Fans Fiction Mitchell part 7 - Wondablend Packs a Punch by DJ Forrest

Putting the incident with the fire exit staircase behind them, the new Hub began to take better shape and the search for the diet pills began.  It had been a full 18 days since Mitchell had collapsed on the sofa in Jack’s office, dosed up to the eyeballs on painkillers after the fall. After a thorough medical examination, by an extremely good looking female nurse at the St Helen’s hospital, Mitchell was finally allowed back to work.    

     Leaving the building, on a bitingly cold morning, he shuddered. He could vaguely recall the fly through the air like a graceful butterfly, but in reality, he’d plummeted like a lemming off the stool and down the flight of stone steps, cracking his skull, and fracturing and bruising limbs.

   ‘Promise me, you’re not going to be stupid today?’ Jack said, pulling the fire door open, and stepping aside. Mitchell stepped out into the cool morning air and shivered.

   ‘I was trying to surprise you.’ Mitchell replied, defensively, his hands plunged deeply into his trouser pockets.

   ‘Oh, you surprised me alright. The visualisation of blood on the stairwell ran images through my mind of many shocking scenarios.’ Jack strode towards the 4x4 in the parking bay at the side of the building. It was such a cool morning that even the birds were reluctant to welcome in the day with a rapturous song.

   ‘You pull another stunt like that…’ Jack said, reaching for the driver’s door.

   ‘And you’ll what?’ Mitchell replied. For the past week Jack had been beside his bed at the hospital as he’d recovered from his injuries. Even with his eyes closed, in fear of what Jack would say if he opened them, at first, Mitchell could sense Jack’s presence. At no point did he leave the room. At no point, did Jack sleep.

     In the dimness of the room, as the lights switched off in the main hospital ward, Mitchell carefully opened one eye to find Jack, still sat, staring at the monitor feeding information of Mitchell’s current wellbeing. When he was well enough to leave, he still couldn’t make full eye contact with the Captain. He knew in himself, that he’d let Jack down; and even now, he knew that it wouldn’t take much for Jack to end the connection between them.

   ‘We’ve got work to do.’  Jack swallowed back the anger of the moment. In all honesty, despite his tough exterior, Jack had grown fond of Mitchell. He had the chance to be a Dad again, although he knew that there were no family ties binding them – that ship had sailed a long time ago. Although, he couldn’t shake the fact that when Mitchell and he had been alone together, that there had been a little chemistry between them. He inhaled sharply and shook the image back into the closet.

   ‘Where are we going?’  Mitchell yawned and combed his hair with his fingers, catching his reflection in the window of the passenger side. 

   ‘Got a name, and a worried neighbour reporting a disturbance next door, thought we’d go check it out.’

   ‘Isn’t that a job for the cops?’ Mitchell yawned not for the first time that morning. He rubbed his chilled hands against his face and tried to wake up, despite the cool air attempting that already. Clipping his seatbelt in place he stared ahead of him, as Jack slipped the vehicle into reverse, and edged of the car park. They turned left and followed the road out around the Millennium Stadium. Mitchell switched on the radio, redialling for a decent channel for music. Jack, winced at the loud sound breaking the silence, and leaned forward to switch it off.

   ‘Why do we have to go so early?’ Mitchell asked, deflated. Jack wasn’t always open to conversation in the car, unless he was bellowing orders to the team.

   ‘You ever hear the expression – the early bird catches the worm?’  Mitchell had and nodded.

   ‘Well, the wonderful thing about neighbours at this time of the morning, is that they’re usually tucked up in their beds, so we can go in like Rentokil and deal with whatever it is without arousing too much suspicion. Unless you do something stupid.’ He shot a glance at Mitchell while the vehicle idled at the traffic lights. Mitchell averted his gaze. Jack wasn’t going to forget this so easily.

   ‘Now by all accounts this guy isn’t a keep fit fanatic. He’s been through every weight loss programme on the planet, but does himself no favours, according to the details, Gwen was able to pull up about him. And from the data you put on my desk yesterday before trying to break your neck...’ Jack glanced at Mitchell before throwing the vehicle into a sharp left hand turn slamming Mitchell against the passenger door with a crunch.  Jack smiled ruefully.

   ‘Yeah about that...’  Mitchell replied before connecting with the door.  ‘...your security...’

   ‘What about my security?’

   ‘Anyone with half a brain could have accessed that building.’  Mitchell said inching back on the seat.  ‘Where did you get the security software from, a cereal packet?’

     Jack remained silent.  He drove through the quiet streets, where only early morning workers clogged the lay-bys with delivery vans and post bags.  Mitchell fell silent.

   ‘Sorry.’

   ‘Don’t worry about it.’

   ‘I set up a full and complete firewall for Alex Shepperton back in London.  If anyone was going to penetrate his system they’d have to go through a million combinations and sub combinations. I had his business so watertight even he needed to be allowed into his own building after hours.’

   ‘Is that so?’  Jack said.

   ‘I know you have my laptop, you wouldn’t have left that behind when you went to the flat.’  Mitchell glanced over at Jack as he concentrated on the road system.  ‘I know you went to the flat.’

   ‘Yes, we did. Initially to find you.  Why do you need the laptop?’ Jack finally asked, while he navigated past some road works.

   ‘It has some things on there I need, personal stuff.’

   ‘Such as?’  Jack navigated a sharp right turn cutting up a milk truck as he pulled into Rassilon Terrace.

     Mitchell fell silent and faced front.

   ‘Look, if we’re going to work together, and live together, we need to be able to trust each other.’ Jack pulled into the street and pulled up right outside the house.

   ‘We’ll discuss this later. Right now, we’re here.’ He switched off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt. He watched Mitchell release his seatbelt and exit the vehicle and sighed.

Was he doing the right thing, bringing him along, making him part of the team? Jack shook his head – only time would tell.

  

     Teddy ‘the pies’ Edwards house sat along a row of terraced red bricked buildings on Caer Terrace. It was built after the Second World War.  Every single house now had capped chimneys, no more coal fires burned up these, now most ran from gas or electricity boilers.     

     Teddy’s garden was hopelessly overgrown, in amongst the long grass sat a rusted push mower that had been engulfed in long grass many seasons ago and along the rusted metal handle slept snails huddled together in a colony, garden snails of all shapes and sizes clinging on the underside away from the cold weather and the hungry thrush and blackbird.

     Jack pushed the heavy metal gate open and winced at the loud creaking groan it gave.  He held his breath for the twitch of a curtain. Just as he thought, all was silent in every window on each side of the terrace. 

   ‘Can you see anything through the glass?’  Jack asked nodding his head towards the grimy bay windows to his left.  Mitchell cupped his hands against the window and peered in.  The curtains were still closed inside, thick heavy velvet curtains with backing hung heavy, and in sad need of a wash. The odd cobweb and the dead husk of a blue bottle, lay on the tainted white windowsill. Mitchell blocked out the glare of the morning light with his hands, and focused on the gloom. Occasionally, the light from the television near him flickered brightly, allowing him a visual of the room. He spied Davies.  

   ‘He’s asleep.  Judging by the flicker of light changes, the tv is still on.’  Mitchell glanced around for Jack.  He’d disappeared.  Following his scent, he found Jack through a small garden gate that led to the rest of the grounds.  The garden extended through to the back of the house, a once large ornate vegetable patch with a glass house sporting several blooming dahlias and chrysanthemums now wilted and dead from neglect. Weeds were reaching under the windows of the downstairs rooms and a creeping vine had connected itself to the back of the house and over the roof to a small concrete potting shed.  It was a house crying out for love and a lick of paint, and someone with green fingers. 

