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ans99Characters: The Master, Sam Tyler, the Doctor's horse (o.0), anyone else? PING if your character is interested in joining up
Rating: R? Zombies? Eh?
Date: Present, a little after this
Location: The Doctor's Cottage (for starters, but who knows where the not-so-gentle night takes us?)
He'd stumbled through the woods all night, as best he could. When he'd been forced to take periodic rests, either because the way was blocked or (as was more typical) he had simply run out of steam, he would find a clearing, devoid of structure, and sit down in the middle of it. Outside was better-- calmer-- and he'd given up trying to make sense of it. Seismic activity in Wonderland didn't have to make sense; none of the rest of it ever did.
While he sat, he would poke at the Network a bit on the Doctor's PDA to apprise himself of any useful information (there was precious little, besides the laughable plan of meeting up at the seashore. He had to chuckle at that, imagining a group of people so inept at survival that they would cut themselves off from escape on one entire side). And, of course, to read all of the Doctor's private messages.
The Master had gotten to a particularly bad jumble of uprooted trees that completely blocked his path, and was debating just scrambling over or retracing his steps to route around, when he heard a soft nicker out in the dark, to his left.
He really, really, hoped that was only a horse.
As if in answer, the horse stamped its feet and whinnied. It was not quite calm; the constant groaning coming from the North, and the smell of burning and death in the air, saw to that. But it wasn't quite panicked either. It almost seemed to be waiting for something. Someone.
He moved in the direction of the sound, cautiously. Six trees were standing in a perfect line, illuminated by a patch of moonlight, and beyond that, the dim outline of what looked like a cottage. A black horselike shape paced restlessly nearby, corralled by a white picket fence that looked completely out of place.
Six trees...
He pulled out the Network device and scrolled through, trying to find where he'd read that before.
"How To Get to Snowflake's Cottage." He looked up, grinning at his luck, then frowned slightly. "Your name is Snowflake?"
The Master walked past the horse, sparing it another glance, and entered the cottage. There wasn't anything specific that made this the Doctor's, but it was obvious anyway. It appeared the lights weren't working, but in the moonlight he could make out the shapes of living room furniture. He moved further in and inadvertently collided with something. A shelf, or counter. Kitchen counter maybe. He let his eyes slide over the contents, then froze, ice sliding into the pit of his stomach.
His suit jacket and tie were folded neatly, resting on the counter. Yes, then. Definitely the Doctor's cottage. Which meant it was now his. He smiled bitterly and kicked a chair, sending it crashing into the adjacent wall, before searching for the bedroom. Before he made it down to Diagon Alley-- rode down, actually, because the damned beast might as well make itself useful-- he'd need a change of clothes. He smelled awful.
He'd just found the only clothing available-- a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, hopefully close enough to his size-- when the Network screamed again in jubilant, crazed laughter, and he crashed to his knees, holding his head, silently begging it to stop, just STOP. Under his knees he felt the tremors slide to a groaning halt. And then, silence.
Not, he was absolutely certain, the peaceful kind.
Something had told Sam to stay away from the shore. He didn't think about it for very long, but the idea of everyone gathered in one place, bounded on one side by the sea seemed like a very bad idea. Easy targets for whatever the hell was about to happen.
His eyes watered and his throat burned. Whether it was a result of the smelling salts, or choking back the swell of nausea growing in the back of his throat every time he tried to take a fresh breath, he tried to ignore it and keep occupied. It was too dangerous to slow down for very long, with the random objects falling from the sky. So, he kept moving. There was no direction, no plan, just forward movement. He told himself it would make sense, he'd arrive somewhere, it would stop if he could just wait it out.
Deeper into the woods, a recognizable line of trees began to break through his field of vision. The familiarity of the spot encouraged him, and he moved quickly -- breaking into a run toward the Doctor's cottage. He didn't expect him to be there, but maybe he could at least wait here. Hide here until it was over.
He moved gingerly up the steps to the door, and as his hand found the edge of the open door the ground gave its final shudder. Almost instantly, the air was thicker than before with the sudden silence. It was obvious this quake wasn't a death rattle, it was a final call to something else.
He stepped inside quickly. The abrupt echo of his boots on the hardwood floor jolted him back to his senses. He pushed the door shut behind himself, trying to convince himself he was safe now.
The Master, hurriedly dressing, froze again when he heard the footsteps. And then the door slamming. For a crazy moment he was sure it was the Doctor; he hadn't checked him over carefully enough, he'd had something to pick the lock, there was another key, the quakes had demolished the gate--
But then he had a closer listen, recognized the simple brain patterns of a hominid. Fear. Plenty of fear. He finished with the jeans, which were a little long on him but otherwise not too constrictive (the t-shirt, on the other hand, was almost embarrassingly tight) and approached the bedroom doorway, just making out a human form in the darkness.
Sam was moving away from the door when he realized something was off -- he wasn't alone.
Sam's eyes darted quickly around as the rest of his body froze. They found the Master's shape in the doorway and rested there, straining to make out the shape as more than a splash of darker color.
His voice was harsh and dry, and was followed by a quick cough. "Doctor?"
He leaned against the doorway, relaxing. Just Sam. He found himself the tiniest bit grateful for the familiarity. "Out, I'm afraid." The Master spoke softly, dangerously. "What are you doing here, Sam?" He stepped closer.
Sam sighed audibly, relieved to hear the Master's voice. If he thought about it, he wouldn't have been sure why he was relieved, but there was no mistaking the feeling. He moved toward the familiar man, more relaxed. "Master..." he couldn't help but smile awkwardly, thankful for the darkness. His head shook as he spoke. "I don't know, I just...I just came. What's going on? There's something going on out there -- Where is the Doctor?" His last question was sharp, purposeful.
The Master forced himself to smile. "Who cares?" He dismissed the question quickly, focused on responding to the more urgent bits. "I was just on my way out; I would suggest you do the same. It's not safe staying in one place." He searched around for Snowflake's tack, and some sort of bag to carry his things; there was no possibility of him even daring to stick a sonic screwdriver in the pocket of these jeans.
Sam shook his head. "No, I think we should stay. There's something out there--" Sam cut himself off, it was obvious he knew something, but didn't want to say any more. Instead, he latched his hand onto the Master's arm and changed the subject. "Where is he, Master? Is he alive?"
He pulled Sam's hand off with a yank, released it with deliberate disgust as if he were removing a leech. "You still can't work out the whole 'not touching me' thing, can you," he hissed, turning back to his search. "And we can't stay here," he called over his shoulder. "If something's out there, it can get in here just as easily. Have you noticed someone's broken the door down?" He mentioned this casually.
Sam's face twisted in confusion, as he realized his hand didn't meet a suit jacket, or even a dress shirt but the Master's bare arm. "What are you wearing?" Sam's eyes narrowed, trying to make out details in the darkness. He started to answer the Master's question when he was suddenly struck by the familiarity of the clothing he was wearing.
"Wait-- That's--" Something dark swam through Sam's stomach. He spoke in almost a whisper. "Did you kill him?"
There was a pause as the Master stared at the wall, his back to Sam. Then he doubled over laughing.
Sam's face quickly fell blank. He stared at the Master dumbly. "What?" Sam glanced over his shoulder quickly. "What's so funny?"
He turned halfway toward Sam, still awash in cold mirth. "No no no, just... say it again, I love the way you say it all... whispering... and. 'Did you kill him?'" The Master mimicked Sam in a low, mock-horrified voice, then burst out laughing again. It was easier to laugh this off. Deny it. He didn't want to think of him down there, not now.
"Yeah, so why don't you answer the question now?" Sam's face was stone, and his tone left little room to ignore the question. He folded his arms over his chest as he easily closed the gap between the Master and himself. Apparently, Sam didn't take well to being laughed at.
The Master smiled thinly. "Don't worry. He's safe." He turned to head for the kitchen. It would be in keeping with the Doctor's disorganizational skills to store the tack in the oven, or something.
Sam nodded, not wanting to press the issue. He followed the Master closely as he turned into the kitchen. "Then we need to make sure we are, too." There was a quick pause. "Safe, I mean..." His voice trailed off with a sigh.
Sam leaned against the wall once he entered the kitchen, his forehead wrinkled slightly in thought. "It's safer in here, I think, Master."
