Doctor Who: The Way Through the Woods by Una McCormack

pressed his ear back against the window. ‘I can’t be the only one who can hear it…’
    Porter, unexpectedly, said, ‘I can.’
    The young man swung round to face her. He stared at her as if noticing her properly for the first time. ‘Yes! You ! You can hear it!’
    He was becoming extremely excited. Carefully, Galloway put himself between the suspect and Porter.
    ‘You’ve lived here your whole life, haven’t you?’ the young man said. ‘Not him. Not with that accent, as Pond-like as Pond herself. But you ,’ he pointed both his forefingers at Porter. ‘Oh I could kiss you!’ He pulled back. ‘I won’t, though, that would be weird… But you can hear it too! I’m not hearing things! Or, rather, I am hearing things, but not in the way that leads to awkward conversations, more awkward than usual… You! Yes! You’ve heard it your whole life, haven’t you? And I missed it!’
    He swung back to face the window. He banged his forehead against it and the blind came crashing down on top of his head. Now he had to struggle to disentangle himself, talking all the while.
    ‘Oh, there’s too much noise in this day and age! With your clocks and your 24-hour rolling news and your non-stop reality shows and your CB radio transmissions…’
    He managed to get out from under the blind, which slumped back glumly into its former diagonal position.
    Porter and Galloway exchanged a look. CB radio…?
    ‘All that blathering and chattering and texting and phoning in – no wonder I could hardly hear anything! But it’s there, isn’t it? Oh yes, it’s there. The propulsion unit, the engine, the nice hot cup of tea. Not dead. Not dead at all. Still running. All I had to do was listen !’
    ‘You’ve stopped making sense,’ said Porter. ‘What’s not dead? What’s still running?’
    As she repeated his words, the young man stopped still and stared at her as if a terrible realisation had struck him. The effect was rather like lightning hitting a gangly and over-excited telegraph pole.
    ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘but if it’s still running, then that changes things. Because it couldn’t run indefinitely. Not for thousands of years, anyway. It would need maintenance… And maintenance means someone… someone’s there… I’ve let them go off with those ridiculous triangular things, and the ship hasn’t been abandoned at all! There’s somebody there!’
    ‘You mean in Swallow Woods?’ said Porter. ‘Who?’ she urged. ‘Who’s there?’
    ‘Well, who else would it be? The pilot, of course. The ship hasn’t been abandoned! The pilot’s still here!’

Chapter
9
    People. Holding her down, stopping her getting away. Vicky struggled, but their arms were around her, unyielding, like a nightmare tangle of tree branches pressing, scratching, trapping her. She looked round desperately for a place to hide, but the woods were wintry and offered no cover. She struggled, futilely, and then realised that her captors were talking to her, shushing her, trying to calm her, saying her name.
    ‘Vicky, it’s OK.’ A Scottish accent. ‘Vicky, we won’t hurt you. You’re safe.’
    ‘My watch,’ she said, trying to make them understand. It was so important that they understood; that they knew about everything that was happening here. Perhaps if they understood, they could explain it to her. ‘My watch stopped!’
    ‘We know,’ said another voice; someone local. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart. Are you OK?’
    ‘No!’ Vicky said, and then burst into tears. ‘My mum’s going to kill me!’
    One of them let go of her; the other person’s hold relaxed, turning into an embrace. Vicky felt herself rocked gently to and fro. ‘No she won’t,’ said the local one, a soft reassuring breath in her ear. ‘She’s going to be thrilled to see you.’
    ‘Bet you get a new watch out of it,’ said the other. ‘At the very least.’
    Vicky couldn’t help but laugh, even through her tears. ‘I’ll be choosing my own watches in