     The back door had a Yale lock same as the front but unlike the front, didn’t have a bolt top and bottom and as Jack applied his shoulder hard against the wooden door, it gave, easily, almost splintering the door frame. 

     Mitchell watched Jack enter before following him.  They knew as soon as they’d entered that something wasn’t right.  There was that all too familiar smell of death. 

     Mitchell pushed the back door closed as best he could. The porch hung of the scent of rotting vegetables in a plastic three tier vegetable rack. Thick layers of mould spores looked ready to disperse as the two men entered, but remained clinging to the corn cobs in the middle basket.

     Inside the house, the kitchen looked as if a larger family dwelled there. Pots and pans lay upside down on the draining board. Plates of food older than a few days were steeping in stagnant water in the sink. A clean washing up brush sat redundant in an empty decorative vase on the windowsill, next to a half open container of WonderBlend diet pills, the empty wrapper of which was trying to climb back out of the waste bin on the worktop.

     As Jack proceeded through the house, Mitchell was overcome by a series of different odours, some of which he couldn’t put his finger on, for anything in the room. As he looked set to move off with Jack, he heard a scuttling of small feet on the kitchen lino. He honed in on the location of the noise and pulled back the chair nearest the serving hatch and cupboard door, directly in front of him. The scuttling stopped.

     Back in the flat, scuttling noises were something of a regular occurrence. It wasn’t unusual to come across the odd rat or two. Mitchell lifted a carving knife from the knife block where none of the knives really matched the slots – some had slid in up to their handle, others were only half in, wedged into the wood itself. Dispensing with the vegetable knife he first selected, he released the stuck carving knife from the block and tentatively nudged away items on the worktop, and around the cupboard interior, since nothing seemed visible on the kitchen floor.

     There was a long hallway from the kitchen to the rest of the house. A pantry door welcomed Jack to the coolness of an old style cupboard where once, fresh meats, and game bird would have hung from the hooks hammered into the oak beams running along the ceiling. There were a mixture of food smells that belonged in another era. Jack smiled at the thoughts running through his head, of an age gone by, when perhaps the previous owner might have cooked game pie, or pickled vegetables or fruits, or stored fruit cake in a tin for a Winter treat. The odour of fruit cake wafted back to him, and he felt his stomach groan for the lack of a decent meal. It had been some time since he’d treated himself to fruit cake and game pie – instead of a take away. Aside from the mucus trail left by something bigger than a snail or slug, nothing else lingered in the pantry. He followed the trail curiously as he neared the voices from the television in the lounge.

     A part of him wanted to not find a body, and to not find one in such a horrendous condition that he’d see it every time he closed his eyes – but then there were a lot of images that Jack saw these days, that were etched behind his eyes forever. He gently pushed open the living room door. The thick cloying aroma of sweat and bodily fluids hung heavy in the air. The room was in near darkness but for the television, and as the images flashed a multitude of colours from the screen of dancing girls clad in only a skimpy pair of lacy underwear and nothing covering the rest of them, Jack saw with horror that Teddy was more than just sleeping – Teddy the Pies Edwards, was dead.

     Jack found the light switch near the door and flicked it on. He winced at the brightness of the bulb and slowly adjusted his eyes to the glare. It didn’t prepare him for the sight of the gaping wound in Edwards’ stomach, and the many footprints running back and forth across the cream coloured carpet from the cavernous space where once, Teddy’s organs would have lived quite happily, if not a little strained from the amount of take out and chocolate biscuits – the evidence of which were still scattered about his person, on the floor and scattered across the coffee table.

     Jack was grateful that he had a strong stomach – otherwise he’d have revisited his breakfast.

   ‘Oh my god.’  He pulled his torch from the inside of his great coat and shone it into the vast emptiness of the man’s belly. It had been picked clean. The fatty lining had been ripped open from the inside out and lay open like flower petals in bloom. The look of horror on the man’s eyes shocked him further. Teddy must have been awake when, the creature he’d seen in Tupperware had ripped its way out. Judging by Teddy’s colossal size, and how he lay, he doubted the man would have been able to move fast enough to save himself.

     Jack jumped out of his skin and pots and pans and crockery crashed to the ground noisily in the kitchen, and Mitchell’s cries of fright were heard, followed by a series of hard thumps into the wall cavity.

   ‘Mitchell.’ Jack hissed.

Mitchell, stood transfixed on the wall behind the cupboard. In his right hand he gripped a blood stained carving knife that held congealed greenish yellow gloopy fluid on the tip. On the floor lay the contents of the work tops, greasy food stuffs on day old plates. A fruit bowl with month old fruit, mouldy and rancid. Empty cartons, half eaten mouldy pizza and other unidentifiable foods, and crockery pans and pots, lying empty and defeated beneath the kitchen table and chairs. Jack stared at Mitchell in disbelief.

   ‘What did I tell you about being stupid today?’ Mitchell turned to face him. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow and neck.

   ‘There’s something in the wall cavity.’

   ‘I heard.’ Jack raised a brow. ‘What’s that?’ He nodded towards the knife blade.

   ‘Plasterboard.’ Mitchell replied, innocently.

   ‘Not that, that.’ Jack replied, pointing at the liquid now glooping down the vertical blade.

   ‘Not sure, but it shot under the back of that cupboard.  There’s a mousehole back there, I just, I don’t know, freaked a little.  Didn’t look like anything I’d ever seen before.’

   ‘So you stabbed at it, making it possibly ten times more hostile than it probably was before.’  Jack sighed.

   ‘Well I didn’t know you wanted me to invite it home for coffee and cake...it has teeth, big fucking teeth.’  Mitchell defended, baring his own as if to prove a point.  Jack’s brow raised further.  ‘Okay not that big but...’  Mitchell sighed.  ‘It looked like that creature out of alien, but smaller, and with lots of teeth, like a piranha.’

     Curiosity almost piqued Jack shook his head.

   ‘Never mind that now, our diet guy is in the living room with a massive hole in his stomach.  Whatever came out we need to find it.’

     Mitchell stared at the knife and back at the wall.  ‘Ok, well whatever that was that shot up the mouse-hole in the wall, probably needs catching before it finds a way of escaping.’

   ‘There might be more.’ Jack replied, glancing back into the hallway at the visible slime trails leading off from the lounge, and spread in all directions. ‘There’s a slime trail heading upstairs, since you’re the one with the knife and you’ve an idea what they look like, I volunteer you go while I grab the stuff from the vehicle and get to work on our victim.  See if you can find some diet pills too, if he has any left.’

     Mitchell raised his brow as he stared back at Jack.

   ‘You’re kidding me, right?’

   ‘I don’t joke about things like this.’

     Mitchell sighed heavily and stepped around the pots and pans, knife still gripped in his hand and made his way towards the end of the stairs. He chanced a look inside the living room and dry retched.

     Jack sighed heavily.

   ‘Upstairs. Go.’  

     With his hand on the bannister, Mitchell glanced up the stairs. He took a few tentative steps while Jack watched him go. A thought struck him as he climbed a few more steps. He imagined the scene in ‘Psycho’ and squeaked out the stabbing action as Jack glanced up at him. Realising he had an audience Mitchell cleared his throat and took the first door to the right on the landing.

     It was a box room, small and cluttered with boxes that hadn’t been unpacked in years. Teddy had moved back in to the old family home after his Dad had died, and his Mum, getting on in years, couldn’t manage the house on her own. The younger Teddy had been a much fitter man. He’d taken on the role of his Dad. He saw to all the paperwork, the accounts, pensions, everything that looked complicating to his mother.