Snowflake stood squared, ears pricked high at attention. His temporary pasture, (that wasn't really a pasture -- more of a city garden, except half the size) didn't allow him much room, but it did offer him a clear view through the living room window.
His muscles were tensed, the air was tense, and the people things were too far away from him to offer very much security. He closed his mouth, nodding, and exhaled through his nose a strong bleating snort. Is this dangerous? The horse stared intensely at the window, waiting for an answer.
The Master made a dismissive chuffing noise, pulling open what looked like a pantry cupboard. There was no food inside, but there was a saddle, the rest of the tack folded neatly beside it. He rolled his eyes and lugged everything out onto the counter, triumphantly. He heard the horse snort, as if in reply, and glanced out the living room window, a little surprised to find it staring back at him.
Sam glanced toward the window. He wasn't very good with animals for the most part, but it was obvious Snowflake wanted something. He gave an uncomfortable wave back at the horse behind the glass.
Sam slowly turned his gaze back to the Master. His face fell in a small frown when he noted the saddle. "You're really going to leave? Do you even know what's out there?" With his last statement, he raised his head importantly, hoping the Master would ask for the answer.
Something dull snapped through the air. The last moan of a branch finally giving in, or it didn't matter because it was dangerous and Snowflake needed to run. One thousand pounds of horse in too small an area.
He bolted once to the edge of the white picket fence, then frozen there in the absolute terror of nowhere to go, began backing up towards the house. It wants to eat me. It wants to eat me. It wants to eat me.
On the other edge of nowhere to go, he brushed his tail against the window, and oh it's behind me now, so he extended his back legs, kicking at the air, kicking again and making contact with the window -- shattering through the glass.
The Master blinked, turned his attention back to Sam, about to tell him it didn't matter what it was, it certainly wasn't going to be something that would find itself stymied by a broken door, and that quite honestly, he had no intentions of holing up to die today-- when he heard the horse getting restless again. He turned back to the window. "What--" he managed to get out, before two hooves crashed through, sending shards of glass flying across the living room.
Sam stumbled back quickly, and met the wall hard. His hands were thrown up over his face, trying to protect himself from the flying glass. The leather of his car jacket shielded him from most of the glass. A few small scrapes bled sparingly from the back of his hands as he lowered them.
Sam moved quickly toward the Master, and in moment his hands were on the other man. "Christ, what the hell was that!-- Are you alright?!" He looked over the Master quickly, invasively checking for any cuts.
Something small and quick zigzagged a pattern under Snowflake's hooves. Reaching the window and clawing at it desperately in tiny leaps before dropping itself on the other side, spilling across the wood floors; it's silver frosted fur matted with what appeared to be blood. A refugee from the fox shop, staring crazy circles around the room.
The Master had dropped behind the counter with a sort of premonitory reaction time not granted to humans, raising his arms to cover his head as he did so. Now he swatted Sam's hands away, freezing as he heard a small thud, followed by frenzied shallow panting. He looked at Sam, then searched with his eyes around the barren kitchen for a weapon.
Sam kept his eyes on the Master for a moment, but his gaze was distant. He tried to listen as the small creature moved along the wooden floor - a distinct click click click of its nails. He had no idea what the hell it was, but its size was obvious. It was manageable.
Sam grabbed at the Master's wrist, trying to get his attention without alerting the creature. Without making sure the Master was looking at him, he gestured quickly toward a rack of hanging cookery. He mouthed toward the Master. We can hit it.
He could feel the rage and madness baking off it, like a fever. A contagious fever. Definitely nothing friendly. The Master had begun calculating the chances of finding a sizable knife in this kitchen and actually procuring it before being spotted and pounced on when he felt Sam's frantic grasp on his arm. He stared at him, then followed his gaze up to the pots and pans hanging on the wall adjacent to them. He nodded, once.
The fox darted its eyes back and forth, frothy liquid rolling off its gaping tongue. It scrambled towards them both, latching its nails onto the floor and turning wildly around the island counter. It moved with a quick gasping huff, fresh red pawprints trailing behind.
Sam could hear the small monster moving toward them. It already knew where they were, there was no point in hiding. "Get it! Get the fucking pan! Hit it!!" When Sam opened his mouth, his voice was rushed and panicked-- shrill. His hands found the Master's back, and he shoved him toward the pot rack, urging the time lord into motion.
The Master rolled his eyes at Sam's shrieking and pushing. He'd might as well have paired up with a girl. He was already on his feet, however, the drums pounding through his blood, covering the short distance to the pot rack with a small leap, detaching a cast iron frying pan, turning and swinging around in one fluid movement. The edge of the pan glanced off the fox's head and it skidded a short distance, stunned. He grinned wildly and swung again, connecting solidly this time with a satisfying clunk.
Sam rose to his feet slowly, with his eyes fixed on the little limp body. "Is it dead?" He moved easily and unafraid away from the counter now, toward the Master and the body. With his hands on his hips, he nodded an answer to his own question. "Good job. But what the fuck is wrong with it?" He narrowed his eyes at the small creature.
The Master stood over the small furry atrocity, breathing hard and clutching the handle of the frying pan, white-knuckled. He stared down at the body for a while, trying to bring himself back down, then stepped over it and strode toward the bedroom as if Sam had not spoken at all. By now his eyes had adjusted completely to the dim light in the cottage, but his body moved by instinct, sliding around the few shadowy pieces of furniture in the living room like a snake.
Sam nudged the small body with his foot, his lip raised slightly in disgust. He raised his head to speak to the Master again, but the man was already slinking back to the bedroom away from Sam. It took Sam a moment, but he followed to the other room and stopped outside the door.
"What are you going to do? Where are you going to go?" Sam's tone was pessimistic-- trying to talk the Master out of some horrible decision. "Those things could be everywhere. I think they are. And I think most of them are a lot bigger than that."
He was busying himself with collecting the Doctor's things from his pants pockets, emptying a pillowcase and throwing them in, tying it closed. He'd tossed the frying pan carelessly on the bed. "You're welcome to stay here whinging while the next one rips your throat out." The Master pushed past Sam, intending to search the cottage for a more suitable weapon than a cooking implement. He stopped short as he heard a low growl emanating from the darkness of the living room.
The fox twisted, folding it's body back together again in some grotesque idea of what a fox should look like. It cried out in a darkened corner somewhere; a dry hacking sound parting way to a melancholy wail that increased in pitch with every hair-raising yip.
Sam moved with the Master, and stopped at the same time he did. The growl affirmed the Master's idea of leaving, and Sam nodded silently at that realization. He wanted to wait and see how the Master would handle this, but there wasn't any time for it. With a quick nod again, Sam spoke slowly.
"Alright," he whispered. "You win. We'll leave." He stretched his hand forward, urging the Master to stay back as he took a step forward. His eyes darted around the room quickly, trying to visualize each item for the perfect weapon.
The Master obediently stayed put. It wasn't every day that someone was willing to die for him, and he had no intentions of changing Sam's mind.
After all, he just might be able to make it past them and slip out the door as the beast was busy tearing his new best friend apart.
The fox bounded across the floor towards them with unnatural speed. Saving his last burst of energy for a final pounce into the air -- aimed directly at Sam.
Sam didn't think, he just reacted. The first thing he reached for was quickly in his hand-- a lamp, and he swung it just before the fox made contact. The light little body went flying back into the opposite wall. He dropped the lamp and it crashed to the floor.
In the next moment, Sam was in the kitchen, pulling open the cabinets and drawers looking for something a little more lethal than a lamp. When he found the knife drawer, a sickening smile broke over his lips. His fingers walked over the handles before he pulled out a large, sharpened chef's knife. He spun around on his heels, waiting for the bloodied thing to get up again.
The Master watched until the fox (the same fox?) hit the wall and slid down it, then darted for the front door, forgoing the tack. He yanked the door open.
The fox righted itself effortlessly, catching sight of the Master's motion and tearing after him.
The room was dimmer than before, with the lamp shattered on the ground, but it was easy enough to see the blur as it ran from the edge of the living room toward the front door after the Master.
Sam jumped quickly toward the door after the fox. It didn't waste any time diving toward the Master's leg, and Sam didn't waste any time diving after it. Sam hit the floor as the knife sunk into the side of the animal. There was no resistance to the rotting flesh as it swallowed the blade. Sam quickly drew it back from the animal, feeling the oozing skin suck against the blade trying to hold it in place.
