FIFTEEN
Less than a minute later, the helicopter alighted on the flat roof of the hospital. Jack was standing by the still-open door, leaning out as though taking the air, his greatcoat flapping like a cape.
As the aircraft touched down, he turned back and said, 'Gwen, Ianto, with me. The rest of you, wait here.'
Rhys jumped up from his seat. 'No chance,' he said. 'I'm coming with you.'
Jack shook his head. 'Not this time, Rhys.'
'You can't stop me,' Rhys said, glancing at Gwen, as if for support. 'I've come this far. I want to see it through to the end.'
'You don't have a weapon,' said Jack.
'Neither does Ianto,' said Gwen, earning herself a frown of annoyance from Jack. Undeterred, she said, 'If it hadn't been for Rhys, you and Ianto would've been torn apart down there, and we'd still be stuck in the Samuels's attic. He's saved the lot of us.'
A little acidly, Jack said, 'I thought you, of all people, would want him kept safe.'
'Of course I do!' snapped Gwen. 'But he wants me kept safe too. I just think, after all we've been through, that it's not fair to exclude him now.'
Jack rolled his eyes. 'OK. But he's your responsibility.'
Gwen smiled at Rhys. 'As always,' she said.
Rianne clapped her hands as the helicopter rose into the air with its passengers safely aboard. 'They got away!' she exclaimed gleefully. 'Oh, thank God!'
Nina, standing beside her, said thoughtfully, 'They had guns. I wonder who they were.'
'Police?' suggested Rianne.
'They didn't look like police. They looked like. . . I don't know. Special agents or something.'
'Maybe the government have brought them in to sort things out,' Rianne suggested.
'Maybe,' said Nina. 'But what was that glowing thing? Some sort of weapon, do you think?'
'I don't know,' said Rianne, then pointed out of the window. 'Look, those things are on the move.'
Acting as one, the zombies had turned from the SUV and were now heading back towards the hospital as fast as their individual infirmities would allow. Seconds later the two women looked at each other in horror as, from several floors below, they heard the faint but unmistakable sound of shattering glass.
'So where's Oscar?' Gwen asked.
They were in the hospital, heading downwards. Jack had his PDA in his hand and was using it to pinpoint energy readings inside the building which might echo those from the pod.
'Configuring now. . . Got him!' he cried. 'He's three floors below us.'
'And you're sure that's him?' said Rhys.
'No one else it could be,' Jack replied, and raced down the stairs.
At ground level, it was absolute chaos. People screamed and ran in all directions as zombies smashed their way into the building. After a long stalemate, it was as though the creatures had suddenly received the signal to attack. Without warning they had surged forward, hurling themselves against the glass entrance doors. The crush of bodies had caused the thick glass first to crack, and then to shatter inwards. The first few rows of zombies had all but sacrificed themselves to gain access to the building, falling forward as the doors gave way. Many had been slashed open by jagged glass, and then trampled underfoot by the creatures behind them. Some of the fallen, their bodies pin-cushioned by glass shards, still struggled to drag themselves along, hampered by terrible wounds or shattered limbs.
Stuck in his wheelchair, Alexander Martin gripped the armrests with claw-like hands and stared in disbelief as what looked like the occupants of every morgue and graveyard in Cardiff lurched and staggered and crawled towards him. His attendant nurse, an effete and tiresome little shit called Ben, had run off screaming with the rest of the cowards, leaving Alexander to fend for himself.
Making a mental note to hunt down and decapitate Ben if, by some miracle, he managed to survive this impossible and absurd night, the old man's rheumy eyes darted right and left, searching for possible escape routes. All exits, however, were simply out of range; by the time he'd managed to get this bloody beast of a chair pointing in the right direction, the stinking hordes would be all over him.
In desperation, therefore, he looked around for something to defend himself with, but all he saw were discarded cups and water bottles, magazines and sweet wrappers. There was nothing sharp, nor even long, he could use – no walking sticks, no umbrellas. Not even a bloody biro, for Christ's sake!
Facing the inevitable was not in Alexander's nature. All his life he had been a battler, a fighter, stubborn and determined, living on his wits. His end, he had always envisaged, would be comfortable and painless. He had planned to expire gracefully between silken sheets, a beautiful woman by his side. He had never in a million years thought that he would be reduced to such ignominy. To be torn apart by something that resembled a butcher's leftovers! It was downright embarrassing.
The thing making a beeline for him at that moment was a long-haired lunk with a face like a salted slug and a big piece of glass sticking out of the middle of his forehead. Alexander pointed at a fat woman, who was cowering in her wheelchair about ten metres away, making little whimpering noises.
