Doctor Who’s Nightmares - Full Throttle 6/7
Title: Doctor Who’s Nightmares - Full Throttle 6/7
Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, The Doctor (10), OFC, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, Benton
Parings: Jack/Ianto (very mild Ianto/OFC)
Disclaimer: Neither Torchwood or Doctor Who are mine
Summary: The Doctor is called in when unknown aliens start killing at Newcastle Airport
Spoilers: After the events of ‘Children of Earth’, but not obviously referenced (sequel to fix-it fic)
Rating: R
Warning: Blood and gore, possibly upsetting scenes
A/N: This is a sequel to Doctor Who and the Cathedral of Light, and will make much more sense if it’s read.
A/N2: The OFC is my Dad’s character, so this chapter is almost all his
Prologue here
With the throttle roar of the Suzuki GZ 250 Marauder thundering inside her full-faced crash-helmet, Louise Ruth headed for a church deep in the heart of Houghton-Le-Spring.
The Doctor had discovered that a Time lord’s all-consuming ambition was to bring about the complete destruction of the human race. The Doctor was trying to locate the renegade Time Lord but wasn’t having much luck. An army of Autons had been let loose on major towns and cities causing members of the public to flee their homes seeking refuge in small towns and villages. But as quickly as they came, the Autons would destroy as much as they could then retreat back into the time scars.
‘Cybermen, Ogrons, Shadow Warriors I get, they’re to some extent like us, maybe a little inferior but like us never the less.’ Louise Ruth stated. ‘But Autons… they’re just walking shop dummies, aren’t they?’
The Doctor nodded as he worked. He was perfecting a number of tracking devices that could follow a recently opened time scar; hopefully back to the machine that had generated it. As the devices could only track the scar within a two mile radius before it opened, the Doctor had to have fifty of them placed in prospective areas of high population density hoping that at least one of them would be within two miles of a newly opened scar.
‘The Autons, as you say, are nothing more than animated plastic, whether they are in the form of a tailor's dummies, mannequin, child’s doll, an armchair or even a replica daffodil.’ Louise Ruth began to laugh.
‘I could just see me being attacked by a deadly armchair. I’d never go beck to Ikea again.’ Playing his newly reconstructed sonic screwdriver across the tracking device in his hand he smiled and, placing it next to a pile of others, picked up the next one.
‘You shouldn’t laugh. I’ve seen it… and been attacked by it.... and the daffodils. In fact it can manipulate anything plastic.’ Passing a filled box of trackers to Ianto, Louise Ruth picked up an empty box and placed it next to the Doctor, a smile still prominent on her face.
‘Sorry Doctor, just can’t get that picture out of my mind… Anyway, you said ‘it’ can manipulate plastic… what or who is ‘it’?’ Unscrewing the top from another tracker, the Doctor leaned in closer examining the interior.
‘The ‘it’ is the Nestene Consciousness. It came from outer space, as you earthlings like to call it, and once upon a time it looked like an octopus. But thousands of years ago it managed to get rid of its body and became pure mind, an energy source with a curious affinity for plastic. It split itself into particles and travelled to other planets in Nestene spheres, trying to conquer them.’ Returning the tracker to the box Louise Ruth was holding the Doctor selected another tracker.
‘You’ve fought them before haven’t you?’ The Doctor nodded, as he activated his sonic screwdriver.
‘Once the Nestene is killed, the Auton’s are deactivated and become nothing more than shop dummies. These trackers, hopefully, will show us where the Nestene consciousness is so we can destroy it and save the world.’
As the Brigadier’s men were otherwise engaged in the ongoing battle with the Autons, Jack and Ianto took the SUV and began dropping the trackers in strategic locations. Even Louise Ruth decided to lend a hand and took five of them with her.
Borrowing a Suzuki GZ 250 Marauder, she headed off towards an area she knew well. The Doctor gave her a map and pointed out a number of locations near a town called Houghton-Le-Spring, where she had lived and went to school as a child.
Despite the Auton’s weaponry, Louise Ruth knew that she could out run them on the Suzuki. From what the Doctor had said they were slow and relied on their weaponry built into their arms, which was inaccurate at the best of times.
Kicking down the side stand and dismounting in one of the few empty bays in the grounds of the Church, Louise Ruth gave the car park the once over. Removing her helmet and fastening it to the carrier rack on the back of the bike; she pulled down the zip of her leather jacket and walked slowly towards the front door. The Doctor had told her to place it in the centre of the building to get the maximum effect and range.
To her right she noticed what looked like a dining room or restaurant, through full-length glass doors that ran the length of that side of the building. ‘Classy place,’ she said to no one in particular.
Despite the early hour a dry summer heat was trapped in the car park and heated up everything that it touched. As far as Bethel Church was concerned she knew that it was a warren of corridors, halls and rooms, with a sports hall and restaurant thrown in for good measure. Her roving eye took in every detail of the surrounding buildings and enormous car park and committed it all to memory for future use, if it were needed.
Walking abreast with the entrance to the church she had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Nodding her head in recognition she knew that something was wrong. She felt it rather than saw something in particular.
She smiled inwardly remembering that Ianto had told her to hide her stun gun under the Suzuki’s tank, just in case. She’d followed his advice but the only problem now was that the bike was at the other end of the car park furthest from the entrance and she was standing at the front doors. Looking over her shoulder she pondered for a moment whether she should return to the Suzuki.
