Prayers to Broken Stone ((The Meddler VI/Allison Castiel))

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

“You sadly mistake my intent!” she spat. “I care nothing for this world or her people."

Rob sagged a little as she rejected his offer, both glad and disappointed that she'd turned him down. What was he, that he'd even...

"I do not wish to be their Queen or their saviour. All I want is for them to die, in as much agony as possible."

"Wot?" The statement dragged him away from his introspection. "What th' bleedin' church, Classy? Why'd ya wanna..?"

"I am the Champion of the Eternal Pain," she declared, as if that made a lick of sense. "My power flows from Her beneficence."

"So y'wanna torture a planet ta death 'cause yer a barmy god-botherin' errand girl?" Contempt laced his voice. "Suckin' up ta some psychic parasite, 'cause yeh ain't got th' strength to get by on yer own?"

"I have been using the anguish and distress of this world as a source of energy, to heal my TARDIS of the wounds you inflicted upon her."

"I fixed me own, Classy!" he shot back, recognizing the word TARDIS but unsure what it was. But he knew he'd had one, and that he'd fixed it and powered it himself. "Didn't need ta be a slave to do it, neither!"

"I caused this Apocalypse, Doctor. I was the reason that Dalek crash-landed here, and became infected with wasp larvae. And now that my plans have almost come to fruition, I will not allow you to negate this timeline!”

"Bollocks!" Rob shot back. "I put a hella lot o' work into tidyin' things up, an' I ain't lettin' you step on it 'cause yer a petty psycho slave!" She has a TARDIS! his patchwork memories shrieked excitedly, driving him towards her. If I can get access to it, I can...

He dove for safety as she hurled a blast of energy across the room. Smoke and stink filled the cockpit, and she laughed like the lunatic she was. “Good luck trying to land this plane,” she sneered. “Forty thousand feet is a long way to fall, even for you, Doctor.” and then she vanished.

"Bollocks!" Rob shouted again, dashing to the controls. Shot. Utterly ruined. The plane was still level for the moment, but it wouldn't last long. And Classy was right, damn her. Forty thousand feet was a long, long fall.

A pounding at the door caught his attention, and he tore it open. "Alley-cat!" he exclaimed, taking in her shell-shocked expression and the frozen chunks of the man behind her. "We're fair buggered, right enough." He pushed past her, eyes darting around the cabin. "Yer Jem was here, she was. Some sorta masochist Time Witch, she is, summoned up somethin' nasty an' had herself a snit an' fried the controls when I sent it back. We're crashin' now, any minute. Help me find some antacc shielding, or a gravchute or somethin', won't you?"

He pulled open a compartment, saw nothing of use, and slammed it shut again. "Oh, and how was yer day?"

[Allison Castiel]

Allie was just going to slam into the door again with the last of her strength, when it burst open and Rob emerged. He looked a little worse for wear, as if he'd been in some sort of fight – but thank God, he appeared to be all in one piece.

"Alley-cat!" he exclaimed.

“Rob!” Her relief was so great, she didn't hesitate. She threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely. “You're alive! That woman, she wasn't really a stewardess! She locked the door and I couldn't get in and I thought...”

"We're fair buggered, right enough." He pushed past her, eyes darting around the cabin. "Yer Jem was here, she was. Some sorta masochist Time Witch, she is, summoned up somethin' nasty an' had herself a snit an' fried the controls when I sent it back. We're crashin' now, any minute. Help me find some antacc shielding, or a gravchute or somethin', won't you?"

He pulled open a compartment, saw nothing of use, and slammed it shut again. "Oh, and how was yer day?"

"Jem? That was Jem? But how... I don't understand,” Allie faltered, trying to process the gist of what he was telling her. “There was this monster outside, in the storm... like a huge shadow with red eyes. It killed Mr Santos and I... wait, did you say we were crashing?”

Galvanised by fear, she joined him and began ripping open every compartment she could find. Mostly, the things she found were expensive but useless. Some Louis Vuitton leather hand luggage, a set of golf clubs, some cartons of vintage wine. It appeared that the late owner of the plane had possessed a taste for luxury and hadn't held back from indulging it. In one small drawer, she even found some small cellophane packages of white powder, which she chose not to examine too closely, slamming the drawer shut in disgust.

After a few minutes, however, which seemed more like hours, she finally came across several fluorescent objects, which to her untrained eye, looked like a cross between a backpack and a life-jacket. They were tucked neatly under the passenger seats nearest the cockpit, and despite the lettering on them being in a foreign language, the picture that was drawn on them made their purpose very clear.

Allison dragged them out and whirled around to Rob, holding them out to him.

“I found these.” Her face was strained and white, her eyes pleading with him to find another solution. “But... I can't. Rob,  I wouldn't have the first clue what to do!”

Even as she said the words, she knew with a gut-wrenching feeling that she would have to try. She had no idea whether the man calling himself Robin Goodfellow had any more training in operating a parachute than she did. And even if he did, whether or not he'd be able to extract enough relevant facts from his patchy memory to get them both to safety.

