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

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

Chiswick was a wasteland. Like most of London these days, Rob assumed. And the library had seen better days. The roof was gone along with one wall, the windows were shattered (except for one tenacious pane that clung to existence), and the rusting remains of a car lay flipped on the side against one surviving wall. Curiously enough, though, the front door remained intact and attached to the ruined building.

"Well," Rob said, folding his arms, "this ain't promising. Still, guess we won't have to worry about getting in."

He glanced up at the sky, watching the afternoon sun beat down like a hammer in the cloudless cerulian sky. Then, with a shrug, he clambered up a mound of shattered brick to get a closer look at the wreckage. It wasn't promising. At a closer inspection, the roof wasn't actually gone. It had just sort of sagged down when the walls went, knocking down the upper floor and coming to rest at a crazy lean-to angle. If they were lucky, about a third of the stacks would be accessable. If they were really lucky, the wreckage wouldn't collapse while they were in it.

"Good times," he said as he half-climbed, half-slid down the mound of shattered brick. "Takes me back, this does. Won't be the first library I've broken into. But, in this case, the front door's our best odds. Looks like it's the back of the library what came down, after all, so that should still be accessible."

Dusting reddish brick dust from his hands he tried the door. Stuck. "Out of curiousity," he asked, drawing Zanniga's knife and jamming it into the gap between door and frame, "we gonna see those crazy cannibal bins out here? Or anything else, fer that matter?" He grunted, trying to pry the door open. "Ain't changing me mind or nuffin', but it'd be good to know what's gonna try an' have me fer puddin'."

[Allison Castiel]

It had taken them too long to get here, Allie thought uneasily. Finding an exit from the tunnels, then waiting for the dawn, before making their way through the wastelands of Chiswick to what had once been the High Street, using whatever cover they could find in the ruined buildings to shelter from the rising sun. It was late afternoon now - the shadows long, and the UV danger less - but it still made her anxious to be out in the full glare of the burning sunlight. Despite the heat, she'd pulled up the hood of her tattered black sweatshirt, trying to cover as much skin as she could, giving her tiny form the appearance of some sort of gothic elf.

"Well," Rob said, folding his arms, "this ain't promising. Still, guess we won't have to worry about getting in."

Allie returned her attention to the library building he was surveying. He was right, it didn't look particularly auspicious. She wasn't quite sure what particular information Rob was hoping to find in there, but the structure had taken a lot of damage. It seemed likely that the books and periodicals that had once been stored inside were long gone. Destroyed, stolen, buried beneath the rubble, who knew?

“A lot of places around here, it's not getting in you have to worry about,” she said, watching him climb a pile of scree to get a closer look. “Getting out again, though... sometimes that's a whole different story.”

"Good times," he said as he half-climbed, half-slid down the mound of shattered brick. "Takes me back, this does. Won't be the first library I've broken into. But, in this case, the front door's our best odds. Looks like it's the back of the library what came down, after all, so that should still be accessible."

"There was an airstrike here, not long after the War started,” Allie shrugged. “A lot of the buildings were destroyed. I used to live just around the corner from here. I had a little flat, above a bakery. There's nothing left there now.”

Her voice was matter-of-fact, but there was an undercurrent of bleakness running beneath her words. The shattered wilderness they were standing in bore no resemblance to the Chiswick she remembered. Her old life was so distant that it now seemed like little more than a fevered dream.

Dusting reddish brick dust from his hands [Rob] tried the door. Stuck. "Out of curiousity," he asked, drawing Zanniga's knife and jamming it into the gap between door and frame, "we gonna see those crazy cannibal bins out here? Or anything else, fer that matter?" He grunted, trying to pry the door open. "Ain't changing me mind or nuffin', but it'd be good to know what's gonna try an' have me fer puddin'."

“Most of the Los Niños congregate in Central London,” she explained. “There's no reported settlements of them this far west, as far as I know. Sometimes they make forays to other areas, but they're mostly dangerous when you come across a pack of them. Then there's the Raiders. They're a nomadic tribe. They don't have a settlement of their own, they just roam around, preying on other people, killing them and stealing everything they have. They've slaughtered quite a few of our scavenging details, and once they even attacked our encampment. We managed to fight them off without too much difficulty, though – luckily, they're very disorganised.”

She rubbed wearily at her temples. “And then, of course, there's the Creepers. They can turn up anywhere. But they only come out at night. I don't know where they spend the daylight hours. Underground, somewhere, I expect, where it's cool.”

An apprehensive glance to the sky confirmed that the sun was beginning to sink. “We need to find somewhere safe to hide by twilight, Rob.”

Skirting the mound of broken masonry, she joined him at the door, ready to do whatever she could to help gain entry to the building.  Standing out in the open like this was just asking for trouble.

“Back there... when Zanniga died...” She paused and bit her lip, unsure whether to continue with the question. But then she decided that she couldn't just keep stewing over it.  If Rob had any theories at all about what had taken place, no matter how macabre, she needed to know. “You didn't answer me when I asked. What do you think happened to him? What was in that tunnel?”

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

As Ally outlined all the potential horrible things that could find them, Rob continued to work at the door. "No barmy bins, then. That's good. These raiders o' yours, though... they sound nasty. Cannibals as well? Or just psychos?"

With a final heave and a final grunt, he forced the door. "Brilliant!"