‘That’s exactly what I should do,’ she thought, but something inside of her wanted to see more first. She wished the Doctor or Jack and Ianto had come with her, but they were busy with problems of their own.
Walking towards the front door she gave it a gentle push. Realising that wouldn’t open the door she gave it a bit more shoulder then walked inside. The place was quiet; not a single noise came from the main sanctuary where, looking at the cars parked out side, over four hundred worshippers must be praying. Straining she couldn’t hear the slightest shuffle, cry of a baby, or the restrained cough of an adult. Something was wrong big time she knew.
To her left as she entered, she found what looked like a bookshop full of Christian literature, and in front of that stood a welcome desk, which jutted out in front of the glass fronted shop. Opposite were what appeared to be offices, one shrouded with window blinds, while the other seemed to house a computer and a photocopying machine.
Ahead of her stood two tall brown pillars on either side of the entrance, which reached up to a domed ceiling above. In front of her was an enormous wooden table with a floral decoration on its centre. Everything was new and everything seemed well looked after.
Removing the tracking device she placed it in the centre of the wooden table and activated it. She knew that the Doctor would be tracking it as soon as it was activated, so they would at least know where she was at that moment.
Still feeling uneasy she looked around at the deserted entrance and gave an involuntary shiver as if ice water had been poured down her back. Something was wrong, very wrong. Then it hit her, like walking into a brick wall. She had smelt that smell many times but never so much and never so concentrated in one place.
Walking across the thick piled carpet to the wooden table she looked to her left and saw the people through the glass doors that lead in to the sanctuary. They were dead, all four hundred of them it seemed. They had been cut to pieces by small arms fire.
Men women and children were scattered about the floor like discarded rag dolls, left by untidy children. Some were draped over the seats where they had tried to run from the death that stalked them, while others had died where they had sat. Women protecting babies in their arms had been butchered along with their children. Men who had tried ineffectually to protect their families lay in their own blood.
Louise Ruth closed her eyes for a second as she involuntarily tried to blot out the scene that lay before her.
Opening her eyes she looked again but the scene was the same as it had been when she had shut them. Only this time there was movement. Transfixed, unable to move, as if frozen to the spot she watched as a dying woman bizarrely reached out a hand to touch the long blood-smeared hair of a blonde girl that lay on the floor next to her. It was as if she was going to stroke her in a gesture of affection, or perhaps move the hair of hair out of her eyes. Moving her hand away the woman noticed for the first time that her child was dead. Her body began to convulse and shudder. Then dropping her hand back to the carpet she too, lay still.
Louise Ruth, still riveted to the spot, ran an eye over the mounds of human remains that were once a 'God fearing' congregation. All she could feel was revulsion and sheer undiluted hatred for those that had committed this atrocity. The power of the emotion set her body shaking. At that moment she would have killed anything that came into the corridor where she stood.
Slowly she began to control herself, control her emotions, breath deeply. Despite what lay around her, despite the torn and mutilated victims that lay dead in the room next to her, she had to be in control to be effective or she to would end up just like them.
Turning she noticed for the first time, on the floor behind what she first thought to have been the welcome desk, a man lying still. He was short, about five-foot, she thought, with a thick white beard and hair to match. She noticed that he had been beaten badly. His face was bruised and lacerated and he was bleeding from one ear. His knuckles, Louise Ruth noticed, were also bleeding and there was blood beneath his fingernails. He had not gone down without a struggle it seemed.
Kneeling beside him she noticed that there was a small NIV bible clutched in one of his hands and he held it tightly against his chest. Blood drenched his white hand-knitted jumper from the bullet hole that gaped open just below his navel. Blood slowly pulsed from the wound in short jerks, which slowed considerably as she looked on.
The silk scarf, which he wore around his neck, was almost crimson-black with blood. Pulling it loose, Louise Ruth pressed it to the wound, knowing that anything she did would be ineffectual, but felt that she needed to do something. She couldn’t just stand by and watch this brave man die without giving him comfort in some way. As she applied the scarf to the wound the man gave out a gasp of pain and his eyes rolled backwards in their sockets.
Looking down she saw that blood was still running out of his mouth to mingle and clot in his white facial hair. Placing her fingers on his wrist she felt for his pulse. It was there but very weak and feeble. A badge on his lapel said, ‘Welcome to Bethel Church,’ and written underneath was the name Ozzy. She gave a start of alarm when he opened his eyes and coughed up a mouthful of blood. Relaxing, she gave him a smile and spoke in a calm voice as if nothing were amiss.
‘You’ve done well Ozzy. Now you’ve got to hang on in there, understand?’ Ozzy made no reply but just stared up at her. ‘How many were there and how long has it been since they left, Ozzy? I need to know,’ she said, looking into his glazed eyes that stared back at her from his now pale, almost white face.
He tried to shake his head but cramped up in pain, spitting out another lung-full of blood. ‘Ozzy! When did they go? How long ago?’ Again he shook his head spraying blood across the thick piled carpet as his voice croaked out an unintelligible reply. Tears of pain and helplessness began to run down his cheeks.
Louise Ruth knew what was coming next as Ozzy began to shake. Lowering her ear to his mouth she asked him once again to repeat what he had just said. This time she managed to make out the words that came from his blood stained mouth before his body gave one last shudder and relaxed. His spirit then left his body and went home to be with the God that he worshiped and loved so much, in life.
