Doctor Who - Nuclear Time (4 page)

As their eyes adjusted to the interior, they found themselves in a cosy little room with a counter on the back wall and space for a pair of tables in the window, each with two wooden chairs. There didn't seem to be any staff present, so the pair slumped around the nearest table, relieved to be out of the glaring sun for a few minutes. Amy peered through the glass in search of the Doctor. 'I think he's wandered off somewhere else,' she said.

'It's not a big place, I'm sure we'll find him again soon enough.' Rory followed her gaze. 'Good afternoon, can I help you?'

The pair swung around in surprise. A man was standing behind the counter, polishing a coffee
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NUCLEAR TIME

mug with a tea towel. He wasn't young but neither was he particularly old, and his uniform of black clothes with a pale green apron was so closely linked in Amy's mind with a teenager's Saturday job that it looked incongruous on anybody over the age of 20.

'Oh yes, thank you,' Rory said, talking over the shock of seeing a man who seemed to have materialised out of thin air. 'We were after a couple of iced lattes, if you don't mind. Wait.' He stopped for a moment. 'Have they even been invented yet? Actually make that a glass of something fizzy, whatever exists at the moment. With ice.'

The man cocked his head on one side. 'We're out of ice, I'm afraid. The freezer's broken.'

'OK, well in that case—' Rory's reply was cut short as Amy kicked him under the table. 'Ouch!' he cried.

'Those boot heels are vicious!'

Amy ignored him and instead jerked her head towards the window. Rory turned again, and opened his mouth in surprise.

The village was alive! Where before had stood empty gardens and abandoned streets, there were now citizens going about their daily lives: trimming hedges, clanging spanners beneath the bonnets of cars, and chatting to each other over white picket fences.

The buzz of a lawnmower filled the air. And in the centre of it all was the

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Doctor, waving at them to come and join him.

Rory leapt up from his seat, calling to the man behind the counter as he yanked the shop door open.

'Sorry, mate. Maybe next time.'

'What's going on, Doctor? Where did they all come from?' Amy shouted as she pelted towards him.

'I have no idea,' the Doctor said. 'Maybe they have a compulsory siesta at three o'clock or something.'

'Well it's pretty creepy,' said Amy. 'It's like, the moment my back was turned...' She trailed off.

'Exactly,' the Doctor mused. 'It feels like they're putting on a show, and we're the audience.' 'I hate shows,' Rory muttered.

'Well, if we hate it we should do something about it,' the Doctor announced.

'What?' asked Amy.

The Doctor turned and gave her that reassuring wink he always did when he was about to get them all into serious trouble.

'Heckle!' he said with a grin.

He walked over to the nearest pair of chatting neighbours with a friendly wave and his usual
How
do you do? I'm the Doctor
routine.

Rory put a hand on Amy's arm as she moved to follow. 'Look, three houses along, top floor window,'

he hissed in her ear.

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NUCLEAR TIME

Her red hair was dyed a pale ginger by the bright sunlight as she brushed it away from her face and strained to look down the road. 'What?' she said.

'Just look.'

The windows of the houses reflected the brightness of the streets below, but eventually Amy managed to spot what Rory had seen. Someone was looking at them from an upstairs window, a grey-haired mess of a man who quickly ducked away when Amy caught his eye.

'That's strange,' she said.

'Yeah,' Rory agreed, 'and unlike the rest of the villagers, he doesn't seem like a happy camper.

Actually, I'd say he looked pretty scared.'

'Shall we tell the Doctor?' Amy looked over to their companion as he ingratiated himself with the locals.

'Ooh yes, the weather
is
very lovely at the moment, isn't it?' she heard him say to a housewife in a floral dress as he leaned lazily on the gatepost. 'I definitely agree with you there, Mrs...?'

'I think he's trying to blend in,' she whispered to Rory. 'We'd best leave him to it. Come on!'

She grabbed his hand, and they hurried off down the street.

The Doctor watched them go with a puzzled frown,
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DOCTOR WHO

but the woman he was talking to interrupted his train of thought.

'And here I am, blathering on about the weather,' she said, 'while you're cooking yourself half to death in that jacket out here!' With a smooth white hand she gently lifted the latch on the gate and beckoned him into her garden. 'Would you like to come in?'