'Why don't you go for her, you revolting moron?' he railed. 'There's ten times more meat on her bloated carcass than you'll find on my scrawny bones.'
His words had no effect, and as Slug-Face came within touching distance, Alexander clenched his teeth in a snarl and raised his fists, ready to go down fighting. . .
. . . only for the creature to brush straight past him as though he didn't exist.
Alexander was astonished. Had the thing not seen him because he was sitting down? But when he looked around, he realised that none of the other half a dozen or so people left behind in the Reception area were being attacked either. The creatures were simply ignoring them, shuffling past without so much as a glance.
As the gruesome parade passed by, Alexander sat up a little straighter in his chair. When it became obvious that he was not going to die here, after all, he began to cackle at the sheer grotesqueness of the spectacle.
Clearly, he thought, the dead things had a definite agenda. They were all heading for somewhere specific.
But where?
***
The sign above the forbidding double doors read 'INTENSIVE CARE UNIT – AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY'.
'That's us,' Jack said, and pushed the left-hand door open.
Beyond the doors was a wide corridor with an orange floor and subdued lighting. There was an empty desk halfway along, atop which was a scatter of paperwork, an open laptop, a desk lamp with a green bulb and a half-empty mug of tea. Flanking the corridor on both sides were rows of glass-fronted IC cubicles, each one large enough to contain a hospital bed and however many items of monitoring equipment each individual patient required.
'Isn't that supposed to be manned at all times?' Gwen said, nodding at the desk.
'It is,' replied Jack. 'Someone's abandoned their station.'
Ianto shook his head and tut-tutted. 'Dereliction of duty. Anyone could just walk in here.'
'Which one of these rooms is Oscar in?' asked Gwen.
Jack reached into his greatcoat. 'Let's find out, shall we?'
They all oohed as he withdrew the pod from his pocket. It was almost complete now, rippling and pulsing with the most incredible light show. Holding it in front of him, Jack walked slowly along the corridor, the others trailing in his wake. Just before he reached the nurse's desk, the pod began to emit a warbling cry, as it had done in the Hub when the zombie had got close to it. However, the sound wasn't quite so much like an alarm this time.
'Is it singing?' Rhys asked.
'Sounds like a lament. Like it's calling out for someone,' said Ianto.
'It's beautiful,' breathed Gwen. 'Heartbreaking too.'
Jack turned to the cubicle on his right. 'Here,' he said.
Through the observation window, linked up to an IV drip and various items of monitoring equipment, they could see a slight, pale figure lying in bed. The figure was jerking and twitching, as though being subjected to a series of electric shocks. Jack pushed open the door and entered, the light from the pod making the sleeping figure's skin look cold and hard as marble. As Jack approached the bed, the figure's eyes snapped open. Then Oscar Phillips sat up straight and swivelled his head towards them.
'Hi there,' Jack said gently. 'You're Oscar, right?'
The young man didn't respond. With his wide, staring eyes and sickly complexion, he looked not unlike a zombie himself.
'Is he awake?' whispered Gwen, standing at Jack's shoulder.
Whether in response to her voice or simply reacting to the light, Oscar swung his legs stiffly out of bed and stood up.
As he did so, sensor pads tore themselves from his skin, leaving circular red marks, and the IV drip on its metal stand tottered and fell with a shattering crash. The plastic IV bag burst open like an overripe fruit, spattering liquid across the floor. Rhys winced as the IV tube was ripped out of Oscar's arm with a spurt of blood.
Oscar seemed oblivious to all of this. He padded barefoot towards Jack and held out his hands.
'You want the pod? Is that it?' murmured Jack.
'You're not going to give it to him, are you?' asked Rhys.
'Sure. Why not?'
Jack stepped forward and placed the glowing pod carefully into Oscar's outstretched hands. Oscar came to a halt, a mildly bemused expression on his face. He looked like a blind man trying to identify something from its shape and texture. And then all at once his throat bulged, like that of a bullfrog, and his mouth opened wider than seemed possible.
'Oh my God,' muttered Gwen.
'What the hell's that?' exclaimed Rhys.
Something emerged from Oscar's mouth, something grey and jelly-like. It resembled an overlong tongue, or perhaps a gigantic glistening slug. It oozed from between Oscar's lips, moved sinuously through the air, like a snake swimming through water, and entered the pod.
There was a sudden surge of light and the pod sealed itself before their eyes, becoming whole again. It rose into the air, hovering, like a mini-sun.
'What now?' wondered Ianto nervously.
'It looks as though it's getting its bearings,' whispered Gwen.
Jack stepped forward.
'My name is Captain Jack Harkness. I represent the people of Earth. And I really think we need to talk.'
