. Drew stretched out on his back and closed his eyes.

‘They much desired at Agat. Good for healthy. Delicacy.

Only grow here in swamps. We sell to Papul in Agat to finance OPG activity and weapons. Krallik’s orders. But now Agat empty Papul return to the jungle, no more sell. Highly nutritious. You want try?’ Tigus was actually being hospitable now that he was relaxing in the rebel base again, safely away from Snatchers and Indoni patrols.

‘Highly nutritious, eh?’ the Doctor said pensively ‘Yes, I would like to try some...’

Tigus shrugged and crossed to the heap of sacks. He tossed a hunk of the purple growth to the Doctor and sat down cross-legged to enjoy a bowl of soup brought to him by one of his men. Similar bowls were put in front of the other travellers, but the Doctor seemed far more interested in sampling the growth.

He tore a fragment off and sniffed it. It was porous and gave off a faint odour of toadstools and spice. Not unpleasant, but not overly appealing, either. Daring all, he took a tentative bite.

The Dogs have work to do today. A little job, courtesy of Sabit the Rabbit. Shall we take a little peek inside their heads, see what’s making them tick on this humid jungle afternoon?

Grave was watching sick horror movies on his wrist video.

He’d already done what he felt like was his share of the work and he was taking half an hour out to relax, sitting on a fallen tree on the edge of the clearing. It was a very old movie, but it was one of his favourites, and quite appropriate considering the locale, as it was set on a jungle island overrun by flesh-eating deadheads. The disc was not holo-pressed, which was a shame, but the movie wasn’t filmed in that format anyway so why should he moan? He noticed that the bitch they’d taken away from the Indoni was watching him, and as the movie was nearing the ‘hot lunch’ scene, he purposely moved his arm so she would be able to see the screen more dearly. Bloated zombies were tearing off pieces from a prostrate and ridiculously blood-soaked woman to chew, for all the world like a bunch of shabby old men morosely munching on their sarnies at a picnic.

He saw her shudder and grinned. Hell, genuine kicks were few and far between on this planet; might as well grab ‘em when he could. And he’d
always
enjoyed scaring girls.

Better than sex with ’em, that was for sure.

Saw was busy collecting the last of the dead soldiers. They were all arranged in a pile now, ready for ‘styling’ as Pan called it. The bearded giant glanced over at the Earth woman, who was being allowed to wander around free at the moment.

Well, it wasn’t as if there was anywhere she could go, was there? Apart from down on him, which is exactly what would be happening
very
soon, lady. He came over all sweaty just at the thought of it, even though she was older than the usual girls he took. But maybe Pan would interfere. Like
he
had morals... Probably wanted her for himself. Maybe it was time for Pan’s felling. He dropped the corpse’s ankles and patted his chainsaw. Yeah, maybe it was felling time for big bad Pan.

Don’t get in my way, Devil Eyes.

Pretty Boy was sharpening stakes made out of buzzed trees, along with Bass. Saw’s little namesake tool had really come into proper use for once. Pretty Boy and Bass were the buddies of the group. They had a mutual respect that Bass would never let go too far, always conscious of Pretty Boy’s ambivalent sexual inclinations, but they worked together well, killed with similar flair and precision, and laughed at pretty much the same jokes. For such good friends they couldn’t be more different: Pretty Boy was wild and good-humoured, extravagant, theatrical, loquacious; Bass was cool and laid-back, laconic to the hilt. They often went into battle back to back, forming a two-headed killing machine with no weaknesses. Right now Pretty Boy was thinking: Bass, you is looking older, more stressed. Your hairline’s retreating like it was ambushed, boyo. Soon gonna stop getting the best looking chicks.

And Bass? Bass was daydreaming of riding a big, black Harley down to Mexico, drifting in and out of the border towns, sampling the wine and the senoritas. It was something he’d read about once in an ancient music magazine. One of his rock idols had done it, once upon a legendary time. Yeah, well... there probably was no Mexico anymore. No wine, no senoritas. Perhaps he should check it out on a map when he got back to Earth.

That left Twist. He was hiking further up the trail to fetch the camouflaged cruiser, and then he was gonna cruise it right back to the clearing and pick up the boys. Do we really want to look inside his head? Just drug-addled ruins in there; a chemical burn-out that was truly frightening. Wasteland of distorted desires and a skewed Expressionist’s nightmare of tottering perceptions. This man was on the highway to mental hell, and if the boys ever did get to look inside his mind, they’d never let him fly them again.

Pan. We know how he works. Let’s leave him for now.

And of course, Clown was missing in action.

The bodies were collected, the long stakes sharpened and set beside the corpses in the centre of the clearing. Grave reluctantly paused the
Zombie Flesh Eaters
Tini-Disc and crept over to join the others.

Pan took Victoria’s arm.

‘So you were brought out here to see what the OPG are capable of, huh?’

Victoria said nothing, glaring at him with fear and anger, seeing what he was, seeing right through to his heart of emptiness.

‘Well, now me and the boys, we’re gonna show ya.’

He signalled to Saw to lift Agus’s body. The big, lumbering Dog promptly hoisted the officer up by the shoulders, the arrow still sticking out from his bloody throat.