Nevertheless, she gritted her teeth in determination, steeling herself for his answer. She wouldn't go down without a fight. Not if it meant letting Jem win. Not if it meant letting the whole world die.

Somehow, compared to the apocalypse she knew was coming, jumping out of a plane at 40,000 feet no longer seemed as impossible as it would once have done.

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

"Jem? That was Jem? But how... I don't understand,” Allie faltered, trying to process the gist of what he was telling her.

"Well, Alley-cat," Rob said absently, tearing open a compartment and tossing hand luggage aside, "it's like this. She says she's a Time Lord, and a servant of pain, and bollocks like that. I'll admit she's a pain in me arse, but other than that? Dunno. But..."

“There was this monster outside, in the storm... like a huge shadow with red eyes. It killed Mr Santos and I... wait, did you say we were crashing?”

"Yep." He cracked open a crate, looked at the wine bottles for a minute, and moved on. "So we're on a bit of a time budget. Try an' focus, will you? Hey! Look at this!" He held up a golf club. "A Callaway Big Bertha Irons Driver! These are brilliant!"

Alley-cat snorted and set to tearing the place apart, helping him search. A few minutes later she held up a fluorescent orange pack. “I found these.” Her face was strained and white, her eyes pleading with him to find another solution. “But... I can't. Rob, I wouldn't have the first clue what to do!”

Rob stared at them for a moment. "Well, y'put yer legs through the straps here, see..?" He took one and stepped in. "Then these straps go round yer shoulders, and y'connect the belts here..." His actions mimiced his words. "Then you cinch it down tight. No, no, tighter than that. Like, uncomfortably tight." He watched, nodding approvingly as she followed suit, then cinched down his own straps. Then he crouched down, and pulled out a couple of smaller backpack-like cases. "Survival gear," he explained, shrugging one on so it sat on his abdomen. "Matches an' compass an' first aid an' the like, I shouldn't wonder. Might come in handy."

With that, he waddled over to the door. A little wrestling later, and it swung open and slammed against the hull of the plane. Chill wind blasted in, pulling at his hair and tearing at his clothes. "Bracin', innit?" he shouted, struggling to be heard above the roar. Glancing downwards, he saw an unbroken sea of different greens, shot through by a great silvery ribbon that must be one of the tributaries of the Amazon. "C'mon," he called, holding his hand out. "FIrst step's a doozy, but it gets a whole lot easier after!"

[Allison Castiel]

She was really going to do this.

As Rob helped her into the parachute gear, so bulky on her tiny figure that it made it difficult even to stand, the realisation came crashing in. She was actually going to jump out of a plane into the Amazon jungle. Sick panic welled up inside her, but she forced it down. With no engines to hold it aloft, the plane was already losing altitude, gliding lower and lower. Given the thick, green jungle canopy below, there was very little chance that the final impact would be anything less than fatal. At least with the parachutes, they had a chance, no matter how slim.

Then [Rob] crouched down, and pulled out a couple of smaller backpack-like cases. "Survival gear," he explained, shrugging one on so it sat on his abdomen. "Matches an' compass an' first aid an' the like, I shouldn't wonder. Might come in handy."

Somehow, she managed a shaky smile. “Ever the optimist, aren't you? Assuming that we'll survive the jump.”

He wrenched the door open, and she clung on to one of the bulkheads as the wind gusted fiercely through the cabin, sending loose papers and magazine swirling and fluttering. Allie watched in apprehensive fascination as some of them blew out of the doorway, tiny white squares spiraling helplessly away into the cerulean blue.

"Bracin', innit?" he shouted, struggling to be heard above the roar.

Allie's stomach twisted. The view would have been magnificent, if she wasn't about to so abruptly become part of it. The myriad shades of green, the glittering sunlit river... after years of living through the Apocalypse, it was heart-breakingly beautiful.

There were probably worse ways to go, she told herself comfortingly. Maybe, for a while, it would be like flying. Free as a bird, over all that glorious scenery. Better than dying of starvation and thirst in a dark, rancid hole in the ground.

"C'mon," [Rob] called, holding his hand out. "First step's a doozy, but it gets a whole lot easier after!"

Taking a deep breath, trying not to look down, she edged forward and put her small hand trustingly in his.  For better or for worse, the decision was already made.

She was really going to do this.

Swallowing hard, she said, “Tell me what I need to do.”

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

"C'mon," he called, holding his hand out. "FIrst step's a doozy, but it gets a whole lot easier after!"

Alley-cat took a deep breath and crept forward, resolutely looking at his face and nothing else. “Tell me what I need to do.” she gulped, taking his hand.

Rob grinned. "Well, once you leave the plane, count to ten. That'll give you time to clear the engines before you yank that cord there -" he tapped the ripcord, showing her where it was. "Cos getting sucked thorugh one'd be unpleasant. Other than that?" He shrugged. "Try and stay nearby, and flex yer knees when you land. You'll break a leg if you keep them rigid."