Quickly she stood up and turned as the door opposite, which she had thought led to offices beyond, began to open.
‘Shit… shit… shit,’ she said through clenched teeth.
The dying man, Ozzy, had told her, with his last breath that the killers hadn’t left yet. He had told her that they were still in the building. She knew that it would take a large force of Autons to murder over four hundred people without any of them escaping and she didn’t want to be the only one left to face them.
Her hand crept inside her leather jacket and for a moment she wanted to kill. Despite the fact that she had no gun she still wanted to kill. She wanted to kill so badly she could taste it in her mouth. She wanted to kill all of them no matter how many there were. She wanted to kill them, not out of revenge but out of the revulsion that she felt for them. She loathed and hated them. She thought of them not as a sentient race, but nothing more than vermin that had lost the right to walk the face of the earth.
Screaming at the top of her voice, she slammed her leather clad bike boot into the wooden door at waist height just as a hand appeared between the door and the frame. With a sense of satisfaction an Auton arm was severed at the elbow and fell to the floor, the gun in the wrist mechanism open and ready to fire.
‘Shit!’ she screamed at the top of her lungs as she turned and, as quickly as she could, ran out of the building and into the heat of the mid morning air.
Not wanting to waste time putting her helmet on, which was still fastened to the back rack, she mounted the bike, then kicking up the side stand fumbled nervously with the keys.
‘No… no… no,’ she shouted as she tried to fit the key into the ignition. After much panic filled action she managed to get the key into the lock and switched the engine on.
Pushing down on the starter with all her strength the engine fired into life. The Suzuki GZ 250 Marauder had been given a lot of care and attention since it had been purchased and that care and devotion paid off in spades just when she needed it most.
Pushing the gear change down she gave it full throttle as the 4-stroke, air-cooled single-cylinder engine roared out its approval. The wheels burned rubber on the tarmac and she took off, heading for the metal gates at the opposite end of the car park screaming and shouting as she went. The bike was accelerating too hard and the front wheel began to rise.
‘Oh… shit… noooo!’ In front of her she saw Autons pouring out of the church, each with its wrist dropped forward and the barrel of a gun protruding. The front wheel caught the first Auton decapitating it as she struck its plastic body. Involuntarily, she stamped on the rear break dropping the front wheel and swerving the Suzuki towards the advancing Autons. Hands shot out trying to grab her as she passed but the Suzuki was too fast and all they held onto was empty air.
‘Get off you bastards!’ One Auton jumped in front of her lifting his arm ready to fire at as she passed. Quickly Louise Ruth swerved the bike and more out of luck than good driving, raised her boot catching him in the groin and right hip. The killer doubled up and swung around like a ballerina. Finishing his turn he slammed into the side of the black a Transit van and fell to the ground.
Unfortunately, the angle of the bike caused it to slide along the tarmac, dust flying in every direction. With all her strength she fought the skid but finally lost control as she hit the deck with a sickening thud.
‘Crap… shit… piss!’ The heavy machine slipped away from her and she let it go, not wanting to catch her leg underneath it as they both went down together. She felt the skin on her right knee graze on the tarmac, as the loose gravel tore at her Jeans.
In an instant she was up in a crouch and ready to move as the bike slithered into a silver Mercedes with the customised number plate of, ‘Reg. 1’. The sheer weight of the Suzuki dented the wing and door panels on the expensive German car but she realised, didn’t leave a mark on the bike.
One of the Autons, his face and hands covered in innocent Christian blood came lurching towards her, while two others, who were emerging from the building through the glass and wood doors, dropped their wrists and prepared to fire. The Auton she had taken out with the bike lay flat on his back, still not moving.
With mounting panic she saw that the advancing Autons were almost on top of her and one blood covered arm was aimed in her direction. He began to swing the weapon towards her, his action sluggish as if he had to think about the move rather than just react. This gave her a time advantage as her reactions, fuelled with adrenalin, were faster than theirs were. It was close enough now that she could see the darkness around its lifeless eyes
Louise Ruth knew that she wasn’t fast enough to be able to draw out her stun gun from under the tank in time so she made the only move that was open to her. She dove under the extended pistol with her head tucked in and legs curled up. As soon as her back hit the deck she kicked out with both feet catching the Auton in the lower abdomen doubling it up. It almost toppled on top of her so she used her legs again to catch its falling body and push it to one side falling helplessly to the ground. She was on him before it could react to this unexpected change. Turning the barrel of his arm gun towards him, instead of pulling it away, as it had expected, she forced it to pull the trigger. The 9 mm projectile cracked against its jaw and exited from the back of its skull in a shower of plastic and circuit board.
‘Die you bastard die,’ she screamed. The Auton’s grip relaxed as she slammed the arm against the side of his face, smashing it off at the elbow. What was left of his head snapped to the right and his body went limp. Examining the gun she noticed a trigger mechanism with a wire attached. Pulling the trigger she emptied the rest of the clip towards her pursuers she rolled to one side as she tried to figure out what to do next.
She was scared… so scared she realised that she hadn’t taken a breath since she’d fallen form the bike.
Instantly coming to a decision she threw the Auton’s arm to one side and leapt to her feet. Without looking back she ran towards the downed Suzuki, tears streaming down her face. Hauling the 302 lbs motorbike away from the damaged vehicle she pulled it upright and swung her leg over the seat. Shots came from the two other Autons that stood next to the main door but the distance was too great for such inaccurate weapons. With anger as much as fear she hit the starter button, but this time the engine didn’t kick-in first time.
