The Undertakers Gift (23 page)

It was perfect for this terrain – broken, ragged tarmac strewn with lumps of fallen masonry and crashed vehicles. Fires had taken hold across the city and thick black palls of smoke drifted through the ruins. The level of destruction reminded him of London during the Blitz.

Part of his mind turned that fact over: how had it come to this, in Cardiff, now? All it needed were some Luftwaffe bombers droning overhead with a couple of Messerschmitt squadrons for protection. And yet this damage was, to all intents and purposes, self-inflicted.

He had to banish all such thoughts from his mind and concentrate. He stood high in the saddle, letting the bike take the impacts as the wheels bounced and jerked over the rubble. The engine growled and roared alternatively, depending on whether he was squeezing the throttle or the brakes.

Not far now.

His earpiece buzzed – an unusual signal, it wasn’t Ianto or Gwen. Then there was a sharp crackle in his ear that made him jerk his head to one side and an unfamiliar voice:

‘ . . . is Captain Erisa Magambo of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce. . . Priority Red Alpha call to Captain Jack—’

‘Erisa!’ exclaimed Jack. He had to shout over the roar of the motorbike. ‘I’m a bit busy right now. . .’

‘I’m sure. This is UNIT HQ London – we’re getting some very alarming reports from our geostationary satellites over South Wales, Captain, and I can’t raise any of my agents in Cardiff. Care to elucidate?’

‘Nothing doing here, ma’am,’ Jack yelled. ‘Just routine Torchwood business, no need for UNIT to get involved.’

‘Really? That engine noise – is that a motorbike you’re riding, Captain?’

‘Yes, ma’am!’

An audible sigh. ‘On your way to save the world single-handed, no doubt.’

‘You said it.’

‘I don’t need to remind you, Captain Harkness, of the trouble I could cause both you and your organisation if I discovered that you were in any way responsible for any long-term or irreparable damage to the planet. . .’

‘Did I ever tell you how much I love a woman in uniform, Captain?’

A hesitation. ‘Er – I believe so, yes, once.’

‘Geneva, wasn’t it?’ Jack revved the engine hard, swerving the bike through a slalom of debris on Lloyd George Avenue. ‘The summer of 2002.’

‘Um, that’s right, yes. . .’

‘Ah – I remember it well! You wore black combat fatigues and a red beret.’ Jack could see the Millennium Centre shining ahead of him and gunned the accelerator.

‘And you were wearing that old greatcoat. . .’

‘Oh, I really dig those red berets!’

‘Captain Harkness, I do believe you would flirt with the last person on Earth given half a chance.’

The bike skidded to a halt on Road Dahl Plass and Jack dismounted on the run, leaving the machine to clatter to the ground behind him. He sprinted for the central water tower. ‘Keep shining those buttons, ma’am. Gotta go.’

He reached the tower and hit the control on his wrist-strap that would operate the paving-stone lift. His earcom crackled again: ‘Whatever it is you’re doing, Harkness – and the Lord only knows what’s going on there – do it fast.’

‘Wilco that.’ The lift began to descend.

‘Good luck and Godspeed, Captain.’

FIFTY-ONE

Gwen swung the house brick with all her strength as the pitbullfrog closed in. She’d had the brick in her hand since smashing the last Xilobyte and using it now was instinctive.

A lucky strike, maybe, but it worked. The brick crunched heavily into the creature’s bulbous left eye, bursting it like a soft-boiled egg. The frog squealed and practically turned a somersault with the pain, thrashing its thick head from side to side in a frenzy as it landed.

There was no other weapon available. Gwen raised the brick over her head and then threw it, hoping another hard knock might scare the thing away completely. But this blow was less effective, bouncing off the warty hide with a soft thud.

The tough little brute had recovered with phenomenal speed. It squatted in front of Gwen, panting, its sharp little fangs bared and drooling. There was an ugly mess where its eye had been, the socket full of ichor. The creature kept shaking its head as if trying to shrug off the pain, spraying blood high into the air.

