Doctor Who: Festival of Death: 50th Anniversary Edition Read Online Free Page A

squatted beside a figure lying huddled against one wall.
    The figure was wearing body-length black robes, but what took Romana’s breath away was its face. It was a mask, an horrific caricature of a skull. The skull was covered in grooves representing facial muscles, and appeared to be screaming in agony.
    ‘Help me get this mask off,’ the Doctor said. ‘Quick!’ Romana knelt beside him and together they unfastened the straps fixing it in place. Romana lifted the mask off and placed it to one side.
    It was a man in his early thirties. Perspiration streamed off his forehead. He looked up at Romana and the Doctor, and raised a grateful smile, his jaw trembling. ‘They came for us…’
    ‘Who came for you?’ asked the Doctor.
    ‘The…’ The man stuttered. ‘They hunted out the living…’ His eyes bulged. ‘They are the walking dead!’
    ‘Don’t try to speak,’ said Romana, smoothing his hair. The man’s eyelids drooped, he mumbled to himself and lost consciousness.
    ‘The walking dead,’ said the Doctor. ‘I knew it would have to be something like that.’
    ‘He’s sustained burns to neck and chest. He needs painkillers, disinfectant. Dressings.’
    The Doctor agreed. ‘We can’t leave him here. I think we’d better –’ He put a protective arm on Romana’s shoulder and led her to one side.
    Two medics were approaching, both dressed in turquoise uniforms. One of them, a young woman, scanned a life-detector across the bodies. The detector hummed when pointed at the man in black robes. ‘That one there. He’s still alive.’ Reading from the datascreen, she spoke with wooden efficiency. ‘Minor burns and trauma. He’ll survive.’
    The Doctor dashed over to assist the medics. ‘Hello. My name’s –’
    ‘Are you injured at all?’ asked the other medic.
    ‘No, I –’
    ‘Right. You can carry him.’
    ‘Carry him?’ said Romana.
    ‘To the medical bay. Down there.’ The medic indicated another of the corridors.
    ‘Right. Of course, the medical bay.’ The Doctor tucked his arms under the robed man and eased him upwards. The man groaned as his head fell back, but he remained unconscious.
    ‘But what about the rest of them?’ asked Romana.
    The young woman glanced at the bodies. ‘Them? They’re all dead.’
    ‘What happened here?’ Romana asked.
    ‘Time for that later,’ said the Doctor. The black-robed man was lolling in his arms. ‘This man needs medical attention.’
    *
    Executive Metcalf wallowed in his office. It had been converted from the cruiser’s control cabin and retained many of the original features. The gold rails, the plush carpet, the Art Deco lamps. The two large windows looking out on to hyperspace. His treasured collection of artworks, sculptured blocks of abstract form. The luxury helped remind Metcalf he was important because, at the moment, important was the one thing he didn’t feel.
    The chair pinched him at the sides, and Metcalf wriggled himself into position. The events of the previous day had left him rattled. His collarless ochre-and-brown suit, normally the last word in executive style, seemed to be two sizes too big. His hair, normally combed into a neat side parting, was bedraggled. And he could feel sweat collecting at the waistband of his trousers.
    He ran his hand through his hair for the fifteenth time that day. In front of him, the holophoto of his wife and the two little ones. Smiling idyllically. Luckily, they’d not been involved. Which probably wasn’t surprising, Metcalf thought, since he hadn’t seen them since his wife had run off with the holophotographer twelve years ago.
    Beside the photo was an interaction terminal, the monitor showing nothing but rolling static. All that remained of ERIC. That dratted computer. He’d almost grown fond of it.
    Metcalf was in the process of loosening his tie when the door opened, admitting two uniformed officers.
    ‘Executive Metcalf?’ Both of the officers wore regulation silver-and-black