She rubbed wearily at her temples. “And then, of course, there's the Creepers. They can turn up anywhere. But they only come out at night. I don't know where they spend the daylight hours. Underground, somewhere, I expect, where it's cool.”

He sighed at that. "Bloody video games, I'm telling you. Still and all, we should be good now."

An apprehensive glance to the sky confirmed that the sun was beginning to sink. “We need to find somewhere safe to hide by twilight, Rob.”

A grin. "There's always the library, here. Doubt anyone's been in it since the air strike. We just pull the door shut and keep watch, and we'll be fine." With that he headed inside, only to stop when Ally asked her next question.

“Back there... when Zanniga died...” She paused and bit her lip, unsure whether to continue with the question. But then she decided that she couldn't just keep stewing over it. If Rob had any theories at all about what had taken place, no matter how macabre, she needed to know. “You didn't answer me when I asked. What do you think happened to him? What was in that tunnel?”

"What do I think was in that tunnel?" He turned and looked at her, gaze distant as he recalled what he'd seen. A cloud of blackness, washing over Zanniga that stripped him clean down to his bones. And the disturbing sensation of joining in it in some fashion. "What do I think was in that tunnel?" he repeated, glancing at the apparent ground-in grime in his hands. "Death. I think death was in that tunnel."

Then he glanced up again, a cheeky grin on his features. "Now, if you wanna trust me patchy memory, I think I remember a few names. Vashta Nerada. Cyyisnyoidnigon sryonntgohdudai crnoauwd." A shrug. "Don't help much, does it? And it could just be me babbling on an' makin' horse up to fill in the gaps. But I can't help but think I remember Cyyisnyoidnigon sryonntgohdudai crnoauwd means sommat like 'shadows that melt flesh', an' that sounds apt even if it's nonsense."

With a clap of his hands, he turned on his heel and walked into the crazily-leaning entryway. "Jus' think o' it as yet another of the many bloody things lurking about this crazy world that're trying to kill you, and you'll be fine. Besides, we've got work to do. Hopefully the periodicals section will still be unburied, because we want to know as much as possible about where and when exactly this mess all started - not just 'a few years ago' and 'Brazil', but exact dates and places. We need a Patient Zero." He ducked under an air duct that protruded from the ceiling. "Then... well, I dunno. I'm making this up as I go. Probably a road trip."

[Allison Castiel]

As Ally outlined all the potential horrible things that could find them, Rob continued to work at the door. "No barmy bins, then. That's good. These raiders o' yours, though... they sound nasty. Cannibals as well? Or just psychos?"

"Just psychos,” she said ruefully. “As far as I know. I've never had the pleasure of meeting one of them face-to-face. And I think I'd rather keep it that way, if you don't mind.”

With a final heave and a final grunt, he forced the door. "Brilliant!"

Allie peered around him, trying to see inside the half-collapsed building. However, the sun was too bright at their backs, and the interior was too dark to make out much. At least nothing creepy had rushed out at them when the door opened. She figured that was a good start.

An apprehensive glance to the sky confirmed that the sun was beginning to sink. “We need to find somewhere safe to hide by twilight, Rob.”

A grin. "There's always the library, here. Doubt anyone's been in it since the air strike. We just pull the door shut and keep watch, and we'll be fine."

Allie flicked a quick, wary look over her shoulder. Hopefully, no-one had seen them come here. Hopefully no-one was watching them right now, waiting for them to drop their guard. There'd been no sign of anyone, but that didn't always mean much. Nonetheless, Rob was right. Libraries had hardly been a priority for the survivors since the War. Post-Apocalypse looters and scavengers had no use for books. So it was quite possible that the building had remained undisturbed for years.

Rob was all set to go exploring inside, when her question about Zanniga stopped him in his tracks.

"What do I think was in that tunnel?" He turned and looked at her, gaze distant as he recalled what he'd seen. A cloud of blackness, washing over Zanniga that stripped him clean down to his bones. And the disturbing sensation of joining in it in some fashion. "What do I think was in that tunnel?" he repeated, glancing at the apparent ground-in grime in his hands. "Death. I think death was in that tunnel."

Allie swallowed hard.  Death.  His tone was completely serious, the word reverberating in her mind. For the first time, it properly dawned on her how lucky they had both been to get out of the Gunnersby tunnels unscathed. All at once, she felt weak at the knees. What had happened to Zanniga could so easily have happened to her and Rob too. Why hadn't it? Why had Death chosen to pass them by?

Then he glanced up again, a cheeky grin on his features. "Now, if you wanna trust me patchy memory, I think I remember a few names. Vashta Nerada. Cyyisnyoidnigon sryonntgohdudai crnoauwd." A shrug. "Don't help much, does it? And it could just be me babbling on an' makin' horse up to fill in the gaps. But I can't help but think I remember Cyyisnyoidnigon sryonntgohdudai crnoauwd means sommat like 'shadows that melt flesh', an' that sounds apt even if it's nonsense."

She had no hope of repeating the liquid syllables that rolled so easily from his tongue.  'Shadows that melt flesh', though - that part she could understand.

"There were shadows...” she recalled slowly. “Strange shadows. They seemed to crowd in on the light. They melted his flesh? Does that mean... does that mean that they ate him?”