     When Teddy had given up his flat in the Bay, he’d needed somewhere to store his stuff. Some of it still lived in the attic, and would for the rest of its life. Teddy had always loved his food, and he often blamed his Mum for her wonderful Sunday roasts. Her cakes, pies and sweet desserts. His Mother ate sparingly. She loved and doted on her son – and to all intents and purposes, was the reason he was dead on the couch.

     Mitchell found boxes upon boxes of old vinyls from yesteryear, of bands and singers he’d never heard before, but figured Jack would. They were dusty, and spiders ran scuttling into the box depths when Mitchell lifted albums out to read the backs of.

     A dated wooden wardrobe, that looked for all the world like it belonged in the Bates Motel, sat against the wall opposite the door. The silver key was missing and the lock had long since been broken. It hung open, and trails of women’s old clothes hung in tatters beneath the door. A younger model stood propped up beside it. It looked out of place – modern and made of chipboard, with doors that didn’t match up, and three drawers missing their frontage. Mitchell, climbed up on the closed sturdy boxes, that by the writing on the front, held encyclopedias, and peered onto the tops of the wardrobes. He found an old metal tin and shook it. Coins rattled inside it, paper shuffled. He prized open the tin and found old paper money from an era older than Teddy. He threw it down onto the lower boxes – he could make some money on that, just to find the right person… He shook his head. That was his old life.

     Other than the tin, there was nothing of any interest. He gave up, leaving the tin in the room, and headed to the bathroom. It was a lavish room with polished gold fittings and a deep cast iron bath and sink.  There was a shower to the side of the bath with a deep tray and a floral design curtain.  There were also tiny footprints in the talcum powder near the sink which only went as far as the sink before retreating from the room.  Mitchell followed the footprints into the master bedroom, his knife still gripped in his right hand.

     Against the wall behind the door was a large king-size bed, with a black duvet and white sheet, both recently slept in.  He placed a hand on the ruffled sheet; it was cold and smelt of sweat.  Mitchell pulled a face and wiped his hand on his trousers.  He knew whatever the creature was, it was in this room, and he had to tread carefully.  Grasping the knife he flattened himself out on the floor to peer under the wooden slatted bed.  In amongst the candy wrappers, crisp packets and an old stale pizza box something dark lurked, menacingly.

     It seemed wary of the man with the knife although it had never met him, nor faced its wrath with the sharp blade.  Mitchell strained to hear. He knew it was close and he was certain that the blackness behind the box was the creature.  Then something moved, something away from the bed, over by the pine wardrobe with the broken lock.  Did this man care for nothing?  Mitchell remained flat on the ground.  If there were more than one, how many more, and could he hope to capture one alive?

He heard a laugh, or cackle or something resembling a laugh, small and chattery.  He turned his head to see something from the corner of his eye move past the door frame on the landing.  It was small, low, perhaps no more than 7 inches in height and he had to blink twice, because it looked for all the world like a walking dick. 

      The scrabbling became louder in the corner of the room, as if something was chewing through the wooden floorboards beneath the thick carpet.  He scrambled to his feet; the aroma of the carpet was strong in manly things he’d rather not consider.

     Mitchell weighed up the options as he stood beside the bed, then placing the knife on the bedside cabinet beside a half cup of milky coffee with two layers of skin, placed his hands on the bed base and lifted it up and over. It took a lot of his strength.  The mattress and duvet slumped like a tired old man against the wardrobe, pushing the other bedside cabinet over with a crash. An ashtray and another coffee cup shattered on the ground.  Mitchell saw before the creature had had the good sense to run, the size and shape of the creature.  It was reddish brown, shaped like an erect cock and had legs and forearms although the forearms did nothing other than give it a prehistoric lizard look.  It had a tail about four inches long and two reptile legs with three toes on each, the fourth acted as a claw that balanced it when it stood upright.  Mitchell didn’t know whether to laugh or yell, it was the most unbelievable of creatures, he’d ever seen.

   ‘That’s one dick you wouldn’t want to mess with.’  As their eyes met, the creature emitted a shrill scream, that pierced the air. Mitchell winced. It was alerting all the others of its predicament, and before Mitchell could do anything else, he was surrounded. 

   ‘JAAAAACK!’

  

Captain Jack Harkness had barely sat down with the box of kit when he heard the first crash upstairs.  He sighed and shook his head.  He lifted the Maglite flashlight from the toolbox and shone it into the gaping hole left by the creatures. It was amazing, he thought, that Teddy had lived as long as he had.  In places where the flesh had been chewed through to aid their escape some of the flaps of flesh had slumped inwards especially now, as Jack began to move the body a little, and hung over the precipice of an empty abdomen.  Literally – empty!  As Jack shone the torch inside the chasm, he saw only the spine and the rib cage. 

     Jack took a few snaps of the body, and took scrapings of the interior of Teddy’s lower torso, and stored the results in the phials. 

     At the lab, the technician had shown them the results of the third test.  Given there were no bodies to physically test on, the tablets were dissolved in a thick jelly like substance to resemble the human body, he’d bugged out at most of the technical jargon she’d used, but it was the slide show of what was produced from the eggs that DID interest him.  Eel like creatures with arms and legs and teeth like piranha’s.  Gwen had hidden a smirk at the shape and Jack had raised more than one brow.  Viewing the specimen in the Tupperware back at the Hub that hadn’t reached full size he wondered how big these became, and whether this was only the first stage of their evolution, perhaps there were many stages before they grew to their full capacity.  The jelly test had only shown one stage before it was incinerated.  But if they grew, what then?  And what did they feed on and more to the point, who was distributing them, and why?

     It was after this final pondering that Mitchell screamed for help.

 Mary Joyce was dancing across the polished floor with one of the fit young blokes from ‘Strictly’ when she’d heard the first crash that shook her from her dream.  She didn’t open her eyes; the young Russian dancer was on the tip of her tongue, she’d check the internet later for his name, she often did if she dreamt of them.  Slipping back into her dream she picked up where she’d left off, forcing the dream back, although they were dancing on the beach, in the water and crabs were nipping her toes.  She woke up as pains shot through her body and she drew her feet back under the duvet.

     She opened her eyes, her feet still throbbed.  Must have been a nerve she’d trapped.  She manoeuvred the duvet down wrapping her feet up and tried to get comfortable.  Something moved on top of the duvet.  She was certain it wasn’t a bat.  The last one had been dealt with perhaps not completely legal but the safety of her child was paramount. 

     Lillian was in the other room sleeping.  She’d heard tiny noises as her daughter woke from slumber.  Mary had always wanted children but as time wore on and her forties crept ever closer to fifty she could see that desire waning.  Then it had happened, perhaps not the perfect or ideal of circumstances but it happened. 

     She never asked his name.  He was drunk and she was...well she was just Mary.  She’d read a book about how to seduce the right kind of man.  Back in the day she’d never been interested, she wanted a career first, and her father had always insisted that fellas came bottom on her list.  Mary was a gifted student, her degrees and diplomas would place her anywhere in the world, everyone would need a chemist.  It had disappointed her father that she’d only stretched as far as York, before returning to Wales to care for her aged parents until they passed away some twenty years ago now. 

     So now with her degrees and diplomas, her driving licence and her ability to read a book all the way through and not just hover over the pictures, glossy as they were, she’d set her trap.  Viagra was such a wonderful invention, but over stimulation probably didn’t do much for the victim. 

     Still, Lillian was the best thing to happen to her and despite the notices up in shop windows and newspapers, for the missing tycoon of a multi million pound property giant from London, he was never found.  And he never would.  Her father was right, concentrating on her career would help her in the future.  She had access to many chemicals in her job - acid being one of them!

     She felt the pain in her foot intensify and sat up in bed throwing the duvet back.  She drew her legs up and stared at her feet in disbelief and horror.  Her toes were missing.

