'You think?' Wilson echoed. 'But you're not certain.'
The Doctor took a step towards him. His face was suddenly dark, his eyes deep with anger. 'Of course I'm not certain,' he shouted. 'How could I possibly be certain? But with every moment you delay I get less certain.'
Wilson's voice was more controlled, but it was still shaking with emotion. 'But if we blow the dam, the water in the reservoir will flood the entire area. It won't just be confined to the old river bed.'
'Exactly!' the Doctor shot back.
'Branscombe*sub*Edge is below the level of the river bed,' Brookes pointed out. 'Ambleton isn't much higher. The people there haven't been evacuated. You could cause untold damage. Even loss of life.'
The Doctor shook his head in astonishment. 'Listen to yourself,' he said emphatically. 'Cause damage?' He waved at the fiery trails blistered across the landscape beneath them. 'Just what exactly do you think is going on down there?' He stepped up to Brookes, apparently undeterred by the fact the man was a good head taller than him. 'This isn't some isolated incident in the darkest reaches of the Empire which we can ignore and it will go away. It doesn't stop here, you know.' He grabbed Brookes's arm and turned him suddenly so the captain was looking back towards the church. 'What's happening down there will not stay stay down there. Like the water, it will spill out and inundate the surrounding area. But the water will reach its limit and dissipate. down there. Like the water, it will spill out and inundate the surrounding area. But the water will reach its limit and dissipate. That That won't. It's hungry for more, and it's getting hungrier by the moment. It will expand and feed, in a never ending cycle until the blood*red map of the British Empire is a burning fire of destruction. And even then it won't stop. Not until this world is consumed and charred and burnt out.' won't. It's hungry for more, and it's getting hungrier by the moment. It will expand and feed, in a never ending cycle until the blood*red map of the British Empire is a burning fire of destruction. And even then it won't stop. Not until this world is consumed and charred and burnt out.'
There was silence after this for several moments. 'The fact remains,' Wilson said eventually, 'that we could be making the situation worse.'
'Worse?' the Doctor screamed at him from point blank range. 'You said there might be some loss of life. Well, already people have been killed. They are being being killed. They killed. They will will be killed. How can it possibly get worse?' be killed. How can it possibly get worse?'
Wilson looked away. 'You may be right, Doctor,' he admitted. 'But whatever action I take I shall need to justify to my superiors.'
'You know I was right about evacuating the place...' the Doctor reminded him.
Wilson nodded. 'But I really don't think I can take the sort of extreme measures you're suggesting now without orders.'
The Doctor snorted in derision, and turned to Stobbold. His tone was both sarcastic and at the same time sad. 'The military machine,' he said. 'No room for individual ideas, no room for initiative. No room for humanity.' He shook his head. 'I'm going to find Nepath,' he said abruptly.
'Nepath?' Stobbold was surprised. 'Why?'
'I may still be able to talk some sense into him. Perhaps there's another way to stop this. If so, then it seems I need to find it.'
Stobbold nodded. He could understand the Doctor's exasperation. But he also sympathised with Wilson's position. 'I shall stay here,' he told the Doctor. 'Perhaps I can persuade them.'
The Doctor nodded. One side of his mouth twitched upwards into a sad, almost pathetic expression. 'Thank you,' he said. 'And if there's nothing else you can do, you can at least pray for them.'
Stobbold smiled weakly in reply. 'I shall do that anyway,' he said. 'And for you.'
The Doctor nodded thoughtfully at this. He seemed about to say something, but instead clapped his hand on Stobbold's shoulder, gripping it for a moment. Then he turned and walked away. Into the darkening smoke.
Nepath was in a dream world. A dream come true. Patience was at his side as he had always known she would be, leading him out into the fiery world. The smoke hung low in the sky, and beneath it the burning raged across the landscape.
The whole moor was alive with flame and steam. Pools of molten rock bubbled up around them, sending showers of fire into the air as the bubbles burst. Columns of smoke and flame seemed to hold up the very roof of the world. The sunlight was filtered, amber, diffuse, bathing the surreal world in unreal light.