Had he done this before? Or was he getting the information from movies he'd seen and books he'd read? No matter, he decided. Important part is to sound confident. So he flashed her a grin. "Also, feel free to scream. Helps equalize pressure in the ears. Ready? Good." Without further warning he spun and planted a hand on the small of her back, shoving her forward and following her out. Gravity seemed to disappear as he broke contact with the plane, and it lept into the sky above him as the Amazon stretched out from horizon to horizon beneath him.

Memory flickered across his mind. Standing in a doorway, staring down at the curved horizon of a planet as air whistled past him and tugged at a grey suit. Frost forming on skin as he fell. You're seeing now a veteran, his mind sang incongrously, of a thousand psychic wars. I've been living on the edge so long, where the winds of Limbo roar. And I'm young enough to look at, and far too old to see. All the stars are on the inside."

"Woooo!" Rob screamed, laughing excitedly to dispel the mood of the memory. Tucking his arms and legs in, he angled down and dove towards Alley, soaring past her before spreading his limbs and slowing his fall slightly to pull up even with her. "In your own good time!" he called, shouting to be heard over the roaring wind. "We've got about 200 seconds left to impact, so plenty of time." He offered her a hopefully confident grin, feeling his lips tug in the slipstream. "You go first, and I'll make sure your chute clears before I pull."

I don't know that there's anything left of me... his mind continued, and he shook his head irritable. "Whenever you're ready."

[Allison Castiel]

Rob grinned. "Well, once you leave the plane, count to ten. That'll give you time to clear the engines before you yank that cord there -" he tapped the ripcord, showing her where it was.

Cord. Her gaze followed his hand, making herself take in what he was saying. Right, yes, check. She knew at least that much about parachutes. You jumped and you pulled the cord and you hoped like hell that it opened. Knowing where it was would definitely help.

"Cos getting sucked through one'd be unpleasant. Other than that?" He shrugged. "Try and stay nearby, and flex yer knees when you land. You'll break a leg if you keep them rigid."

She'd once heard of a case where a woman had her head sliced off by a helicopter rotor that had come loose while it was still spinning. It wasn't at all the same thing as Rob was talking about, but the vivid, bloody images conjured up by her imagination were extremely unsettling, so Allie did her best not to think about it. Instead, she practiced flexing her knees, finding to her dismay that they were locked tight in fear.

"Also,” Rob continued on, his voice as matter-of-fact as if he was a jump instructor, filling in a new trainee. As if this catastrophe was all in a day's work to him. Allie couldn't understand how he could face their situation with such equanimity. But she had to admit, she was drawing courage from his calm demeanor. If he'd shown any fear, she wasn't sure she'd be able to attempt this at all. “Feel free to scream. Helps equalize pressure in the ears. Ready? Good."

The sharp push took her by surprise, as it was meant to. She sailed out through the door of the plane, and suddenly, she was hanging suspended in the cerulean blue of the sky, her own startled shriek echoing in her ears. That moment felt like forever, an entire lifetime, as though time itself had frozen. She had to be falling, probably at a tremendous rate, but it didn't feel like that, because she couldn't see anything moving past her. The overload on her senses was like nothing she'd ever felt before. The sight of the Amazon spread out below her like a magnificent, verdant tapestry; the sound of the wind howling in her ears, buffeting her fragile body back and forth; her ragged clothes fluttering; the rasping of her laboured breath tearing at her throat.

I'm flying, she told herself incredulously, stretching out her arms and legs in awe. I'm really flying!

Finally, instead of looking up to the sky all her life, she had become a bird. All her fear had left her. In a matter of seconds, she'd evolved into a creature of sheer adrenaline. She felt as though she was dying, and yet, at the same time, as if she'd never really been alive until now. In all the thrill and the excitement, everything Rob had told her went completely out of her head. She didn't even think about the parachute on her back, or remember to count to ten as he had instructed her. All she could focus on was the intoxicating liberation she was experiencing, the feeling that she could fly on forever and ever and never stop.

"Woooo!" Rob screamed, laughing excitedly to dispel the mood of the memory. Tucking his arms and legs in, he angled down and dove towards Alley, soaring past her before spreading his limbs and slowing his fall slightly to pull up even with her. "In your own good time!" he called, shouting to be heard over the roaring wind. "We've got about 200 seconds left to impact, so plenty of time." He offered her a hopefully confident grin, feeling his lips tug in the slipstream. "You go first, and I'll make sure your chute clears before I pull."

Impact. The word snapped her back to reality, reminding her where she was and exactly what was happening. Oh God, yes. She wasn't flying, she was falling. At terminal velocity. Down below, the landscape was now coming recognisably closer, the green blur clarifying into the undulating jungle canopy; the glittering silver ribbon becoming a rushing, winding river. Fumbling in panic, her hand reached for the cord he had shown her, trying to get enough purchase for a sharp yank.

