As the Lynx cleared the treetops, Captain Jo Phillips stared in disbelief at the scene unfolding in front of her.
‘Holy Mother of God!’ Leigh Brewster hauled open the side door to get a better look at the huge black and orange beetle lumbering across the field below them. ‘Just look at the size of that thing!’
‘Captain, looks like we’ve got civilians down there.’ Her co-pilot pointed at four figures scrambling to escape the advancing monster. Phillips could see the remains of a wrecked Transit van, and an indistinct, but still recognisably human form in the grass below.
‘Brewster, get that gun ready!’ Phillips brought the Lynx swooping around, lining up the open side hatch with the thing below them. ‘This is Army Air 179 to JHC headquarters. Hostile located. Possible civilian casualties. We are engaging.’
Any reply from her superiors was drowned out by the sound of Brewster opening fire with the M3M.
*
The Doctor and the others hurled themselves to the ground as the helicopter opened fire. The sound was incredible. Large calibre shells started to tear up the ground between them and the beetle, sending clods of earth showering into the air. There was a deafening screech of rage and pain as the bullets raked across the back of the creature, ricocheting off its armoured carapace and sending it reeling sideways under the impact.
Seizing the moment, the Doctor dragged Charlie to his feet, pushing him towards the sanctuary of the church visible through the trees on the far side of the field. ‘Now! Whilst it’s recovering! Run!’
Struggling against the downdraft from the helicopter’s whirling rotors, Charlie staggered off as the Doctor looked around frantically for Clara and Angela. They were several metres away, still cowering from the onslaught of the roaring machine gun.
‘Clara!’ yelled the Doctor, barely able to hear himself over the noise. ‘The church! Try and make it to the church!’
Clara nodded, grabbing Angela by the hand and scrambling to her feet. The two women started to run. Attracted by the movement, the beetle gave a hiss of anger and started to lumber towards them once more, mouthparts clacking hungrily. Another burst of machine-gun fire tore down from the hovering helicopter, but the beetle was now too far underneath for the gunner to bring the gun to bear properly, and the pilot wheeled away, trying to get into a better position.
With horror, the Doctor realised that the creature was now between him and Clara, and blocking their escape route.
‘Clara! Freeze!’ The two women skidded to a halt, still gripping tightly to each other. The Doctor started to shout, waving his arms. ‘Hey! Over here!’
The beetle ignored him, still concentrating on its prey. Looking around frantically the Doctor picked up a rock and hurled it at the creature’s back. There was a dull ‘thunk’ as it bounced harmlessly off the beetle’s armoured shell. The Doctor watched helplessly as the creature stalked remorselessly towards Clara and Angela, its antennae twitching as it tried to locate them.
With a roar of engines, the helicopter swooped down once more, unleashing another barrage of shells. This time the bullets had an effect, shattering a section of the chitinous carapace and severing the tip of one of the monster’s antennae.
Furious with the hovering thing that had hurt it and distracted it from its meal, the beetle turned towards the helicopter. As soon as its attention was directed away from them, Clara and Angela turned and ran in the opposite direction. The Doctor watched with relief as they scrambled through the hedge on the far side of the field. They might not have made it to the church, but they were safe for the moment.
The beetle was now hissing and screeching at the helicopter, rearing up on its hind legs as bullets continued to tear into it. Without warning, it turned suddenly, raising up its body and, with a sudden chill of realisation, the Doctor finally recognised what kind of beetle it was.
‘Oh, no …’
With a hiss like a thousand fire extinguishers, a spray of milky liquid burst from the creature’s abdomen, striking the helicopter broadside.
As soon as the spray hit them, Jo Phillips knew that they were in trouble. With a harsh crack, the acrylic windshield shattered into a spider’s web of fracture lines, reducing her visibility to zero.
From behind her, she could hear Brewster scream as the liquid sprayed through the open hatchway, splashing across his face and body. She pulled back hard on the controls, sending the ’copter skywards, but the entire cockpit was starting to fill with choking, acrid smoke as the discharge started to eat into wires and cables. She couldn’t begin to imagine what it might be doing to Brewster.