‘Bastard… bastard… bastard, start you pissing bastard!’ The shots from the doorway were getting too close for comfort now as she franticly hit the starter once more, but still nothing happened.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the Auton that she had put down with the bike. He was now getting to his feet, his right hip broken and that maddening expressionless look on its face. Trying the starter again she shouted in relief as the engine caught this time and the machine began to raw into life. The heavy throttling was like music to her ears as she twisted it as far as it would go. The bike’s front wheel reared upward a second time, as she took off, the rear number plate crumpling behind her.
She had to lean low over the fuel tank using her weight to hold the bike to the ground as she fled the scene, tapping the front break as she went. Under the now thickening hail of fire, hitting the foot brake fully was out of the question.
There was a crack of gunfire from behind her and the front windshield of a black BMW exploded into a thousand shards of glass.
‘Just get me out of here God… please!’ She hurtled through the car park and immediately had to break hard to avoid slamming into two cars that were parked in the middle of the car park, not in one of the bays. Her left foot took part of the bike’s weight as she dragged it around the obstacle, shouting curses at the inconsiderate parking as she manoeuvred the bike through the turn.
‘Stupid bastards, pack properly.’ Then she remembered that the owners were probably dead right about now and went quiet. Another bullet whistled passed her ear and thudded into a parked car smashing the headlight in a shower of broken glass.
‘Please… please get me out of here.’ A figure walked out from between one of the several, parked cars halfway down on her left. The Auton raised its arm above its head and dropped it down as she passed. The blow only clipped her shoulder as she went by but that had been enough. She screamed out in pain and, losing her balance, skidded off at an angle, careering into a large white mini-bus parked near the curb.
‘You bastard, I’m going to rip your stupid head off and sh…’ She managed to recover enough to keep on going, but her right leg was trapped between the bike frame and the vehicle. She screamed out loud as her leather trousers ripped and her skin burnt under friction’s blistering heat. ‘Shit…’
Again she had to break hard as three more Autons appeared in front of the only exit from the car park. Using the hand break a split second ahead of the foot break and leaning hard the bike screeched to a clean sideways halt. She’d see Steve McQueen do something similar in the Great Escape, but never thought she could have accomplished it.
She sat there for a moment, her breath coming in gulps as her body was filled to overflowing with adrenalin, which had the effect of blurring her vision and making her light headed. With her left fist tight around the handgrip holding the clutch lever in, she checked her options.
Sweat soaked her forehead causing her hair to cling to the side of her face. Vibrations from the machines idling engine ran through her body and as the sweat ran down her back. The three Autons just stood and watched from the front gate unmoving, knowing they had her trapped. They all had guns built into their arms, but none of them tried to take aim. It was as if they wanted her alive, or perhaps just to detain her until something else turned up.
Glancing to her left she saw other Autons moving towards her as they emptied out of the church. Looking around Louise Ruth thought that all the Autons were grinning at her as she sat revving up the engine, despite the fact that their faces were made of harden plastic. Panic began to set in burning off some of the adrenalin. Her ‘fight or flight,’ response demanded flight, but how.
‘Think you’ve got me trapped? Well if that’s the case you don’t know me very well, do you… you plastic headed bastards.’ she said with a smile of her own, showing for all to see, hiding the fear that she felt deep down in side.
Grinning now she took off, spinning the bike, swerving close to the line of parked cars, aiming straight at an advancing Auton. Without any thoughts of the consequences of her actions Louise Ruth hurtled towards it. The bike's guttural raw was deafening in the quiet, peaceful summer Sunday morning. The Auton managed to move clear in time by throwing itself across the bonnet of a parked car. Dragging the bike round again, the tyres screeching on the ground, she had given herself enough room for what she wanted to do.
Shots and footsteps from behind her told her that the Autons were advancing on her. More of them poured out of the church towards her, and just had time to raise their guns and fire off wild shots, before she moved off.
Opening the throttle she straightened up the machine and whipped past the line of parked cars. A burst of fire that could only have come from a machine pistol punched into vehicles in a shower of glass and flying metal as she passed them. The breeze that the speed of the Suzuki was creating cooled her down and stopped the sweat running into her eyes.
She sped passed cheap cars and expensive cars, two-seater cars and eight-seater cars. She passed cars without a scratch on them, fresh out of the showroom and cars rusted and dropping to bits. All had one thing in common; their owners were all dead. Grandeur and poverty stood side by side. At last everyone was equal. Every one was the same in death.
The three Autons that barred her exit now aimed their weapons at her while still more opened up from behind. Louise Ruth knew that she should have looked for another possible exit but that would have meant turning around and offering her back as a target and certain death. There was only one choice now and she had already crossed three quarters of the car park to make it.
‘Shit!’ she exclaimed as a bright flash of light came from the gates and even over the bikes 250cc engine she heard the noise of displaced air as the bullet passed by her right ear. Her panic was causing the bike to rock slightly from side to side, spoiling the aim of anyone that was taking their time shooting.
Another shot cracked out just as wild as the first, but this time it slammed into the bike's rear mud guard, tearing a grove down one side. She could hear a screaming noise above the bikes engine then realise that it was her. She tried to swerve but as every second passed they were getting closer. Soon, she knew they would have a target they couldn’t miss and it would be all over.