"Whenever you're ready.”

She pulled the cord hard, her heart in her mouth, in case it didn't work, in case she continued to plummet back to earth like a stone. There was nothing more she could do but to trust in the wind and the waiting silk inside the pack on her back. Overhead, the parachute blossomed, a scarlet flower unfurling, and Allie was jerked back upwards as it caught the wind, the harness cutting into her armpits and sides.

Drifting now like a piece of colourful confetti, scattered during a summer wedding, she craned her neck to try to see Rob, as the parachute slowed her headlong fall to a much more leisurely descent.

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

Rob let himself plummet for a few more seconds as he watched Alley-cat drift up and away from him, buoyed by the parachute that opened above her. Then, satisfied that he wouldn't get her caught up in his chute, he pulled his cord. The jerk of the opening parachute hammered at his ribs, threatening to tear the breath from him as he jolted to a seeming stop. Then he found himself dangling beneath a canopy of bright orange nylon as he drifted earthwards. For nearly a minute everything was peaceful. Serene, really. Just the gentle sensation of floating without a care as he hung suspended between earth and sky.

What a shame, he realized, that his "earth" options were either trees or river.

"Try to stay close!" he shouted, jerking at the right side of his parachute to veer off away from the river. "Make for the trees, and try not to break anything!"

The forest canopy drifted closer and closer, a mass of undifferentiated greens slowly becoming more visible as leaves and branches. He floated closer and closer, looking for a likely place to... land? No, not bloodly likely. More like crash and get tangled. Parachuting into a forest was a fool's game, after all. But staying on the crippled plane was even more of a fool's game, so you took your chances. And then he slammed into the upper canopy, feeling leaves and small branches part and smash under the impact. Fast reflexes and sheer luck - although more luck than reflexes - kept him from smacking directly into any of the thicker, heavier branches, until finally he jerked to a halt some ten meters above the jungle floor. Nylon rope creaked and swayed as he bobbed at the end of the snared parachute, wobbling back and forth like a pendulum.

Peering about, he began kicking his legs to swing faster and faster. Soon, he was able to grab hold of a thick limb of a tree and hang on. "Alley?" he called, peering about. "Can you hear me? You make it down all right, Alley-cat?"

[Allison Castiel]

"Try to stay close!" he shouted, jerking at the right side of his parachute to veer off away from the river. "Make for the trees, and try not to break anything!"

She heard his hoarse yell, and she tried to do as he said, she really did. But she had no real idea how to steer herself, and the wind was very strong. The big red parachute seemed to have a mind of its own. Despite all her best efforts to the contrary, it insisted on pulling her to the left, closer and closer to the river, as she drifted lazily down to earth.

Rob had disappeared from her eyeline, and no matter how she twisted her head, she couldn't see him. The water was coming up fast now – or she was coming down fast. Either way, the sparkling blue of the river was getting uncomfortably close to her dangling feet. Flickers of memory rose up in her brain, fragments of news stories about people who had jumped from bridges and had their insides splattered as they struck the unyielding surface of the water below.

They didn't have parachutes, she told herself, attempting to quell her growing panic. I'm not plummeting so quickly, so that won't happen to me.

She was a good swimmer, so that was one thing in her favour. And making her body as upright and as streamlined as she could, like a knife, would help ease her entry into the water. The main problem was going to be disentangling herself from the harness as rapidly as possible, to prevent the parachute from dragging her down. Common sense told her that she needed to face into the wind, so that the parachute would land behind her, instead of right on top of her. Wriggling around, and pulling at the guide ropes attached to the harness, she managed to align herself correctly, the wind blowing directly into her face and tearing at her hair.

Within moments, she felt her boots contact the water, and she just had time to draw in a deep breath of air before she plunged below the surface. For a few precious seconds, the shock of the cold water closing over her head paralysed her. The pack on her back seemed to pull at her like a live thing, the parachute that had kept her floating like a bird now causing her to sink like a stone.

Her lungs were crying out for air, helping her to at last regain her stunned senses. Kicking and writhing against the drag of the fallen canopy, she fought her way back to the surface, blindly pushing her head up and gasping for breath. Her hands clutched at the clasp of the harness, struggling to free herself and to tread water at the same time.

Somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard someone shouting her name.

“Rob!” she yelled, coughing and spluttering as she tried to make her voice loud enough for him to here. “ROB!”

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

"Rob!"

Alley-cat, from somewhere in the distance. He cocked his head, listening carefully as he tried to tell where it came from. Not an easy trick, not while clinging to a tree in the jungle. Not when clinging to a tree some 12 or 15 meters off the ground. Where was she..?

"ROB!"

He was getting worried, now. She sounded desperate. Frightened, even. And there was a coughing quality to her voice that...

The river!

