Doctor Who_ Dominion Part 2

He set off through the forest again, and Fitz followed. 'How did it get here?'

'That's what I intend to find out. Aha!'

The Doctor had stopped at the edge of a track. It was pitted with potholes, and the caked mud bore the unmistakable imprint of tyre tracks. On the other side was a pile of logs, dead bark peeling and showing the yellowish wood beneath. The track led off in either direction, slightly curving away from them. There was no indication of which way led to civilisation, and which deeper into the forest.

'Tricky one,' murmured the Doctor, as if reading Fitz's mind. 'But there are only two choices, so what shall we do? Toss a coin?'

Fitz shrugged. 'Well if one of us chose the way we'd have someone to blame when we find ourselves even more lost than we already are. If that's possible.'

The Doctor shook his head, his brown curls catching the sun. 'I've got a better idea we'll trust in my infallible sense of direction. We go ' he paused, pointing first one way, and then the next 'that way.'

They set off along the track. It was only slightly less hard going than the forest floor. It couldn't have rained for a while because the orange mud was baked rock-hard. Above them, the sky was a bright, startling blue; looking up between the treetops was like gazing down a deep canyon on to a river.

Fitz was about to mention this to Sam when he remembered she wasn't there.

They trudged on in silence for a while, batting away insects. Presently they emerged on to a field of sun-yellowed gra.s.s which sloped down towards a cl.u.s.ter of buildings.

'Look civilisation!' cried the Doctor.

'We hope.' Fitz shaded his eyes and peered into the distance. A square wooden building stood out brick-red against the surrounding green. There were a few long, low barnlike buildings cl.u.s.tered a little way from it. The place was unmistakably a farm of some sort.

'Judging from the architecture, I'd say we're in Scandinavia Sweden, probably. Yes, this has the feel of a hot Swedish summer.'

Fitz wiped the tide of sweat from his forehead. 'Sweden? Thought it was a pretty cold country.'

The Doctor shook his head. Fitz noticed that he wasn't even sweating. 'Swedish summers are short, but very hot. Just be thankful we're not here in the middle of winter. We'd have died of exposure before now.'

'Instead of sunstroke.'

But the Doctor had already started striding across the field towards the farmhouse. Fitz hefted his long, heavy coat and set off after him. After a few paces he stopped, looked at the coat in wonderment. Why the h.e.l.l had he been carrying it for so long? Without a second thought he slung it on the gra.s.s and hurried to catch up with the Doctor.

Chapter Three.

The Thing in the Barn Kerstin awoke from a dream of drowning, and for a few seconds she had no idea where she was. And then she remembered. She was in Bjorn's spare room. The police had brought her here after she'd fallen asleep in the police station in Strangnas. She had let herself in, not even bothering to look for Bjorn, and gone straight to bed.

She remembered last night.

Johan.

Negative thoughts crowded in on her and she hunched into the blankets, pulling them over her head, wanting to blot out the light, crawl away from reality. But, after barely a minute in the safe darkness, she surfaced again, blinking, shoving the sheets away from her. It was too stuffy. She was p.r.i.c.kly with sweat and badly needed to shower.

The sun was streaming through the window into the tiny room. There were pictures of farm machinery on the walls, an old filing cabinet in one corner and a clapped-out computer on a dark oak bureau along one wall. The wallpaper was faded and peeling, the whole room thick with the air of neglect. The bed was shoved against the far wall, as if shrinking from the clutter. This was the room where Bjorn kept anything he wasn't using, and the very occasional guest.

This place must seem terribly large, living here on your own, thought Kerstin. Downstairs, there were two living rooms, one which Bjorn used as an office, the other for drinking and reading. Especially drinking. Upstairs, three bedrooms: this spare room, Bjorn's room, and the third bedroom, which was used as another office. All rooms were decorated in the style of ten years ago. It was as though Bjorn wanted to stop everything at the point Nina died. He even kept the farm going, at a loss, she suspected, as a monument to his wife's memory. It gave Kerstin the creeps she never liked coming here. Johan didn't seem to mind, but now Johan was gone, perhaps for ever. What would Kerstin do to keep his memory alive? Her heart seemed to shrink within her at the thought of living with grief as Bjorn did. She would never be like that. She loved Johan, but she would get over him. He would always be a happy memory, but she would go on. Wouldn't she?

She swung herself out of bed, her bare feet encountering the sun-warmed planks of the floor. What time was it? Her watch had gone, along with all her clothes. There was a small travel clock on the bureau, showing 12.00. Midday. She'd had six hours' sleep, more than enough. Time she got back to the police station, or at least phoned them.