Being eaten alive by the shadows. The very concept made her skin crawl, and she rubbed at her forearms, chilled to the bone, despite the blazing sun. She wondered if Zanniga had known what was happening to him. It had all been over so quickly and, mercifully, he'd still been unconscious from his fight with Rob. The odds were, he hadn't even known what was happening to him.  As much as she had disliked and feared him, she prayed that it was so.

With a clap of his hands, [Rob] turned on his heel and walked into the crazily-leaning entryway. "Jus' think o' it as yet another of the many bloody things lurking about this crazy world that're trying to kill you, and you'll be fine. Besides, we've got work to do. Hopefully the periodicals section will still be unburied, because we want to know as much as possible about where and when exactly this mess all started - not just 'a few years ago' and 'Brazil', but exact dates and places. We need a Patient Zero." He ducked under an air duct that protruded from the ceiling. "Then... well, I dunno. I'm making this up as I go. Probably a road trip."

Allie was small enough that she didn't even need to duck under the air duct.  Cautiously, she followed him inside. The Chiswick Library wasn't a very big building, nor had it ever been a particularly modern one. It had once been a residential house, back in the 1930s, and had been converted to a public library some time after that. There were no big, open spaces, like many of the newer archives. Instead, small room led on to small room, in a conglomeration that had reminded her of a rabbit warren, the few times she'd been in here. Plans had been drawn up by the borough to renovate it, she recalled, but nothing had ever actually gotten off the ground, at least not before the Apocalypse arrived and changed everything.

“A road trip?” she echoed, cranking up her lantern and gingerly edging around the shattered antique chandelier that had once hung proudly in the vestibule, and which now lay half embedded in the wooden floor. “You don't mean... to Brazil, do you?”

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

"There were shadows...” she recalled slowly. “Strange shadows. They seemed to crowd in on the light. They melted his flesh? Does that mean... does that mean that they ate him?”

"Can't rightly say, Ally." Rob sounded hesitant as he said it. "Your torch caught me right in the peepers, it did. Blinded me somethin' fierce, an' I didn't see quite what happened. But..." he shrugged. "Well, the shadow did cover him an' then he was all bones, so the smart money says he got eaten."

With a clap of his hands, he turned on his heel and walked into the crazily-leaning entryway. "Jus' think o' it as yet another of the many bloody things lurking about this crazy world that're trying to kill you, and you'll be fine. Besides, we've got work to do. Hopefully the periodicals section will still be unburied, because we want to know as much as possible about where and when exactly this mess all started - not just 'a few years ago' and 'Brazil', but exact dates and places. We need a Patient Zero." He ducked under an air duct that protruded from the ceiling. "Then... well, I dunno. I'm making this up as I go. Probably a road trip."

Ally scrambled after him, her little torch grinding and whirring as they entered the rat warren of a collapsed library. Pale yellow light flickered over walls and ceiling as she twisted it this way and that. “A road trip? You don't mean... to Brazil, do you?”

"Maybe," Flattening himself on his belly, Rob twisted and snaked through a gap between collapsed wall and buckled floor. "Dunno, yet. Depends on what we find out. Probably, though. By way o' Surrey. Or th' Tower o' London. Or Belfast, if they's a bust."

Crouching now, he duckwalked to a collapsed rack of periodicals. "Hmmm... Time. National Geographic. Charlie Hebdo." As he spoke, he tossed the magazines over his shoulder. "Actually," he said, pointing back, "grab NatGeo. Might be something useful in there. The Arab," he murmured, returning to the rack. "Eve. The Cricketer - rubbish game, that, by the way. Murky Depths... hey! This looks promising!"

He held up a magazine. "Journal of Experimental Zoology. There's a few more. Start grabbing them, and look fer articles on Glyptapanteles."

[Allison Castiel]

Allie had never been to Brazil. She'd never been anywhere much outside of Britain, apart from that one memorable trip to the USA. She supposed South America must be very different now to the verdant jungles she'd learned about in school. Probably nothing but one vast desert.

All the magazines were jumbled in together, scattered in bunches across the dusty floor, where they'd fallen off the shelves, most likely when the back of the Library had been struck. She crouched down and started to methodically sort through them all. Cosmopolitan. The Woman's Weekly. Dolly. It appeared she'd found a section that had no scientific value at all, unless you were keen to discover the best way to apply mascara.

"Hmmm... Time. National Geographic. Charlie Hebdo." As he spoke, [Rob] tossed the magazines over his shoulder. "Actually," he said, pointing back, "grab NatGeo. Might be something useful in there.”

She crawled over to the section he was indicating and, in the light of her lantern, started to examine the well-thumbed periodicals she found there. Rob, she noticed again, had no need of the light. He was reading the titles easily, without any use of his own lamp.

“The Arab," he murmured, returning to the rack. "Eve. The Cricketer - rubbish game, that, by the way.”

Laughter bubbled up from Allie at that comment. Somehow, she couldn't imagine Rob playing cricket. “I know a few people that would've disagreed with you, back in the day. The Brits used to be cricket mad!”

The unfamiliar sound of her own amusement startled her. She'd laughed more times since he'd arrived on the scene than she had in the last five years. Truthfully, before that, there'd been very little to laugh about. Robin Goodfellow, however, had an enviable knack of making even the Apocalypse seem almost normal.

“Murky Depths... hey! This looks promising!"

He held up a magazine. "Journal of Experimental Zoology. There's a few more. Start grabbing them, and look fer articles on Glyptapanteles."