The Winter Gardens 7/7
Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, The Doctor (10), OFC, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, Benton
Parings: Jack/Ianto (very mild Ianto/OFC)
Disclaimer: Neither Torchwood or Doctor Who are mine
Summary: The Doctor is called in when unknown aliens start killing at Newcastle Airport
Spoilers: After the events of ‘Children of Earth’, but not obviously referenced (sequel to fix-it fic)
Rating: R
Warning: Blood and gore, possibly upsetting scenes
A/N: This is a sequel to Doctor Who and the Cathedral of Light, and will make much more sense if it’s read.
A/N2: The OFC is my Dad’s character, so this chapter is almost all his
Prologue here
With the throttle roar of the Suzuki GZ 250 Marauder thundering inside her full-faced crash-helmet, Louise Ruth headed for a church deep in the heart of Houghton-Le-Spring.
The Doctor had discovered that a Time lord’s all-consuming ambition was to bring about the complete destruction of the human race. The Doctor was trying to locate the renegade Time Lord but wasn’t having much luck. An army of Autons had been let loose on major towns and cities causing members of the public to flee their homes seeking refuge in small towns and villages. But as quickly as they came, the Autons would destroy as much as they could then retreat back into the time scars.
‘Cybermen, Ogrons, Shadow Warriors I get, they’re to some extent like us, maybe a little inferior but like us never the less.’ Louise Ruth stated. ‘But Autons… they’re just walking shop dummies, aren’t they?’
The Doctor nodded as he worked. He was perfecting a number of tracking devices that could follow a recently opened time scar; hopefully back to the machine that had generated it. As the devices could only track the scar within a two mile radius before it opened, the Doctor had to have fifty of them placed in prospective areas of high population density hoping that at least one of them would be within two miles of a newly opened scar.
‘The Autons, as you say, are nothing more than animated plastic, whether they are in the form of a tailor's dummies, mannequin, child’s doll, an armchair or even a replica daffodil.’ Louise Ruth began to laugh.
‘I could just see me being attacked by a deadly armchair. I’d never go beck to Ikea again.’ Playing his newly reconstructed sonic screwdriver across the tracking device in his hand he smiled and, placing it next to a pile of others, picked up the next one.
‘You shouldn’t laugh. I’ve seen it… and been attacked by it.... and the daffodils. In fact it can manipulate anything plastic.’ Passing a filled box of trackers to Ianto, Louise Ruth picked up an empty box and placed it next to the Doctor, a smile still prominent on her face.
‘Sorry Doctor, just can’t get that picture out of my mind… Anyway, you said ‘it’ can manipulate plastic… what or who is ‘it’?’ Unscrewing the top from another tracker, the Doctor leaned in closer examining the interior.
‘The ‘it’ is the Nestene Consciousness. It came from outer space, as you earthlings like to call it, and once upon a time it looked like an octopus. But thousands of years ago it managed to get rid of its body and became pure mind, an energy source with a curious affinity for plastic. It split itself into particles and travelled to other planets in Nestene spheres, trying to conquer them.’ Returning the tracker to the box Louise Ruth was holding the Doctor selected another tracker.
‘You’ve fought them before haven’t you?’ The Doctor nodded, as he activated his sonic screwdriver.
‘Once the Nestene is killed, the Auton’s are deactivated and become nothing more than shop dummies. These trackers, hopefully, will show us where the Nestene consciousness is so we can destroy it and save the world.’
As the Brigadier’s men were otherwise engaged in the ongoing battle with the Autons, Jack and Ianto took the SUV and began dropping the trackers in strategic locations. Even Louise Ruth decided to lend a hand and took five of them with her.
Borrowing a Suzuki GZ 250 Marauder, she headed off towards an area she knew well. The Doctor gave her a map and pointed out a number of locations near a town called Houghton-Le-Spring, where she had lived and went to school as a child.
Despite the Auton’s weaponry, Louise Ruth knew that she could out run them on the Suzuki. From what the Doctor had said they were slow and relied on their weaponry built into their arms, which was inaccurate at the best of times.
Kicking down the side stand and dismounting in one of the few empty bays in the grounds of the Church, Louise Ruth gave the car park the once over. Removing her helmet and fastening it to the carrier rack on the back of the bike; she pulled down the zip of her leather jacket and walked slowly towards the front door. The Doctor had told her to place it in the centre of the building to get the maximum effect and range.
To her right she noticed what looked like a dining room or restaurant, through full-length glass doors that ran the length of that side of the building. ‘Classy place,’ she said to no one in particular.
Despite the early hour a dry summer heat was trapped in the car park and heated up everything that it touched. As far as Bethel Church was concerned she knew that it was a warren of corridors, halls and rooms, with a sports hall and restaurant thrown in for good measure. Her roving eye took in every detail of the surrounding buildings and enormous car park and committed it all to memory for future use, if it were needed.
Walking abreast with the entrance to the church she had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Nodding her head in recognition she knew that something was wrong. She felt it rather than saw something in particular.
She smiled inwardly remembering that Ianto had told her to hide her stun gun under the Suzuki’s tank, just in case. She’d followed his advice but the only problem now was that the bike was at the other end of the car park furthest from the entrance and she was standing at the front doors. Looking over her shoulder she pondered for a moment whether she should return to the Suzuki.