     Mary screamed hysterically!

If anyone was to ask Mitchell what he did for a living, he would probably not mention what he was doing in Teddy Edwards’ bedroom.  Armed with the carving knife and the bedside lamp torn from the plug he waved and slashed at the biting ‘dicks with legs’ that hissed and squealed around his legs.  Some bit into his leg, just above his ankle, tugged at his trousers like a puppy at play.  He flicked and kicked at them.  He yelled, swore, slashed and smashed at the twenty or so creatures that had appeared out of nowhere. 

     Jack arrived at the top of the stairs about to yell about keeping the noise down when he saw an eel like creature sail through the air before him and slap into the wall, shake itself off and head back into the room to join in the fight.  As he reached the doorway he could only stare for a few moments at the desperation on Mitchell’s face to get out of the room. 

     Mitchell stepped forward, then kicked back, his trainer was red down the side of his ankle but he didn’t want to think about that.  They never relented once, he’d slice and cut and they continued to attack until they were detached forms on the ground kicking but going nowhere.

   ‘Try and grab a few, we’ll take them back with us.’  Jack shouted from the doorway.

     It was then Mitchell was aware that Jack had been watching, but for how long, and was he recording this on his phone?

   ‘Feel free to pitch in.’  He called as Jack pocketed his phone.

     Jack thought for a few moments.  ‘I’ll be right back.’  He ran back down the stairs two steps at a time and stopped at the pantry.  Perhaps there was something in there that could help him.  He flicked on the light that swung dustily above his head and coughed at the dust particles in the air.  On shelves half an inch thick with dust were boxes, cardboard and plastic.  They stored all kinds of nick knacks from the old dear who used to live in the house.  Jack grabbed two sealed plastic boxes and emptied the contents on the ground and ran back upstairs to the master bedroom.

     Mitchell had one of the blood coloured biting creatures in his left hand, it was like gripping a wet bar of soap. He was still wielding the knife with his other hand, whilst keeping the creature in his other, aloft.  Seemingly capturing a creature intensified the other creatures attack mode - they were going in for the kill. 

   ‘Over here!’ Jack shouted above the cacophony of noises. He had open Tupperware in both hands. 

     Mitchell tossed the creature and pulled another from his trouser leg, its sharp teeth penetrating the fabric and his skin beneath. 

   ‘Get off me, you bastard!’  It was worse than being bitten by a dog, or a murderous tramp fighting for a piece of cardboard sheltering. Mitchell gritted his teeth as the painful biting intensified.

     Jack clamped the lid shut and held the box out for the other in Mitchell’s hand as the creatures moved towards Jack and the box on the floor. 

   ‘Time to go.’  Jack called from the hallway.

   ‘Oh, you think?’  Mitchell grabbed the opportunity and leapt from the room, a space of two feet and stepped on one of the creatures, and wrong footed.  He let out a howl of pain and grabbed the wall to steady himself.  The creature was dead under his foot.  He was thankful for that.

     Jack pulled the door shut and deliberately stomped on any stragglers before they began their attack again.  With two boxes clamped shut he felt satisfied for small mercies, but they couldn’t leave the rest of the creatures in the room for someone else.

   ‘We have to get rid of them.  Are you ok?’  Jack said looking over at Mitchell, leaning against the wall, his right foot slightly elevated. 

   ‘I’m alive.  I’m ok.  So, what kills them?’

   ‘Maybe we can lure them into a bath of acid.’  Jack looked at Mitchell.

   ‘When you say lure them, exactly what do you have in mind?’

 Jack ran out into the garden with two plastic boxes of frenzied creatures that tore relentlessly at the plastic containers.  He carried them to the 4 x 4 and put them on the back seat. 

     Upstairs Mitchell listened to the creature’s desperation to leave the bedroom and rescue their comrades. He heard the sound of gnawing at the bedroom door. 

   ‘Hurry up Jack!’  He muttered.

     Jack searched the potting shed but it was as fruitless as the greenhouse.  Any containers were rusted beyond hope.  He ran a hand over his face in despair.  It was at this point he heard a scream, only this time, it was coming from next door. 

Mary, through biting pain and fear of her child next door in the nursery, struggled out of bed, her feet bound in the bed sheet and forced into her moccasin slippers.  Every step was a hurdle, a battle and hurt like hell, and every step she was followed through into the nursery by little pattering feet and gnashing teeth.

     Lillian hadn’t made any noises for a while, not since her mother had screamed.  Usually any noise would have awoken her daughter.  As Mary entered the room with the pink painted walls, fairy princess castles and peered into the cot, her blood ran cold and she paled.  Lillian, her beautiful daughter was being eaten by five eel like creatures with sharp teeth, who at this moment bit into the back of her leg and gorged on the blood and hot flesh.  She fought and flailed wildly but her legs were painful enough.  She didn’t have time to think how this was a punishment for the way she treated the tycoon, she didn’t have time to mourn her daughter.  As she fell, losing balance as she turned, more of the creatures came at her from all sides of the room.  She screamed helplessly.

     She didn’t hear the smash of the window downstairs or the thundering of size 12’s on the stair carpet and across the hallway to her room. She didn’t see the man in the great coat stand and watch in horror at the sight of the dead baby and the dying mother being eaten as her heart beat its last.  Jack pulled the door closed, there was nothing he could do here.  He checked the other rooms for any other family and called into the bathroom where a distinct smell came to his nose. He ran downstairs and built just like the previous house, pushed open the pantry.  A smile lifted on his face. 

   ‘Perfect.’

     He called the team.

Marley parked her car in the car park outside the brick wall unit on the Barry Road Industrial Estate, Caerphilly.  It was her first port of call after she awoke.  Barry Wingate part leased the property, two 51,370 sq ft units that contained the busy workforce in the laboratories and the packing in the factory.  There were two cars beside Marley’s - a silver Jaguar F type with spoked wheels and a second hand Fiat Punto 1.4, black, with go faster stripes along one side.

     According to the website, Barry Wingate’s factory employed fifty five staff which included the laboratories that created the medicines for the factory, packing and sealing the products for distribution.  They delivered products from paracetamol to body enhancement drugs.  Not only on the high street, but online, on their website.  They’d only recently gone into the sale of Diet Pills, those that would literally put the other fads to shame, offering you your money back if you weren’t completely satisfied, but with the guaranteed assurance, that nobody ever complained.

     Marley pulled the hefty door to the office block open and felt the instant heat from the overhead fan as she entered.  Underfoot she felt the brushed carpet tiles, a disgusting mustard yellow just at the doorway, then a softened blue with dappled spots that at first looked like blood droplets contained in a circle of black ink.

     To her left were three doors, male and female toilets, side by side, and that familiar pine fresh aroma eking out from the doors, slightly ajar.  The third door was plush to the door frame, no handle but a keyhole fashioned into the wood. 

     The office was through another door, warm and inviting, soft furnishings and a waiting area to the left, soft fabric upholstery, three facing the reception desk, two facing opposite walls and a cluttered coffee table with out of date magazines and pharmaceutical pamphlets with Barry’s cheerful face on the front with another man beside him.  In the background of the pamphlet a young woman in what appeared a pink tutu and striped stockings stood just by the door, out of shot.  Marley had seen the other man on the website, his name was Darren Ormskirk, he was the partner in the Wingate business, yet his name wasn’t above the door, nor in any of the titles on the website.  Perhaps he was a silent partner, thought Marley. 

     A petite young red head, with piercings in more than just her ears greeted her at the reception desk.  She seemed very out of place in the whole building, like one of those novelty toys you buy on holiday but have nowhere to really put it when you bring it home.