Obediently, she abandoned the National Geographics and began sorting through copies of the experimental zoology one instead. Many of them were too old, pre-dating the onset of the Apocalypse by several years. The text was hard going too. Science had never been her strong point. Before too long, her mind began to wander inevitably back to the settlement.

“I hope Danny's all right,” she piped up anxiously, flipping pages as she spoke. “He knows about you too. I hope Jem doesn't do anything bad to him. He took me under his wing when the wasp-monsters came, otherwise I would never have survived. He's the closest thing I have to family left. If anything happens to him...”

She broke off, unable to complete the sentence, her tousled blonde head bent over her work. The neat stack of discarded magazines at her side was growing steadily higher. Despite all her efforts, so far she'd found nothing that was of any use.

“What about you, Rob?” she ventured at length, as she reached for another pile. “Do you think there's someone out there worrying about you? Where you are, what you're doing? Your family? A wife, maybe, and children?”

The odds were that he didn't know, otherwise he would have been doing his utmost to get back to them. But she thought perhaps talking about it might help to jog his memory.

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

They settled in to reading, Ally flipping through tables of contents and news blurbs in a quick search. For his own part, Rob found himself reading and comprehending the journal articles as fast as he could turn the pages. More interestingly, he found himself sniggering as the authors revealed 'great secrets' that he found to be self-evident fact as he saw them. At one point, he stopped and began searching for a pen in an effort to annotate and correct statements. He stopped only when he remembered that he didn't have one. And that he was looking for a reasong.

“I hope Danny's all right,” she piped up anxiously, flipping pages as she spoke.

"Hm?" was Rob's answer, slightly distracted as he spoke.

“He knows about you too. I hope Jem doesn't do anything bad to him. He took me under his wing when the wasp-monsters came, otherwise I would never have survived. He's the closest thing I have to family left. If anything happens to him...”

He shrugged. "We can try and check on him, if you like. Once we've got the information we need, that is."

Ally didn't respond, choosing to swallow her emotions and reach for another magazine. He nodded his approval of that - focus on the task at hand.

“What about you, Rob?” she ventured at length, as she reached for another pile. “Do you think there's someone out there worrying about you? Where you are, what you're doing? Your family? A wife, maybe, and children?”

"I... don't know," Rob confessed. He sat for a moment, brooding, then dug out the cigarette case-sized black box he'd found in his pockets. Rotating it in his fingers, he fumbled with it until images began to appear in the air above it. A woman in a blue blouse and black leather jacket. A different woman in a vest, wearing goggles. A man dressed in Elizabethan costume. Another woman, heavily armed, with glowing, inhuman eyes. "These people... I feel like they're family. And this woman..." He flicked to a different, more casual picture of the first woman, "she could be my wife. But... she hardly looks older than any of the hypothetical kids. Hell, I hardly look older. Don't make any sense, does it?"

Despite his skeptical words, he stared at the casual image of the red-haired woman for a long minute, an expression of indefinable loss on his face. Then, with a sigh, he put the box away. "Ain't gettin' us any closer to solvin' the current problem though, is it? C'mon, enough woolgathering." He scooped up a magazine. "Back to work."

[Allison Castiel]

When you'd lost enough people... and enough places... you soon learned that there was nothing else to do but to suck it up and to keep on going. The Apocalypse had taught that lesson to Allie very well, even if she hadn't known it before. The survivors didn't have the luxury of time or resources to wallow in grief. And so all that was left was to lock it all away inside and concentrate on whatever task you needed to get done to live another hour, another day.

Trying not to worry about Danny, she gazed at the curious hologram box in Rob's hand. The pictures were beautiful – so clear, and three dimensional, as if the people in them were actually hovering right there in the air, in miniature.

"These people... I feel like they're family,” Rob said, flicking through the different images, examining each one closely.

“They look...” Allie paused for a moment. 'Fierce' was the word she wanted to use, the first thing that came to her mind. At a glance, each of them seemed to possess that same bright-burning flame that Rob did, the same brilliant intensity and focus. It wasn't an easily definable thing, but nonetheless, she knew in her heart that these people were related to him. Allie, who was basically very gentle, and not really fierce in any way, found their images a bit intimidating. She wasn't afraid of Rob – but if she suddenly came across his family unexpectedly, she wasn't sure she'd be able to say the same of them. “Nice,” she finished weakly. “They look very nice.”

“And this woman..." He flicked to a different, more casual picture of the first woman, "she could be my wife. But... she hardly looks older than any of the hypothetical kids. Hell, I hardly look older. Don't make any sense, does it?"

"You're a Time Lord, Rob,” she pointed out quietly. “When I met the Doctor, he was at least nine hundred years old, or so he told me. And yet... he didn't look a day over thirty. If you're one of his kind... or even if you are him, wearing a different face... the chances are that you're centuries old, even though you don't look it.”

Despite his skeptical words, he stared at the casual image of the red-haired woman for a long minute, an expression of indefinable loss on his face. Then, with a sigh, he put the box away. "Ain't gettin' us any closer to solvin' the current problem though, is it? C'mon, enough woolgathering." He scooped up a magazine. "Back to work."