She padded out of the spare room on to the landing, downstairs to the kitchen. She could do with some breakfast, to start her brain going. No, call the police first. They had told her they would call as soon as they had any news, but how could she be sure? What if they were too busy? Or perhaps they'd found Johan's body and were wondering how to break the news to her no, best not think about that. Anyway, far better to ring them.

She dialled the number on the phone in the kitchen, trying to stay calm, half hoping that there would be no news of Johan, dreading what she'd find out if there was. The phone rang for ages and Kerstin's agitation increased.

Then the phone was answered, and a voice said flatly, 'Inspector Nordenstam.'

Her breath caught in her throat. 'This is Kerstin Bergman. I reported a missing person last night, and I '

Nordenstam spoke again, his tone stiffly sympathetic. 'Ms Bergman, I'm sorry. There's no news of Johan as yet.'

Voices in the background.

Kerstin's heartbeat quickened.

'Black coffee, please,' called Nordenstam.

Kerstin's heart slumped. 'Are you sure there's no news?'

'Of course I'm sure.' He sounded stressed and tired, as if he'd been up all night, with only his precious coffee to keep him going. 'No news of any of them.'

She heard him catch his voice at the end of the sentence. 'What do you mean "them"?'

She heard him take a sip of coffee.

'Inspector?'

'Keep this to yourself,' he started, then he swore. 'There have been other disappearances, as well as Johan. Five other people.'

Kerstin gripped the phone, trying to digest the import of his words. 'Where... where from?'

'All from Strangnas or Harad, within a five-mile radius of the forest. Look, Ms Bergman, I'd really rather you kept this to yourself for now.'

Kerstin nodded, and said, 'OK.' She didn't feel like talking any more. 'You'll call me if there's any news?'

Nordenstam promised he would, then hung up.

Kerstin put the phone back down, her heart thumping. So whatever had happened to Johan had happened to others. What was going on? Ma.s.s kidnappings? She shook her head, telling herself to be rational. Be rational and patient and all will be explained in time she could almost hear her father saying it. More than that, she wanted wanted to hear her father saying it. Independence could go to h.e.l.l, this was a crisis and she needed comfort. to hear her father saying it. Independence could go to h.e.l.l, this was a crisis and she needed comfort.

She dialled her parents' number, holding her breath as the line connected. She imagined the big cream-coloured telephone in the house in Stockholm, her father walking along the hallway.

But it was her mother who answered, and from the tone of her voice Kerstin could tell that she knew. 'Kerstin? Are you all right?'

'h.e.l.lo, Mama.'

There was a choked sob from the other end of the line. Kerstin felt cold. Perhaps this was nothing to do with her. Perhaps something else had happened. 'Mama, are you all right?' The sound of mother controlling herself. 'I'm just... so worried about you. Mrs Svensson she's in shock. They've had to take her to hospital.'

The coldness intensified, spreading through her whole body. So they knew. The police had told Johan's parents as of course they would and now Kerstin's parents knew.

'I'm sorry,' Kerstin said. Then the tears came.

Now it was her mother's turn to soothe her. 'There's nothing for you to be sorry about. It's not your fault.'

'I know, Mama. I'm all right, really.' Maybe if she said it often enough it would be true.

'Do you want us to come down?'

That was the last thing she wanted. 'No, really, I'm all right.' Kerstin promised to phone later and hung up, feeling vaguely annoyed. She didn't like the thought of her parents worrying about her. She walked to the kitchen table and sat down. She didn't feel hungry any more, but there was no point making herself ill. If she was going to get through this she was going to have to keep herself in shape. She went to the fridge and got out some orange juice, pouring herself a gla.s.s.

As she sat sipping the juice, she became aware of a sound from the bathroom, beyond the kitchen. She knew from past visits that it was tiny, hardly much larger than the shower cubicle it contained. All this land and mucky livestock and a room the size of a matchbox to clean yourself up in.

The sound was a male voice, lowing in pain.

Kerstin got up. It must be Bjorn. Was he drunk? It was early in the day, even for an old soak like him.

She knocked on the bathroom door, realising that it was the first time she had thought of Bjorn this morning. She peered through the cracked pane of frosted gla.s.s. She could just make out a figure, hunched over the sink.

'Bjorn? Is that you?'

The blur moved, and there was the clink of gla.s.s against gla.s.s. 'Go away.'

What was up with him? 'Bjorn, are you all right?'

'Yes, I'm fine!' His voice was dragging with pain, or drunkenness.

She began to get angry with the old man. She hammered on the door. 'Bjorn, you're not well. Let me help.'

There was a muttering from inside, and a clattering of things in the sink that sounded plastic. Pill bottles? And then the door opened.

Bjorn's red, lined face was creased in pain. He was wearing a vest and pants. There was blood in the sink. He was clutching a small bottle of whisky, a mouthful of the amber liquid slopping about inside. 'What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?'