     Cheyenne smiled.  She had on the same tutu outfit that she’d been seen in on the website and pamphlet.  She smelt of cherries sweet but not over powering.  Down her faded denim jacket two sizes too small for her, Marley guessed, given that it didn’t appear to fasten, and probably never would given the size of her ample chest were a series of pin badges, all with a variety of band names that Marley had heard of before.    

   ‘Can I help you?’  Cheyenne’s Welsh lilt was strong and for a moment didn’t register with Marley still reading the wording on some of her badges.  When Cheyenne waved a hand in front of her face, Marley tore herself back to the present and smiled.

   ‘Good morning I’m Dr Hanratty from the Governmental Health Agency and I’d like to talk to Mr Wingate, about some rather dangerous Diet Pills, with life threatening side effects, is he in?’  Marley looked at the young girl directly.  She was chewing gum or her tongue, Marley couldn’t quite make out which.

   ‘One moment I’ll have to ask Barry, Mr Wingate, but he’s busy see, on account of...well he’s busy.’  Cheyenne said, twirling her curls around her finger, like an adolescent teenager. 

   ‘I don’t give two hoots whether he’s busy or not, I’m part of the governmental watchdog and if I don’t get to see him in five minutes I will have no other alternative but to call in Customs to seize all goods and shut you down.’  Marley said darkly. 

     Cheyenne swallowed whatever she’d been chewing, and pushed her seat back, abruptly.

   ‘I’ll just go and get him.’ Cheyenne knocked on the glass frosted door behind her desk and entered closing the door behind her.

     Marley patiently waited, her shoulder bag open and her right hand lightly resting on the top, over the butt of the Glock 17.  She heard a raised male voice, a level of swearing she hadn’t heard since she left Glasgow and Cheyenne stepped from the room, bright red and tearful. 

   ‘He’s just coming.’  Cheyenne looked shaken and took herself off to the bathroom to freshen up. 

     Barry Wingate pulled the door open and stared at the young brunette, with the business suit and shoulder bag and looked official enough to be believed.  Barry wore a suit a size too large, he was of stocky build, five nine in his leather patent shoes and was going grey and nearing forty eight. 

   ‘Hello I’m Barry Wingate.’  He proffered his hand, Marley to be courteous shook it but withdrew quickly.  ‘How may I help your enquiries?’

     Marley shifted her hand to the document beside the Glock 17 and lifted it out. Inside the manila folder was the details of the stock list she’d acquired through her search of Wingate’s deleted office files.   She handed it over. 

   ‘I’m here to locate these pills, I believe you’ve had three deliveries from the Taff Docks Warehouse where these pills were said to have originated. What we need to know is where they are now and how many you still have in storage?’ 

     Barry took the document and read it. Beads of sweat gathered on his upper lip and brow.  He loosened his tie.

   ‘I don’t have them anymore.’  He said, his eyes staring at the wording of ‘WondaBlend Diet pills for those who have tried everything else.’ He’d remembered the slogan, hard to forget it, the sales rep had been very insistent over that.

   ‘Who did you sell them to?’  Marley pressed.

     Barry tore himself away from the sheet, his sad grey eyes gave him away instantly.

   ‘Where are the pills now Barry?’

It was a little after half eight in the morning when the signs of police vehicles drove in and parked up around Caer Terrace.  There was a Police Officer at every house, and every house had a story. 

     In No. 72 Caer Terrace Norma Watson sat beside the fire, it had been on all night.  She’d put the draught excluder by the door to block out the draught that cut through the letterbox and under the front door, and sat in her woolly slippers warming her legs on the two bar electric heater.  An old clock ticked on the mantelpiece that held a photograph in an old jaded picture frame of a young man in military uniform, beside him, a beautiful young woman smiling.  Sitting either side was two tired and cracked porcelain dogs, two Scottish Terriers, one black and one white.  On the sofa, her cat laid quite still, a trail of blood fanning out from the seat cushion. 

     Norma was 75% disabled, she couldn’t speak, was partially blind and her home help wouldn’t be in any time before 10am.  Norma had lived through two World Wars, had fought in picket lines for equal rights, had fought in battles with officials when an old oak was blocking a site; a tree that had held some memories of the past.  But today, she couldn’t fight off the eel like creatures that tore at her veins and her tendons, ripped at her loose skin around her hands and feet.  Even Tiddles stood little chance against the piranha teethed alien with a penchant for flesh.

Sgt. Andy Davidson stood at the top of Caer Terrace holding a conversation with his radio to another officer who was at the other end of the Terrace.  The entire road had been cordoned off, on the say so of one Captain Jack Harkness.  It was yet another Torchwood operation that he’d found himself a part of, more his own fault really, he considered, as he watched Gwen’s car park up behind the newly acquired 4 x 4. 

     Andy watched from his position at the chemical suits Gwen and a new guy were climbing into.  Jack was also pulling on a suit and a discussion was going on that he was too far away to hear, but it was likely connected to whatever was inside the houses. Jack wouldn’t divulge that information and to be perfectly honest thought Andy, it was probably alien and he probably wouldn’t want to know. 

     A call went up across the road at No. 86, as WPC Alice Grovener pushed open the front door of a frail old lady, only to find her dead in the bathroom, her main artery severed and the blood sprayed up across the wall and half of the ceiling in an artistic mural.  In another house there was another call for another body, and so on.  Andy called for back up, as Torchwood disappeared from view.

   ‘What are we dealing with Jack?’  Gwen asked clomping in the suit towards the back of the house where three pump action spray packs sat ready for use. 

   ‘We have an infestation of little dicks.’  Jack replied with a straight face.

   ‘That’s never been a problem before.’  Gwen said trying hard to mask how ridiculous this all sounded to the new guy.

   ‘On a regular day probably not, but these are nasty little buggers with teeth...and they’re hungry.’  Jack collected up a pump action spray canister and began pumping the handle, grabbing the spray shaft in his other hand. 

   ‘House next door, there’s a woman dead, with her baby.  In her downstairs pantry there were three shelves of acid, this is acid, be careful you don’t get it on your skin.  These canisters came from there.  Wear your masks...which reminds me.’  Jack strode to the car coming back with the spare mask.  ‘Mitchell is still inside.  We have two live specimens in containers in the back of the vehicle.’  He returned to the canister, hooking his arm through the fastener of the mask.  ‘Each house if you see something that’s about 6’ or 7’ tall looks like a walking dick, spray it.’

   ‘Have you tried this out already?’  Gwen asked, pumping her own canister.

   ‘Nope.  But you show me a creature that doesn’t react to acid.  There are about twenty creatures in this house alone, I’m not saying you’re going to have that amount in each house, but be aware that they’re slippery little buggers and they get everywhere. So if you have to pull out furniture, work cupboards, do it, the public might hate what you do to their possessions, but it’s nothing to what these creatures will do to them.  Shoot the creatures if you have to, but make sure they’re dead.’ 

     Jack disappeared into the house kicking the door shut.  Gwen watched him go before picking up her canister and following Clark to the gate.

   ‘Keep your comms on at all times Clark, you cover that side I’ll do this side.’

   ‘Why don’t we cover them together, there might be more than we can handle?’

     Gwen narrowed her eyes at him. 

   ‘The police are already evacuating people.  Whatever is in the house is enough for one person to handle.’ 

     Gwen took the path up on her left, leaving Clark by the car.  He crossed the road entering the garden of a retired engineer and pushed open the front door.  A police woman stood in the hallway and almost received a sudden spray.  In the living room, the engineer lay quite still on the sofa. 