His eyes were alive with the visions of the flames. He could feel the excitement of watching the fires dancing, the raw power, like never before. His whole body was tense with it. He could see the beauty of the flames, hear the joy of the fire, taste the sulphur. 'Now I have it all, he breathed.
'No,' Patience Nepath replied. She took his arm in hers. 'This is only the start of it.'
Together they walked arm in arm across the blistering moor.
He had done as much as he could, though Stobbold was hardly pleased with the result. Colonel Wilson had agreed to send a runner to Ambleton with a recommendation that they blow the dam. He hoped, but did not seem to expect, that the runner would return with confirmation of the orders and demolition charges as well as reinforcements.
In the meantime. Wilson agreed they should make their way down to the dam and be ready to act as soon as the orders arrived. From the lack of enthusiasm in the tread of the soldiers, and the enforced high spirits of both Wilson and Captain Brookes it was obvious that they expected at best to get no reply at all. They were merely marking time; putting off making a final decision either way.
But as they neared the dam, Stobbold could see a figure standing at the end closest to them. He was holding on to the rail that ran along the top of the structure, watching them as they approached. He was a rotund man, not very tall. A distinctive shape, though Stobbold was sure that he had never seen the man before.
'What's he doing here?' Wilson wondered out loud. Evidently he did know the man.
'Brought the confirmation, sir?' Brookes suggested.
'There's not been time to get to Ambleton and back.' Wilson pointed out as they started down the slope towards the dam.
'Perhaps he met your man on the way?' Stobbold suggested. 'Who is it?' he asked.
They were almost at the man now. Wilson saluted, and the man raised a hand in reply. He was wearing black leather gloves that seemed to be struggling to contain his pudgy fingers. 'Sir William Grant,' Wilson said both as reply to Stobbold and in greeting to the man. 'What brings you here, sir?'
'Can you confirm the orders, sir?' Captain Brookes immediately asked.
'Orders?'
Several of the men were unpacking their backpacks. They started to sort the contents on the ground. Most of them meant nothing to Stobbold, though he could see several grenades and pouches of gunpowder.
'What orders are those, Colonel?' Grant went on.
'The Doctor's orders,' Stobbold said. He had a feeling that confidence and determination might be key here. If Grant was in a position to give Wilson the go*ahead, then he needed to be convinced. 'To blow up the dam and put an end to this.'
Grant frowned. 'The Doctor. And just what makes you think that the Doctor is in any position to give orders?' His question was directed at Wilson.
'He does speak with authority, sir.' Wilson shifted uncomfortably.
'Not my authority,' he said. 'Nor her Majesty's.' He turned to Stobbold. 'The authority of the Church, perhaps?'
Stobbold met his gaze. The sun was shining directly at Grant, and it was difficult to make out his expression. 'The Doctor has my full support,' he said. 'My belief is that he knows what he is talking about.'
Grant gave a grunt of annoyance. 'A strange belief for a man of the cloth to put his faith in. But then the opinion of a second rate priest in a third rate parish in the back of beyond hardly counts as the full support of the Church, does it.' He returned his attention to Wilson. 'Your men will retire to barracks at Ambleton and await further orders.'
'With respect, sir,' Wilson said, 'I really think we should give the Doctor's suggestion some consideration.'
'Do you?' Grant was angry now. 'And since when does the army consider taking orders from civilians, Colonel?'
'I think ' Wilson started.
But Grant interrupted him. 'You don't think,' he said angrily. 'You are an officer in her Britannic Majesty's army. You obey orders. And on no account are you to interfere with this dam, do you hear? We can't afford to have millions of gallons of water destroying the countryside for miles around, to say nothing of the consequent loss of life and livelihood. At the moment this problem is extremely limited, take my word for it. If you go through with this mad plan of the Doctor's, the whole area would be devastated.'