It was easier than he thought it would be, as he felt the blade come down again, this time across the neck of the struggling creature. The knife skidded against the vertebrae, sticking for a moment before finding a gap in the spine to slice through cleanly. The flesh gave way on the other side and Sam released his grip when he felt the blade hit the wooden floor. His face went white with the shock of what he'd just done, and looked up at the Master, horrified.
The Master looked over his shoulder as the fox leapt towards him, having just enough time to throw himself to one side, knowing with a certain sort of dread that it wouldn't be enough.
It wasn't as if time slowed down, or was lost; he felt every moment keenly, watched with a sort of clinical detachment as Sam severed the fox's head, with a suspicious but rather welcome lack of blood. He didn't need a second change of clothing.
He met Sam's horrified gaze with a slow smile that was anything but friendly. "Why, Sam Tyler. I didn't think you had it in you."
The Master's look sent a chill down his spine, so he turned his head away quickly. Sam pushed his palms against the floor as he moved back to his feet.
"Neither did I, really." Sam shook his head and tried to revert the focus away from himself. "Are you alright?" He looked at the Master, trying to look concerned and calm-- but really he was near shaking over what had just happened.
He kept looking at Sam. Flailing moron had saved his life, he supposed, and that irritated him to no end. He scrambled to his feet, still clutching the pillowcase. He chose not to answer Sam, and instead toed the headless body indelicately, feeling the sliding of the skin and the give of the muscles. Truly smelling it, now.
"This thing has been dead for days." One of the foxes that hadn't quite made it out of the shop, perhaps... or one that had met its end afterwards. He looked up suddenly, abruptly swerving towards the open door. Howls and moans emanated from the woods, all around them, and he thought he could see the vague outlines of humanoid shapes slipping in and out of the fading moonlight.
He looked up at the sky, surprised at how much darker it had gotten, and saw the moon steadily slipping behind a cloud of smoke.
Sam stepped back, instinctually from the doorway. His eyes strained to find what the Master was looking at, but his weaker human eyes only saw the darkness. Instead, he watched the Master, almost studying him, trying to gauge his reaction. For whatever reason, Sam thought he would be able to handle it, would know what to do.
He could feel his hands tighten into fists tight enough to turn his knuckles white. He swallowed back the growing dry lump in his throat, causing his voice to sound hoarse and distorted. "What are we going to do?" he asked simply, expecting the Master to have a prepared answer-- a plan.
The Master kept looking out into the distance, his face blank, his voice dreamlike. "They're so angry. So mindlessly, restlessly angry. I can feel them. And they won't stop. He won't stop sending them. Not until everything succumbs. 'Sea or air, beast, fish, and fowl.' And us." He looked back at Sam, finally answering his question.
"Run."
Sam listened as the Master spoke, not wanting to interrupt him. He spoke so calmly, it only served to make Sam more agitated. He rocked on his heels, nervous energy ready to explode. "Yeah," he said shortly. "I don't think Milton said anything about how to kill fucking zombies."
Finally, Sam stepped back to the doorway. "If we run, then we need to know where we're running to. We need...god I don't know, we need a weapon. A plan. Something. Anything."
"No time." He could sense that the dark shapes were watching them, awaiting their next move. But they wouldn't wait much longer. The Master looked at the horse, still prancing restlessly in its white picket cage, its back legs cut from its battle with the living room window, but otherwise unharmed.
They'd need the bridle, for starters. He pushed past Sam again, headed for the kitchen counter.
Sam wanted more time, just to absorb this, to figure out what to do. But he knew the Master was right, there wasn't any time. >Something was moving through the forest at an alarming speed, headed directly for the unprotected cottage with its broken window and broken door. And this time it sounded much larger than a fox shop fox.
Sam pushed the door shut, though it swung back gingerly as he stepped back into the main room of the cottage. "We can't go out there without any kind of weapon! That knife isn't going to do us much good..." Sam was talking to the Master, half expecting a response, but the way he rambled sounded like he was speaking to himself.
He walked around the cottage, taking a closer look at any item he might find as he made his way to back door. He swung the door open, with a hard push, half expecting something to jump out and grab him from behind it. When he was satisfied there were no monsters lurking on the back porch, he stepped outside. Something leaning against the back wall of the cottage caught his eye, and for a brief second a smile broke over his face. He jogged toward the precariously placed tools, calling back to the Master.
"Master! Here! Come here!"
The Master busied himself with untangling the bridle from the rest of the mess on the counter. On further thought he grabbed his suit jacket as well, unknotted the pillowcase and retrieved the sonic screwdriver, stowing it in the inside pocket and slipping the jacket on. He stifled the urge to keep looking back at the door or the window, although he could feel them begin to stir, begin to decide, begin to run. It was better to move quickly rather than waste any more time, and he needed to get to the horse before they did. Rassilon knew what they'd do to it.
He reluctantly moved towards the back of the cottage, knowing it was not the best of maneuvers. But who knew; perhaps Sam had found an atomic bomb or something.
The Master nodded slightly in approval as he spotted Sam, busy sorting through what looked like formidable gardening tools. The Doctor had apparently been... trying to build a fence. A few sad posts tilted here and there at random intervals throughout the backyard, and some of them had rails nailed haphazardly to them in a pathetic jumble of wood. Other tools were strewn across the grass carelessly. The Master smirked indulgently despite the situation, grabbing a spade and hefting it a little.
Sam glanced over at the Master with a small smile, as he chose his own weapon: a garden hoe. He raised it over his shoulder, testing the weight. At the same time, loud crash emanated from inside the cottage. A door being shoved open and flung against the wall. Sam turned quickly to the back door of the cottage as his face turned white. His grip tightened and then adjusted on the handle of the garden tool.
Something rushed inside the cottage, its feet unmistakably human-- the pad of a rubber sole on the hardwood floor. Frenzied footsteps, hands and nails against furniture and walls, searching for something inside. Sam took a step back from the back door, as the noises grew louder and closer.
The Master made a run for it around the side of the cottage, not particularly making sure Sam was behind him. He held his spade out in front of him, entertaining no illusions that these things were attacking one at a time. The way to the fence was clear; however, the fenced-in area-- the one actually done properly-- had become some sort of zombie lawn party. The gate was torn completely off, serving as a bottleneck for the trickle of various creatures, all darting about, twitching restlessly, most with inconceivably extensive wounds, spattered with blood and vomit and other substances he didn't really want to identify.
As the Master rounded the corner, their attention was still fixed mainly on Snowflake. He noted with more than a little satisfaction that the horse was doing admirably well at fighting off the intruders, kicking and trampling the bodies with abandon. This wouldn't last too much longer, however; pretty soon they were going to have enough numbers to swarm it.
A lifetime of just knowing something out there wants to eat you finally confirmed.
Ten fold.
Snowflake came down fast, hard hooves meeting soft flesh with a sickening thump. The horse squealed until it was screaming, rearing up to bludgeon into the pulpy mass. When they became too many, he backed up to the far edge of the fence; breaking out into a canter and clearing the top of the fence line with a pounding thud.
Sam was behind him, right on his heels. He ran after the Master, the hoe hoisted over his shoulder, ready to strike if anything came near. He was running on survival instinct now.
When he turned the corner after the Master, he slid to a halt. The horde moved erratically, clawing at anything that moved. They moved en masse toward the horse and then back again when it kicked and stomped one of them. When another wave came after the horse, it had finally been enough. The animal was on the other side of the fence before Sam realized what was happening. "Christ," Sam's word came out on a heavy breath. He was completely distracted, staring dumbly at the scene in front of him.
So distracted in fact, he didn't notice the dark figure crawling on its belly toward Sam and the Master. Its legs were crushed by the horse, trailing behind its torso limply. The creature, once human in nature, pulled itself along determined and hungry. Its arm stretched out toward Sam's ankle, silently while a crooked and bloody grin covered what remained of its face.
The Master moved in almost complete synchrony with the horse, seemingly anticipating its actions, and circled around to intercept its flight path. The problem here was convincing the panicked beast that it would be in its best interests to avoid kicking him as well. He tried to hold the horse's eyes, which was difficult while they were both in motion amid a stream of teeming undead. Finally they locked, and he stilled himself as much as he could. Come here. It wasn't the words, so much, but the intent that was important. The idea of the horse being suddenly next to him.
