UNIT and the Witching Time of Night - Prologue - The Runner

Apr 29, 2010 13:21

Title: UNIT and the Witching Time of Night - Prologue - The Runner
Characters: Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness, OFC, OMCs, Agent Johnson
Disclaimer: Neither Torchwood or Doctor Who are mine
Summary: Tis now the very witching time of night when church yards yawn and hell itself breathes out contagion to the world
Spoilers: The End of Time and Children of Earth, to be safe.
Rating: R
Warnings: Brief mentions of past torture and a bad try, by a Mackem, at writing the Geordie accent…
A/N: This is a sequel to UNIT and the Return to Spiridon.

Something deep inside her, so deep that the drugs could not reach it, forced her to run and she ran. Running through the blackened night, the forest was streaked and torn open with penetrating light. The headlamps of what she assumed were cars mingled with those of hand held searchlights dazzling her vision. The constant sound of baying dogs kept her moving. The rain was falling in a solid wall of water, drenching her clothes. The wet rain plastered her long hair against her face and eyes as she headed deep into the forest. She remembered tasting the rain on her lips as salty as the sea but twice as refreshing.

Suddenly the pursuers, as one unit, burst into the same clearing that she had just vacated and wheeled in a disorderly stream across the open ground, hunting, searching and above all, tracking her. The leader of the group, she noticed was the biggest Sontaran she had ever seen, armed with a stainless steel blade that flashed as the light hit it, as he slashed at the undergrowth in front of him. He seemed to be shouting meaningless staccato orders like a tribal battle cry in a horse broken noise of menace.

Frightened that they would see her she dropped to her knees and rolled under a fallen tree for cover. Quickly she buried herself with handfuls of dead leaves that she found there. It was then that she realised the Sontarans that were hunting her had no clear purpose or direction to follow. The dogs, or what she had thought of as dogs, hadn’t caught up with her yet and with any luck they would run right passed her position and miss seeing her completely. The commander’s voice grew louder in the clearing and she knew that they were coming her way.

One of her pursuers threw some kind of stun grenade and it spun over the dead ground and landed deep into the forest. The red and yellow flash lit up the sky and surrounding woodland sending a shower of splintered wood and leaves in every direction. Still they came, heads bobbing menacingly above the bush that offered her temporary sanctuary. Turning, she rolled from her hiding place and as quietly as she could move and headed away from them, keeping close to the ground as she travelled.

They were good, very good and the second she broke cover they saw her. It was then that she realised the grenade had not been meant to hurt her it had just been thrown to flush her out. She would have kicked herself if she could.

The uncharacteristically tall Sontaran gave a great shout and was joined by the others. The screaming Sontaran voices united in triumph. ‘Runner…’ It was Nolan and Johnson’s Logan’s Run all over again, she thought. Instead of being a Sandman, which would have been her preferred role, it was as if her palm flower crystal was black and this was Lastday.

The rain increased in its bombardment of the area much to the Sontaran’s displeasure. It was a hard slanting downpour, driven by a rising wind. Head down she broke into a run, the heavy footfalls of her pursuers pounded after her ignoring the night and ignoring the trees and bushes that surrounded them. After all, they were Sontarans, built for war, bread for the pursuit and capture and they couldn’t be hurt. They seemed more purposeful and better co-ordinated than she had realised they could be, especially for beings that were built as stocky as they were. Then she remembered, they came from a planet heavy with gravity. Running through a forest like this would be like walking on the moon for a spaceman. That was what was so unusual about the Sontaran leader, she realised he was so tall. Taller than she was by at least a foot.

Louise Ruth forgot her tiredness and fear but knew that she couldn’t sustain the breakneck pace she was running for much longer. Her right knee pained her with every move. She wished she’d brought her leg support with her. With hindsight she wished she’d brought the biggest gun in UNIT’s arsenal. She sped through the sodden undergrowth and deep into the forest where the trees were thicker and opened their branches as if to welcome her and offer her protection from the pack of Sontaran soldiers that were in hot pursuit.

She could hear her feet crushing twigs and squashing leaves underneath her but knew that this was not the time or place for stealth. From the corner of her eye she could see the approaching light beams and shadowy figures of the oncoming pursuit. She could hear and feel the wild rhythmic drumming of her heart pounding in her chest and she knew that they were still behind her, following her spoor and closing fast.

The shouting had died down, as they too had to concentrate on the effort needed to pursue and capture, reserving every drop of energy they had for the chase. They shouted with glee, for them the hunt was preferable to the kill, it seemed.