'It is being devastated now,' Stobbold pointed out forcefully. 'Look at it.' He pointed out over the dam into the rising smoke. 'And in any case,' he added, 'what do you care about what happens to a third rate parish in the back of beyond?'
As Grant turned back, the sun dipped behind a cloud. His face was shadowed for a moment as he looked first at Stobbold then at Wilson. And in that moment the flames that flickered and danced behind his eyes were plain for them all to see.
'You will return to the barracks,' Grant said again to Wilson.
But Wilson shook his head. 'I am an officer in her Britannic Majesty's army, Sir William,' he said. 'I don't take orders from civilians.'
They faced each other for a moment, Grant's eyes burning with anger. He smiled. His face twisted into an approximation of amusement as he pulled off his gloves. When he raised his hands, when he started towards Wilson, his fingers were already outstretched, already smouldering.
Stobbold was fixed to the spot, staring, as Grant approached. Wilson too seemed unable to move. He was at the edge of the dam, Grant's hands closing on his neck.
Captain Brookes was a blur of motion. He launched himself in front of his superior officer, grabbing Grant's hands in both his own and forcing them away. There was a sudden loud hiss and steam erupted from their clasped hands. Brookes screamed with pain, but held on, pushing Grant back towards the railing along the top of the dam. As Stobbold watched, their locked hands exploded into flame. In a moment, the whole of Grant's body was an inferno. Brookes was leaning back, out of the fire. The side of his face closest was blistering, the skin melting and peeling away as he continued to scream.
Then slowly, deliberately, he seemed to lean back into the fire. His whole weight was brought to bear on the raging fire, forcing it back against the railing. Brookes's screams were lost in the roaring of the fire as it engulfed him. But still it was forced backwards.
With a sudden wrench of twisting metal, the railing gave way. One end flopped aside, dripping molten iron to the concrete surface of the walkway. Another section of the rail fell, clattering against the side of the dam as it bounced and rolled its way to the rocky ground far below.
A second after it, the burning fireball followed. An arm emerged for a moment as the fire spun and tumbled. A smouldering, blackened arm from which the uniform had been all but stripped away along with the flesh beneath.
Stobbold was at the edge, where the railing had been, leaning as far as he dared to see the flames spreading out along the bottom of the dam. Stobbold felt himself stumble as he felt the heat on his face, felt Wilson pull him back from the edge.
'Are you all right, sir?'
Stobbold nodded, his throat too dry to speak.
Wilson turned immediately to his men, standing behind them watching in silence. 'Place whatever charges we have,' he said. 'I want a concentrated blast at the weakest point, we'll let the water do the rest. And I want it done ten minutes ago, understand?'
When he joined Stobbold, his eyes were moist. 'I wish I had done it ten minutes ago,' he said quietly. 'Let's hope we're not already too late.'
At the base of the dam the fire thinned and spread. Like burning oil it ran liquid along the ground, discarding the charred and broken remains of Brookes's body. It raged and flared for a full minute. Then it seemed to draw back into itself. The flames died, to reveal a smouldering viscous mass at the centre of the fire. The edges were already black with a thin crust of solidifying rock.
Slowly, carefully, inexorably, the molten creature began to flow up the surface of the dam.
They worked almost in silence. Stobbold was impressed with the efficiency of Wilson's men. Despite being obviously tired they set to with enthusiasm and determination.
After several minutes, several of the soldiers had managed to create a demolition charge from the powder and grenades a backpack full of the explosives with a fuse hanging out of the side. The problem now, Wilson told Stobbold, was how and where to place it.
After some discussion it was agreed that the weakest point of the dam would be in the very middle, where the strain was greatest. The curvature would also help once there was a hole, funnelling the water through. The sheer weight of water trying to escape would then finish the job. In theory.
'The problem is,' Wilson said, 'that blowing a hole in the top of the dam is no use at all. It has to be below the water line.'
'How do you get down far enough to place your charge?' Stobbold asked.