An old man, half-naked, clotted blood staining his front, hurtled towards him eagerly from the shadows, and the Master swung the spade, catching the side of its head. It went down solidly. He concentrated on the horse again. Snowflake. Come here.
Sam turned his attention to the Master and Snowflake, but that attention was quickly broken. Something slid purposefully over the top of Sam's boot, clawing at it limply. A hand. Sam cried out sharply, as he jumped back, kicking back at the once-human. "Christ! Get off me! Get off me!!"
Leave me be. Tired. Thirsty. Snowflake ploughed forward, twisting a tight circle in an area where every turn offered another reason to move. The keen awareness he had experienced earlier was exhausted, and his sensories were reaching a vague sort of dullness where nothing was more important than anything else.
I'm wounded. Going to eat me. A hand reached out, digging nails into his neck. He tossed his head in response; weaving it up and down, and snorting wearily. Then somewhere between panic and confusion, something suddenly made sense. He tightened his circle, a final approach before stopping at a dead halt in front of the Master.
The Master grinned and reached a hand out to the horse's neck, steadying it as he slipped the bridle on with the other hand, then went to work deftly adjusting it. Snowflake took the bit obediently, and it was a matter of seconds before all was ready. At least something was going right, for a change.
His grin, and that idea, broke as he heard Sam shouting; he turned and saw his own face filled with fear, jumping around shaking one foot in the air at someone (no. something) determinedly crawling towards him with dismaying speed.
"Use the hoe, you idiot!" he found himself screaming, not aware why he cared so much beyond the fact that it was just so frustrating to be partnered up with someone this squeamish. "It's like the fox! It's just like the fox, will you just kill it!"
Sam shuffled backwards away from the creature as quickly as he could. He didn't watch where he was going, and just kept moving in the opposite direction. His boots scraped the ground and dug into the dirt. He heard the Master yelling, but was so focused he didn't dare look back up at him. Finally, something connected in his mind that the Master was yelling at him, giving him directions. That was about as far as Sam made it in the thought process when his boot hit the side of the cabin, and then his other boot. He was stuck against the wall.
The creature grinned again, eyeing him through the mess covering its face that had once resembled long, dark hair, and reached out its decomposed hand toward him. Sam shrieked, trying to shove it away from him with the end of the hoe.
It's a person. It's a person. We can save-- It's a person. I can't. I can't. It's a person.
Everytime the hand reached back, more angry, more determined, swiping at his boot, Sam pushed it back, hitting it away quickly. Small drops of blood and chunks of rotten flesh spotted the end of his hoe. Sam backed further into the wall, pressed against. It was obvious the creature had him cornered, and it was taking its time-- toying with its meal like a cat.
The Master watched Sam struggle and pin himself against a wall, and sighed a little. With his attention preoccupied, he failed to sense the thing swooping down in a steep, shrieking decline until it was nearly upon him; he turned in place, caught a flash of feathers and talons and staring eyes, and ducked down, hands covering his head. Pain shot in rivers down his wrists and arms as it passed overhead. Bird. It's a gargantuan bird
He looked up from his crouched position, noting it was coming around for another pass, and stood, bracing his feet and clenching the spade in both hands, his arms screaming in pain, blood streaming from between the tattered strips of his suit jacket. He swung as it swooped down again, caught a glimpse of its eyes, perfectly calmly absolutely mad-- really no different from ordinary birds-- before he batted it out of the sky like a baseball. It sailed in a wide arc and landed with a splat-thud on the front porch of the cottage. He could see it twitching from here, already making the motions of getting back up for another try.
He wanted nothing more than to drop the spade, crawl under the horse, and take a long nap, but the Master instead retrieved the pillowcase from the ground, stuffed it in his jacket pocket. He laid the handle of the spade across Snowflake's neck and pulled himself up in a slow agonizing motion, clutching the horse's back and neck desperately.
He felt the grasp of several small hands on his ankles, quick and unkind and ravenous, and looked down to see a group of children the blink of an eye away from biting into his leg like a drumstick. He yanked his foot backwards, then hinged it forward again in a kick, contributing to the already extensive head injury one of them sported, merely knocking the others down. He scrambled the rest of the way onto Snowflake's back, and hurriedly urged him toward Sam.
Sam plowed the tool into the grabbing hand of the creature again. The edge hit with a satisfying crunch and Sam could just barely make out the shape of several digits hitting the ground from a clean slice.
The being didn't seem to mind, or even notice, as its remaining fingers slid grabbed hold of the end of the hoe. Sam startled at the sudden pressure, as the creature pulled back, with a strong arm. The tug-o-war was almost equally matched, even with the missing fingers. Sam's jaw clenched, and he kicked out with his foot as the hands climbed up the handle. Each hit of his foot landed with a thud, boot sinking into soft tissue and sliding off with no resistance.
Sam finally looked up, toward the Master riding toward him. At that moment in time, a knight on a white steed wouldn't have looked any better. Sam spit out his words carelessly, nearly losing grip on the hoe. "Master! Help me! Jesus christ, do something!"
They came up on the pair fast, the Master gripping the spade in one hand and the reins in the other, squeezing his knees together for dear life. He'd only ridden bareback once in his life-- in fact, he'd only really started riding a horse when he'd started courting Lucy. It was not particularly complicated, but he'd never gotten completely comfortable with the concept.
He sat up, letting go of the reins and bringing his other hand to the spade handle, angling the bladed edge to be about forty-five degrees from the ground. The dark figure sliding up to Sam barely had time to turn its head before the spade swung into it, sweeping downward and severing between its open jaws. Like polo, the Master thought, and started giggling, nearly falling off the horse. The top half of the skull flew upwards and landed near Sam, rolling up to reveal the face; the rest of the body teetered a few moments, as if confused, and then keeled over to one side undramatically.
The Master swung Snowflake back around and skidded to a stop in front of Sam, still grinning happily. When he caught sight of Gwen Cooper's features, masked a little by dirt and blood and matted dark hair but still very recognizable, he couldn't contain himself any longer and began full-out laughing at the synchronicity of it all.
Sam looked down at the head blankly, blinking a couple times to let the severity of it register. When it began to, he decided he'd rather it didn't register at all and he lurched forward toward the horse.
The Master was hysterical, lost his mind maybe. Maybe this was how he always was. It unnerved Sam, and the sound of his laughter made his blood run cold. If he looked back on it later, it would be the laughter alone, not the situation that he found most disturbing. Something about this man, his twin, being so happy was inherently wrong. It was a gut feeling, like something terrible had just happened, or was about to.
"What the hell are you laughing at?!" Sam asked absently, and he looked the horse over, inspecting it for stairs perhaps, trying to figure out what the hell to do with the beast in front of him. Sam froze suddenly then and looked up at the crazed man. "Thank you."
"Personal joke," the Master said brightly. "Get on the horse, sunshine, before I change my mind." He gestured behind himself with his free hand, revealing the deep lacerations on that arm, blood still dripping from the shreds of his sleeve.
Sam winced outwardly at the display of the Master's arm. But his expression quickly changed, suddenly paranoid about the origins of the wound.
"What did-- Oh my god, did one of them bite you?!" Sam's voice cracked. He made a motion to back up, when he heard another creature, closing in on him quickly. This one had working legs, and it was headed directly for him.
Sam didn't give the Master time to answer, as he launched himself at the back of the horse, trying to pull himself up and over. In his panic, he floundered there on the back of the horse with his legs kicking in the air. Something grabbed at his ankle and he kicked it back, the force was enough to get on the back of the horse, though not exactly in the correct position-- flung over the back of the horse on his stomach like a dead man.
The Master smirked and started Snowflake moving, which met little resistance as the horse was more than eager to avoid the crowd of dead that had quickly coalesced around them. As the trio galloped out of the clearing and back to the road, the mass of zombies did quite the opposite of parting the way for them; they instead swarmed eagerly toward certain collision. The Master, with a sizable amount of satisfaction, and heedless of his injuries, busied himself with knocking down as many as possible with his spade on their journey to... wherever, laughing as if he were a child playing a sport rather than a centuries-old alien facing probable doom.