   ‘I’ve never seen anything like this before in my life.’  The WPC said wiping her mouth.  She’d been sick.  He could smell it. Clark smiled reassuringly.

   ‘Try doing a tour in Afghanistan, the stories I could tell you.  Go get some fresh air.’  He squeezed past her, the apricot scent from her facial wash lightly raised the aroma of vomit. 

     There was a small galley kitchen through the next door from the living room that led out into the back garden.  A cat flap swung lightly from the breeze blowing through the house and mucus red slime with tiny footprints marked the paintwork leading to the exit. 

   ‘Oh shit!’

     Clark peered in cupboards on the wall and on the ground, he pulled back furniture that would give, he even moved the body, sick and disgusting as it was, the neck hanging open, the sinew and vein chewed through and tattered, blood still pumping as the heart slowly beat but the man was beyond help.  His eyes were glazed and his mouth hung open but the tongue was gone. 

     Clark grimaced at the state of the man and prayed that should he ever reach that condition Jack or Gwen had the good sense to shoot him.  He heard a scuttle of tiny feet and a chattering at ankle level and spun around.  On the concrete floor just at the leg of a wooden dining room chair just as Jack had reasonably described it, was a ‘walking dick’.  He laughed, finding it preposterous that such a creature existed.  It was then he realised he’d left the spray can in the kitchen by the door. 

     Jack hadn’t really explained much about the creature, only of the damage it had caused, and judging by the state of the old engineer, it was evident it wasn’t afraid of attacking even something as large as a man.  But how with only teeth and the hind legs was it able to attack with such ferociousness and have no resistance?  Clark strode across the floor to the door and the creature followed.  As he bent to collect the canister, it bit into his suit.  He yelled in visible pain and kicked out at the creature as it clung on, it’s teeth already through the fabric of his trousers and into the warm flesh of his leg.  It wasn’t deep, but it had penetrated and that seemed enough for more to come out of the dark recesses of the room. 

     Clark yelled out of fright and sudden fear that he’d become like the engineer.  He grabbed the canister spray and released the jet of acid across the floor.  The results were instantaneous!  Those directly hit screamed in agony as the acid burned their flesh melting their bones until they were nothing more than a bloody stinking puddle on the floor.  As they screamed more seemed to come to their plight, and again Clark sprayed.  If they all just arrived at this spot, he’d be happy, but life was never that simple and as the dying screams aroused no others, it was time to search the house for more.

Death was something that followed every Torchwood member as far back as they could think and Gwen was no different to any other.  She had said goodbye to too many people she cared about but when she entered the nursery beside the bed with the bloodstained sheet, it was the sight of the baby girl that rocked her the most.  Her thoughts ran to Anwen at home with her Mam and she doubted given the ferocity of the attacks on the victims that her Mary would be able to defend them both.  She heard the scuttling of tiny feet on the laminate flooring and armed and ready sprayed as soon as she spotted the eel like creature.  Yet the child in the cot was etched into Gwen’s memory forever!

Jack called up the stairs and heard nothing. He pounded up the stairs taking two at a time till he was on the landing.  At the bottom of the door that they’d pulled shut, was a gaping hole.  He gripped the spray can tighter.

   ‘MITCHELL?’  He said bellowing his name like a sergeant major. 

   ‘In here.’  The acoustic voice came from the bathroom.  Jack pumped the spray can and came armed and ready.  He found Mitchell sitting on the toilet seat, a bottle of shampoo in his hand.  As Mitchell pointed to the bath, he turned his gaze to the frothy hot steaming water and scalded dead eel like creatures floating on the surface.

   ‘They chewed through the door, I contemplated sitting on the wardrobe.’  He forced out.  ‘When you didn’t come, it was the only thing I could think of.’

     Jack’s gaze returned to Mitchell.  The young man’s jeans were soaked from the knee to the trainers.  A pool of blood from the ankle of his right foot gathered on the tiled floor. 

   ‘Mitchell, what happened here?’  He put down the spray can, grabbed a towel from the rack and crouching inspected the injury. 

   ‘I thought if I got in the bath, I’d be safe but...’

   ‘You weren’t?’ Jack applied pressure to the open wound and wrapped the towel tightly. 

   ‘I thought if I used the shampoo on them like that film it might hold them back.’  Mitchell saw Jack grin.  It had been another stupid idea.  ‘I should have known the UK would remove the one chemical that would have saved me.’  He sighed.  The shampoo bottle slid from his hands. 

   ‘Why didn’t you use your comms?’

   ‘I dropped it in the water.  I’m hopeless at this game.’

   ‘No you’re not.’  Jack looked at the young man, pale and sickly.  ‘You did a good job.  You ok?’

   ‘I just feel a little...’

   ‘Stomach knotting up, headache, nausea?’  Jack rattled off.

   ‘Yeah.’  Mitchell winced.

   ‘Let’s get you out of here.  It’s the creatures, they’re giving off a smell of their own and this close, cooking in a bath.  Come on.’  He helped Mitchell to his feet, taking a grip around his waist and with the spray canister walked out into the fresh air. 

   ‘That smells better, huh?’  Jack said, smiling at the fresh clean air.  The sun was making a visit pushing clouds out of the way, all was well with the world.  Kind of.  Jack led Mitchell to the 4 x 4 and grabbed the First Aid box tucked under the driver’s seat.  ‘When we get you back to the Hub we’ll fix this up properly, but it’ll do for now.’ 

     Mitchell watched the man work, and taking the bottle of water sitting in between the seats drank a good quart.

   ‘I guess you’re beginning to wish I’d not suggested you working for us now?’

   ‘I can’t say the job’s not exciting.’  Mitchell said watching Jack finish up.  ‘If this is what these pills do, how do we stop this? There are not enough of us to halt an epidemic.  How do we know where to look?’

   ‘We’ll handle it, we always do.’  Jack straightened up.  He closed the kit and proceeded to push it under the driver’s seat when something sunk its teeth into his wrist.  He felt the cold rush of pain instantly and cried out, withdrawing his hand immediately.  The eel like creature with a vice like grip clung on as Jack tried to pull it free.  It continued to bite down, gorging itself on his blood, muscle, tendons. 

     Mitchell, horrified leapt from the vehicle.  He grabbed the canister.  ‘MOVE YOUR HAND!’  He yelled.  As Jack obeyed, the creature was washed in acid.  It fell away almost instantly; globs of yellow/green blood tinged with Jack’s own fell to the ground.  

     Jack clamped his free hand over the wound; blood ran through his fingers till the wound began to heal.  He cast a glance over the boxes in the back seat, they were both empty.  ‘There’s one still in here.  Be careful.’

   ‘You need medical attention.’

   ‘I’ll be alright in a second.  Check under the seats but watch yourself.’  Jack said, pulling a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wrapping it around his wrist. 

Timothy Newcastle sat on his bed watching the arrival of the policemen and women through his bedroom window.  He knew why they were there; it didn’t take a genius to know that.  His Mum and Dad were screaming at each other again downstairs, they did that most mornings; today it was because the toaster tripped all the electricity around the house as Mum had put the fruit buns in to toast and the sultanas had tripped the elements.  She’d been told countless times to use the grill, but that was still full of meat fat that she hadn’t cleaned since last Thursday when they’d had chops.

     Dad worked in the city, he had a good job with a good firm, and he brought home good money.  On Saturday’s he took Timothy to the match and they’d buy pie and chips and shout for the home team from the stands, then they’d go and buy some fish for the aquarium in Timothy’s bedroom, or some fish weed, or another diver to replace the one Mum broke when she cleaned out the tank.   

