For a moment all movement was frozen. The villagers stood inside the doorway, watching. Trefoil was still holding Sheldon by the shoulders. Janet stood by the p.r.o.ne body of Sir Anthony.

Then the Doctor was moving, on his feet and dashing across the room towards the gun cabinet. 'Keep them back, if you can,' he shouted. 'I need a minute. No more.'

'Right, Doctor.' Sir Anthony's voice was already strong and a.s.sured as he pulled himself to his feet. Beneath his left knee was the crushed remains of the syringe, its plastic body splintered and broken. He kicked it away with a sigh, then turned to stand with Janet.

Trefoil pushed Sheldon away with a snarl, and stepped towards them, Rogers at his shoulder.

The line turned, as one, to face the house. The group started to walk slowly back towards the house, all in step, all at a uniform pace. Across the lawn, another group of villagers mirrored their actions.

On the other side of the house too, groups of villagers began to converge once more on Sheldon's Folly. The schoolchildren followed Miss Devlin, formed into a crocodile, marching in step.

There was a look of surprise more than pain on Bob Trefoil's face as Janet slammed the stool into it. She held it by the legs, swinging it in an arc about her head until it connected with Trefoil, sending him spinning away. The red gash on his cheek was already healing over as he staggered back towards her and Sir Anthony. Then Sheldon grabbed his legs from behind and brought him down. The other villagers stepped forward as Trefoil fell. Sheldon was fighting to disentangle himself from the big man, trying to avoid the fists and feet. Janet and Sir Anthony were now both swinging stools in front of them.

Behind them the Doctor was using a pipette to inject a small quant.i.ty of liquid into several of the darts. As he finished with each one he pushed it down into a magazine.

And after he had pressed in the last of the darts he snapped the magazine into place beneath the rifle and turned to face the villagers.

Janet was sprawled on the floor, holding the stool above her to try to keep back the two men who were struggling to reach for her neck. Sir Anthony was backing away from Rogers, the splintered stump of a wooden stool leg in his hand.

Sheldon was lying on his back on the floor, unconscious, his head bloodied from Trefoil's attentions.

The Doctor raised the dart gun. 'Let's hope its quality that counts, not quant.i.ty,' he said to himself, and pulled the trigger.

The first dart found the side of Trefoil's neck. The big man paused, reaching up as if bothered by a fly. He pulled the dart from his neck, stared for a moment at the blood-soaked tip and at the matching crimson of the flights. Then he tossed it away, snarled with anger, and ran straight at the Doctor.

Chapter Sixteen.

Solution and Evolution They paused close to the house, the groups combining now to form a circle. Miss Devlin standing among her schoolchildren, the vicar in the midst of his flock, villagers united in a single purpose. The cordon round the house was complete, each person within an arm's reach of the next.

They stood, silent and still, as the first cracks of dawn splintered the night sky. Waiting.

There was nowhere left to go. The Doctor's back was against the wall of the laboratory, and Trefoil was still lumbering ma.s.sively towards him. The Doctor closed his eyes, pushing his head against the wall, holding the gun across his chest for what little protection it might offer. And nothing happened.

He opened his left eye a crack, and peered out blearily at the unfocused scene in front of him. When he was sure that there was not a fist or a foot speeding at his face, he opened his eyes fully. Trefoil was swaying on his feet. As the Doctor watched, the big man stumbled, falling to his knees.

'Ha!' the Doctor gave a shout of triumph and levelled the gun again. Distracted for a moment, Janet and Sir Anthony half turned to see what was happening. And as they did so, one of the village women together with Rogers broke through and came at the Doctor. They obviously knew that he was the main threat, ignoring the others as they ran across the lab.

The Doctor fired from the hip. Once, twice, the gun exploded in the echoing room. Rogers kept coming, pa.s.sing the Doctor through sheer force of momentum and crashing into the wall behind him, before falling slowly backwards to the floor. The villager, a middle-aged woman with tightly curled brown hair, was knocked sideways as the dart caught her in the arm, spinning her round. She kept spinning, spiralling to the floor in an almost balletic movement. Even when she was on the floor, her arms continued to make circular motions by her sides.

Trefoil was pulling himself upright again now, looking around in surprise and confusion. He was making noises that sounded like they ought to be words, but which were cut off before they had really got started as he tried to make sense of the situation.

Sir Anthony and Janet stepped aside to let the Doctor pa.s.s.

The final three villagers were backing away now. One turned to run. But the dart caught him in the back of the neck. His hand whipped up clumsily behind him, reaching in vain for the tiny projectile. Then he collapsed forwards on to his face, making no effort to break his fall. The Doctor winced, hoping he had not broken his nose.

The other two barely had time to turn, then they too were falling.

As they surveyed the villagers, watched them clambering groggily to their feet, Janet and Sir Anthony were elated.

'Well done, Doctor!' Sir Anthony exclaimed.