‘That’s exactly what I should do,’ she thought, but something inside of her wanted to see more first. She wished the Doctor or Jack and Ianto had come with her, but they were busy with problems of their own.
Walking towards the front door she gave it a gentle push. Realising that wouldn’t open the door she gave it a bit more shoulder then walked inside. The place was quiet; not a single noise came from the main sanctuary where, looking at the cars parked out side, over four hundred worshippers must be praying. Straining she couldn’t hear the slightest shuffle, cry of a baby, or the restrained cough of an adult. Something was wrong big time she knew.
To her left as she entered, she found what looked like a bookshop full of Christian literature, and in front of that stood a welcome desk, which jutted out in front of the glass fronted shop. Opposite were what appeared to be offices, one shrouded with window blinds, while the other seemed to house a computer and a photocopying machine.
Ahead of her stood two tall brown pillars on either side of the entrance, which reached up to a domed ceiling above. In front of her was an enormous wooden table with a floral decoration on its centre. Everything was new and everything seemed well looked after.
Removing the tracking device she placed it in the centre of the wooden table and activated it. She knew that the Doctor would be tracking it as soon as it was activated, so they would at least know where she was at that moment.
Still feeling uneasy she looked around at the deserted entrance and gave an involuntary shiver as if ice water had been poured down her back. Something was wrong, very wrong. Then it hit her, like walking into a brick wall. She had smelt that smell many times but never so much and never so concentrated in one place.
Walking across the thick piled carpet to the wooden table she looked to her left and saw the people through the glass doors that lead in to the sanctuary. They were dead, all four hundred of them it seemed. They had been cut to pieces by small arms fire.
Men women and children were scattered about the floor like discarded rag dolls, left by untidy children. Some were draped over the seats where they had tried to run from the death that stalked them, while others had died where they had sat. Women protecting babies in their arms had been butchered along with their children. Men who had tried ineffectually to protect their families lay in their own blood.
Louise Ruth closed her eyes for a second as she involuntarily tried to blot out the scene that lay before her.
Opening her eyes she looked again but the scene was the same as it had been when she had shut them. Only this time there was movement. Transfixed, unable to move, as if frozen to the spot she watched as a dying woman bizarrely reached out a hand to touch the long blood-smeared hair of a blonde girl that lay on the floor next to her. It was as if she was going to stroke her in a gesture of affection, or perhaps move the hair of hair out of her eyes. Moving her hand away the woman noticed for the first time that her child was dead. Her body began to convulse and shudder. Then dropping her hand back to the carpet she too, lay still.
Louise Ruth, still riveted to the spot, ran an eye over the mounds of human remains that were once a 'God fearing' congregation. All she could feel was revulsion and sheer undiluted hatred for those that had committed this atrocity. The power of the emotion set her body shaking. At that moment she would have killed anything that came into the corridor where she stood.
Slowly she began to control herself, control her emotions, breath deeply. Despite what lay around her, despite the torn and mutilated victims that lay dead in the room next to her, she had to be in control to be effective or she to would end up just like them.
Turning she noticed for the first time, on the floor behind what she first thought to have been the welcome desk, a man lying still. He was short, about five-foot, she thought, with a thick white beard and hair to match. She noticed that he had been beaten badly. His face was bruised and lacerated and he was bleeding from one ear. His knuckles, Louise Ruth noticed, were also bleeding and there was blood beneath his fingernails. He had not gone down without a struggle it seemed.
Kneeling beside him she noticed that there was a small NIV bible clutched in one of his hands and he held it tightly against his chest. Blood drenched his white hand-knitted jumper from the bullet hole that gaped open just below his navel. Blood slowly pulsed from the wound in short jerks, which slowed considerably as she looked on.
The silk scarf, which he wore around his neck, was almost crimson-black with blood. Pulling it loose, Louise Ruth pressed it to the wound, knowing that anything she did would be ineffectual, but felt that she needed to do something. She couldn’t just stand by and watch this brave man die without giving him comfort in some way. As she applied the scarf to the wound the man gave out a gasp of pain and his eyes rolled backwards in their sockets.
Looking down she saw that blood was still running out of his mouth to mingle and clot in his white facial hair. Placing her fingers on his wrist she felt for his pulse. It was there but very weak and feeble. A badge on his lapel said, ‘Welcome to Bethel Church,’ and written underneath was the name Ozzy. She gave a start of alarm when he opened his eyes and coughed up a mouthful of blood. Relaxing, she gave him a smile and spoke in a calm voice as if nothing were amiss.
‘You’ve done well Ozzy. Now you’ve got to hang on in there, understand?’ Ozzy made no reply but just stared up at her. ‘How many were there and how long has it been since they left, Ozzy? I need to know,’ she said, looking into his glazed eyes that stared back at her from his now pale, almost white face.
He tried to shake his head but cramped up in pain, spitting out another lung-full of blood. ‘Ozzy! When did they go? How long ago?’ Again he shook his head spraying blood across the thick piled carpet as his voice croaked out an unintelligible reply. Tears of pain and helplessness began to run down his cheeks.
Louise Ruth knew what was coming next as Ozzy began to shake. Lowering her ear to his mouth she asked him once again to repeat what he had just said. This time she managed to make out the words that came from his blood stained mouth before his body gave one last shudder and relaxed. His spirit then left his body and went home to be with the God that he worshiped and loved so much, in life.
Quickly she stood up and turned as the door opposite, which she had thought led to offices beyond, began to open.