Swearing in languages he couldn't put a name to, Rob tore at the straps of the parachute with fingers that felt like they weren't working fast enough. As the last buckle opened he dropped and caught a branch, feeling his arms and shoulders and back compain at the sudden demands. The rest of his descent to the forest floor went in similar fashion, a jerky frenzy of activity too uncontrolled to be climbing and with insufficient broken limbs to be called dropping, and his knees protested at the impact as his boots thudded into the soil.

"Hang on, Alley-cat!" he shouted, orienting himself. Then he broke into a sprint, racing in the direction of the river. The scenery around him became a green-brown blur of motion as he ducked heavy branches and vaulted fallen logs and was whipped across face and chest and arms by foliage. Finally, as the loam underfoot made a squelching transition into mud, he found the great green expanse of the river itself. His head whipped around, taking in the scene. No sign of... wait! A soggy parachute, slowly being tugged beneath the water.

He tossed his survival pack and coat aside and dove, striking the water with a splash. Well, I guess I know how to swim, he thought crazily as he breasted the current and caught the edge of the parachute. Treading water for a moment he hyperventilated, charging his lungs and blood with oxygen, then ducked his head beneath the water and forced his eyes open.

The water was murky, rich with silt and organic debris, trumping even his ability to see in darkness. He swam beneath the silk, finding the straps and diving down. As he did he felt something changing in his anatomy, new circulatory pathways opening up and reducing the urge his lugs felt to breathe. More confident now he kicked, following the lines down to find... an empty harness.

No Alley-cat.

He struck for the surface again, head emerging into the air with a soft gasp of exhalation and a deep breath. Treading water once more, he scanned the river. Where was she? Where was..?

"Rob!"

Over there! He struck out once more, splashing through the murky water until he was able to get an arm under her shoulders. "Hang on," he said, shifting to pull her head clear of the water once more. "I'll have you out in a minute, I will. Just... hey! No grabbing my head! I need to see!"

It was harder work than he'd expected, swimming two people back to shore. But he finally made it, dragging the both of them out onto the muddy bank until she managed to drag herself, and then crawling a little further until he reached his discarded pack and coat. Then and only then did he roll over and collapse onto the ground. "On the whole," he said, staring up at the leafy green canopy above them, "I think that went rather well."

[Allison Castiel]

It seemed an eternity before Allie managed to free herself from the harness. She kept going down, pulled beneath the water by the sheer weight of the water-logged parachute, and having to fight her way upwards again, her lungs screaming for air. And every time she went down, it was harder to come up again, her strength slowly ebbing away, leaving her small body drained and exhausted. Water choked her eyes and her ears, leaving her with no real idea how close she was to shore. Her fingers were cold and stiff, refusing to do her bidding, as she clawed at the release snaps on the harness. Whenever she could summon enough air to shout, she called for Rob, desperately hoping he was uninjured himself, and close enough to hear her.

When at last the clasps came free, and she was able to shrug her way out of the harness, the relief was so great she nearly sobbed aloud. Kicking feebly, she put as much distance as she could between herself and the sodden clump of fabric that was the sinking parachute. There was a strong current pulling at her, the hurrying river swirling her away, just another piece of flotsam lost in its all-consuming rush to the sea. At first, Allie tried to struggle against it, but she was too tired, and she didn't know which way she should be swimming anyway.

“Rob!” She called his name one last time, without any real hope, on the point of giving up and allowing the river to take her.

But then, to her incredulous joy, she heard his voice somewhere nearby – although, in her disoriented state, she couldn't tell where it was coming from. A moment later, his arm was around her, raising her drooping head above the water.

“Rob,” she gasped, blindly clutching at him. “I can't... can't swim... so... so tired.”

"Hang on," he said, shifting to pull her head clear of the water once more. "I'll have you out in a minute, I will. Just... hey! No grabbing my head! I need to see!"

The next few minutes would always remain a blur to Allie. Water, water, everywhere; cold, numbing her bones; Rob's encouraging voice in her ear, urging her to stay with him; the constant effort to force her exhausted legs to kick, to help him in some small way, so that she wasn't just a dead weight.

At long last, she felt solid ground beneath her feet, and then Rob was dragging her out of the water. Drawing in great rasping lungfuls of air, she flopped face first into the mud, uncaring of the slick mess coating her skin and hair. It was enough just to be able to lie there and breathe, without the relentless pull of the water trying to drag her down. Silent tears of thanksgiving rolled down her face. They were alive. Against all the odds, they had made it.

"On the whole," Rob's weary voice commented from slightly further up the bank. "I think that went rather well."

Before Allie could reply, there came the sound of a distant explosion, startling a flock of birds from the canopy above them, sending them squawking in shrill protest into the air. Raising her head, Allie was just in time to see a column of fire and smoke rising from deeper within the jungle. The plane, she realised. She was witnessing all that was left of the private jet.  The fuel tanks must have ignited on impact.

“Yes,” she answered in a small voice, awed by the fiery fate they had so narrowly escaped. “I rather think it did.”