'How indeed?' Wilson shouted to one of the soldier: 'Carter you got any rope? We'll need to lower a man down to position the charge.'
'Can't you just lower the charge?' Stobbold asked cautiously, worried he might be betraying his ignorance.
Wilson considered this. 'Provided the rope doesn't burn through before the full detonation. In that case the charge would simply drop down the side and make a nasty scratch. Ideally we want it fixed in place, tight against the wall.'
Carter was there with the rope. He caught the end of the conversation. 'We really need some way of focusing the blast into the masonry, sir,' he said. 'Otherwise it will just bounce off and do very little damage.'
This provoked another discussion. But it seemed that there was little available that would serve to focus the power of the explosion on to the dam.
'The best we can hope for then, sir, is that it's sufficient to weaken the structure and let the water start to leak through,' Carter said.
It did not, Stobbold thought, sound very promising. But he kept his thoughts to himself and left them to it. Looking out from the top of the dam it seemed to him that the smoke below was deepening. Yet the fire was just as visible, burning perhaps even more fiercely. And it seemed to stretch further than it had. On the other side of the dam he could see that the ice in the reservoir had melted. In several places the water was beginning to bubble.
He turned back towards Middletown, or rather where Middletown should be beneath the yellow*tinged glow of the smoke. He shook his head in disbelief and depression. He was tired, so very tired. He leaned down and rested his head on his hands as they gripped the railing. His eyes were closed. If only he could wake up back at the Rectory, wake up to a breakfast prepared by Betty.
Poor Betty. So young. So very young.
With a long sigh he opened his tired eyes, but he did not yet lift his head.
Something was moving. Down towards the base of the dam there was movement, a glow. He tried to focus on it. No it was closer than he had thought, perhaps half way up. Not a single point, but a flowing, climbing mass spreading up over the dam. A river of glowing magma rolling upwards, towards him.
Stobbold straightened up abruptly. 'Colonel Wilson!' he shouted. 'I think your men should hurry!'
They did hurry. Wilson took one quick look over the side of the dam where Stobbold was pointing, then ordered the explosive pack to be lowered.
'We have to set it off before that stuff reaches the waterline,' he said urgently. 'Once it's above that, we have no chance. It's hot enough to burn through the rope and the backpack, the explosives will just fall out.'
The fuse was lit, and the backpack hastily lowered over the side.
'How long is the fuse?' Stobbold asked as he leaned over the rail to watch the package being lowered into position. The rail shifted slightly under his weight, the supports weakened from the break further along.
'Two minutes, more or less,' Wilson told him. He waved to the man lowering the rope to tell him to stop. 'Right, tie it off there.'
'Why so long? Why not set it off immediately?'
The soldiers were tying the rope to the railing, right in the centre of the dam.
'Because,' Wilson explained, 'we don't want to be standing on the dam when the charge goes off.'
'Ah.' Stobbold turned to gauge the distance to the side of the dam, to the ground beyond. They were almost in the middle. It was several hundred yards. 'Two minutes more or less, you said?'
The soldiers passed him at a run.
'That's what I said,' Wilson said as he pushed Stobbold into a stumbling run ahead of him. 'And it's been burning for a minute already.'
Neither of them looked back until they reached the high ground at the side of the dam. It rose slowly away from the structure, affording them a view back at the dam. Stobbold could see the diminutive backpack hanging by a fine thread. A tiny spark at the edge of the pack showed how close the fuse had burned. But below the charge, clawing its way slowly closer, was a glowing red stain. As they watched, it seemed to peel away from the wall of the dam, to reach up towards the explosives.
The spark disappeared, inside the top of the back.
'Any second now,' Wilson said.
There was utter silence from the soldiers as they stood in a rough semicircle watching. Stobbold held his breath.
The red mass curled inwards, pouncing in slow motion on the back pack.
There was a flash of light from the pack, just visible as the mass of glowing rock connected with it, smothering it entirely.