Allie nodded and didn't press. Some things were just too personal to talk about, she understood that. She looked back down at the open magazine in her hand – one of the scientific-y ones that Rob had asked her to hunt through – and was about to place it on top of the other discards, when one of the listings in the index caught her eye. Excitedly, she flipped through to the small article at the back. It was written by a Professor Simon Pratt, BSc CBiol FRES PhD, a Professor of Entomology at Harper Adams University, based in Shropshire. Apparently, Professor Pratt had been a Fellow of the Royal Entomological Society, a Member of the British Ecological Society, a Member of the Association of Applied Biologists, and a Member of the Society of Biology – none of which interested Allie in the slightest, nor did the accompanying picture of an elderly man wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a grave expression. What did interest her, however, was the central illustration of the article, a detailed and carefully-labelled diagram of a Glyptapanteles wasp.

“Look, Rob!” she exclaimed. “This article was written back in 2011, eighteen months before the Apocalypse began. It says that a mutant wasp attacked the village of Demini in the province of Roraima, Brazil. It stung one of the native Yanomami women to death and carried off her two-year-old child. There was a European doctor there at the time, working with an aid agency to provide medical help to the Yanomami people. He made the report. This has to be the first recorded sighting of the monsters! He claimed that, back then at least, the wasp was only as long as a man's forearm. And see here...” - she thrust the magazine towards Rob, tapping at the page with a small, delicate forefinger - “... he took a blood sample from the dead woman. This professor guy has published the results. He says her DNA was corrupted by the sting, into something they had never seen before.  They extracted some eggs from her corpse, which were then sent to the Harper Adams University for study.”

Hopefully, Rob would have more idea about what the science mumbo-jumbo meant in the article than she did.

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

“Look, Rob!” she exclaimed.

He looked up from the magazine he'd been reading, embarrased to realize that he'd gotten caught up in an utterly unrelated article - "The relationship between NMDA receptor function and the high ammonia tolerance of anoxia-tolerant goldfish" - that had caused him to linger for nearly 30 seconds. "Hm? Did you find something."

Alley waved her magazine excitedly, tapping at a page for emphasis. The title, "Horizontal gene transference mechanisms between Glyptapanteles and Human", made his eyes go wide. “This article was written back in 2011, eighteen months before the Apocalypse began. It says that a mutant wasp attacked the village of Demini in the province of Roraima, Brazil. It stung one of the native Yanomami women to death and carried off her two-year-old child'

"Carried off a two year old?" he echoed, snatching the magazine away and skimming over it. "Bollocks. No way that the one in this picture did that!" The image was of a wasp nearly a foot and a half long.

"There was a European doctor there at the time, working with an aid agency to provide medical help to the Yanomami people. He made the report. This has to be the first recorded sighting of the monsters! He claimed that, back then at least, the wasp was only as long as a man's forearm. And see here...” - she thrust the magazine towards Rob, tapping at the page with a small, delicate forefinger - “... he took a blood sample from the dead woman. This professor guy has published the results. He says her DNA was corrupted by the sting, into something they had never seen before. They extracted some eggs from her corpse, which were then sent to the Harper Adams University for study.”

"YES!" Rob shouted, impulsively hugging Alley. Then he blinked in surprise, and grinned. "I'm a hugger, I guess? Didn't see that coming. Anyway..." He grabbed the National Geographic stack and tore through it, then finally pulled a map from the pages. "Let's see," he murmured, pouring over a map labeled "Shakespeare's Britain". "We're... here. And Shropshire is... here." He eyed the seperation, then measured off the distance with his fingers and compared it to the scale in the lower corner. "About... 250 kilometers. We're gonna need a car. Or a plane. Sommat."

Leaning back, map draped over his lap like a blanket, he thought hard. "Yeah. Got a lot to do. Gonna need a car for sure. Which means fuel as well, or solar panels if we find an electric. And we'll need to take a look around the University o' Surrey as well. Unless..." He looked sideways at Alley. "Is the Tower of London intact? Because we'll need transportation as well. And th' Tower's closer."

[Allison Castiel]

"YES!" Rob shouted, impulsively hugging Alley. Then he blinked in surprise, and grinned. "I'm a hugger, I guess? Didn't see that coming.”

She laughed and blushed a bit, before hugging him back, pleased and a bit proud that she'd been able to find what he was looking for, even if she didn't entirely understand the science of it herself. 'Horizontal Gene Transference', for instance... what on Earth was that? There was only one way she knew of horizontally transferring genes, but since that method seemed highly unlikely between an overgrown insect and a human, hopefully it didn't mean that at all. She thought about asking Rob, but then decided not to, in case she sounded silly.

“Anyway..." He grabbed the National Geographic stack and tore through it, then finally pulled a map from the pages. "Let's see," he murmured, pouring over a map labeled "Shakespeare's Britain". "We're... here. And Shropshire is... here." He eyed the seperation, then measured off the distance with his fingers and compared it to the scale in the lower corner. "About... 250 kilometers. We're gonna need a car. Or a plane. Sommat."

“It's a long way,” she said dubiously. “At least eight hours by bus, from memory. Not quite as far as Brazil, though, I'll grant you that.”

Leaning back, map draped over his lap like a blanket, he thought hard. "Yeah. Got a lot to do. Gonna need a car for sure. Which means fuel as well, or solar panels if we find an electric. And we'll need to take a look around the University o' Surrey as well. Unless..." He looked sideways at Alley. "Is the Tower of London intact? Because we'll need transportation as well. And th' Tower's closer."

