Doctor Who_ Toy Soldiers Part 13

'It's not true,' protested Amalie. 'They said they were Bolsheviks, too, and it's not true. It's Dale! It's the soldier, I tell you!'

Mich.e.l.le simply ignored the last remark, exclaimed, 'Bolsheviks, here in Larochepot! You're not safe anywhere!'

She pulled the shutters closed and pushed down the bolts.

'I'd better go down and sit with Henri and Marie. You stay here with Amalie, Nadienne.' She was trying to sound firm and controlled, but Amalie could hear an edge of hysteria in her sister-in-law's voice. Why did they all believe it, she thought, when the Americans had shown them nothing but kindness and courtesy?

'There is some stew on the stove, keeping warm,' said Nadienne suddenly. 'If anybody is hungry.' She patted her own belly.

Mich.e.l.le glanced at her, the ghost of a smile easing the tension lines on her face. ' Eh bien Eh bien, you go and eat, then. I will stay with Amalie.'

'I'll be all right alone,' said Amalie. 'I'm tired; I'll have a little sleep.'

Nadienne and Mich.e.l.le glanced at each other. Mich.e.l.le shrugged and sat down in a chair by the bed. Nadienne left.

Amalie lay back on the bed and shut her eyes, though she knew she wouldn't really sleep. She heard the sound of men's voices muttering outside, of footsteps on the path, the click of Sergeant Dale's army boots. His voice, with its English accent, said quietly, 'Follow me. They're not far away.'

Amalie s.h.i.+vered.

From behind the partial cover of the flowerbeds, Chris watched the three men make their way along the drive. In the dim light from the doorway he recognized Jean-Pierre, rifle slung over his shoulder, walking just behind the English sergeant. The manservant, Georges, took up the rear, carrying a shotgun. The three pa.s.sed alarmingly close as they neared the gate: if it had been fully light, Chris knew that he and Roz would have been spotted at once. As it was, in the darkness, the men pa.s.sed by without seeing them.

At the gate the sergeant stopped, said something in a low voice. Chris risked raising his head a little, saw a glint of green light.

Now where had he seen - ?

He looked sidelong at Roz, saw the dim green glow in the eyes of the toy bear she was still holding. At the same moment he heard a whispered order, a clatter of metal.

The bear, he thought. The soldier has a tracking device.

He got a reading from the doorway, he got a reading from the gate. Now he knows where we are.

Footsteps began tramping on stone, on soil, coming closer fast.

Chris grabbed the bear from Roz. She let it go, but stared at him, her lips silently framing a question. Chris touched her on the shoulder and then ran, crouching to keep behind the cover of the flowers.

'Get some lights!' shouted someone. 'They're making a run for it!'

'Blasted bols.h.i.+es! Let me at 'em! I'll give 'em what for!'

Chris reached the corner of the flowerbed, saw the open kitchen door in front of him. He looked in, saw Nadienne standing over the stove, her face lit red in the light spilling from the fire box of the stove. She stared at him, big-eyed, then screamed.

'It's him! It's Cwej!'

'Nadienne -' Chris began, but she was stumbling out of the kitchen, still shrieking. He hurled the bear inside, ran on around the kitchen block, past the bottom of the outside staircase, to the darkened rear of the house where he had proper cover. There was enough light to see the grey shape of a small lawn, beyond which was the dark shadow of Nadienne's vineyard. There was a gate at the bottom of the vineyard, and a path leading to the woods; he and Roz had agreed to use this as a line of retreat in the event of an emergency.

He started across the lawn, heard the clatter of shutters flying open. Light flooded out, and a woman shouted, 'Stop it!

Stop it!' Another woman was shouting something else, which ended in - fool, Amalie!'

Chris looked up, saw Amalie leaning out of the window, at the same time caught a movement in the corner of his eye.

Roz. She must have gone the other way around the house, Chris realized.

Amalie seemed to see her at the same time, shouted, 'Rosalind! Rosalind! I want to help you!'

'If you want to help me - ' Roz was running across the lawn now, heading for the cover of the vines. A shot rang out.