With that, she curled back into the mud, and closed her eyes against the glare of the setting sun. They were stranded in the middle of a strange jungle, with few supplies, no equipment and no shelter, and night was swiftly approaching.  It was hardly an ideal situation.  But just for now, she didn't have the energy to worry about that.

She was much too busy appreciating the fact that she was still alive.

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

"On the whole," Rob said, staring up at the leafy green canopy above them, "I think that went rather well." With a weary grunt he shifted, digging through the pockets of his coat to retrieve his pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Sitting up, he puffed one alight and blew out a long, thoughtful cloud of blue smoke.

In the distance there was the muffled crump[/i] of an explosion. He glanced idly in the direction of the sound, watching oily black smoke belch into the blue sky. “Yes,” Ally said in a small voice, “I rather think it did.”

"Buck up," Rob suggested, digging into his pack now. "Could be worse. Got yer health, ain't yeh. Speakin' o' which..." He tossed her a foil-wrapped bar. "Tuck in. Get some protein an' sugar in yeh, it'll help wit' th' shakes it will." Leaving her to it, he dug into the survival pack and rummaged through the contents, finally dragging out a small compass and a laminated map. "This is a bit rubbish, of course," he said, opening the map. "Used fer navigating while yer steak an' kidney, but it's what we got. So, lesse...."

The cigarette bobbed up and down in his lips as he peered over the map, tracing a line with a grubby-lookin finger. "We was here, an we wanna be there, and we was just about here..." The finger stabbed down on the map. "Right in the middle o' the bleedin' jungle, not that you need me to tell you that. Maybe..." Now he measured off distance with his fingers, comparing the gap to the scale on the map. "Looks like about four hundred klicks, more or less, ta where we wanna be. As th' plane don't fly no more, that is. More like double that, hikin', since we gotta penn'orth the whole bleedin' way an' dodge trees an' rivers an' wildlife an' such like."

Glowering at the map, he finished the cigarette and stubbed it out in the dirt. "Bloody Patrick Miss Fitch," he muttered, absently eating the filter. Then he took a sighting with the compass and pulled himself to his feet. "We go that way," he declared, pointing up river. "You ready?"

[Allison Castiel]

"Buck up," Rob suggested, digging into his pack now. "Could be worse. Got yer health, ain't yeh. Speakin' o' which..." He tossed her a foil-wrapped bar. "Tuck in. Get some protein an' sugar in yeh, it'll help wit' th' shakes it will."

The bar plopped into the mud beside her. Numbly, Allie inched her fingers towards it, the movement more automatic than anything else. She didn't feel hungry. Her stomach felt so hollow and twisted, she wasn't sure she ever would again. Memories of what had happened on board the plane kept flickering through her brain. She could still feel the chill of Luiz's frozen flesh under her fingertips; still hear the dreadful cracking as his body shattered into a thousand pieces right in front of her eyes.

She still had no real idea of what had happened. Just that somehow Jem had managed to follow them here to the past, that she had disguised herself as a stewardess and somehow had summoned a monster, before leaving them to die in the plummeting plane.

But yet again, the woman had failed. Here they were, both of them alive, and more or less unscathed. The triumphant realisation woke a tiny flare of hatred and rebellion inside Allie, even though a few seconds ago she'd felt like she had nothing left to give. Screw you, Jem, she thought bitterly. Screw you. Her fingers tightened on the protein bar, the movement deliberate, a gesture of defiance. Forcing herself to sit up, she pushed the muddy rat-tails of her hair out of her eyes and tore the packet open, sinking her teeth into the bar inside, methodically chewing and swallowing. Rob was right – the infusion of sugar stopped the world from spinning. Little by little, the shaking of her body subsided, and she started to feel a bit less like she was going to pass out.

Leaving her to it, [Rob] dug into the survival pack and rummaged through the contents, finally dragging out a small compass and a laminated map. "This is a bit rubbish, of course," he said, opening the map. "Used fer navigating while yer steak an' kidney, but it's what we got. So, lesse...."

The cigarette bobbed up and down in his lips as he peered over the map, tracing a line with a grubby-lookin finger. "We was here, an we wanna be there, and we was just about here..." The finger stabbed down on the map. "Right in the middle o' the bleedin' jungle, not that you need me to tell you that. Maybe..."

"How close are we?” Allie croaked. “Are we anywhere near Roirama?”

Now he measured off distance with his fingers, comparing the gap to the scale on the map. "Looks like about four hundred klicks, more or less, ta where we wanna be. As th' plane don't fly no more, that is. More like double that, hikin', since we gotta penn'orth the whole bleedin' way an' dodge trees an' rivers an' wildlife an' such like."

"W-wildlife?” she quavered, swallowing hard. She'd seen plenty of David Attenborough documentaries about the Amazon. There were caiman crocodiles... and enormous snakes... and spiders as big as your head. And that was just for starters. Jaguars, piranhas, poisonous frogs, savage ants... the list went on and on.