The Doctor tried to look as nonchalant as possible as he scanned her face for any clue as to what was so completely wrong about the village, but he found only a genial smile. 'Well, that's very kind of you to offer, Mrs Sanderson, a cup of tea or, I mean, er, coffee certainly wouldn't go amiss right now.'

Mrs Sanderson smiled. 'Of course, Doctor. If you'll excuse me, Mrs Jones.' She nodded to her neighbour, whose smile managed to be even more sickly sweet than Mrs Sanderson's.

'Oh, of course, dear. Don't mind me!' said the other woman.

The Doctor found himself ushered into the front hall of a house. He looked around nosily. It was surprisingly bare-boned in terms of furnishings. 'Very minimalist,' he said. 'I like it!'

Mrs Sanderson opened the door to the lounge. 'You must meet my husband, Doctor. He has the day off today and would be very grateful for
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NUCLEAR TIME

another man's company, I think.' She poked her head around the open door. 'Dear? We have a visitor; he's just dropped by for coffee.'

'Bring him in, bring him in!' came the response as the Doctor stepped into the lounge.

The whitewashed walls continued into this room as well, and a modest though comfy sofa was positioned in the middle of the space, facing a television.

On the sofa sat a man who was neither young, nor particularly old.

'Hello,' said the Doctor. 'You must be Mr Sanderson!' He beamed.

'Indeed I am, sir.' The man matched his smile. 'And you are?'

The Doctor took the proffered hand and shook it warmly. 'The Doctor,' he said.

'A doctor, eh? Good stuff, good stuff. Pardon me if I don't get up, I'm just watching the TV.'

The Doctor walked around the back of the sofa.

'Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Mr Sanderson, but you aren't.'

Mr Sanderson's forehead wrinkled up to his thinning hairline. 'I'm not?' he asked.

The Doctor pointed to the screen. 'Well, I only mention it because your television is switched off.'

The man turned back to the screen as if he were seeing it for the first time. 'Oh my word, yes,
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DOCTOR WHO

you're right. It must have blown a fuse.' He put his hands on the arms of the sofa as if to get up.

'No, no, don't worry I can fix it,' said the Doctor. 'Bit of a DIY expert, me.' He crouched down by the side of the television and began fishing in his jacket pocket for his sonic screwdriver. He pressed the power button on the set a couple of times to no response and then pulled the set away from the wall to inspect the back. He found the cause of the problem almost immediately: the white power cord was hanging limply in a coil on the floorboards, tucked away under the TV stand as if it had never been used.

'Curiouser and curiouser,' he muttered.

Making sure to keep it out of Mr Sanderson's eye line, the Doctor lifted the plug and looked at it, then scanned the room for a plug socket. There wasn't one. He tucked the cord back where he had found it and straightened up.

'Anything the matter, Doctor?' Mr Sanderson enquired.

The Doctor put his hands on his hips. 'What? Oh, no, should be easy to fix. But you know what? I think I'll have that coffee first.' He rushed from the room.

He found Mrs Sanderson in the kitchen, a cobbled-together collection of cabinets, an oven, a fridge, a washing machine and what seemed like
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NUCLEAR TIME

an acre of lino.

'Oh hello, Doctor,' she said. 'Are you all right? I've not made any coffee yet but if you —'

'You know what, Mrs Sanderson? I can make it myself if you like. I'm a fussy drinker when it comes to hot drinks, and I don't want to put you to any trouble with my petty demands.' He put his hands gently on the woman's shoulders and guided her firmly out of the room.

'Well, if you're sure...' she started.

'Of course I'm sure. You go and keep your husband company and don't mind me!' He slammed the kitchen door in her face and pressed his back against the wood panel. He listened intently as her footsteps crossed the hall and into the lounge before heaving a sigh of relief. Finally he clapped his hands together and began to look around. There was only a small window in the kitchen and the room smelt of sawdust — he could see grains of it in the hazy light that streamed through the grubby window pane.

After a couple of false starts he found an old tin kettle in the corner of one of the cupboards and took it over to the sink, holding it roughly under the tap as he spun the handle. Nothing happened. The Doctor frowned, jamming the handle as far as it would go.