- then turn that light out!'

Another shot. Roz jumped as if stung, but carried on running. A man came into view around the corner of the house, heavily built, bearing a shotgun: the servant.

He pointed the shotgun directly at Chris. Uselessly, Chris ducked.

'No, Georges!' Amalie's voice.

Georges hesitated. Chris ran. There was another revolver shot, and the louder crack of a rifle. Roz was gone, invisible amongst the vines. Chris too plunged under cover, just as the shutters slammed, plunging the garden into darkness.

'Open them again!' shouted Jean-Pierre. 'Open them again, woman! We need to see!'

There was m.u.f.fled shouting from inside the house, a woman's scream, 'No!' A door slammed.

Chris crawled across the dry soil beneath the vines, trying to make as little sound as possible. He wondered if Roz had been hit, and if so how badly.

And what was he going to do about it if she was seriously hurt?

'They're in the vineyard -' Georges's voice. A clatter of shutters. Light.

Light! Chris rolled to his feet, ran, crouching down to avoid the yellow-green leaves of the vines and the dark bunches of grapes. Long, blurred shadows stretched out under his feet on the rough soil.

'Kill him!' The Englishman's voice.

'No!' Amalie again. She sounded closer now: Chris realized that she must have come down the outside steps to the garden. 'Stop this!' she shouted. 'They are my friends!'

The light dimmed, then shut off abruptly.

'Are you mad?' Chris recognized Henri's voice. 'Amalie, are you mad? Why have you put out the lamp?'

'Georges! Relight the lamp!'

Chris had almost reached the gate. I should check to see if Roz's OK, he thought. Make sure that she made it out of the vineyard.

'Roz!' he whispered, as loud as he dared. 'Roz!' He heard footsteps running on the gravel path that led between the vines to the gate; the tread was far too heavy to be Roz's.

Chris dived forward towards the sound, arms extended to trip. At the last instant the running figure seemed to realize what was about to happen and jumped.

Too late. The impact jarred Chris's arm, but the man went over. Chris heard him roll, rolled his own body to one side to avoid - A revolver cracked, a bullet whined through the air somewhere near Chris's head. At the same time a lamp flared in the direction of the house: Chris saw a running figure silhouetted against the light. With a shock he recognized Amalie.

'No!' she shouted. 'You will not kill him!'

'It's OK -' began Chris; but Amalie plunged on, dived headlong into Dale. The revolver went off again, the sound curiously m.u.f.fled. Dale picked himself up, leaving Amalie face-down on the ground: with a start of horror, Chris saw blood on the sergeant's uniform.

'Amalie!' Henri's voice. 'You have shot Amalie!'

Chris started to get up, then saw a figure standing at the top of the path, silhouetted against the light from the house, aiming a shotgun. He froze, half sitting, half standing, one hand against the ground.

Then he realized that the gun was not aimed at him, but at Dale.

The sergeant stared at Henri, frowned. 'She was a.s.sisting the enemy,' he said, his voice Balm and reasonable. 'She was on the side of the Bolsheviks. She was the enemy.'

'You have shot Amalie!' repeated Henri.

Jean-Pierre was pounding down the path ahead of Henri, shouting incoherently, almost screaming, waving the long barrel of the rifle in front of him. The sergeant's eyes flicked from Jean-Pierre to Henri to Chris. He touched something on his wrist.

Multicoloured light flared around him, and he vanished.

There was a single shot, far too late. Chris saw the splutter of dirt as the bullet hit the ground less than a metre from his feet.

He saw movement from below him, by the gate; turned and saw Roz, leaning against the wall, her free hand clamped against her leg. He realized that she must have been there all along, watching. Now she started to limp forward, her face pinched with pain.

'Don't try to move her,' she said. 'Let me take a look.'

But Jean-Pierre was already trying to turn Amalie over on to her back. Henri was hurrying down the path to join them.

Chris stood up.

'Don't move! Neither of you move!' Jean-Pierre's voice.

He had stood up, leaving Amalie on her front with her head twisted sideways. He was aiming his rifle at Roz.