Janet was helping Sheldon to his feet too. He was shaking his head as if to clear it, wiping a hand across his blood-drenched brow.

'I'm sorry,' the Doctor said quietly. And shot him in the arm. Sheldon cried out in pain. Janet screamed in alarm.

The Doctor shrugged. 'We don't want to miss anyone in the excitement, do we?'

'So what's the plan?' Sir Anthony was rubbing his hands together briskly. 'Shoot the lot of them?'

But the Doctor did not mirror his enthusiasm. 'Hardly, I'm afraid. This is fine for a few people, but there's a limit to the number of darts. And there's the chance of re-infection.'

'But surely if we get all of the villagers?' Janet said.

Sheldon was shaking his head. 'The Doctor's right,' he said. 'Even if we did, it doesn't end there. Does it?'

'Oh, I see,' Janet said quietly. 'The sheep. And cattle.'

'And chickens,' Sir Anthony put in, his voice losing its excited edge.

'And every other animal in the food chain that may have become infected.' The Doctor shook his head. 'This is a stopgap, a respite. No more.'

'I have no idea what you're talking about, Doctor,' Trefoil said wearily. 'But there must be a solution.'

The Doctor turned to him. 'If you have no idea, then kindly don't -' he began angrily, waving the gun by the stock.

Then he stopped, frowned, smiled. 'You know,' he said slowly, 'I think you're exactly right.'

'I am?' Trefoil asked warily.

Janet, Sir Anthony and Sheldon were exchanging puzzled looks. Rogers was rising hesitantly to his feet by the far wall.

The Doctor threw his arms open and beamed at them. He grinned at the villagers who were watching him with a mixture of fascination and confusion.

'A solution,' he said. 'That's exactly what we need.

Something that is absorbed on contact.'

Sheldon was nodding. 'Of course. You mean a solution of the genetic material. That we can disperse somehow and allow the victims, the infected people and animals to absorb through their skin maybe.'

The Doctor laid the gun down on the workbench and looked at the array of shattered and broken equipment.

'Exactly,' he agreed. 'Though that might be more easily said than done.' He set about gathering together various items that were not too badly damaged. 'And we still need a way of dispersing it over this whole island, and the main island too.'

It was a slow process, hampered all the time by the fear that other infected villagers might try to stop them. Sir Anthony, together with Rogers and Bob Trefoil, had organised the cured villagers into a team of lookouts to keep watch up the cellar stairs and along the corridors. The Doctor, Janet and Sheldon were working flat out to distil a straw-coloured liquid the Doctor had synthesised. They had managed to move the huge plastic water container from the corner of the room and position it beside the workbench. Now a length of gla.s.s tube worked its crazy way through a collection of flasks and beakers before coming to an end overhanging the container.

'How do we know it will work?' Janet asked as they watched the concentrated liquid dripping into the large plastic container. Each drop became a misty smudge of yellow as it hit the water.

'We don't,' the Doctor told her.

'We should have kept one of the villagers infected to test it on,' Sheldon suggested.

The Doctor paused and looked closely at Sheldon. 'I'd have thought you'd had enough of that sort of thing, treating humans as guinea pigs.' He returned his attention to the dripping liquid. 'Even guinea pigs shouldn't be used as guinea pigs unless it's completely unavoidable,' he huffed.

As the last of the liquid dripped through the tubes and pipes, the Doctor clapped his hands together loudly. 'Right,'

he exclaimed, pulling off his coat, 'I want every gla.s.s bottle, beaker, flask and container you can find. Even if they're cracked they'll have to do. And things to stopper them with.

Bungs, corks, rag, whatever.'

'What are you intending?' Janet asked as they collected together whatever they could find.

'The villagers are the immediate threat and problem,' the Doctor told her as he rolled up his shirt sleeves and started to fill the containers from the liquid. 'We've got a fair few gallons of the solution here. We'll need a lot more. But first we have to make sure it works, and we have to buy ourselves the time to organise it.'

'So we throw these at the villagers?' Sheldon asked. 'One by one?'

'But that's hardly better than using the darts,' Janet pointed out. The Doctor sighed and set down the flask he was holding. 'It's better than the darts because there's more of a spread. You don't have to be so accurate. And we don't have to get all the villagers. Not like that.' He tapped the side of the huge plastic container they had filled with the liquid. 'Now how can we fix handles to this so we can carry it up the stairs, do you think?'

Sir Anthony was at the door, dividing his attention between what the scientists were doing and the villager keeping watch at the door of the anteroom beyond. 'You're not going to throw that over them, are you?' he demanded. 'It would take a dozen of us to swing it. And the stuff would just slosh over the side.'

'Sloshing over the side is fine, thank you very much,' the Doctor said shortly. 'That's all we need.'

'Don't be ridiculous, Doctor.' Sir Anthony was in a huff now. 'No doubt what you've synthesised or whatever here is brilliant, but I refuse to believe that sloshing it over the side of that big bath will do any more than splash a few people's feet.