There was no sunset. Still, their escape was something of a victory.
http://community.livejournal.com/nonevidence/90151.html
Rating: R? Zombies? Eh?
Date: Present, a little after this
Location: The Doctor's Cottage (for starters, but who knows where the not-so-gentle night takes us?)
He'd stumbled through the woods all night, as best he could. When he'd been forced to take periodic rests, either because the way was blocked or (as was more typical) he had simply run out of steam, he would find a clearing, devoid of structure, and sit down in the middle of it. Outside was better-- calmer-- and he'd given up trying to make sense of it. Seismic activity in Wonderland didn't have to make sense; none of the rest of it ever did.
While he sat, he would poke at the Network a bit on the Doctor's PDA to apprise himself of any useful information (there was precious little, besides the laughable plan of meeting up at the seashore. He had to chuckle at that, imagining a group of people so inept at survival that they would cut themselves off from escape on one entire side). And, of course, to read all of the Doctor's private messages.
The Master had gotten to a particularly bad jumble of uprooted trees that completely blocked his path, and was debating just scrambling over or retracing his steps to route around, when he heard a soft nicker out in the dark, to his left.
He really, really, hoped that was only a horse.
As if in answer, the horse stamped its feet and whinnied. It was not quite calm; the constant groaning coming from the North, and the smell of burning and death in the air, saw to that. But it wasn't quite panicked either. It almost seemed to be waiting for something. Someone.
He moved in the direction of the sound, cautiously. Six trees were standing in a perfect line, illuminated by a patch of moonlight, and beyond that, the dim outline of what looked like a cottage. A black horselike shape paced restlessly nearby, corralled by a white picket fence that looked completely out of place.
Six trees...
He pulled out the Network device and scrolled through, trying to find where he'd read that before.
"How To Get to Snowflake's Cottage." He looked up, grinning at his luck, then frowned slightly. "Your name is Snowflake?"
The Master walked past the horse, sparing it another glance, and entered the cottage. There wasn't anything specific that made this the Doctor's, but it was obvious anyway. It appeared the lights weren't working, but in the moonlight he could make out the shapes of living room furniture. He moved further in and inadvertently collided with something. A shelf, or counter. Kitchen counter maybe. He let his eyes slide over the contents, then froze, ice sliding into the pit of his stomach.
His suit jacket and tie were folded neatly, resting on the counter. Yes, then. Definitely the Doctor's cottage. Which meant it was now his. He smiled bitterly and kicked a chair, sending it crashing into the adjacent wall, before searching for the bedroom. Before he made it down to Diagon Alley-- rode down, actually, because the damned beast might as well make itself useful-- he'd need a change of clothes. He smelled awful.
He'd just found the only clothing available-- a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, hopefully close enough to his size-- when the Network screamed again in jubilant, crazed laughter, and he crashed to his knees, holding his head, silently begging it to stop, just STOP. Under his knees he felt the tremors slide to a groaning halt. And then, silence.
Not, he was absolutely certain, the peaceful kind.
Something had told Sam to stay away from the shore. He didn't think about it for very long, but the idea of everyone gathered in one place, bounded on one side by the sea seemed like a very bad idea. Easy targets for whatever the hell was about to happen.
His eyes watered and his throat burned. Whether it was a result of the smelling salts, or choking back the swell of nausea growing in the back of his throat every time he tried to take a fresh breath, he tried to ignore it and keep occupied. It was too dangerous to slow down for very long, with the random objects falling from the sky. So, he kept moving. There was no direction, no plan, just forward movement. He told himself it would make sense, he'd arrive somewhere, it would stop if he could just wait it out.
Deeper into the woods, a recognizable line of trees began to break through his field of vision. The familiarity of the spot encouraged him, and he moved quickly -- breaking into a run toward the Doctor's cottage. He didn't expect him to be there, but maybe he could at least wait here. Hide here until it was over.
He moved gingerly up the steps to the door, and as his hand found the edge of the open door the ground gave its final shudder. Almost instantly, the air was thicker than before with the sudden silence. It was obvious this quake wasn't a death rattle, it was a final call to something else.
He stepped inside quickly. The abrupt echo of his boots on the hardwood floor jolted him back to his senses. He pushed the door shut behind himself, trying to convince himself he was safe now.
The Master, hurriedly dressing, froze again when he heard the footsteps. And then the door slamming. For a crazy moment he was sure it was the Doctor; he hadn't checked him over carefully enough, he'd had something to pick the lock, there was another key, the quakes had demolished the gate--
But then he had a closer listen, recognized the simple brain patterns of a hominid. Fear. Plenty of fear. He finished with the jeans, which were a little long on him but otherwise not too constrictive (the t-shirt, on the other hand, was almost embarrassingly tight) and approached the bedroom doorway, just making out a human form in the darkness.
Sam was moving away from the door when he realized something was off -- he wasn't alone.
Sam's eyes darted quickly around as the rest of his body froze. They found the Master's shape in the doorway and rested there, straining to make out the shape as more than a splash of darker color.
His voice was harsh and dry, and was followed by a quick cough. "Doctor?"
He leaned against the doorway, relaxing. Just Sam. He found himself the tiniest bit grateful for the familiarity. "Out, I'm afraid." The Master spoke softly, dangerously. "What are you doing here, Sam?" He stepped closer.
Sam sighed audibly, relieved to hear the Master's voice. If he thought about it, he wouldn't have been sure why he was relieved, but there was no mistaking the feeling. He moved toward the familiar man, more relaxed. "Master..." he couldn't help but smile awkwardly, thankful for the darkness. His head shook as he spoke. "I don't know, I just...I just came. What's going on? There's something going on out there -- Where is the Doctor?" His last question was sharp, purposeful.
The Master forced himself to smile. "Who cares?" He dismissed the question quickly, focused on responding to the more urgent bits. "I was just on my way out; I would suggest you do the same. It's not safe staying in one place." He searched around for Snowflake's tack, and some sort of bag to carry his things; there was no possibility of him even daring to stick a sonic screwdriver in the pocket of these jeans.
Sam shook his head. "No, I think we should stay. There's something out there--" Sam cut himself off, it was obvious he knew something, but didn't want to say any more. Instead, he latched his hand onto the Master's arm and changed the subject. "Where is he, Master? Is he alive?"
He pulled Sam's hand off with a yank, released it with deliberate disgust as if he were removing a leech. "You still can't work out the whole 'not touching me' thing, can you," he hissed, turning back to his search. "And we can't stay here," he called over his shoulder. "If something's out there, it can get in here just as easily. Have you noticed someone's broken the door down?" He mentioned this casually.
Sam's face twisted in confusion, as he realized his hand didn't meet a suit jacket, or even a dress shirt but the Master's bare arm. "What are you wearing?" Sam's eyes narrowed, trying to make out details in the darkness. He started to answer the Master's question when he was suddenly struck by the familiarity of the clothing he was wearing.
"Wait-- That's--" Something dark swam through Sam's stomach. He spoke in almost a whisper. "Did you kill him?"
There was a pause as the Master stared at the wall, his back to Sam. Then he doubled over laughing.
Sam's face quickly fell blank. He stared at the Master dumbly. "What?" Sam glanced over his shoulder quickly. "What's so funny?"
He turned halfway toward Sam, still awash in cold mirth. "No no no, just... say it again, I love the way you say it all... whispering... and. 'Did you kill him?'" The Master mimicked Sam in a low, mock-horrified voice, then burst out laughing again. It was easier to laugh this off. Deny it. He didn't want to think of him down there, not now.
"Yeah, so why don't you answer the question now?" Sam's face was stone, and his tone left little room to ignore the question. He folded his arms over his chest as he easily closed the gap between the Master and himself. Apparently, Sam didn't take well to being laughed at.
The Master smiled thinly. "Don't worry. He's safe." He turned to head for the kitchen. It would be in keeping with the Doctor's disorganizational skills to store the tack in the oven, or something.
Sam nodded, not wanting to press the issue. He followed the Master closely as he turned into the kitchen. "Then we need to make sure we are, too." There was a quick pause. "Safe, I mean..." His voice trailed off with a sigh.
Sam leaned against the wall once he entered the kitchen, his forehead wrinkled slightly in thought. "It's safer in here, I think, Master."