Glowering at the map, [Rob] finished the cigarette and stubbed it out in the dirt. "Bloody Patrick Miss Fitch," he muttered, absently eating the filter. Then he took a sighting with the compass and pulled himself to his feet. "We go that way," he declared, pointing up river. "You ready?"

How could he be so calm? A small bubble of hysteria seemed to burst inside Allie's chest. As if they were contemplating a Sunday stroll through Hyde Park, not an endless trek through a hostile jungle. An endless trek with a mutant wasp waiting for them at the finish line, the beginning of the end of the world, a tiny voice reminded her, whispering in the back of her head. If she listened hard enough, that voice sounded a lot like Danny.

Wearily, she levered herself to her feet. Predators could find them here just as well as anywhere else in the jungle. It was best to start moving, before she lost her courage altogether. Before she let Rob... and Danny... down.

“I'm ready. We haven't got long, before we lose the light.”

Alert for any suspicious movements in the concealing greenery around them, she started to trudge in the direction he had indicated, her aching body protesting with every step.

“After all, who needs a gym, when you've got the end of the world?” she joked feebly, as she was swallowed up by the oppressive maw of the dark and steamy undergrowth.

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

Glowering at the map, he finished the cigarette and stubbed it out in the dirt. "Bloody Patrick Miss Fitch," he muttered, absently eating the filter. Then he took a sighting with the compass and pulled himself to his feet. "We go that way," he declared, pointing up river. "You ready?"

He watched with some interest as emotions played over Allie's features. Anxiety, fear, exhaustion. No wonder, really. She'd been through a whole lot in the past few days. Past few years, actually. She had a right to be under a bit of a strain, didn't she? Still, they were under a bit of a deadline - what with the looming end of the world and all. They didn't have time for this... or, did they? She seemed to think this 'Doctor' bloke was all right. If he was this Doctor (Meddler!, his inner voice protested), what would he say right now to buck her up?

Then, with a sigh of exhaustion, she pulled herself to her feet. “I'm ready. We haven't got long, before we lose the light.”

"That's the spirit, Alley-cat!" Rob beamed, looking around.

“After all, who needs a gym, when you've got the end of the world?” she joked feebly.

"Powerful motivator, ain't it?" he agreed, testing a broken branch by banging it against a tree. Seemingly satisfied, he opened a pocket knife and began stripping bark and trimming twigs as they pushed through the undergrowth. "An' look at it this way: we're nearly done, ain't we? We made it back to before th' wasps an' th' poison wrecked th' world, an' now we just gotta stop whatever it was that makes the little bleeders into th' giant unstoppable murder wasps y'know an' love." Folding the knife once more, he gave the staff he'd created an experimental spin and then handed it over. "Here. Might come in handy, pushin' through th' trees or climbin' hills or th' like."

As he spoke, something nagged at the edge of his perception. A sort of high whine, barely audible and distant, coming from the direction of the river. "Y'hear that?" he asked, dropping his voice to a whisper for no reason he could articulate. "Sounds like it might be a boat, or something."

It's not a boat, his inner voice seemed to say, although how he'd know that he had no idea. The sound was setting his teeth on edge, getting his pulse rates up, and he crouched low and tried to stay behind trees as he made his way towards the river for a better look. And then, when he saw it, inexplicable fear stabbed at his gut. Because it wasn't a boat. It was some sort of strange flying platform, with an odd cylindrical projection on top, skimming low above the river. Not touching it, mind. Floating above it.

A turret on the top of the cylinder rotated slowly, traversing the treeline on one side of the river and then another. He had no idea what it was, but the sight of it made his gut clench and his hands go clammy and his throat go dry. "Alley-cat," he whispered, somehow not wanting to draw it's attention, "any idea what th' bleedin' church that is..?"

[Allison Castiel]

"Powerful motivator, ain't it?" he agreed, testing a broken branch by banging it against a tree. Seemingly satisfied, he opened a pocket knife and began stripping bark and trimming twigs as they pushed through the undergrowth. "An' look at it this way: we're nearly done, ain't we? We made it back to before th' wasps an' th' poison wrecked th' world, an' now we just gotta stop whatever it was that makes the little bleeders into th' giant unstoppable murder wasps y'know an' love."

She laughed, a faint note of hysteria in her voice as she continued to doggedly forge her way through the jungle. “It's funny, you know. These past five years, I've often wondered how I was going to die. Whether I might starve, or be caught by Raiders or Los Niños, or succumb to the plague. But I never thought for one moment that I might drown in a river, or lose my way in an enormous, dangerous jungle. Those things were all gone. Forever, I thought, nothing left but legends and fairytales. And yet... here we are. Trees all around us. I can hear birds calling to each other. I can feel the wetness of the clothes on my skin. It's all so surreal, Rob.”

Folding the knife once more, he gave the staff he'd created an experimental spin and then handed it over. "Here. Might come in handy, pushin' through th' trees or climbin' hills or th' like."