The stricken craft lurched as the beetle sent another jet of acid splattering across the fuselage. Warning lights started to blaze across the control panel in front of her. The joystick suddenly went slack in her hand, and with sudden, cold certainty Jo knew that all the control lines had gone. Seconds later the fuel lines were gone too and, with a cough of protest, the engines stuttered and died. The aircraft was now nothing more than several thousand kilos of metal and plastic with nothing to keep it in the air.
As the helicopter tumbled towards the ground, Jo caught a glimpse of the tower of Ringstone church, and wondered what it might have been like to get married there.
The Doctor ran as the helicopter plummeted from the sky, its metal skin hissing and steaming as the caustic mix of hydroquinone and hydrogen peroxide ate into the airframe.
It hit the ground on the far side of the field with an impact that knocked him off his feet. There was a brief moment of blissful silence, and then the fuel tank exploded, sending a ball of orange fire boiling into the clear blue sky. The Doctor covered his head with his arms as metal and burning plastic rained down around him. As the wave of scorching air swept over him, the Doctor scrambled back to his feet.
The monstrous beetle was pinned behind a wall of flames, screeching in anger at the prey that had escaped it. With a last helpless look at the burning wreckage of the helicopter, the Doctor turned and hurried across the field, then made his way through the trees and the neat, well-tended graveyard and into the church beyond.
He closed the ancient wooden door behind him and leant against it, using the cool calm of the church interior to try and gather his thoughts. Things were getting out of control. At least half a dozen people were now dead, and he was no closer to discovering why the village was infested with these monsters.
One thing was becoming clear – someone or something wanted this village cut off from the outside world.
He opened his eyes to see the frightened face of Charlie Bevan staring at him from behind a row of pews. Puzzled, the Doctor opened his mouth to ask what on earth he was doing, but Charlie shook his head frantically and pressed a finger to his lips. Then he pointed upwards.
The Doctor edged forward, peering up into the gloom of the church ceiling. The roof was a tangle of web, heavy with the bodies of cocooned sheep, and hanging amongst them, was the huge quivering bulk of an enormous spider.
The crash of the Lynx changed everything. Suddenly Ringstone was the most important place in the country. Almost every time Colonel Dickinson hung up his phone it started to ring again. He’d already taken calls from the Prime Minister’s private secretary and the Secretary of State for Defence, both demanding to know what was going on. The colonel had to restrain himself from pointing out that if they stopped interrupting him with pointless phone calls and let him get on with his job, then he might have a better chance of finding out.
In the meantime his calls to UNIT were being met with polite but unhelpful responses. Apparently all UNIT troops were engaged in a crisis in the Canary Islands. Robots with spiked heads were emerging from the recently erupted El Hierro volcano.
Dickinson gave a snort of derision. Punk rock robots … Sometimes he didn’t think the people at UNIT lived in the real world.
There was a knock on his office door, and he looked up impatiently as Corporal Jenkins entered. ‘Yes, Corporal?’
‘Land Rover waiting outside for you, sir.’
‘Good.’ The colonel nodded in satisfaction. He snatched his cap off the desk as his phone started to ring again. ‘You’ll have to hold the fort here, Jenkins. Tell these wretched politicians that I’ll get back to them with what’s going on as soon as I damn well know!’
Leaving his adjutant to deal with the on-going barrage of phone calls, Colonel Dickinson marched outside to his waiting vehicle. He clambered into the Land Rover and it set off with a lurch.
‘Any idea what all this is about, sir?’ asked the driver as they roared out through the camp gates.
‘I wish I knew, Private’ said Colonel Dickinson grimly. ‘I wish I knew.’
Clara and Angela had been watching from the other side of the hedge, waiting for the helicopter to drive off the beetle, and for an opportunity to get back to the Doctor and Charlie. The crash had put paid to that. Clara had watched in horror as the stream of acid engulfed the aircraft, hissing and boiling as it burned through metal and plastic. Seconds later the rotors stopped turning and the crippled machine started to drop towards them.
Grabbing Angela by the arm, Clara dragged her into the ditch alongside the road, hunkering down alongside her as the helicopter hit the ground and exploded with an impact that left Clara’s ears ringing.
As burning aviation fuel set the hedge alight, she and Angela fled, hoping that they could get back into the village centre and make their way to the church from there.
They set off along the road and Clara took a last look back at where the column of acrid black smoke was billowing into the morning sky. ‘You’d better not be under that lot, Doctor,’ she murmured to herself.