'People of Earth, is it?' whispered Rhys to Gwen. 'Pompous git.'
She elbowed him in the ribs.
As if responding to Jack's proclamation, the pod drifted down and latched itself to Oscar's forehead. Oscar went momentarily rigid, his eyes and mouth widening in shock.
Then his features relaxed and he rotated his jaw a few times, as though to check it was in working order. When he spoke, the voice that emerged was fluting and ethereal, almost playful.
'Greetings, Captain Jack Harkness,' he said. 'I am Leet. I am a child of the Dellacoi. I will use the language of the Oscarphillips to communicate with you.'
'Nice to meet you, Leet,' Jack said neutrally. 'You mind telling me what you're doing here?'
Oscar stared straight ahead, his mouth moving with an odd stiffness as the alien spoke through him. 'I was riding the time winds when I was snatched away and hurled into this world. My life-shell was damaged on impact. In order to survive I sought refuge in this life form.'
'So you're a parasite?' Jack said.
'I am a symbiont,' replied the alien with no trace of indignation. 'The relationship between myself and the Oscarphillips has been a mutually beneficial one. Without me the Oscarphillips would not have survived, and without the Oscarphillips I would have perished in the cold wastes of this planet.'
'So you've been keeping each other alive for the past three months?' said Ianto.
'Three months, yes. I have learned this time frame from the Oscarphillips. For three months our consciousnesses have been linked, our thoughts, dreams and desires merging into one.'
'So what's with the night of zombie mayhem?' Jack asked. 'I'm guessing you're responsible for that?'
'Two nights ago,' the Dellacoi replied, 'I heard the call of my life-shell. I used images from the most recent memories of the Oscarphillips to create search units so that my life-shell and I could be reunited. However, the memories of the Oscarphillips proved too. . . volatile. Once I had activated the units, I found I could not control them. And so, in order to contain the units and limit the damage, I created a barrier around this place, this. . . Cardiff.'
'And you created them how?' asked Ianto.
For the first time the Dellacoi sounded puzzled. 'By thinking them. Isn't this how you create your world? Your buildings and your TV sets, your cars and your computers?'
Gwen glanced at Jack, and knew that he was thinking the same as she was: a species that could create a world of solid objects out of pure thought! If the Dellacoi proved hostile there would be no stopping it.
Ignoring the alien's question, Jack said, 'So tell me, Leet, how do we get rid of these units of yours? How do we get things back to normal?'
The Dellacoi said, 'The units are no longer mine. They belong to the Oscarphillips. Only the Oscarphillips can contain them.'
Before Jack could respond, there was a bang as the double doors leading into the Intensive Care Unit were flung open. Gwen and Jack drew their guns.
'Time out!' Jack shouted. 'Arm yourselves, people!'
Rhys had left his golf club behind in the mad scramble up to the Samuels's attic, so he picked up the metal IV stand. Ianto looked around frantically, then ran across to a metal-framed chair next to the room's tall window and snatched it up, holding it in front of him like a lion tamer.
There was a blundering rush of movement in the corridor, and suddenly zombies were crowding against the observation windows of the IC unit, their ravaged faces savage now, eyes glaring, driven by the primitive urge to protect their creator.
Snarling and groaning, the creatures threw themselves against the door and windows, all of which cracked and then burst inwards in a shower of glass.
The walking dead flooded into the room, and as Jack and Gwen began firing, and Rhys and Ianto fended off attackers with their makeshift weapons, the Dellacoi pod rose from Oscar's forehead, flared and vanished. Instantly Oscar's eyes slid closed and he collapsed to the floor with a sleepy groan.
Gwen roared through her bared teeth as she pumped bullet after bullet into the advancing army of living dead. However, it quickly became obvious that she was fighting a losing battle. Despite the ever-growing pile of rotting corpses, the creatures just kept on coming, a seemingly endless stream of them, intent on tearing her apart.
She fired again, and another zombie fell, the bullet ripping half of its head away, then spun to her left to take out a bloated teenager in a supermarket tabard. As she did, a boy no older than four, his mouth and hands a mess of gore, threw himself at her leg like a pit bull terrier. Caught by surprise, Gwen stumbled and fell heavily, cracking her shoulder on the metal frame of the bed with enough force to jar the gun out of her hand. She had no time to see where it went because the boy was on her in an instant, his bloody hands climbing her body, his teeth gnashing as he homed in on her throat.
She held him off as best she could, but he was like an eel – slippery, vicious and immensely strong. She was vaguely aware of other zombies crowding around her, reaching down with their clawed and rotting hands.
In rage and terror, Gwen screamed. . .