‘OK,’ breathed Gwen, struggling to stay calm. Her heart was pounding painfully inside her ribs. ‘OK. . .’

‘Ankle. . .’ croaked Ianto from behind her.

‘What?’

The pitbullfrog screamed and leapt at her in that moment, jaws snapping. She jerked away, rolling, felt her elbow glance off its jaw, then the sharp snagging of its teeth in the sleeve of her leather jacket. It bit deeply, missing her flesh, but securing a good grip on the tough material so that she couldn’t hope to break free. Then it began to shake her like a terrier with a rat.

She kicked and struggled and twisted and turned, gasping, crying, trying to shake it loose but only too aware that the moment she broke free it would be on her properly, astride her, bringing those razor-sharp fangs down for the killer bite on her neck.

Then there was a loud boom – a gunshot – and the pitbullfrog shook like it had been kicked, hard, right up the arse. It squirmed for a second, allowed its jaws to gape, letting go of Gwen’s sleeve. She scrambled away and turned to see Ianto holding a small automatic, the barrel smoking. His trouser leg was pulled up to reveal a smart ankle-holster.

Aware of the danger, the pitbullfrog manoeuvred itself around to face Ianto. Gwen saw a huge, ragged tear in its backside where the bullet had struck. Blood was pulsing out in time to the beat of whatever alien heart pumped inside.

Ianto shot it again – once, twice, three times, each successive bullet driving the creature back another metre and forcing it to writhe and snap. It wasn’t until the fourth round entered the ruins of its left eye and blew its tiny brain out of the side of its skull that the frog finally gave up and lay still.

Ianto’s hand was shaking. He dropped the pistol and sank back against the wall.

Gwen crawled across to him, avoiding the widening pool of blood around the pitbullfrog.

‘Ankle-holster,’ she said. ‘Good one.’

‘No well-dressed man. . . should be without one.’

She laughed. Ianto’s suit jacket had been left behind in the crypt, his white shirt lay in tatters around his chest, and he was covered in grime and blood.

‘Now where the hell were we?’ she asked, peering at the wounds on his torso.

He closed his eyes. ‘I’d rather not think about it,’ he said. ‘Just do what you have to do.’

She clenched her jaws and picked off the remaining Xilobytes as quickly as she could. Her fingers were slippery and the last couple seemed to want to cling on for dear life, as if sensing the danger. One of them buried itself deeper to escape, almost disappearing in a finger-sized well of blood.

‘I can’t reach the last one,’ said Gwen.

‘Back trouser pocket,’ Ianto gasped.

Obediently Gwen tried the pocket, forcing Ianto to twist himself uncomfortably around. He groaned with the effort. Eventually Gwen found a Swiss Army Knife and pulled it free.

‘Boy scout?’ she asked. She opened one of the blades and found the entry hole in Ianto’s stomach. It was sticky with blood, but there was no sign of the insect.

‘Inside,’ grunted Ianto.

Gwen peered more closely.

‘Cut it out if you have to,’ Ianto said quickly.

Gwen tore of a strip of his shirt and took a pen out of his jacket pocket. She wound the material around the pen and then gave it to him to bite on, wedging it between his teeth. ‘It’s going to hurt.’

Ianto gave her a
‘really?’
look and then closed his eyes.

Carefully, Gwen inserted the blade into the wound. The metal sliced the skin and Ianto’s stomach quivered as he tensed. A hard groan of pain forced its way past the gag.

Gritting her teeth almost as hard as Ianto was, Gwen tried to feel for the Xilobyte with the penknife. Ianto’s face was purple, the veins standing out on his forehead. She dug deeper, felt him jerk and whimper again.

Concentrating, Gwen slid the knife in further. Something moved against the tip of the blade, something hard. It was the insect, wriggling inside the hole it had eaten.