Suddenly she came to a split in the forest and three artificial pathways presented themselves. Without a second thought she swerved down the nearest one and saw with a gasp of relief that it turned back on her own route then stopped in deep foliage and fallen trees. She almost threw herself under cover into the dark evil smelling, rotting alien vegetation. Taking a deep breath she squeezed herself underneath and lay still in the narrow space that, she realised had once been a night creature’s resting-place. She closed her eyes and prayed that it wouldn’t revisit and demand the return of its layer. Remembering a passage she had read in a survival book her father had given her, she pulled bushes and leaves in front of the make shift hide, concealing her entrance and disguising any sign of her movement.

At that moment in time she couldn’t remember what her father looked like, in fact everything in her mind was a complete whirl of memories and colours. The thing that drove her was the need to survive, an instinct as basic as the hunters that tracked her. Taking a deep breath she tried to relax and let those instincts take over. Her mind flashed with memories of her parents divorce and being tortured by the Daleks. She remembered Jack and Ianto but couldn’t for the life of her remember who they were. Then she remembered Agent Johnson and her pledge to protect her.

‘Calm down… you haven’t lost it all yet,’ she told herself. ‘Just try to stay calm and in control. Don’t let them get to you. Don’t let the fear defeat you.’ She found that because of her cotton wool filled brain it was easier to contemplate actions than it was to put them into practice. ‘At least they can’t discover me by my smell,’ she thought, ‘not in this putrid area.’

Then to her utter dismay the running, passing feet stopped and hesitated for a moment. She froze where she was as the sounds of her pursuers approached from her left. Bent almost double she folded her hands over her chest trying to muffle the constant pounding of her heart. How could they not hear it? How could they not be drawn to the insistent drumming inside her?

To her relief, as if collectively, coming to a joint decision, they clattered passed her position and disappeared off into the night. From over two hundred yards away she heard their bay of frustrated anger at loosing her track. Then they split up and headed off into opposite directions spreading out in a search pattern taught to Sontarans while they were still in the cloning tank. She smiled and breathed out with a sense of relief, they had lost her ‘spoor’. She knew there would be no backtracking, no searching behind them. That wasn’t the Sontaran way. Each quarry they had chased and captured before kept running always onward, forward and away from their pursuers. They traded on the fact that they were the superior beings and everything was frightened of them.

Looking around she stayed in the relative security of her hide, lying still long after their voices had faded away. In contrast the night still rang out with the occasional explosion, as the Sontarans hunted for her, trying to drive her out from her earth and into the open where they could kill her.

With a shiver of revulsion she remembered the cold stinking cell that the Sontarans had kept her in. The room with the two way mirror. She didn’t want to be taken back to that room, whatever the cost. Her memory, she realised was returning, along with the pain and anguish that she had suffered at the hands of the Sontarans.

To her left a fallen tree blocked her escape as effectively as a locked door. In the darkness she did not think, did not know why she was running only that she had to run, and had to get back to the TARDIS that was waiting for her near a river side, some where. From the moment of her escape she had thought of nothing but to get away, to run.

After a short time she edged slowly, cautiously between two of the dark green, rotting bushes, easing herself slowly out of her borrowed warren. With perspiration dripping from her forehead she breathed the cool night air deep into her lungs. Looking up she gazed intently at the three moons and the night stars and wished she was somewhere else.

She took another deep breath to steady herself, to make her knees work efficiently, instead of wanting to buckle. Louise Ruth felt strained, weak and definitely in no shape for a country jog. The heavy duty army boots she wore had saved her, but at that moment none of it mattered. Nothing mattered at all beside the fact that she must reach the TARDIS. She could hear only the wind and rain, no sound of the Sontarans and without another thought she began to run again. Almost light headed with tiredness she moved through the trees not even registering the fact that branches were slashing at her exposed flesh. In fact, no pain bothered her at all as she ran parallel to her previous track.

In her mind the dense forest seemed to stretch on forever, a silent, half dying immensity opening out in front of her. The pale light from the full moons tried in vain to illuminate the darkness of the surrounding area. It looked like a dead forest, post nuclear, plague ridden and abandoned from which all life had fled except for the band of hunters, the Sontarans that seemed to snarl at her heels. It was as if she were part of a fox hunt only she was the fox. By now they would have found her trail but for the moment at least she was completely alone. Beneath the peeling bark and tall trees lay the rotting vegetation she was wading through. The stench of decay rose like a life force of its own from the deepest and blackest areas of the forest; areas that the moonlight with all its power could not even penetrate.