He turned back to the sink and Kerstin glimpsed a deep gash on the back of his leg, above the knee.

Kerstin gasped and took a step back. Of course, he would have no idea what had happened to her last night. Obviously, he had other concerns. 'What happened to you?'

'I had an accident,' he wheezed.

Kerstin appraised his injuries. His left thigh had three deep gashes. He'd been trying to apply ointment to them. In the sink was a bottle of painkillers.

She winced, almost feeling the pain of his wounds for herself. 'Accident? What happened?'

He looked at her, his pale-blue eyes milky, afraid. 'I'm not sure I want to tell you.'

Half an hour later, Kerstin had sterilised Bjorn's wounds, applied dressings, helped him dress and calmed him down a little.

She'd had a shower and put on a pair of white shorts, a loose yellow T shirt and a pair of old trainers she'd dug out from the boot of her car. Johan's spare clothes were in there as well. They hadn't got round to unpacking fully. She pushed such thoughts to the back of her mind and went into the kitchen.

Bjorn was still there, large hands clamped around a gla.s.s of whisky. He didn't look up as she entered, as she sat down at the table opposite him.

What could have happened to send him into such a state? Ever since the death of his wife he'd been a lonely, depressive alcoholic, but everyone in Strangnas who knew him always said he preferred it that way, liked wallowing in grief and lakes of whisky. But he didn't look depressed or drunk now he looked frightened.

Perhaps some of the local lads had decided to play a prank, breaking into the farm and doing some damage. Wouldn't put it past them. In which case, the police would have to know. 'Bjorn?'

He looked up. 'Hmm?'

'Are you going to tell me what happened?'

He looked back down into his gla.s.s, shaking his head.

Kerstin sighed, trying not to get angry with him. 'OK. I'm going to tell you you something. Something that happened to me last night.' And she told him, watching his face sag in disbelief. something. Something that happened to me last night.' And she told him, watching his face sag in disbelief.

When she finished, he took a gulp of whisky, his hands shaking. He looked up at her, his eyes searching her face. 'I'm sorry, Kerstin. I had no idea... What's going on?'

Telling him had made the events somehow less real, as if they'd happened to someone else. She felt numb. 'I don't know, but if anything weird happened to you last night I think you'd better tell me about it.'

He took another sip of whisky, draining the gla.s.s. 'I still don't believe it myself.'

She reached out and held his hand. 'Go on.'

He looked at her as if a.s.sessing her, his pale-blue eyes a sharp contrast with his sunburned face. He clasped his big hands together around hers. She could tell he was deciding whether or not to trust her, so she kept quiet. Eventually he sighed and stood up. 'Come with me. I have something to show you.'

It was cool and dark inside the tractor shed. The smell of petrol stuck in the back of Kerstin's mouth. She brushed her hand through her hair. It felt matted and sticky. She'd need another shower soon. Still, later she could go for a swim with Johan The thought had formed in her head, and she even felt a glow of antic.i.p.ation, before she remembered.

Bjorn limped to the other side of the shed, manhandling a bulky object wrapped in a grey tarpaulin into the middle of the concrete floor. It was rolled up untidily, over a large irregular lump about the size of a human torso. Kerstin shook her head, perturbed by the morbid thoughts that were gathering within.

Bjorn bent down to unroll the tarpaulin, his gaze on Kerstin. There was a pleading look in his eyes, as if he needed her to believe him.

She felt uneasy, as if he were about to show her something she'd deeply regret.

He smiled, as if noticing her fear. 'It's dead. Don't worry.'

As if anything wrapped up like that could be alive. Kerstin stepped closer. The tarpaulin made a thick, crackling sound as Bjorn unrolled it. Kerstin gasped when she saw what was revealed.

It was like nothing she had ever seen, and a feeling overcame her, the same swimming feeling of dislocation she'd had when she'd been faced with the 'explosion' at the cabin.

Bjorn was speaking in a low voice, his face averted, as if confessing to some crime. 'It killed one of the pigs and her piglets. It was so savage, so strong.'

The rotting-fish smell of the thing crept over her and she gagged. She forced herself to examine the thing, one hand clamped firmly over her mouth. There wasn't much left of it. She could make out thick-muscled legs, like frog's legs, ending in black claws. Its body was taut and powerful, greenish flesh bristling with cactus-like spines. Some sort of lizard? But the head... It wasn't like any animal she'd ever seen. It was round, almost spherical, tapering to a round maw at the front, lined with sharp white teeth. Around the mouth were nine black, spiderlike eyes.

Kerstin stood up, walking back outside to get some air. Bjorn followed her, limping on his injured leg.

'Where did it come from?'