‘Shit… shit… shit,’ she said through clenched teeth.
The dying man, Ozzy, had told her, with his last breath that the killers hadn’t left yet. He had told her that they were still in the building. She knew that it would take a large force of Autons to murder over four hundred people without any of them escaping and she didn’t want to be the only one left to face them.
Her hand crept inside her leather jacket and for a moment she wanted to kill. Despite the fact that she had no gun she still wanted to kill. She wanted to kill so badly she could taste it in her mouth. She wanted to kill all of them no matter how many there were. She wanted to kill them, not out of revenge but out of the revulsion that she felt for them. She loathed and hated them. She thought of them not as a sentient race, but nothing more than vermin that had lost the right to walk the face of the earth.
Screaming at the top of her voice, she slammed her leather clad bike boot into the wooden door at waist height just as a hand appeared between the door and the frame. With a sense of satisfaction an Auton arm was severed at the elbow and fell to the floor, the gun in the wrist mechanism open and ready to fire.
‘Shit!’ she screamed at the top of her lungs as she turned and, as quickly as she could, ran out of the building and into the heat of the mid morning air.
Not wanting to waste time putting her helmet on, which was still fastened to the back rack, she mounted the bike, then kicking up the side stand fumbled nervously with the keys.
‘No… no… no,’ she shouted as she tried to fit the key into the ignition. After much panic filled action she managed to get the key into the lock and switched the engine on.
Pushing down on the starter with all her strength the engine fired into life. The Suzuki GZ 250 Marauder had been given a lot of care and attention since it had been purchased and that care and devotion paid off in spades just when she needed it most.
Pushing the gear change down she gave it full throttle as the 4-stroke, air-cooled single-cylinder engine roared out its approval. The wheels burned rubber on the tarmac and she took off, heading for the metal gates at the opposite end of the car park screaming and shouting as she went. The bike was accelerating too hard and the front wheel began to rise.
‘Oh… shit… noooo!’ In front of her she saw Autons pouring out of the church, each with its wrist dropped forward and the barrel of a gun protruding. The front wheel caught the first Auton decapitating it as she struck its plastic body. Involuntarily, she stamped on the rear break dropping the front wheel and swerving the Suzuki towards the advancing Autons. Hands shot out trying to grab her as she passed but the Suzuki was too fast and all they held onto was empty air.
‘Get off you bastards!’ One Auton jumped in front of her lifting his arm ready to fire at as she passed. Quickly Louise Ruth swerved the bike and more out of luck than good driving, raised her boot catching him in the groin and right hip. The killer doubled up and swung around like a ballerina. Finishing his turn he slammed into the side of the black a Transit van and fell to the ground.
Unfortunately, the angle of the bike caused it to slide along the tarmac, dust flying in every direction. With all her strength she fought the skid but finally lost control as she hit the deck with a sickening thud.
‘Crap… shit… piss!’ The heavy machine slipped away from her and she let it go, not wanting to catch her leg underneath it as they both went down together. She felt the skin on her right knee graze on the tarmac, as the loose gravel tore at her Jeans.
In an instant she was up in a crouch and ready to move as the bike slithered into a silver Mercedes with the customised number plate of, ‘Reg. 1’. The sheer weight of the Suzuki dented the wing and door panels on the expensive German car but she realised, didn’t leave a mark on the bike.
One of the Autons, his face and hands covered in innocent Christian blood came lurching towards her, while two others, who were emerging from the building through the glass and wood doors, dropped their wrists and prepared to fire. The Auton she had taken out with the bike lay flat on his back, still not moving.
With mounting panic she saw that the advancing Autons were almost on top of her and one blood covered arm was aimed in her direction. He began to swing the weapon towards her, his action sluggish as if he had to think about the move rather than just react. This gave her a time advantage as her reactions, fuelled with adrenalin, were faster than theirs were. It was close enough now that she could see the darkness around its lifeless eyes
Louise Ruth knew that she wasn’t fast enough to be able to draw out her stun gun from under the tank in time so she made the only move that was open to her. She dove under the extended pistol with her head tucked in and legs curled up. As soon as her back hit the deck she kicked out with both feet catching the Auton in the lower abdomen doubling it up. It almost toppled on top of her so she used her legs again to catch its falling body and push it to one side falling helplessly to the ground. She was on him before it could react to this unexpected change. Turning the barrel of his arm gun towards him, instead of pulling it away, as it had expected, she forced it to pull the trigger. The 9 mm projectile cracked against its jaw and exited from the back of its skull in a shower of plastic and circuit board.
‘Die you bastard die,’ she screamed. The Auton’s grip relaxed as she slammed the arm against the side of his face, smashing it off at the elbow. What was left of his head snapped to the right and his body went limp. Examining the gun she noticed a trigger mechanism with a wire attached. Pulling the trigger she emptied the rest of the clip towards her pursuers she rolled to one side as she tried to figure out what to do next.
She was scared… so scared she realised that she hadn’t taken a breath since she’d fallen form the bike.
Instantly coming to a decision she threw the Auton’s arm to one side and leapt to her feet. Without looking back she ran towards the downed Suzuki, tears streaming down her face. Hauling the 302 lbs motorbike away from the damaged vehicle she pulled it upright and swung her leg over the seat. Shots came from the two other Autons that stood next to the main door but the distance was too great for such inaccurate weapons. With anger as much as fear she hit the starter button, but this time the engine didn’t kick-in first time.
