As the village meeting started to break up, Angela came over to Charlie Bevan’s side.
‘Have you heard anything from Bert Mitchell yet?’ she asked. ‘Surely he should have got to the hospital by now?’
Charlie frowned. ‘You’re right. He should have called ages ago.’ He unclipped the radio from his belt. ‘Charlie to Bert, over?’
There was nothing but static from the other end.
Charlie tried again. ‘Charlie to Bert, are you receiving me, over?’
‘More interference?’ asked Clara, concerned.
‘No.’ The Doctor plucked the radio from Charlie’s hands and pressed it to his ear. ‘It’s working fine, there’s just no one answering at the other end.’ He handed it back to him. ‘This hospital. Is it far?’
‘Not very.’
‘Then I suggest we go and see what they’ve been able to find out.’
‘We can go in my car,’ said Angela. ‘I still want to get an ultrasound scan of that crane fly.’
Leaving Simon George to wrap up matters in the village hall, the four of them made their way across the green to where Angela’s big Range Rover was parked. As they approached the car, Charlie Bevan’s radio suddenly crackled into life.
The policeman gave a sigh of relief. ‘At last. Go ahead, Bert, over?’
‘Please … Help …’ The voice that issued from the speaker was weak, and obviously in pain, but it was the sound in the background that made Clara’s skin crawl. Almost drowning out Bert’s terrified pleas for help was the sound of rending metal and a high-pitched, hissing screech.
Angela clasped her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh no …’
‘Bert!’ shouted Charlie Bevan. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
Bert’s voice became a scream of pure terror, and then the radio went dead.
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then everyone dived into the car at once. Clara was barely able to close her door and fasten her seatbelt before Angela started the engine and set off at speed.
‘Do you know where he is likely to be?’ asked the Doctor as the Range Rover careered around the village green and raced off down one of the narrow country roads.
Angela nodded. ‘This is the most direct route to the hospital. He’ll have gone this way.’
Next to Clara in the rear seat, Charlie continued to shout into his radio, desperately trying to get back in contact with the pub landlord, but Clara could tell from the expression on his face that he already feared the worst.
As the car flew along the narrow road, the Doctor caught Clara’s eye in the rear-view mirror. His expression said everything. This was about to get dangerous.
They hurtled around yet another tight bend and Clara was suddenly thrown forward in her seat as, with a screech of brakes, the Range Rover shuddered to an abrupt halt.
‘Oh, my God.’ Angela had gone very pale.
The Doctor was out of the car in a flash, motioning for everyone to stay where they were as he edged slowly forward down the road.
‘To hell with that,’ muttered Charlie Bevan. ‘Bert might need help.’
Before Clara could try and stop him, he unclipped his seatbelt and hurried forward to join the Doctor, who turned and glared at him angrily, raising a finger to his lips.
Cautiously, Clara slid across the rear seat and stepped out into the roadway. The route ahead was totally blocked with a thick tangle of sticky, white web strung between the hedges and trees that lined the road. Bert’s Transit van was on its side in the neighbouring field. He had obviously lost control as he tried to avoid the obstruction and had ploughed through the hedge. The windscreen was cracked, and steam was still rising from an obviously damaged radiator.
That in itself might have been bad enough, but the damage to the rear of the van was even worse. It looked as though something had torn the vehicle apart with a can opener.
Charlie started to scramble over the ditch towards the car, but the Doctor caught his arm. ‘Just wait a moment.’
‘But—’
‘Wait!’ snapped the Doctor, the tone of his voice making it quite plain that he was in no mood to be argued with.
Leaving Charlie Bevan half in and half out of the ditch, the Doctor made his way cautiously forward towards the web. Long, pencil-thick strands stretched off through the foliage to the higher branches of the trees. One eye on the treetops, the Doctor reached out and tapped a fingertip on one of the strands of web, tensing himself to run.
The web quivered slightly. Peeling his finger free the Doctor tapped it again. After the third tap he turned to the others.
‘All right. It seems safe enough for the moment.’
The four of them clambered down into the field and Angela crossed to the Doctor’s side. ‘You thought that it might have been waiting? That it’s using these webs to trap food?’
‘Yes. But there’s something erratic about the way this creature is behaving. The cocooning of the man in the tunnel was almost to be expected, just a spider trapping its prey in an enclosed space. This –’ he jerked his thumb towards the web that blocked the road – ‘this seems to have been put up deliberately as a barrier to stop people getting out.’
‘Or anyone else getting in.’
The Doctor nodded grimly.
‘Doctor!’ Charlie had reached the Transit and was looking inside the buckled and twisted cab. ‘There’s no sign of Bert, or of Alan’s body!’
The Doctor peered into the shattered rear, running his fingers over the jagged metal. It had been peeled back like the skin of an orange.
‘There’s blood on the windscreen.’ Angela pointed at a smear of crimson on the shattered glass. ‘There’s no airbag in this old thing. If he’s got a concussion then it’s unlikely that he could have got far.’
‘Um, he managed to get this far …’ Clara was standing next to a shotgun. There were several spent cases lying on the grass next to it. ‘Looks like he managed to get off a couple of shots at whatever it was that attacked him.’
‘Then where is he?’ asked Angela
‘Dunno.’ Clara reached down to pick up the discarded weapon, but as she did so she noticed something that made her hesitate. The barrel of the gun was bent, twisted, and partially melted into the grass. She withdrew her hand and took a step backwards.
‘Perhaps not.’
Her nose wrinkled as the wind changed, and an acrid, acidic smell drifted across the field. Angela smelt it too, covering her nose with her hand.
‘God, what is that?’
Trying to locate where the smell was coming from, Clara spotted a large, dark shape towards the middle of the field. It too looked soft, dissolved somehow. With a growing sense of dread, she started to make her way forward, trying to get a better look, but as she drew closer, the twisted, human outline of the shape became horribly discernible.
‘Doctor!’ Clara started to back away in horror, unable to tear her eyes from the warped shape that had once been a man. As she did she heard a cry of warning from the Doctor, and a scream of pure terror from Angela.
Clara looked up, and froze as a huge beetle burst from the trees ahead of her. It was vast, nearly as big as the Transit, its bristle-covered body wet and glistening. For a moment it stopped, antennae twitching, mouthparts audibly grinding together as it regarded its new prey.
Then, with a deafening, screaming cry, it lurched across the field towards them.