Still nothing.

He flung open the cupboard beneath the sink
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DOCTOR WHO

and peered into the gloom. Inside he could see the water pipe - or at least where the water pipe should have been. The pipes leading from the plughole ended abruptly, with no sign of any attempt to connect them to a main of any sort.

Spinning around, he darted over to a light switch and clicked it on, off, on, off repeatedly. Again, nothing.

'It's a fake,' he said quietly to himself. 'The whole thing, the whole village - it's a fake!' He rested a hand on the door handle. 'But if that's the case...'

The Doctor's face grew pale as the inevitable conclusion forced itself into his head.

'If that's the case, then who, or what, are the citizens?'

34

Colorado, 28 August 1981, 4.13 p.m.

'Hello?' Amy called, as she pushed open the front door to the house. She looked up the dusty staircase in search of the strange figure from the window, but there was no sign.

Rory slipped in behind her and pushed the door quietly to. 'Quiet!' he said. 'He's obviously not playing along with that circus outside. I don't think loudly drawing attention to that fact is going to do us any favours.'

'OK, Mr Cautious, calm down.' Amy jumped as her foot creaked on a floorboard. 'See, now you've made me all jumpy.'

Rory took the opportunity to wipe the sweat
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DOCTOR WHO

from his forehead and ruffled his dirty brown hair into what he thought was a slightly better style. 'I don't like this,' he said. 'It's like a horror film or something: an idyllic town, a shadowy figure luring passers-by to their dooms. And a chainsaw, probably, knowing our luck.'

Amy made a noise. 'Oh hush, horror films happen in haunted castles.'

'Not American horror films,' Rory replied.

'American horror films happen in places that look
exactly
like this!' But despite his misgivings he followed Amy up the narrow wooden staircase.

The landing smelt dark and musty. 'Like sawdust,' Amy commented as she moved forward cautiously. There was a door at the end of the corridor, hung slightly open, and it was towards this that she was moving.

Rory swallowed then pushed in front of her. 'Let me go first, just in case,' he said. 'Seriously, we don't know who this guy is or why he's hiding up here; it could be dangerous.'

Amy opened her mouth to protest but decided to indulge him instead, smiling affectionately as Rory flattened himself against the wall on the right-hand side of the doorway. She tried to look through the gap, but all she could see was a haze of daylight. She looked at Rory. Rory looked at her.

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NUCLEAR TIME

There was a long pause.

Amy broke the tension. 'Oh, stop being so melodramatic and open it!'

Rory threw his hands up in exasperation, grabbed the handle and stepped into the room. 'Great, cheers, Amy. If I get my head chainsawed off, I'm going to blame—'

He stopped short.

A battered wooden armchair stood in the centre of the attic bedroom, positioned just far enough away from the angled ceiling so as not to cause any discomfort to its occupier. Amy stepped around her companion, tapping her boots along the floor as she circled the chair to get a clearer view of the figure who sat there, bathed in the white glow from the dirty window.

It was a woman, young, early twenties at the most.

Her face was pale and freckled, framed by a short, sandy bob and over her skinny frame she wore a crumpled
Star Wars
T-shirt and tatty, pale blue jeans.

She ignored the pair as they stood at a distance, inspecting her. She was nodding her head gently in time to the tinny music that filtered out from the large pair of headphones that were firmly placed over her ears.

'Hello?' Amy echoed her call from earlier, and again received no response. She stepped forward and waved her hand in front of the woman's eye
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DOCTOR WHO

line. The woman blinked, but otherwise ignored her.

Rory reached around from behind the chair and grabbed hold of the headphones. 'How about we try talking to her without these?' he suggested.

'Don't do that!' a rasping voice yelled from the shadows behind the door.

Rory snapped his hands away in shock. 'What is it with you people and appearing out of nowhere?'

he shouted.

Amy raised her hands in surrender, swivelling as the man they had spotted from the street stepped out from the shadows behind the door and into the pool of daylight. Up close, she realised, he wasn't as old as she had first assumed. In fact he was barely 40, but his face was sunken and tired, his skin yellowy and stained - he was a wreck.