The two women walked on in silence. The quiet of the English countryside that Clara had initially found soothing was now eerie and ominous. Every rustle of undergrowth or flutter of wings made her jump, fearful of another monstrous insect emerging from the hedgerows.
They passed yet another road cut off by swathes of white web. ‘Something has been busy,’ said Clara. She was beginning to realise that everyone in the village had been effectively corralled in.
Angela was looking in concern at where a car was trapped in the web, one of its rear doors hanging open. A handbag lay in the middle of the narrow road, its contents scattered across the tarmac. ‘Do you think …?’
‘Let’s not, eh?’ Clara caught her arm. ‘Let’s get to the church, and find the Doctor.’
‘You put a lot of faith in him.’ Angela looked her in the eye. ‘Is it well placed?’
‘Yes.’ Clara held her gaze. ‘It is. He will sort this.’
After a moment’s pause, Angela nodded. ‘Then let’s get back to him.’
It didn’t take them long to get back to the village centre, but even here the streets were disconcertingly deserted.
As they were about to make their way across the green a sudden noise made Clara start. Something small was moving from behind the war memorial, half hidden in the shadows cast by the two huge elm trees either side of it.
‘Something’s there,’ she whispered, dragging Angela into the garden of one of the cottages that bordered the green. Crouching in the flowerbed they peered over the top of the low, stone wall as the small shape stepped out into the sunlight.
Angela gave a sigh of relief. ‘It’s all right. It’s Emily Nichols.’ She frowned. ‘I can’t see her mother, though …’
Angela started to rise from her hiding place but Clara caught her by her arm, pulling her back down. ‘No, wait a moment, something’s wrong.’
Angela shook herself free. ‘What’s wrong is that a little girl is out there on her own. I’m going to get her.’
Before she could move, the door to the Post Office on the other side of the green swung open and Simon George stepped nervously out into the street.
‘Emily!’ he hissed. ‘Over here! Quickly!’
The little girl didn’t move.
Obviously agitated, Simon hurried across the road towards her. He was constantly checking the sky above him. Clara followed his gaze. What was he looking for? He had almost reached Emily when the 3-year-old suddenly turned, raised her hand to point at him, and let out a horrifying, almost inhuman scream.
Almost immediately the air was filled with a deep throbbing hum, and half a dozen huge mosquitoes swept into the village green, their wings a blur of movement in the late-morning light.
Simon turned to flee, but he had no chance. The mosquitoes swarmed around him as he flailed out at them, but they always kept just of reach. Suddenly one of them swooped down, landing on his back, and Clara heard him scream in pain as the creature stabbed through his shirt with its needle-like proboscis.
The postmaster slumped to his knees as the mosquito lifted from his back, re-joining the rest of the swarm, rising high into the sky and vanishing over the rooftops. For what seemed an eternity, Simon knelt there, head bowed, and Clara was beginning to think he must be dead. Then, with almost puppet-like movements, his head jerked back upright, and he clambered unsteadily to his feet.
Clara and Angela ducked down, pressing themselves tight against the wall, as Simon and Emily started to move slowly towards them. All around the green, villagers were starting to appear, drawn by Emily’s scream. They shuffled slowly forwards, arms hanging limply, their faces grey and sallow, their eyes unfocused and glazed. The zombie-like effect it had on the faces of the more elderly of the village inhabitants was bad enough; on the children like Emily it was simply terrifying.
Clara looked desperately at Angela. ‘We’ve got to find somewhere to hide!’
Angela nodded towards a narrow passageway leading to the rear of the cottage. ‘Through there.’
On hands and knees, the two of them scrabbled along the passageway, emerging into a small, neat patio garden. At the end of the garden was the steep grass slope of the railway embankment.
As they hurried across the lawn, another horrible wail came from the village green, followed by a recognisably human shout of terror.
Angela turned, her faced creased with uncertainty. Clara couldn’t begin to imagine how she must be feeling, seeing her home invaded by monsters, her friends and neighbours attacked, violated.
‘There’s nothing we can do,’ she said gently. ‘If we go back, if we try to help, then we’re lost too.’
‘I know, I just feel so helpless.’ Angela wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘I know. But we have to go. Now.’
Angela nodded, and the two women scrambled up the embankment, over the railway line and into the unknown of the fields beyond.