She nodded, a little bewildered. “Largely intact. It took a few hits in the War, of course, just like everything else. One span of the Bridge got destroyed And the river dried up long ago. But most of the Tower itself is still standing. But why do you want to go there, Rob? It's not a library or anything like that. It's just a museum.”

Just at that moment, a loud voice boomed out from the street outside, tinny and echoing, interrupting Allie and making her jump.

“Allison Castiel! Robin Goodfellow! This is Jemima Sholto, commander of the Chiswick Park settlement. I know you're in there. You have five minutes to surrender to me, and to come out with your hands up.”

Immediately, the blonde girl's face drained of colour and a shocked gasp escaped her lips. “That can't be right!” she said incredulously to Rob. “Jem never leaves the settlement. Not once since she first arrived.”

Then, like an eel, she was off, shimmying around the obstructions in the way, and scuttling over to reach the door, her small size lending her speed. Hunkering down breathlessly once she reached her goal, she peered through a handy crack in the wall.

“Oh no,” she murmured, horrified. “It's her, all right. Somehow she's found us! And she's brought the ATV and a platoon of soldiers.”

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

"Is the Tower of London intact? Because we'll need transportation as well. And th' Tower's closer."

She nodded, a little bewildered. “Largely intact. It took a few hits in the War, of course, just like everything else. One span of the Bridge got destroyed And the river dried up long ago. But most of the Tower itself is still standing. But why do you want to go there, Rob? It's not a library or anything like that. It's just a museum.”

"Nothin' just a museum, Alley. But the Tower..?" He grinned. "I don't remember why I remember, but I remember that there's a UNIT base there. Or... maybe there will be one there? Or there would have been, if it hadn't all gone to hell. I dunno..."

“Allison Castiel! Robin Goodfellow!" thundered an aplified voice from outside.

"Bleedin' church," Rob groaned, rolling his eyes.

"This is Jemima Sholto, commander of the Chiswick Park settlement. I know you're in there. You have five minutes to surrender to me, and to come out with your hands up.”

Alley went pale, gasping in shock. “That can't be right!” she said incredulously to Rob. “Jem never leaves the settlement. Not once since she first arrived.”

"She must not like this 'Doctor' of yours much, then," Rob muttered.

Then, like an eel, she was off, shimmying around the obstructions in the way, and scuttling over to reach the door, her small size lending her speed. Hunkering down breathlessly once she reached her goal, she peered through a handy crack in the wall.

“Oh no,” she murmured, horrified. “It's her, all right. Somehow she's found us! And she's brought the ATV and a platoon of soldiers.”

"An ATV?" Rob brightened. He slithered in beside Alley, peering through the crack at the armored vehicle and the armed men. "Right. That solves our transportation problem." He paused, observing the assembled force. "Course, it introduces a whole new problem, don't it? Bunch o' wankers, compensatin' wit' their guns." He peered out again, watching Jem and her solder-boys stare impatiently at the ruins of the library, and waited.

"Hmmm..." he mused aloud, "how did you say I'd handle it if I were this Doctor of yours again...?"

And waited.

Finally, just as Jem was about to open her mouth again, he raised his voice. "Lovely evenin', ain't it?" He watched her reaction, and timed his next statement for when she was about to speak again. "All them, for me? I'm flattered, really. But you didn't have to - I can find me own way about, thank you very much. So you can go ahead and go on home."

[Allison Castiel]

Outside, the setting sun hung low in the sky, painting long shadows across the wasteland. Jem stood in front of the ATV, one hand on her angular hips, the megaphone held arrogantly in the other, as she waited for their response. She was flanked by six men, dressed in tattered army uniforms, all armed to the teeth, all with their guns aimed at the front door of the library. From her hiding place, Allie stared in disbelief at the hostile group. What exactly did Jem think they were going to do, that warranted this kind of excessive reaction?

"An ATV?" Rob brightened. He slithered in beside Alley, peering through the crack at the armored vehicle and the armed men. "Right. That solves our transportation problem." He paused, observing the assembled force. "Course, it introduces a whole new problem, don't it? Bunch o' wankers, compensatin' wit' their guns." He peered out again, watching Jem and her solder-boys stare impatiently at the ruins of the library, and waited.

Again, Jem raised the megaphone to her mouth. “Castiel! Goodfellow! I know you can hear me. This is your last chance.”

"Hmmm..." [Rob] mused aloud, "how did you say I'd handle it if I were this Doctor of yours again...?"

And waited.

Allie made a choked sound. “He would... he would act all nonchalant... like this sort of thing happens to him every day.” A widening of her chocolate-brown eyes, as they flickered up to meet Rob's. “Who knows with him, perhaps it does!”

Finally, just as Jem was about to open her mouth again, he raised his voice. "Lovely evenin', ain't it?" He watched her reaction, and timed his next statement for when she was about to speak again. "All them, for me? I'm flattered, really. But you didn't have to - I can find me own way about, thank you very much. So you can go ahead and go on home."

A dark scowl crossed Jem's face. Exposed in the golden, slanting sunlight, her beauty was much more austere, as if her perfect features had been carved from stone. Instead of elegant and minimalist, as Allie had once perceived, her closely-shaven head now merely looked brutal and astringent.

“Robin Goodfellow,” her voice rang out again. “You are wanted for questioning over the suspicious disappearance of Sergeant Cyril Zanniga.”