Then she heard the pursuers crashing through the brush not caring about stealth, still trying to frighten their prey out into the open. The howl of the Sontarans gave away their position and how close they were to her. Just when she thought she could evade them a second time the sound of an energy weapon discharging rang out and she felt a hammer blow slam into her right leg as it was thrown from beneath her. She hit the ground and rolled oblivious to the pain as the adrenalin forced its way through her veins giving her time to right herself and continue running.

She looked down and noticed that the blast had cauterised the wound and the bleeding had almost stopped. It was a shallow wound and had gouged out a chunk of flesh from her leg bicep. As Louise Ruth ran the pain filled her. Desperately she tried to ignore it. The benefit of the pain, she realised, was that the blast had jolted her, bringing her memory crashing back into reality.

She remembered talking to Agent Johnson before she left. The laughter as they looked out across the darkness that was the jungle that stretched out before her.

‘Tis now the very witching time of night when church yards yawn and hell itself breathes out contagion to the world.’ Johnson had smiled, recognising the quote from Hamlet and feeling strangely normal as if they were two students wondering what to do next. It had only been two days previous when she had been called to UNIT’s Sunderland office by Jack and Agent Johnson. Apparently, they had a job for her that only she could do.

***

Sitting alone Louise Ruth checked her mobile phone, not for calls or messages, but for the time. She gave a small chuckle as she did so. No one wore watches any more she realised. The mobile phone had taken over the world it seemed. The sale of watches, cameras, diaries, philo-faxes and video cameras must have plummeted, she thought. Even the walkman and mp3 player must have taken a dive when they became incorporated into a single hand held phone which could be customised with colour and sound.

Looking around she realised it was late, very late, but it didn’t bother her. After her impromptu journey to Spiridon she felt invincible. But that, she realised with a smile, had been the Daleks that were trying to kill her. This was the underground Metro from Newcastle to Sunderland at midnight on Saturday night and an entirely different ball game. In the back of her mind she felt that she could handle anything time travel could throw at her. It was so fantastic it wasn’t real to her. Whether it was Cybermen or Sontarans, it was all the same, a dream she could wake up from. Taking the last metro home was different, scary and real.

As the train pulled into the Manors station two youths literally jumped on and Louise Ruth, her concentration on her mobile phone, deliberately ignored them. As the doors clamped shut she became aware that there was no one else in the carriage and a shiver ran up her spine.

After a few moments one of the youths ambled over towards her and grinned vacantly. Momentarily looking up she noticed that he was dressed in a black leather biker’s jacket with the collar covered in studs. His jeans were so tight they made him look like a heavy metal singer. His Mohawk, Indian, spiky red hair stood up so straight that it looked as if he was receiving electric shock therapy constantly. She glanced down at his feet noticing that he was wearing heavy-duty army boots and smiled. ‘Nice boots,’ she thought to herself. Although he was a little over weight, she suspected from his movements that he was quite fit. His friend stood a few paces away leaning against a silver pole by the door. A sign next to his head read, ‘these poles are not for dancing.’ She smiled and wondered if those that were drunk enough to dance with them would be sober enough to read the sign.

‘So, slag, what de’ ya’ say ‘t’ me’ mates suggestion t’ de a quick strip? Eh?,’ he asked in a strong guttural ‘Geordie’ accent. At the same time he removed a small flick knife from his pocket.

‘Now that’s frightening,’ she replayed casually.

The youth looked down at his knife then back at Louise Ruth. ‘Ya frightened of me blade ey?’

Louise Ruth shook her head. ‘No… your God-awful use of the English language. Did you never go to school?’

The youth gazed around at his friend who was smiling. ‘What de ya mean… am on a entry to employment course… at the toon.’

She shook her head wondering why she seemed to always attract the nutters, and why she could never seem to keep her mouth shut around them. It always seemed to get her into trouble. ‘You want an entry into reality course. Now, be a good chap, and perpetrate your business elsewhere.’

‘Oh a student ay?’ He said offering the same vacant grin. ‘Fancy a bit of rough? Eh?’

‘Fancy a broken face de’ar’” she counted, trying in vain to mimic his accent, but failing drastically.

‘Divin’t git cliver’ ‘w’ me lady.’he said as the train pulled into South Shields station.