     This morning his tank was full of blood and fish guts.  He woke up to the sounds in the early hours of thrashing in the tank and saw bits of his fish float to the surface, but what was even more interesting was the things in his tank that Timothy knew hadn’t been there last night, or the night before.  In fact, there was never a time when Timothy had even put eels with legs into his fish tank. 

     When he sat up they were basking on a rock under the 40w bulb that was attached to the lid that sat slightly askew on the top of the glass tank. Along the shelf above perched his array of toy soldiers and micro wheels assault course.  Yesterday afternoon he’d had a battle of cars versus people and of course the cars won.  Then the army had intervened and they had built blockades to stop the advancement of the army of cars on the carpet.  This morning, the blockade was also on the carpet and all the army soldiers lay on their sides and two were floating face down in the tank, their heads bobbing on an opposite corner. 

     Timothy saw a young policewoman walk up the path to the front door, he heard the doorbell ring and his mum and dad stopped shouting.  He heard the door open and voices low, then hysterical voices and snide accusations, then hushed voices.  He heard his mum come up the stairs, she’d been crying, her mascara from last night, from the nightclubbing with Carole, his babysitter, was streaked down her face like one of those crazy pop bands he’d seen his Mum singing to from the telly.

   ‘Get dressed sweetie we have to go.’

   ‘Go where?’  Timothy said curiously, collecting his spectacles from the bedside cabinet, beside his Ben 10 lamp.  He slipped them on.  He didn’t really need them, only for reading, but even then it was only to keep the peace.  His Mum said he looked like the kid from the film with the talking mouse.  His dad said he looked like the Milky Bar Kid, whoever that was.      

     Timothy watched his mum pull the suitcase down from the wardrobe and grab some clothes from the drawers, throwing them into the open case that sat at the end of his bed. 

   ‘Are we going on holiday Mum?’  Timothy mentally began thinking which toys he was going to take with him.

   ‘Not exactly.  But we have to hurry.  There’s a policewoman downstairs, we have to go with her.’

   ‘Have you and Daddy been fighting again, do I have to go back to Mrs Rafferty’s?’

   ‘No sweetie, hurry up and get dressed.’  His mum closed the last drawer and zipped up the case.  She wasn’t dressed herself, still in her thin dressing gown and slip on house shoes. 

     Timothy dressed in yesterday’s clothes.  His Maximillian Supershark League tshirt and hoodie, and his Velcro fastening shoes, he was ready to leave.  As the water lapped against the tank his interest was taken back to the eels that swam in the deep water.  He peered into the murky water from the safe side of the glass, his hands on the tank, and out of the murky water, teeth slammed against it. 

   ‘Cool.’ He beamed.

As Gwen stepped out into the fresh air she inhaled deeply.  There was something about other people’s houses, their familiar scents, the odours of last night’s cooking, the odd body in the bedroom.  There had been too many bodies of late.  Had they all been using diet pills? How far did this go? The baby in the cot still bothered her.  She caught sight of Andy beside his car – the last of the residents were leaving in the hired bus to a cheap hotel with hot and cold running water, and hopefully no alien creatures.  He strolled over keen as always to get the low down on what was occurring.

   ‘So...am I going to get at least some kind of idea what we’re up against, or am I just here as the hired help?’  He pouted.

   ‘Oh Andy.’  Gwen sighed.  ‘There are some things you just don’t want to know.’  Gwen set the acid sprayer down on the red brick wall beside the house and leaned against it. 

   ‘Trust me Gwen, there are many things I don’t want to know, but we’ve just cleared out a street full of residents because of a suspected infestation of rats, now I’m pretty certain the last time there was anything to do with vermin we called in Rentokil and WE didn’t lay on transport!’

   ‘Jack has a couple of live specimens in the back of the SUV, when we’re done here, if you really want to see them...’

   ‘Alright, but you could just tell me, I can draw a pretty good mental image in my head.’

     Gwen raised a brow.  ‘The last time I told you about an alien, you imagined something that didn’t even exist in any kind of context.’  She said.

   ‘Ahh but fair play, the only idea of aliens I had back then was Men in Black and Independence Day, hardly enough to draw any kind of image.  So what are we looking for this time? And acid, Gwen, really? I mean these people have to return to their homes, not going to look smart with holes in their furniture and flooring is it.’

   ‘Given what we’ve just had to eliminate.’  She paused.  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any water in that patrol car do you? Or a flask of tea?’ 

     Andy sighed.  ‘Close off a street, remove the residents and now you want me to bring you drinks.  And I still don’t get to be a part of your little outfit?’  Sighing again he pulled the flask from the middle of the seats and poured out two teas, one for himself from the smaller inner cup.  ‘So what are they then?’  He held the cup aloft.

    

Goodson stepped out of the backdoor into the garden of Mrs Pettigrew, a widow in her seventies.  There was a basket of washing sitting by a clothes prop, a basket of pegs on a coat hanger on the line and three blue and white linen tea towels hung low, damp and dejected in the centre. Maureen always started in the middle, she couldn’t reach the sides on account of her height - 4’3’.  Norman was the tall one, he was the middle brother of three, and the love of her life.  When she worked at the farm shop, on the Heath Court Road, years before they retired to Cardiff, Norman stayed at home to work.  He was a writer, hadn’t really made much of his life, not many people seemed interested in the art of woodwork, crafting and whittling and making all kinds of sculptures and well, to be honest, it wasn’t his woodwork or his books on the art that she’d fallen in love with.  It was Norman, every ounce of him, his smile, his soft blue eyes, his funny jokes and the fact that he loved her as much as she loved him.  They’d moved because of his health and the sea air seemed to help.  She wasn’t at home when he’d died, face down in the petunias, something of a habit, he’d done the same on the night of their wedding, absolutely plastered. 

     Goodson unzipped the overalls and removed them half way, he was hot, he stank and not of his own, but the smell of death and those creatures.  He wished he’d never given up smoking, he could do with a cigarette right now, to neutralise the smell up his nostrils.  He paced the garden, he was angry.  Angry that he was dealing with something he had no idea of how to handle.  Creatures that served no right to exist, creatures that fed on human flesh, bit into your skin and wouldn’t let go for love nor money.  He glanced down at his leg.  Pushing a hand down inside of his overall he felt over the bite, the dimples of skin had formed a mild scab till he knocked it.  He brought his hand up to inspect.  He was bleeding again!

Mitchell had stripped every last piece of carpet and seat and searched under every conceivable place using the metal arm of the acid sprayer without any luck.  The creature was most definitely NOT in the vehicle.  But given that the doors were shut, there was physically no way out for it either.  He began to load the vehicle and packed the overalls and the spray canisters in the boot. 

   ‘Let’s look at your hand now.’  Mitchell called over reaching for the First Aid Kit that now sat on the back seat.

   ‘It’s alright.’ Jack replied, removing the bloodstained handkerchief from his wrist.

   ‘It bit through your skin, I saw it Jack.  Let me see.’  Mitchell implored.

   ‘I’m serious Mitch, it’s alright, I...fixed it up while you were busy searching.’  He wiggled his fingers, twisted his wrists, smiled.  ‘I’m fine, let’s go find the others.’

   ‘Every single house Jack, up and down that road, I mean 26 houses where at each one they had a body, a death, whether it was human or animal, it was a death.  And that baby, Jack...’  Gwen looked away and exhaled shakily. 

   ‘Hey...’  Jack said holding her close, inhaling her light perfume.  ‘We’ll stop this.’

   ‘How?’  She let herself be held, be comforted, to be close to Jack, it felt warm and heartfelt and while he spoke and while she could hear his heart beat against her ear, she knew that he meant what he said, but still that gnawing irritation grew in her head.  How could they stop this?