“Cyril?” Allie whispered to Rob, clapping her hand over her mouth to muffle the half-hysterical giggle that threatened to emerge. “Oh God. His name was Cyril?”

“I have witnesses that you were involved in an altercation with the missing man,” Jem continued, the megaphone throwing her voice at the crumbling stone of the ruined library. “And it is believed that he has met with foul play at your hands. You are both required to surrender yourself to our custody in order to account for his whereabouts and to answer any and all associated charges relating to his disappearance.”

“We don't know where he is,” Allie shouted back.

Well, she told herself, it was sort of true. She suspected he was in hell, but she didn't know that for sure.

“I have no intention of bandying words with you, Castiel. The sun is setting and I don't have time for games,” Jem snapped. Turning her head, she nodded to one of the soldiers, who reached into the ATV and dragged out a ragged man with his hands cuffed behind his back, thrusting him forward to stand beside Jem.

Allie's slender fingers dug into the wall and a sound of distress escaped her lips. “Danny!” she breathed, agonised.

Danny looked as though he'd been well and truly worked over. His head was slumped to his chest, and his face was marked with fresh bruises and abrasions.

“Let me make the decision simple for you, Castiel,” Jem said coldly. “Either you come out now... or I give the order for Beckett to be shot, right in front of you. Your choice.”

There was a sharp, metallic sound, as the soldier chambered a round in his short-barrelled shotgun and held the weapon against Danny's head.

“Oh, no,” Allie cried. “No, no, no, no...”

This was no idle threat; she knew that Jem meant every word. And there was no way she could sit here and watch Danny get shot, not on her account. Not when he'd always fought so hard to live, even when his wife and children had been killed during onset of the Apocalypse. He could have given up then, but he hadn't. Instead, he'd found it in his heart to teach a stupid young girl enough to keep her alive.  And Allie wasn't going to give up on him now.

“I'll count to five, Castiel,” Jem's implacable voice went on. “One... two... three...”

Anguished, Allie swung around to look at her new friend. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” she sobbed, shaking her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You need to run, Rob. You need to get as far away from here as you can. But I can't come with you, I just can't...”

And with that, she slipped out through the broken door and ran out into the street, her hands raised in hopeless surrender.

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

Anguished, Allie swung around to look at her new friend. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” she sobbed, shaking her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You need to run, Rob. You need to get as far away from here as you can. But I can't come with you, I just can't...”

And with that, she slipped out through the broken door and ran out into the street, her hands raised in hopeless surrender.

Rob watched her go, shaking his head in disbelief. "Chicken Jalfrezi. She's chicken jalfrezi." He peered around, then wormed his way back through the rubble. There had to be another way out of here. And while Jem was tied up with Alley, he'd be able to sneak off. A pity about her, really, but once he'd fixed everything this wouldn't matter. Would it? Tug the right strings, and none of this would have ever happened.

Grunting, he pushed at some loose rubble. After a moment it fell away, revealing a glimpse of the setting sun beyond. Yeah, he could make it through there. Then a quick nip off to the Tower, see what - if anything - was there. And then off to Shropshire, and then...

"Goodfellow!" Jem's amplified voice thundered. "Rob Goodfellow! I know you can hear me!"

And then..?

Involuntarily, he looked at his hands. Clever, long-fingered hands that still didn't seem quite right, with the lines of his palms and the whorls of his fingertips filled with some fine blackish dust. No sign of the blood he expected to see. Which was a funny thought. Why would he expect to see blood?

"You will surrender, Rob Goodfellow! You have five minutes. And then I shoot Allison Castiel."

A vague memory stirred. I'm a monster, love. The voice felt like his, but in his memory it sounded nothing like him. So many dead, at my hands. Rod and Eye, who was he to have these sort of memories? I have no place, in the future I'm making. They'll shun me, for what I am.

"Four minutes, Rob!"

"Am I a monster?" he wondered aloud, looking at his hands.

"Three minutes!"

---

One of the men kicked Allison's feet out from under her, sending her to her hands and knees. Before she could recover, the barrel of a shotgun was pressed against the base of her skull. It felt ice cold, despite the heat of the day, and far larger than seemed possible.

"One minute, Rob!" Jem called through the microphone. Then she looked down at Allison with a sneer. "I don't think he's coming. And after everything you did for him. How's it feel, knowing you'll die because..."

"Half a minute, you tom gilly!"

Rob's voice carried over the silence as he came around the edge of the ruined library, hands held over his head and ragged, ill-fitting suit flapping in the breeze. "Bloody church bells, gooseberry," he laughed, strolling forward as if he hadn't a care in the world. "You think it's easy, or fast, crawlin' through a wrecked library - especially with you a' howling and screaming an' makin' it a bit hard to concentrate? You all right, Alley?"

[Allison Castiel]

She almost expected to be shot as soon as she emerged. Her entire body was quivering, her mouth dry, her heart pounding as she stumbled towards the ATV. Danny's head raised at her approach, and she could see his dull, bloodshot eyes staring at her. With a swift, brutal movement, the soldier forced him to his knees, the gun still held to his head. With a twist of her belly, she recognised the guard as Captain Langley. And to think, only hours before, she'd been thinking of him as a decent man. How many other people had she misjudged so badly? How naïve had she really been?