Snowflake stood squared, ears pricked high at attention. His temporary pasture, (that wasn't really a pasture -- more of a city garden, except half the size) didn't allow him much room, but it did offer him a clear view through the living room window.
His muscles were tensed, the air was tense, and the people things were too far away from him to offer very much security. He closed his mouth, nodding, and exhaled through his nose a strong bleating snort. Is this dangerous? The horse stared intensely at the window, waiting for an answer.
The Master made a dismissive chuffing noise, pulling open what looked like a pantry cupboard. There was no food inside, but there was a saddle, the rest of the tack folded neatly beside it. He rolled his eyes and lugged everything out onto the counter, triumphantly. He heard the horse snort, as if in reply, and glanced out the living room window, a little surprised to find it staring back at him.
Sam glanced toward the window. He wasn't very good with animals for the most part, but it was obvious Snowflake wanted something. He gave an uncomfortable wave back at the horse behind the glass.
Sam slowly turned his gaze back to the Master. His face fell in a small frown when he noted the saddle. "You're really going to leave? Do you even know what's out there?" With his last statement, he raised his head importantly, hoping the Master would ask for the answer.
Something dull snapped through the air. The last moan of a branch finally giving in, or it didn't matter because it was dangerous and Snowflake needed to run. One thousand pounds of horse in too small an area.
He bolted once to the edge of the white picket fence, then frozen there in the absolute terror of nowhere to go, began backing up towards the house. It wants to eat me. It wants to eat me. It wants to eat me.
On the other edge of nowhere to go, he brushed his tail against the window, and oh it's behind me now, so he extended his back legs, kicking at the air, kicking again and making contact with the window -- shattering through the glass.
The Master blinked, turned his attention back to Sam, about to tell him it didn't matter what it was, it certainly wasn't going to be something that would find itself stymied by a broken door, and that quite honestly, he had no intentions of holing up to die today-- when he heard the horse getting restless again. He turned back to the window. "What--" he managed to get out, before two hooves crashed through, sending shards of glass flying across the living room.
Sam stumbled back quickly, and met the wall hard. His hands were thrown up over his face, trying to protect himself from the flying glass. The leather of his car jacket shielded him from most of the glass. A few small scrapes bled sparingly from the back of his hands as he lowered them.
Sam moved quickly toward the Master, and in moment his hands were on the other man. "Christ, what the hell was that!-- Are you alright?!" He looked over the Master quickly, invasively checking for any cuts.
Something small and quick zigzagged a pattern under Snowflake's hooves. Reaching the window and clawing at it desperately in tiny leaps before dropping itself on the other side, spilling across the wood floors; it's silver frosted fur matted with what appeared to be blood. A refugee from the fox shop, staring crazy circles around the room.
The Master had dropped behind the counter with a sort of premonitory reaction time not granted to humans, raising his arms to cover his head as he did so. Now he swatted Sam's hands away, freezing as he heard a small thud, followed by frenzied shallow panting. He looked at Sam, then searched with his eyes around the barren kitchen for a weapon.
Sam kept his eyes on the Master for a moment, but his gaze was distant. He tried to listen as the small creature moved along the wooden floor - a distinct click click click of its nails. He had no idea what the hell it was, but its size was obvious. It was manageable.
Sam grabbed at the Master's wrist, trying to get his attention without alerting the creature. Without making sure the Master was looking at him, he gestured quickly toward a rack of hanging cookery. He mouthed toward the Master. We can hit it.
He could feel the rage and madness baking off it, like a fever. A contagious fever. Definitely nothing friendly. The Master had begun calculating the chances of finding a sizable knife in this kitchen and actually procuring it before being spotted and pounced on when he felt Sam's frantic grasp on his arm. He stared at him, then followed his gaze up to the pots and pans hanging on the wall adjacent to them. He nodded, once.
The fox darted its eyes back and forth, frothy liquid rolling off its gaping tongue. It scrambled towards them both, latching its nails onto the floor and turning wildly around the island counter. It moved with a quick gasping huff, fresh red pawprints trailing behind.
Sam could hear the small monster moving toward them. It already knew where they were, there was no point in hiding. "Get it! Get the fucking pan! Hit it!!" When Sam opened his mouth, his voice was rushed and panicked-- shrill. His hands found the Master's back, and he shoved him toward the pot rack, urging the time lord into motion.
The Master rolled his eyes at Sam's shrieking and pushing. He'd might as well have paired up with a girl. He was already on his feet, however, the drums pounding through his blood, covering the short distance to the pot rack with a small leap, detaching a cast iron frying pan, turning and swinging around in one fluid movement. The edge of the pan glanced off the fox's head and it skidded a short distance, stunned. He grinned wildly and swung again, connecting solidly this time with a satisfying clunk.
Sam rose to his feet slowly, with his eyes fixed on the little limp body. "Is it dead?" He moved easily and unafraid away from the counter now, toward the Master and the body. With his hands on his hips, he nodded an answer to his own question. "Good job. But what the fuck is wrong with it?" He narrowed his eyes at the small creature.
The Master stood over the small furry atrocity, breathing hard and clutching the handle of the frying pan, white-knuckled. He stared down at the body for a while, trying to bring himself back down, then stepped over it and strode toward the bedroom as if Sam had not spoken at all. By now his eyes had adjusted completely to the dim light in the cottage, but his body moved by instinct, sliding around the few shadowy pieces of furniture in the living room like a snake.
Sam nudged the small body with his foot, his lip raised slightly in disgust. He raised his head to speak to the Master again, but the man was already slinking back to the bedroom away from Sam. It took Sam a moment, but he followed to the other room and stopped outside the door.
"What are you going to do? Where are you going to go?" Sam's tone was pessimistic-- trying to talk the Master out of some horrible decision. "Those things could be everywhere. I think they are. And I think most of them are a lot bigger than that."
He was busying himself with collecting the Doctor's things from his pants pockets, emptying a pillowcase and throwing them in, tying it closed. He'd tossed the frying pan carelessly on the bed. "You're welcome to stay here whinging while the next one rips your throat out." The Master pushed past Sam, intending to search the cottage for a more suitable weapon than a cooking implement. He stopped short as he heard a low growl emanating from the darkness of the living room.
The fox twisted, folding it's body back together again in some grotesque idea of what a fox should look like. It cried out in a darkened corner somewhere; a dry hacking sound parting way to a melancholy wail that increased in pitch with every hair-raising yip.
Sam moved with the Master, and stopped at the same time he did. The growl affirmed the Master's idea of leaving, and Sam nodded silently at that realization. He wanted to wait and see how the Master would handle this, but there wasn't any time for it. With a quick nod again, Sam spoke slowly.
"Alright," he whispered. "You win. We'll leave." He stretched his hand forward, urging the Master to stay back as he took a step forward. His eyes darted around the room quickly, trying to visualize each item for the perfect weapon.
The Master obediently stayed put. It wasn't every day that someone was willing to die for him, and he had no intentions of changing Sam's mind.
After all, he just might be able to make it past them and slip out the door as the beast was busy tearing his new best friend apart.
The fox bounded across the floor towards them with unnatural speed. Saving his last burst of energy for a final pounce into the air -- aimed directly at Sam.
Sam didn't think, he just reacted. The first thing he reached for was quickly in his hand-- a lamp, and he swung it just before the fox made contact. The light little body went flying back into the opposite wall. He dropped the lamp and it crashed to the floor.
In the next moment, Sam was in the kitchen, pulling open the cabinets and drawers looking for something a little more lethal than a lamp. When he found the knife drawer, a sickening smile broke over his lips. His fingers walked over the handles before he pulled out a large, sharpened chef's knife. He spun around on his heels, waiting for the bloodied thing to get up again.
The Master watched until the fox (the same fox?) hit the wall and slid down it, then darted for the front door, forgoing the tack. He yanked the door open.
The fox righted itself effortlessly, catching sight of the Master's motion and tearing after him.
The room was dimmer than before, with the lamp shattered on the ground, but it was easy enough to see the blur as it ran from the edge of the living room toward the front door after the Master.
Sam jumped quickly toward the door after the fox. It didn't waste any time diving toward the Master's leg, and Sam didn't waste any time diving after it. Sam hit the floor as the knife sunk into the side of the animal. There was no resistance to the rotting flesh as it swallowed the blade. Sam quickly drew it back from the animal, feeling the oozing skin suck against the blade trying to hold it in place.