It couldn’t go any further now. It was trapped. Desperately it tried to burrow deeper, but Gwen twisted the blade, felt it dig into the insect, and then pulled slowly backwards, maintaining the pressure on the creature so as not to lose it. Ianto threw back his head, spitting the pen out with an almighty howl of protest. Gwen almost lost it as he convulsed, but then she saw the first of its legs squirming in the pool of blood that had formed around the hole. She dragged the insect out, watching in revulsion as it tried to keep a grip with its many wavering legs and failed. The tip of the knife was buried in the creature’s underside. The legs scrabbled at the blade as she pulled it free, turned quickly and drove it deep into the ground nearby. Skewered, the Xilobyte finally stopped moving.

Ianto’s scream had faded to a terrible moan. Gwen made a pad out of the remains of his shirt and jammed it against the bubbling hole in his stomach. She felt faint but utterly relieved.

‘You’re done,’ she gasped, exhausted. She sank down next to him and put her arm around him.

It was several seconds before he could speak again. His words sounded strained, but she could hear the old Ianto. Just. ‘Is it just me. . .’ he began, ‘or is it getting quieter?’

They listened. The ground was still rumbling beneath them, but it almost felt as if the earthquake had been put on hold. Gwen frowned. ‘Maybe it’s building up to the big one,’ she said quietly, holding him closer. She was cold now, shivering as the shock caught up with her now the immediate adrenalin-firing crisis was over. Now all there was to face was total destruction.

And yet it seemed to be hesitating.

They looked up at the coruscating orange bulge in the sky above, still wondering if this was some unknown phenomenon resulting from the temporal fusion blast. But something was changing. The air smelled sharply of ozone and the lightning flashes were growing more frequent, and more violent. They hadn’t noticed during the fight with the pitbullfrog but the discharging electricity had begun to form a flickering wall of light around the entire area.

‘I’ve no idea what that thing is,’ Ianto said. ‘But it’s getting impatient.’

FIFTY-TWO

The entire coastal area had suffered a tremendous seismic upheaval after the temporal fusion detonation, and the shockwaves had been felt acutely in the harbour area. Jack had seen the water in the bay heaving, thirty-metre waves rolling up to the front and exploding in gigantic white geysers. The sea-spray was blowing inland, leaving his face stinging and the taste of salt on his lips.

It was spectacularly frightening, but not as frightening as the sight that met him as the paving-stone descended.

The Hub had been crunched, and badly. There was hardly anything here Jack recognised: just a shambles of twisted metal and flames.

The elevator was working, and that was about all. Jack stepped off the platform, kicking aside some fallen steelwork and trying not to look too hard at the mess. There was dust, masonry, metal and broken glass everywhere, with sparks flying from all the workstations in sharp, actinic flashes.

He felt a great knot of grief forming in his chest but he couldn’t afford to get emotional now.

The tears were caused by the smoke, that was all.

He passed the mangled remains of Gwen’s workstation. The screens were still flickering as the computers fought to stay online – they were tough, all right, built to last.
Just like me
, he thought grimly. But at least it meant there was still power running somewhere; there were plenty of back-up generators in the Hub in case of emergency.

His boots crunched over an avalanche of broken glass and pot plants; all that remained of the Hot House. He stepped across the shallow water course which ran around the base of the Rift Manipulator and headed for the cells.

There was plenty of smoke down here, thick, rolling, oily clouds of it. Something in the lower levels was burning badly. Coughing and retching, Jack staggered towards the detention cells.

He stopped in front of Cell One, gasping for breath. The clear plastic door was warped and cloudy, buckling in the heat as he watched. And behind it stood Zero.

Not sitting.

Standing.

Waiting for him.

‘I knew it,’ Jack yelled. He raised a boot and kicked at the plastic door. It was weakened, useless now, and it only took three heavy blows to knock it out of its frame.

‘Time to go,’ Jack told the jelly creature.

It stood there impassively, staring at him. It still didn’t have any eyes to speak of – no features at all – but Jack fancied the creature had assumed even more human-like proportions since he’d last seen it, and it really felt like the thing was looking at him.

Almost expectantly.

‘Well, don’t just stand there,’ Jack said. ‘Let’s go.’