As she came closer, another one of the soldiers viciously kicked her feet out from under her, and she fell down beside Danny at Jem's feet, all the breath jolted out of her body. Gravel stung her knees and the palms of her hands, and she had to bite her lip not to cry out. But she was determined not to give Jem the satisfaction.

“I'm sorry, Castiel,” Danny mumbled, through a mouthful of broken teeth. “Couldn't... keep you safe.”

“It's not your fault, Dan!” Allie's voice shook as she glared up at Jem. “It's hers.”

However, the other woman didn't even bother to acknowledge her presence. Her gaze – her entire attention – was still fixed on the library. And that's when Allie discovered the real reason she'd been allowed to live.

"You will surrender, Rob Goodfellow! You have five minutes. And then I shoot Allison Castiel."

A prod to the base of her skull, with what could only be a gun barrel. Jem had a twisted smirk painted across her lips, as she tapped her fingers impatiently on the top of the loud-hailer.

"Four minutes, Rob!"

“You cow!” Allie hissed furiously. “Why don't you leave him alone? He's never done anything to you!”

Still Jem ignored her, not even deigning to glance her way. The message couldn't be clearer. She and Danny were unimportant, nothing more than collateral damage. Their only value was as pawns on Jem's chessboard.

"Three minutes!"

A hand gripped Allie's hair, pulling her head back, the gun barrel now nestling snugly under her jawline, the metal as cold as death.

"One minute, Rob!" Jem called through the microphone. Then she looked down at Allison with a sneer. "I don't think he's coming.”

“I hope he doesn't!” Allie retorted defiantly. “You're only going to kill us all anyway. I hope he tells you to go screw yourself!”

Jem raised one eyebrow in surprise at the uncharacteristic outburst from the usually quiet, shy little blonde girl. “It seems he's had quite an influence already, in the short time he's been here. Shame he couldn't care less about you, though.” The woman gestured back towards the library. “And after everything you did for him. How's it feel, knowing you'll die because..."

She broke off, and Allie twisted her head, following her eyeline.

"Half a minute, you tom gilly!"

And there was Rob, as large as life, sauntering out of the library as if he owned the place, and was taking a casual stroll, rather than walking into a bristling barrage of guns. Fresh tears sprang to Allison's eyes. He could have been running by now. He could so easily have gotten away. But he hadn't. Instead, he'd put himself on the line to save her, when there was no real reason why he should.

“See?” she said in a low, contemptuous hiss to Jem. “You're wrong! Not everybody's like you!”

"Bloody church bells, gooseberry," [Rob] laughed, strolling forward as if he hadn't a care in the world. "You think it's easy, or fast, crawlin' through a wrecked library - especially with you a' howling and screaming an' makin' it a bit hard to concentrate? You all right, Alley?"

“I'm f-fine, Rob,” she replied, clenching her hands to stop them shaking, but unable to control the tremor in her voice. “They've h-hurt D-Danny, though.”

“Enough chit-chat! This isn't a charity luncheon!” Jem gestured to one of her men. “Take him!”

Obediently, the burly soldier stepped forward, forcing Rob's roughly arms behind his back and handcuffing them there.

“Return them to my quarters,” Jem commanded, watching as Allie and Danny were yanked to their feet and summarily thrust into the back of the ATV with Rob. “Mr Goodfellow was discourteous enough to miss a meeting with me this morning. I'm sure that's an oversight he's now eager to correct.”

[Rob "the Meddler" Goodfellow]

"Bloody church bells, gooseberry," he laughed, strolling forward as if he hadn't a care in the world. "You think it's easy, or fast, crawlin' through a wrecked library - especially with you a' howling and screaming an' makin' it a bit hard to concentrate? You all right, Alley?"

“I'm f-fine, Rob,” she replied, clenching her hands to stop them shaking, but unable to control the tremor in her voice. “They've h-hurt D-Danny, though.”

Rob glanced over Danny. "Looks like he'll live," he offered. "But, yeah. I..."

“Enough chit-chat!" Jem snapped. "This isn't a charity luncheon!”

"Ain't it?" Rob sounded surprised. "Seems like I'm here on account o' volunteerin'. Not because you..."

Jem gestured to one of her men. “Take him!”

"...an' your men - hey! watch it!" There was a perfunctory, reflexive struggle as Rob's hands were cuffed behind his back. "Buy me a few drinks first, mate!"

No drinks were forthcoming, sadly. Instead, the soldier shoved him roughly forward and pushed him into the ATV. Rob squawked a little as he crashed to the floor, twisting to take the impact on his shoulder and hip instead of his face. Twisting and wriggling, Rob rolled onto his back. "Me safe word's Unterrichtsmaterialien!"

Alley and then Danny were shoved in after him, forcing him to scramble and wiggle to make room. “Return them to my quarters,” Jem snapped. “Mr Goodfellow was discourteous enough to miss a meeting with me this morning. I'm sure that's an oversight he's now eager to correct.”

"Nah," Rob laughed. "I didn't miss nuffin. Jes' didn't care fer the messenger boy. He was a bit lackin' in manners." The laughter grew darker as he met Jem's eyes. "Among other things. But don't take me word for it. Mebbe you can find him in th' old Gunnersbury Tunnel." He grinned at that. "Mebbe."

The door slammed in his face, and he laughed again. "Cineres cineribus, Jem!" he called, raising his voice. "Pulverem pulveri!