Gratefully, she accepted the gift. He'd made a good job of it – it was exactly the right height for her. And it did make the walking easier, improving her balance as she traversed the tangled, uneven terrain, and helping her to thrust aside the curtains of hanging creepers.

“This isn't the first time I've been stuck in a jungle,” she confided quietly, thinking back to the struggle she and Andy had undergone, to survive on the planet of the Eternals.

But before she could elaborate further, a strange noise filtered its way through the undergrowth, catching Rob's attention. His head came up, and he listened intently.

"Y'hear that?" he asked, dropping his voice to a whisper for no reason he could articulate. "Sounds like it might be a boat, or something."

"Do you suppose we could flag them down?” she whispered back hopefully. “Maybe they could get us at least part of the way to Roirama?”

Rob, however, looked uneasy. He turned away, moving towards the edge of the jungle, but keeping low, clearly unwilling to reveal their presence to whatever was out there on the river. Allie followed him, as quickly and quietly as possible. Uncomfortable apprehension prickled down her back, accentuated by Rob's caution. Did he think it was Jem? Had she realised they'd survived the plane crash and come back to murder them?

But it wasn't Jem. Settling unobtrusively into the undergrowth beside Rob, Allie peered out in surprise at the strange object skimming along above the water. It was flat and circular and made of metal, like a flying platform. And on top of it, what appeared to be a large pepperpot, covered in wart-like bumps. Its dome-shaped head – if that's what it was – swiveled back and forth, as if it was searching the banks for something... or someone. A chill settled in Allie's stomach. Was it looking for them?

"Alley-cat," [Rob] whispered, somehow not wanting to draw it's attention, "any idea what th' bleedin' church that is..?"

Slowly, not taking her eyes off the hovering platform for a second, she shook her head. “I... don't know,” she quavered, keeping her voice equally low. “Some sort of robot, maybe? I've never seen anything like it before.”

The platform flew nearer and nearer, and the high-pitched whining increased in volume. As it drew level with them, Allie instinctively ducked down further in the undergrowth, praying that the leafy fronds made them virtually invisible. Peeking through the green stems, she saw the dome rotate in their direction. Protruding from the head section, a long metal rod with a blue light at the end scanned methodically back and forth, like a telescope, from the left bank to the right. To Allie's surprise, now that it was closer, and turned towards them, she could see that the dome wasn't symmetrical. Half of the smooth surface was burnt and melted and misshapen, as if the robot-creature had suffered some traumatic damage. The lower casing, too, had obviously taken some sort of hit – some of the half-spheres were shattered, and the metal was jagged and cracked.

Allie's mind flickered back to the scientific articles they had discovered in the Chiswick Library. How the experts had found corrupted DNA in the wasp-monsters the GK-50 had brought down – the whispers that had circled the world back then, the insidious rumours that somehow alien genes had merged with the Glyptapanteles, thus birthing the abominations that had devastated the Earth.

“Could this be what we're looking for?” she murmured uncertainly to Rob. “The catalyst that caused the Apocalypse? But we're still so far from where we need to be! It can't be, can it?”

And yet, and yet... the platform was hovering down river, in the very direction that Rob had indicated on their map. The direction they'd been travelling.

The direction in which Roirama lay.

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

"Alley-cat," he whispered, somehow not wanting to draw it's attention, "any idea what th' bleedin' church that is..?"

She hit the ground next to him, tracking the platform with her eyes. “I... don't know,” she quavered, keeping her voice equally low. “Some sort of robot, maybe? I've never seen anything like it before.”

"Feel like I have," Rob murmured, fighting to keep an edge of panic from his voice. "It's like... it's right on the edge of me memories." Something about the thing made him think of sand and pyramids, and hiding in a dark library, and... a war? Some colossal war that made his mind recoil from the memories as they tried to form. "Dalek," he whispered, unsure what the word meant. 'As gods', his defective memory supplied. In the language of the Dals of Skaro.

The 'dalek' machine (Armor his memory insisted) was clearly damaged. Burnt and dented and ruptured. But it clearly functioned. That was obvious from the way one limb manipulated some form of control on the saucer, and the way the saucer skimmed above the river. “Could this be what we're looking for?” Allie whispered.“The catalyst that caused the Apocalypse? But we're still so far from where we need to be! It can't be, can it?”

"Probably is," he muttered, watching the platform. "Things like that... I..." He bit off his words, uncertain what he was trying to say. "Yeah. Could be they experimented on the wasps, made them into yer unstoppable murder machines. Kinda thing they do."

How did he know that?

"Be handy if we had that saucer though," he mused aloud. Get us upriver a church of a lot faster, wouldn't it?" Ideas flickered through his mind, lightning quick and inspired by the damaged state of the shell. "Yeah, it would." The smile he offered Allie was almost manic. "Got me a plan. I'll need... five minutes, should do it. After that, think you can attract it's attention?"