If you're lucky.'

The Doctor raised his finger and waggled it in admonition.

'Not,' he said smugly, 'the way I intend to do the sloshing.'

They managed to find everything they needed in the lab or elsewhere in the cellarage. They took it in turns to carry the enormous container. It barely fitted along the narrow cellar corridor, two of the villagers struggling to lift it by the rope handles that had been threaded through holes in the side of the container. The Doctor led the way, carrying a flask of the solution in each hand. He had others stuffed in every available pocket. Sir Anthony had insisted on bringing the gun. The others all carried as many flasks and bottles as they could manage.

Taking it in turns as they tired, they eventually managed to manhandle the container up the narrow stairway. Trefoil dragged it up, his muscles straining and bulging. The pale liquid lapped over the sides of the plastic and dripped to the floor. The rope handles were damp and slippery with it, which made the task even harder. But at last they managed to get the heavy load into the hallway of the house. It was getting light outside, the sun filtering through the smoky remnants of the fire in the drawing room. There was no sign of anyone else until they got to the front door.

Then they saw the circle of villagers surrounding the house. Watching, waiting for them.

The Doctor stepped back inside and slammed the door shut. He turned to Rogers. 'I want to get to the outbuildings round the back of the house,' he said. 'With that,' he added, pointing to the container. 'Which is the nearest door?'

'There's a tradesmen's entrance,' he told him. 'Back this way.'

The Doctor nodded. 'That should do. Now,' he turned to the others, 'I need a diversion here at the front. I want as many of the villagers as possible brought round here while we sneak out the back with our little bucket of the Doctor's Patent Remedy. You too, please, Janet.'

'I suppose it's too much to inquire why you want to get out the back, Doctor?' Sir Anthony asked.

'You'll find out soon enough,' the Doctor told him with a wry smile.

Sir Anthony was not impressed.

As the door of the folly slammed shut, a small group stepped out of the line of villagers. Peri and Liz Trefoil, together with two of the men, turned slowly and began to walk along the path towards the side of the house.

The others closed ranks, filling the s.p.a.ces left by those who had left.

When the front door opened again, the Doctor, Janet, Rogers and one of the men were missing, so it was Sir Anthony and Bob Trefoil who led out the small group. They stood in a tight group in the doorway for several moments, waiting to see what would happen. The villagers faced them, staring, immobile.

Then, as one, each of the villagers took a step forwards.

And then another.

'Now!' shouted Sir Anthony, and the group in the doorway split and scattered. Bob Trefoil ran forwards, almost to the edge of the approaching line of people. But he paused, just out of reach of their outstretched, clutching hands, and hurled a gla.s.s beaker towards the nearest person.

It was Old Jim. His pipe still clamped tightly in his mouth as he advanced, his weather-beaten face set. He made no attempt to move aside as the beaker came at him. He raised his hand to smash it away, batting it out of the air.

The beaker was cracked and, as Old Jim's hand connected with it, the thin gla.s.s shattered. Viscous liquid spread over Jim's hand, and he waved it, trying to shake the liquid off. But it clung and stained in the pale light.

Old Jim frowned. His forehead became even more creased.

His pale eyes blinked rapidly twice. And then his pipe fell from his mouth and he collapsed to his knees, holding his stained hand in front of him as if it burned.

At the sight of Old Jim's collapse, the villagers suddenly broke ranks, driven on by the instinct of the material within them to survive. They were running, screaming, hurtling towards the group in front of the house now. More villagers were coming round from the side of the house, converging on the tiny group that was desperately hurling gla.s.sware at them.

Sir Anthony stood in the doorway, taking careful aim with the rifle and picking off villagers one at a time. He was aiming for those in the second wave, letting the leaders run into the rain of gla.s.s and liquid. But it was clear that in a few moments the group in the doorway would be overwhelmed.

At the front of the group, Bob Trefoil grabbed Hilly Painswick as she ran at him. He held her hands from his face and hurled her away. He was looking round, thumping, ducking, kicking, hurling his last flask at the head of one of the older school children. All the time, though, he was looking, searching, praying for a sight of his daughter.

Then, as he looked to one side, catching a glimpse of red hair, disappointed to see that it was Mick Robarts after all, he was knocked off his feet by the Reverend Alan Parker. He was on his back, staring up at the dawn sky, arms up, pushing people away. But they kept coming, fingers reaching down, feet kicking. The last thing he saw was the face of Mrs Tattleshall, contorted into a silent scream. For a brief moment the irony of her silence made him want to laugh, despite everything.

Then the noise blotted out his thoughts and the mist came down.

The approach taken by the Doctor's group was more offensive than defensive. As soon as they heard Bob Trefoil's shout from the front of the house that they were about to open the door and go out, the Doctor cracked open the tradesmen's entrance at the back of the house. After just a few moments, the villagers lined up at the back of the house began to move away.

'They're going,' the Doctor said with satisfaction.