‘I think you’d be hard pushed to get clever with anyone.’ His companion stood in the doorway so that anyone that might have considered entering the end carriage would think better of it. Just then her phone rang, much to the amusement of her two perspective muggers.

‘Smack ya bitch up…smack ya bitch up… it’s a picture… up… smack ya bitch up.’ As the train pulled away the youth leaped up and down as he sang off key. Clicking the hands free button Louise Ruth shook her head at the youth’s antics.

‘Not only are you singing out of key you’ve got the lyrics wrong. Don’t you ever listen to the words or do you just shout out the first thing that comes into your glue-riddled mind like an audio version of the Rorschach ink blot test?’ She stopped talking when a voice she recognised came through the hands free kit.

‘Never seek attention, never cause a scene,’ she heard Agent Johnson’s words reverberating though out her head. ‘It’s the rule if you work for UNIT. Only break the rules in extreme circumstances.’

Louise Ruth looked around and noticed a small CCTV camera in the top corner of the carriage she sat in. Agent Johnson was keeping an eye on her as she had promised.

‘Me mate Karl fancies ya’. Did ya’ nah’ that bitch?’ Louise Ruth smiled at him as she began planning the route that she would have to take to get out of the carriage once the train pulled into the next station. ‘He’s a bit quite leek’ mysel’, Y’ nar’ whora mean?’ He smiled at her with anticipation.

‘To tell you the truth I haven’t a fucking clue what you’re talking about.’ Leaning forward she spoke into the hands free set. ‘I’m doing my best but… well… his use of syntax is appalling… he’s asking for it.’ The youth looked confused, which wasn’t difficult, she realised. He probably went through life with a perpetually perplexed look on his face.

‘Fuck you!’ he ended up shouting, trying desperately to hold onto what remained of his shattered pride.

‘Never provoke them.’ Johnson’s words filled her mind. She was about to reply when she heard a distinctive click and a long, thin blade shot out and flashed in the brightly lit carriage.

‘Now there’s two ways we can gan’ aboot’ this, quietly or noisily. It’s yewer’ choice pet. But if ya’ diven’t feel like co-operatin' I might hev’ ‘t’ make a few etchings in that pretty face of yours.’ The youth by the door began laughing.

‘Forget what I just said… drop the bastard,’ agent Johnson said as she noticed the flick knife moving closer to Louise Ruth’s face. Rising slowly she faced her tormentors. She paused before slowly opening up her shoulder bag.

‘She’s aul’ youwers’ naw Mark,’ said the young man as he turned to face his friend. He never saw the fist flying though the air as Louise Ruth slammed it into the side of his head. The flick knife went flying out of his hand and shot across the floor to the far end of the carriage. A second punch connected with the side of his neck and he slumped to the ground in a heap looking like a half filled sack of potatoes. Without a seconds thought she casually stepped over his unconscious body and headed towards Mark, Ianto’s stun gun held in her left hand.

Five minutes later she emerged from the carriage wearing a new pair of heavy-duty army boots and smiling. Without looking back she dropped the flick knife and two pairs of trousers into the bin opposite as the train pulled out from the station.

***

When she finally arrived at UNIT headquarters in Wear View House, deep in the heart of Sunderland town centre, she had been told that the Sontarans wanted, of all things, peace with the human race. The war with the Rutan Host had taken its toll on their numbers and they were unable to fight on two fronts, Jack had explained. If they knew that they were safe from reprisals then they would leave the Earth alone and concentrate on defeating the Rutans.

To be left out of the centuries-old war was a pleasing prospect for UNIT and with the full backing of Torchwood and the governments of Earth they had agreed in principle. The fly in the ointment, as Jack called it, was that the agreement had to be signed by a single Human on the Sontaran’s home planet of Sontar in the southern spiral arm of the galaxy. This point had been a stumbling block for all heads of state and after long negotiations an agreement was reached. A virtually uninhabited planet Lunar Moon 357 was selected where both parties would meet, although not heads of state would attend, both human or Sontaran, representatives were agreed upon. Group Marshal Skirl of the Fifth Army Space Fleet agreed to represent Sontaran interests but only if a specific human that was known to the Sontarans as a warrior would represent Human interests.

‘And that human…?’ Agent Johnson asked as Jack breathed out audibly.

‘That human warrior is our very own… Louise Ruth.’ Johnson shook her head as she gazed at her friend who had stopped mid drink from a Nero’s Americano, which Ianto had, had waiting for her on her arrival.

Chapter one - Sontaran Contact.

unit and the witching time of night, torchwood, doctor who, fic

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