The Plain People--Chapter Nine

The Plain People
Chapter Nine: The Late Chapter
by Ben Payne

 "Tyler, you may kill them now."

 Tyler smiled and turned towards his companions. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, and made his way to the stairs. "I might just see how things are going out there."

 He paused at the top of the stairs, and threw them a walkie-talkie. "I'll contact you on that if I run into trouble," he said, then disappeared.

 Outside, he produced a small keypad. He tapped in the code which would cause the walkie-talkie to explode. Then he stopped, and stood motionless. Awaiting further orders.

 

The Doctor heard the explosion as the building burst into flames. He turned uncertainly in its direction, then continued on his way, following the line of zombies.

 "Jo," he muttered out loud, "I think I'm losing my grip on this situation."

 

The writer was concerned. His chapter was now more than a little late, and he was risking the ire of both his supervisor and his co-authors. What's more, he was underprepared; his knowledge of the Book of Revelations was starting to seem somewhat inadequate; he had little hope of following that thread.

 And he was constrained. His ideas, like those of his fellow authors, were shaped and moulded by the creatures he encountered. He could not simply "pluck" his ideas from thin air.

 He needed inspiration ...

 

Metcalf's mind was initially sympathetic to the flood of imagery. He recalled his days at Sunday School. This side of the Bible had always scared the whilikers out of him, if the truth be known. He didn't -- Gadzem was weak. So weak. This human essence was quickly being drained of its life-force; it was old and unhealthy. Gadzeem needed a new host. It had already been forced to relinquish control of some of its resurrected in order to conserve energy. It was an effort just to -- think. Think. Metcalf was starting to understand what was happening.

 

Outside, in the field, the Doctor threw himself to the ground as a group of Zombies halted in mid-stride and turned towards him. They proceeded, however, not in his direction but to his left, towards the town.

 Perhaps a reaction to the explosion, the Doctor thought. If so, it was a belated one. Again, he was torn between two directions. At last, he decided to remain with the main group.

 The second troup continued silently on their way.

 

The writer, at last, had found inspiration. From the nearest available mind. His original concept wasn't strong enough to withstand ... the plans of his co-authors had become corrupted by the shared-mind. He longed for consolidation, for certainty. However, all he had was reaction.

 But he needed to advance the narrative. It was the only way to survive ... to escape the stagnation which had kept he and his co-authors captive for ... how long had it been?

 He opened his mind to the other influence, and the wheels creaked on...

 

Metcalf had always had a very limited concept of the word sin ...

 Bullying, power-play, even claiming world-domination had never seemed particularly worthy of damnation for him, particularly when it was for a good (his) cause.

 When Metcalf thought about the second coming, the fires of damnation were reserved for homosexuals, welfare recipients, migrants who refused to "Americanize" their customs ... in short, anybody who challenged his own world-view by being "different".

 People such as, for example, the Amish ...

 

From the place where they sat, crouched in wait for the Doctor, the soldiers could see the zombies the Amish zombies, as they began to destroy their own town. The soldiers looked at each other in confusion, several of them shivered. Granted, none of them was exactly sure how zombies were supposed to behave, but they were all pretty sure that this wasn't it.

 Johnson shook his head as if to clear it. All he really wanted was to kill the Doctor and get the hell away from this village. The Amish were too wierd for him.

 

The fifth Doctor gasped as a couple of Zombies entered, carrying a struggling human form.

 "We only found one survivor, Master," they reported.

 "Well, that situation will soon be remedied," the Master smiled.

 Tegan was sobbing, but managed to control herself long enough to look around the room. As well as the Doctor (hanging on the wall, but for some reason that didn't surprise her), the Master, and his Zombies, there was a glowing fat man standing perfectly still with a look of concentration on his face.

 "This other ÔDoctor' had better be dead soon, Master," he growled. "This form is unsuitable."

 The Master moved over to reassure him, and Tegan took the opportunity to turn to the Doctor.

 "It's horrible out there Doctor," she sobbed. "I've never seen so much death and destruction. It's like something out of a movie, like ..."

 The Doctor forced out an encouraging smile. "Brave heart, Tegan", he said.

 

Turlough was surprised when he realised he was alive. He had been closest to the bomb when it had exploded; Tegan had been across the room ... he held at least some hope that she may have survived.

 He felt above him, expecting his hands to encounter fallen rubble. Instead, they touched nothing. He struggled, trying to remember what had happened. He remembered the explosion, he and Jo had been thrown across the room, and then ...

 And then he remembered falling.

 With a start, he realized that the floor beneath him was a hard surface, unlike the wooden floor of the cellar where they had been hiding. Of course! The floor must have given way, allowing him to fall into, into ...

 What on earth would be underneath a cellar? He forced himself to sit up, and look around. His head ached, and for a second his vision blurred. When it cleared, he was able to make out a faint glow to his left. Forcing himself to his feet, he started down the tunnel towards it.

 

The third Doctor was feeling more confident. The zombies were marching much more purposefully, and grouping closer together, as if nearing their destination. Soon this mystery would be sorted out, and no doubt the Master would prove to be behind it all. No matter. The Doctor had handled him before.

 He started to hum quietly to himself:

 "Don't cry for me Ve-nu-si-a,

 You know I'll always be pleased to eat you ..."

 "There he is," muttered Johnson.

 The squad lined up their weapons.

 "Fire!!"

 

Turlough came to an abrupt halt as he turned the corner. Standing in front of him, adjusting dials on some sort of machine, was a small, flourescent orange creature, with emerald green eyes. It leapt when it saw him, and darted back against the wall.

 

The writer regarded the red-topped creature with a mixture of fear and surprise. Nobody had seen it or its co-authors for centuries.

 This, of course, changed everything.

 To be continued...

 [ Part 8 | Home | Back to the Collaborations | Up to index | Part 10 ]