   ‘We’ll go back to the Hub, Marley should have some results for us, and we need to find and stop this from spreading, otherwise we’ll have to call those grunts in from UNIT and believe me, I’d much rather they stayed the hell out of our business.’

It had taken Marley a considerable amount of patience not to want to put a serious dent in Barry Wingate’s face.  He snivelled and sobbed as he confessed, blamed everybody for his short comings, for his failings as a businessman, back to the wall, desperate for a break, a niche.

   ‘It was a godsend,’ he said, sniffing for the umpteenth time.  ‘They came in a large container, off the back of a ship, no questions asked, they were as they said, ingredients for slimming pills.’

   ‘Who sold them to you?’

   ‘I’d never seen them before, Darren used to deal with them.’

   ‘And where’s Darren?’  Marley had enquired, now seated at the desk in the office belonging to Wingate.

    ‘What you have to understand...’ he said.

   ‘No, what you have to understand, Barry, is that there are some serious side effects to your pills and several people are dead because of them.  Now where did you get them from, who sold them to you?’  She pressed. 

     Barry rifled through his untidy desk full of coffee cups and candy wrappers.  He then rifled through the filing cabinet that had its own kind of filing system, disorganised.  He pulled out a cardboard folder with a red X in the middle; it had been one of those files that was meant to have been destroyed.  He knew this, but he chose to ignore it.  Darren hadn’t disappeared on a whim.  He’d seen first-hand what these pills could do, and he knew that despite the spiel the two men had given him, that he’d fallen for, and invested heavily in, there was nothing in this world that was going to bring his wife back.  Whatever those pills were, he wanted nothing more to do with them.

Mitchell was quiet on the way back, even more so when road works put paid to Jack’s short cuts.  They took a road that led out towards the by-pass and along a row of take away vendors and pulled in.  Mitchell was surprisingly hungry, despite all that had happened and despite the feeling of nausea that was creeping up his body.  He realised he’d not eaten since sometime last night.  He carried back the burgers and handed one over, biting into his own and allowing the meat juices to run down his chin. 

   ‘Oh, this is good.’  He said between mouthfuls.  Jack wiped the meat juices from Mitchell’s chin with his own finger and sucked on it. . 

   ‘Not bad.  I’ll lick the rest off later.’  He teased. 

     Jack pulled away from the lay-by and with one hand steered onto the main road, while his other hand unwrapped the burger on his lap.  It did smell good. 

     Mitchell was engrossed in his own food.  He’d not tasted this good a meal since he’d left London and celebrated by putting on the radio and altering the channels to something upbeat and modern and turned it up.  Jack winced.

   ‘Turn it down, too loud.’  Jack yelled over the noise and reached across turning the music down a notch.  He reached back for his burger and felt something cold against his food.  Taking his eyes off the road for a beat he saw to his horror the alien creature on his lap. 

   ‘What the hell?’  It hissed at him before it sank its teeth into the back of his hand and clamped down hard.  He yelled swaying the car dangerously across both lanes of the bypass. 

     Mitchell stared in horror, dropping his own burger in fright.

   ‘TAKE THE WHEEL!’  Jack bellowed.  ‘I need to get this off me.’

     Instinctively, Mitchell grabbed the wheel, and tried, awkwardly to steer the vehicle through the traffic.

     They were gunning at sixty along the road heading into busy traffic and a roundabout was coming up, as much as they could stop and deal, Mitchell knew that was only half the battle.  Jack pushed the seat back a touch but his foot remained on the gas pedal easing up slightly.  Through gritted teeth he managed to prise its sharp teeth from his hand, it wriggled like an eel in his other.  Blood poured from the open wound, pulsing where the vein had been severed.  He had to get this creature into the box.  He tried to reach into the back seat but the creature slipped from his grip and landed on his lap again.

     He cried out again as it’s piranha teeth sank into his groin.  His foot hit the accelerator and pushed the 4 x 4 closer to 80 miles an hour.  Mitchell could see a bank of cars up ahead of them. They had to find an exit and they had to get off this road. 

   ‘GET YOUR FOOT OFF THE GAS!’  He screamed steering against all odds to weave in and out of the traffic build up, while completely aware that the creature could attempt an attack on his own body. 

     Jack couldn’t grip with his left hand, the creature had bitten through the tendons that operated the last three fingers and any movement was painful.  He was trapped in the seat. 

   ‘AAARGHHH!’  Jack cried out. He grimaced as he tried again and again to stop the creature’s frenzied attack.  It may only have been small but so were piranhas.  He tried again to reach for the box then took evasive action and reached for the Glock 17 in his shoulder holster.

   ‘Are you serious? You’re going to shoot the fucker, what if you miss?’

   ‘Then I’ll sing soprano!  Keep your eyes on the road.’  Jack growled, slamming the butt of the gun against the head of the creature.  It only meant the creature sunk its teeth in deeper. 

     As Jack lined up the creature and his crotch, Mitchell saw the exit and took it, swinging the car into a sharp left hand turn hauling the vehicle around, slamming Jack hard against the driver’s door.  Jack dropped the gun in the foot well. 

     Mitchell heard screaming tyres behind and a volley of car horns.  He felt the vehicle tilt on two wheels as it tore towards the junction and flew over the brow of the hill, landing heavily, like a cart horse taking a five bar fence at a push.

     Then he lost control.  Jack scrabbled for the gun as the creature continued to bite down.  Still wedged in the seat he could do little to help Mitchell.  The erratic steering saw the ditch loom up ahead of them, then the other side, a steeper incline, a drop of twelve feet.  Farmland on one side with young lambs gambolling in a field, and on the other side, a wide expanse of water and stones, before the rainy season and the floods.

Seth Williams was late moving the sheep, he’d been in the market all day, then at the Ship Inn for a swift half, now back, he had the trailer to unload, twelve sheep to put in the pasture, just a small walk along the quiet road, where these days barely a vehicle travelled. 

     Jack’s foot was still hard against the accelerator, the vehicle was gunning at 90mph and this was a narrow lane with limited passing points.

   ‘GET YOUR FOOT OFF THE FUCKING PEDAL!’  Mitchell screamed again above the latest hit by Lady Gaga. He couldn’t turn off the radio, he needed both hands to negotiate with, and this was probably not the right time to tell Jack that aside from arcade games he hadn’t actually driven a real car, and not one with excessive speeds and no brake.

     There was a sharp 45-degree bend in the road and Mitchell struggled to keep the vehicle on the tarmac. 

     Jack could be heard grimacing and screaming as the creature bit deeper and deeper into his body, feasting on the hot flesh and blood that jetted into its mouth, and down its throat. 

     Mitchell took the bend but had no time to think.  Ahead of him was an old grey bearded man with 12 sheep running down the middle of the road. He apologised on repeat as a flurry of white wool bounced off the front bumper and clattered into another, as the 4x4 thundered along the single-track lane. Seth Williams could only look on in horror as his investment dwindled. 

     Sheep were unpredictable at the best of times, and there was no way Mitchell could avoid them all. He swerved and lost control, he couldn’t right the vehicle, he tried but the verge broke away under the back wheel and pulled the 4x4 down the steep incline.  All he could do was hold on as the vehicle rolled and bounced and clattered and splashed and lay on its side, the engine still screaming, the wheels still turning, and smoke and steam belching from somewhere underneath.

    

Seth got to his feet and stared at the carnage.  Out of the twelve sheep he had seven remaining, the others were beyond hope.  He swore at the vehicle lying on its side on the riverbed, close to the water’s edge.  He didn’t care about the hoodlums who had ploughed through his flock, even when a flame ignited in the back of the vehicle.  Only when the flames engulfed the vehicle and the petrol tank exploded did he think to call the police.

More next month!