It was easier than he thought it would be, as he felt the blade come down again, this time across the neck of the struggling creature. The knife skidded against the vertebrae, sticking for a moment before finding a gap in the spine to slice through cleanly. The flesh gave way on the other side and Sam released his grip when he felt the blade hit the wooden floor. His face went white with the shock of what he'd just done, and looked up at the Master, horrified.
The Master looked over his shoulder as the fox leapt towards him, having just enough time to throw himself to one side, knowing with a certain sort of dread that it wouldn't be enough.
It wasn't as if time slowed down, or was lost; he felt every moment keenly, watched with a sort of clinical detachment as Sam severed the fox's head, with a suspicious but rather welcome lack of blood. He didn't need a second change of clothing.
He met Sam's horrified gaze with a slow smile that was anything but friendly. "Why, Sam Tyler. I didn't think you had it in you."
The Master's look sent a chill down his spine, so he turned his head away quickly. Sam pushed his palms against the floor as he moved back to his feet.
"Neither did I, really." Sam shook his head and tried to revert the focus away from himself. "Are you alright?" He looked at the Master, trying to look concerned and calm-- but really he was near shaking over what had just happened.
He kept looking at Sam. Flailing moron had saved his life, he supposed, and that irritated him to no end. He scrambled to his feet, still clutching the pillowcase. He chose not to answer Sam, and instead toed the headless body indelicately, feeling the sliding of the skin and the give of the muscles. Truly smelling it, now.
"This thing has been dead for days." One of the foxes that hadn't quite made it out of the shop, perhaps... or one that had met its end afterwards. He looked up suddenly, abruptly swerving towards the open door. Howls and moans emanated from the woods, all around them, and he thought he could see the vague outlines of humanoid shapes slipping in and out of the fading moonlight.
He looked up at the sky, surprised at how much darker it had gotten, and saw the moon steadily slipping behind a cloud of smoke.
Sam stepped back, instinctually from the doorway. His eyes strained to find what the Master was looking at, but his weaker human eyes only saw the darkness. Instead, he watched the Master, almost studying him, trying to gauge his reaction. For whatever reason, Sam thought he would be able to handle it, would know what to do.
He could feel his hands tighten into fists tight enough to turn his knuckles white. He swallowed back the growing dry lump in his throat, causing his voice to sound hoarse and distorted. "What are we going to do?" he asked simply, expecting the Master to have a prepared answer-- a plan.
The Master kept looking out into the distance, his face blank, his voice dreamlike. "They're so angry. So mindlessly, restlessly angry. I can feel them. And they won't stop. He won't stop sending them. Not until everything succumbs. 'Sea or air, beast, fish, and fowl.' And us." He looked back at Sam, finally answering his question.
"Run."
Sam listened as the Master spoke, not wanting to interrupt him. He spoke so calmly, it only served to make Sam more agitated. He rocked on his heels, nervous energy ready to explode. "Yeah," he said shortly. "I don't think Milton said anything about how to kill fucking zombies."
Finally, Sam stepped back to the doorway. "If we run, then we need to know where we're running to. We need...god I don't know, we need a weapon. A plan. Something. Anything."
"No time." He could sense that the dark shapes were watching them, awaiting their next move. But they wouldn't wait much longer. The Master looked at the horse, still prancing restlessly in its white picket cage, its back legs cut from its battle with the living room window, but otherwise unharmed.
They'd need the bridle, for starters. He pushed past Sam again, headed for the kitchen counter.
Sam wanted more time, just to absorb this, to figure out what to do. But he knew the Master was right, there wasn't any time. >Something was moving through the forest at an alarming speed, headed directly for the unprotected cottage with its broken window and broken door. And this time it sounded much larger than a fox shop fox.
Sam pushed the door shut, though it swung back gingerly as he stepped back into the main room of the cottage. "We can't go out there without any kind of weapon! That knife isn't going to do us much good..." Sam was talking to the Master, half expecting a response, but the way he rambled sounded like he was speaking to himself.
He walked around the cottage, taking a closer look at any item he might find as he made his way to back door. He swung the door open, with a hard push, half expecting something to jump out and grab him from behind it. When he was satisfied there were no monsters lurking on the back porch, he stepped outside. Something leaning against the back wall of the cottage caught his eye, and for a brief second a smile broke over his face. He jogged toward the precariously placed tools, calling back to the Master.
"Master! Here! Come here!"
The Master busied himself with untangling the bridle from the rest of the mess on the counter. On further thought he grabbed his suit jacket as well, unknotted the pillowcase and retrieved the sonic screwdriver, stowing it in the inside pocket and slipping the jacket on. He stifled the urge to keep looking back at the door or the window, although he could feel them begin to stir, begin to decide, begin to run. It was better to move quickly rather than waste any more time, and he needed to get to the horse before they did. Rassilon knew what they'd do to it.
He reluctantly moved towards the back of the cottage, knowing it was not the best of maneuvers. But who knew; perhaps Sam had found an atomic bomb or something.
The Master nodded slightly in approval as he spotted Sam, busy sorting through what looked like formidable gardening tools. The Doctor had apparently been... trying to build a fence. A few sad posts tilted here and there at random intervals throughout the backyard, and some of them had rails nailed haphazardly to them in a pathetic jumble of wood. Other tools were strewn across the grass carelessly. The Master smirked indulgently despite the situation, grabbing a spade and hefting it a little.
Sam glanced over at the Master with a small smile, as he chose his own weapon: a garden hoe. He raised it over his shoulder, testing the weight. At the same time, loud crash emanated from inside the cottage. A door being shoved open and flung against the wall. Sam turned quickly to the back door of the cottage as his face turned white. His grip tightened and then adjusted on the handle of the garden tool.
Something rushed inside the cottage, its feet unmistakably human-- the pad of a rubber sole on the hardwood floor. Frenzied footsteps, hands and nails against furniture and walls, searching for something inside. Sam took a step back from the back door, as the noises grew louder and closer.
The Master made a run for it around the side of the cottage, not particularly making sure Sam was behind him. He held his spade out in front of him, entertaining no illusions that these things were attacking one at a time. The way to the fence was clear; however, the fenced-in area-- the one actually done properly-- had become some sort of zombie lawn party. The gate was torn completely off, serving as a bottleneck for the trickle of various creatures, all darting about, twitching restlessly, most with inconceivably extensive wounds, spattered with blood and vomit and other substances he didn't really want to identify.
As the Master rounded the corner, their attention was still fixed mainly on Snowflake. He noted with more than a little satisfaction that the horse was doing admirably well at fighting off the intruders, kicking and trampling the bodies with abandon. This wouldn't last too much longer, however; pretty soon they were going to have enough numbers to swarm it.
A lifetime of just knowing something out there wants to eat you finally confirmed.
Ten fold.
Snowflake came down fast, hard hooves meeting soft flesh with a sickening thump. The horse squealed until it was screaming, rearing up to bludgeon into the pulpy mass. When they became too many, he backed up to the far edge of the fence; breaking out into a canter and clearing the top of the fence line with a pounding thud.
Sam was behind him, right on his heels. He ran after the Master, the hoe hoisted over his shoulder, ready to strike if anything came near. He was running on survival instinct now.
When he turned the corner after the Master, he slid to a halt. The horde moved erratically, clawing at anything that moved. They moved en masse toward the horse and then back again when it kicked and stomped one of them. When another wave came after the horse, it had finally been enough. The animal was on the other side of the fence before Sam realized what was happening. "Christ," Sam's word came out on a heavy breath. He was completely distracted, staring dumbly at the scene in front of him.
So distracted in fact, he didn't notice the dark figure crawling on its belly toward Sam and the Master. Its legs were crushed by the horse, trailing behind its torso limply. The creature, once human in nature, pulled itself along determined and hungry. Its arm stretched out toward Sam's ankle, silently while a crooked and bloody grin covered what remained of its face.
The Master moved in almost complete synchrony with the horse, seemingly anticipating its actions, and circled around to intercept its flight path. The problem here was convincing the panicked beast that it would be in its best interests to avoid kicking him as well. He tried to hold the horse's eyes, which was difficult while they were both in motion amid a stream of teeming undead. Finally they locked, and he stilled himself as much as he could. Come here. It wasn't the words, so much, but the intent that was important. The idea of the horse being suddenly next to him.