Henri crouched down over his sister, began slowly shaking his head.

'Jean-Pierre,' said Roz. 'Chris's got a medikit. We might be able to help Amalie.'

Chris remembered the medikit, stowed in the inside pocket of his twentieth-century suit. It was a tiny field model, with a hyperadrenalin spray, some plastaforms and a couple of programmable viruses. Whether that would be any help depended on the nature of Amalie's injury.

'Let them help her.' A woman's voice, older, speaking from near the house: Mich.e.l.le, Chris decided.

'It doesn't matter.' Henri. 'She's not breathing. She's dead.'

Roz staggered forward past Chris, still holding her leg.

Her hand and the top part of her trouser leg were soaked with blood, and she was breathing in short, tight gasps. Jean-Pierre tracked her with the gun. Roz scowled at him. 'Put that sodding thing away.' She turned to Chris. 'Chris, give me a hand here.'

Chris cautiously walked up to Roz and Amalie. The Frenchwoman lay quite still. Her brother stood over her. The manservant stood beside him holding the lamp.

Nearer the house, Mich.e.l.le and Nadienne stood with their arms around each other. Nadienne's free hand was against her mouth and she was shaking her head in slow horror.

Roz crouched over Amalie, and Chris saw for the first time the blood pooled beside the woman's body, soaking into the dry soil. Roz put a hand to Amalie's neck, reached up with the other. 'HA spray,' she said, her voice tight with pain.

Chris got the medikit out of his pocket, moving slowly, conscious of Jean-Pierre's rifle which was still pointing in his direction. He opened it, pulled out the spray and handed it to Roz. The little unit's CAT scanner had automatically powered up: Chris held it over Amalie's head. Red lights blinked, and a small machine voice said, 'Zero blood pressure: critical anoxia, cerebral cortex dysfunction imminent.'

Chris glanced at Roz, heard the hiss of the HA spray.

Amalie's body jolted and fresh blood ran out across the ground.

's.h.i.+t,' muttered Roz. 's.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t. This isn't going to work.'

'What are you doing?' Jean-Pierre's voice. 'What are those lights? If she is alive we should take her to the doctor in Septangy.'

Chris lowered the scanner to the region of Amalie's chest. An image of her heart and lungs appeared, floating in the s.p.a.ce above the medikit. Chris didn't need the blinking red schematics to see the tear in the left ventricle. Under the influence of the adrenalin released by the tiny self-propelled capsules in the spray, the heart was trying to beat, but the ragged edge of the wound quivered uselessly. Bright red arrow schematics showed the rapid blood loss. The machine's small voice chattered on about arterial damage.

'We've got some blood pressure,' said Roz. She took the medikit from Chris, glanced at the display and swore again.

'Get her breathing, Chris.'

Chris put the medikit down, pushed Amalie on to her back. n.o.body tried to help him. He sucked in a breath and began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, aware that it was probably useless. Amalie's lips were already cold. Unless her heart was replaced there was no way she was going to live more than a few minutes.

He breathed into her, felt her chest rise. Lifted his head and watched as the weight of the chest wall expelled the air.

He heard Jean-Pierre's voice: 'Stop that! You are making it worse.'

And Roz: 'We need a replacement heart, quick. Where's the nearest organ bank?'

Chris breathed into Amalie, again, felt her chest rise again.

'What are you talking about? Is she alive or dead?' That was Nadienne, close by. Georges was shouting something in the distance, and Jean-Pierre was talking quickly. The medikit started a long, continuous whine. Its mechanical voice was saying something, but over the noise of the others talking Chris couldn't hear what it was.

He raised his head, sucked in another breath, breathed into her. He put a hand on her chest as it fell: blood flowed over it. Desperately, he pushed his lips against Amalie's once more.

Roz shouted, 'Where's the sodding organ bank? We need to get her a replacement heart, for G.o.ddess's sake - '

'You can't replace someone's heart!' Nadienne again.

'You must be mad! Look, I worked with injured soldiers in the war, let me - '

'It's no use.' Henri's voice. 'She's dead.'