‘Bastard… bastard… bastard, start you pissing bastard!’ The shots from the doorway were getting too close for comfort now as she franticly hit the starter once more, but still nothing happened.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the Auton that she had put down with the bike. He was now getting to his feet, his right hip broken and that maddening expressionless look on its face. Trying the starter again she shouted in relief as the engine caught this time and the machine began to raw into life. The heavy throttling was like music to her ears as she twisted it as far as it would go. The bike’s front wheel reared upward a second time, as she took off, the rear number plate crumpling behind her.
She had to lean low over the fuel tank using her weight to hold the bike to the ground as she fled the scene, tapping the front break as she went. Under the now thickening hail of fire, hitting the foot brake fully was out of the question.
There was a crack of gunfire from behind her and the front windshield of a black BMW exploded into a thousand shards of glass.
‘Just get me out of here God… please!’ She hurtled through the car park and immediately had to break hard to avoid slamming into two cars that were parked in the middle of the car park, not in one of the bays. Her left foot took part of the bike’s weight as she dragged it around the obstacle, shouting curses at the inconsiderate parking as she manoeuvred the bike through the turn.
‘Stupid bastards, pack properly.’ Then she remembered that the owners were probably dead right about now and went quiet. Another bullet whistled passed her ear and thudded into a parked car smashing the headlight in a shower of broken glass.
‘Please… please get me out of here.’ A figure walked out from between one of the several, parked cars halfway down on her left. The Auton raised its arm above its head and dropped it down as she passed. The blow only clipped her shoulder as she went by but that had been enough. She screamed out in pain and, losing her balance, skidded off at an angle, careering into a large white mini-bus parked near the curb.
‘You bastard, I’m going to rip your stupid head off and sh…’ She managed to recover enough to keep on going, but her right leg was trapped between the bike frame and the vehicle. She screamed out loud as her leather trousers ripped and her skin burnt under friction’s blistering heat. ‘Shit…’
Again she had to break hard as three more Autons appeared in front of the only exit from the car park. Using the hand break a split second ahead of the foot break and leaning hard the bike screeched to a clean sideways halt. She’d see Steve McQueen do something similar in the Great Escape, but never thought she could have accomplished it.
She sat there for a moment, her breath coming in gulps as her body was filled to overflowing with adrenalin, which had the effect of blurring her vision and making her light headed. With her left fist tight around the handgrip holding the clutch lever in, she checked her options.
Sweat soaked her forehead causing her hair to cling to the side of her face. Vibrations from the machines idling engine ran through her body and as the sweat ran down her back. The three Autons just stood and watched from the front gate unmoving, knowing they had her trapped. They all had guns built into their arms, but none of them tried to take aim. It was as if they wanted her alive, or perhaps just to detain her until something else turned up.
Glancing to her left she saw other Autons moving towards her as they emptied out of the church. Looking around Louise Ruth thought that all the Autons were grinning at her as she sat revving up the engine, despite the fact that their faces were made of harden plastic. Panic began to set in burning off some of the adrenalin. Her ‘fight or flight,’ response demanded flight, but how.
‘Think you’ve got me trapped? Well if that’s the case you don’t know me very well, do you… you plastic headed bastards.’ she said with a smile of her own, showing for all to see, hiding the fear that she felt deep down in side.
Grinning now she took off, spinning the bike, swerving close to the line of parked cars, aiming straight at an advancing Auton. Without any thoughts of the consequences of her actions Louise Ruth hurtled towards it. The bike's guttural raw was deafening in the quiet, peaceful summer Sunday morning. The Auton managed to move clear in time by throwing itself across the bonnet of a parked car. Dragging the bike round again, the tyres screeching on the ground, she had given herself enough room for what she wanted to do.
Shots and footsteps from behind her told her that the Autons were advancing on her. More of them poured out of the church towards her, and just had time to raise their guns and fire off wild shots, before she moved off.
Opening the throttle she straightened up the machine and whipped past the line of parked cars. A burst of fire that could only have come from a machine pistol punched into vehicles in a shower of glass and flying metal as she passed them. The breeze that the speed of the Suzuki was creating cooled her down and stopped the sweat running into her eyes.
She sped passed cheap cars and expensive cars, two-seater cars and eight-seater cars. She passed cars without a scratch on them, fresh out of the showroom and cars rusted and dropping to bits. All had one thing in common; their owners were all dead. Grandeur and poverty stood side by side. At last everyone was equal. Every one was the same in death.
The three Autons that barred her exit now aimed their weapons at her while still more opened up from behind. Louise Ruth knew that she should have looked for another possible exit but that would have meant turning around and offering her back as a target and certain death. There was only one choice now and she had already crossed three quarters of the car park to make it.
‘Shit!’ she exclaimed as a bright flash of light came from the gates and even over the bikes 250cc engine she heard the noise of displaced air as the bullet passed by her right ear. Her panic was causing the bike to rock slightly from side to side, spoiling the aim of anyone that was taking their time shooting.
Another shot cracked out just as wild as the first, but this time it slammed into the bike's rear mud guard, tearing a grove down one side. She could hear a screaming noise above the bikes engine then realise that it was her. She tried to swerve but as every second passed they were getting closer. Soon, she knew they would have a target they couldn’t miss and it would be all over.
The Winter Gardens 7/7