An old man, half-naked, clotted blood staining his front, hurtled towards him eagerly from the shadows, and the Master swung the spade, catching the side of its head. It went down solidly. He concentrated on the horse again. Snowflake. Come here.
Sam turned his attention to the Master and Snowflake, but that attention was quickly broken. Something slid purposefully over the top of Sam's boot, clawing at it limply. A hand. Sam cried out sharply, as he jumped back, kicking back at the once-human. "Christ! Get off me! Get off me!!"
Leave me be. Tired. Thirsty. Snowflake ploughed forward, twisting a tight circle in an area where every turn offered another reason to move. The keen awareness he had experienced earlier was exhausted, and his sensories were reaching a vague sort of dullness where nothing was more important than anything else.
I'm wounded. Going to eat me. A hand reached out, digging nails into his neck. He tossed his head in response; weaving it up and down, and snorting wearily. Then somewhere between panic and confusion, something suddenly made sense. He tightened his circle, a final approach before stopping at a dead halt in front of the Master.
The Master grinned and reached a hand out to the horse's neck, steadying it as he slipped the bridle on with the other hand, then went to work deftly adjusting it. Snowflake took the bit obediently, and it was a matter of seconds before all was ready. At least something was going right, for a change.
His grin, and that idea, broke as he heard Sam shouting; he turned and saw his own face filled with fear, jumping around shaking one foot in the air at someone (no. something) determinedly crawling towards him with dismaying speed.
"Use the hoe, you idiot!" he found himself screaming, not aware why he cared so much beyond the fact that it was just so frustrating to be partnered up with someone this squeamish. "It's like the fox! It's just like the fox, will you just kill it!"
Sam shuffled backwards away from the creature as quickly as he could. He didn't watch where he was going, and just kept moving in the opposite direction. His boots scraped the ground and dug into the dirt. He heard the Master yelling, but was so focused he didn't dare look back up at him. Finally, something connected in his mind that the Master was yelling at him, giving him directions. That was about as far as Sam made it in the thought process when his boot hit the side of the cabin, and then his other boot. He was stuck against the wall.
The creature grinned again, eyeing him through the mess covering its face that had once resembled long, dark hair, and reached out its decomposed hand toward him. Sam shrieked, trying to shove it away from him with the end of the hoe.
It's a person. It's a person. We can save-- It's a person. I can't. I can't. It's a person.
Everytime the hand reached back, more angry, more determined, swiping at his boot, Sam pushed it back, hitting it away quickly. Small drops of blood and chunks of rotten flesh spotted the end of his hoe. Sam backed further into the wall, pressed against. It was obvious the creature had him cornered, and it was taking its time-- toying with its meal like a cat.
The Master watched Sam struggle and pin himself against a wall, and sighed a little. With his attention preoccupied, he failed to sense the thing swooping down in a steep, shrieking decline until it was nearly upon him; he turned in place, caught a flash of feathers and talons and staring eyes, and ducked down, hands covering his head. Pain shot in rivers down his wrists and arms as it passed overhead. Bird. It's a gargantuan bird
He looked up from his crouched position, noting it was coming around for another pass, and stood, bracing his feet and clenching the spade in both hands, his arms screaming in pain, blood streaming from between the tattered strips of his suit jacket. He swung as it swooped down again, caught a glimpse of its eyes, perfectly calmly absolutely mad-- really no different from ordinary birds-- before he batted it out of the sky like a baseball. It sailed in a wide arc and landed with a splat-thud on the front porch of the cottage. He could see it twitching from here, already making the motions of getting back up for another try.
He wanted nothing more than to drop the spade, crawl under the horse, and take a long nap, but the Master instead retrieved the pillowcase from the ground, stuffed it in his jacket pocket. He laid the handle of the spade across Snowflake's neck and pulled himself up in a slow agonizing motion, clutching the horse's back and neck desperately.
He felt the grasp of several small hands on his ankles, quick and unkind and ravenous, and looked down to see a group of children the blink of an eye away from biting into his leg like a drumstick. He yanked his foot backwards, then hinged it forward again in a kick, contributing to the already extensive head injury one of them sported, merely knocking the others down. He scrambled the rest of the way onto Snowflake's back, and hurriedly urged him toward Sam.
Sam plowed the tool into the grabbing hand of the creature again. The edge hit with a satisfying crunch and Sam could just barely make out the shape of several digits hitting the ground from a clean slice.
The being didn't seem to mind, or even notice, as its remaining fingers slid grabbed hold of the end of the hoe. Sam startled at the sudden pressure, as the creature pulled back, with a strong arm. The tug-o-war was almost equally matched, even with the missing fingers. Sam's jaw clenched, and he kicked out with his foot as the hands climbed up the handle. Each hit of his foot landed with a thud, boot sinking into soft tissue and sliding off with no resistance.
Sam finally looked up, toward the Master riding toward him. At that moment in time, a knight on a white steed wouldn't have looked any better. Sam spit out his words carelessly, nearly losing grip on the hoe. "Master! Help me! Jesus christ, do something!"
They came up on the pair fast, the Master gripping the spade in one hand and the reins in the other, squeezing his knees together for dear life. He'd only ridden bareback once in his life-- in fact, he'd only really started riding a horse when he'd started courting Lucy. It was not particularly complicated, but he'd never gotten completely comfortable with the concept.
He sat up, letting go of the reins and bringing his other hand to the spade handle, angling the bladed edge to be about forty-five degrees from the ground. The dark figure sliding up to Sam barely had time to turn its head before the spade swung into it, sweeping downward and severing between its open jaws. Like polo, the Master thought, and started giggling, nearly falling off the horse. The top half of the skull flew upwards and landed near Sam, rolling up to reveal the face; the rest of the body teetered a few moments, as if confused, and then keeled over to one side undramatically.
The Master swung Snowflake back around and skidded to a stop in front of Sam, still grinning happily. When he caught sight of Gwen Cooper's features, masked a little by dirt and blood and matted dark hair but still very recognizable, he couldn't contain himself any longer and began full-out laughing at the synchronicity of it all.
Sam looked down at the head blankly, blinking a couple times to let the severity of it register. When it began to, he decided he'd rather it didn't register at all and he lurched forward toward the horse.
The Master was hysterical, lost his mind maybe. Maybe this was how he always was. It unnerved Sam, and the sound of his laughter made his blood run cold. If he looked back on it later, it would be the laughter alone, not the situation that he found most disturbing. Something about this man, his twin, being so happy was inherently wrong. It was a gut feeling, like something terrible had just happened, or was about to.
"What the hell are you laughing at?!" Sam asked absently, and he looked the horse over, inspecting it for stairs perhaps, trying to figure out what the hell to do with the beast in front of him. Sam froze suddenly then and looked up at the crazed man. "Thank you."
"Personal joke," the Master said brightly. "Get on the horse, sunshine, before I change my mind." He gestured behind himself with his free hand, revealing the deep lacerations on that arm, blood still dripping from the shreds of his sleeve.
Sam winced outwardly at the display of the Master's arm. But his expression quickly changed, suddenly paranoid about the origins of the wound.
"What did-- Oh my god, did one of them bite you?!" Sam's voice cracked. He made a motion to back up, when he heard another creature, closing in on him quickly. This one had working legs, and it was headed directly for him.
Sam didn't give the Master time to answer, as he launched himself at the back of the horse, trying to pull himself up and over. In his panic, he floundered there on the back of the horse with his legs kicking in the air. Something grabbed at his ankle and he kicked it back, the force was enough to get on the back of the horse, though not exactly in the correct position-- flung over the back of the horse on his stomach like a dead man.
The Master smirked and started Snowflake moving, which met little resistance as the horse was more than eager to avoid the crowd of dead that had quickly coalesced around them. As the trio galloped out of the clearing and back to the road, the mass of zombies did quite the opposite of parting the way for them; they instead swarmed eagerly toward certain collision. The Master, with a sizable amount of satisfaction, and heedless of his injuries, busied himself with knocking down as many as possible with his spade on their journey to... wherever, laughing as if he were a child playing a sport rather than a centuries-old alien facing probable doom.
There was no sunset. Still, their escape was something of a victory.
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