Until We Burn | Dr Who

Chapter Fifty-Five: For Whom the Bell Tolls

We follow the paramedics out onto the front steps and watch as they load Lazarus's body into the back of the ambulance. A blanket hides his face from the view of everyone standing outside.

Tish runs over to us, pulling her little sister into a hug. The Doctor beams at them. "Ah, Mrs Jones. We haven't finished our chat."

She strides up to him and slaps him in the face. Hurriedly getting between them, I lead him out of range in case she attacks again, cupping his reddened cheek. "What in Minerva's name was that for?"

"Keep away from my daughter. Both of you!" she snaps, scarily quiet.

"Mum, what are you doing?"

"Always the mothers. Every time."

She turns on Martha, pointing an accusing finger in our direction. "He is dangerous. I've been told things."

"What are you talking about?"

She grasps her by the shoulders to continue her plea, "Look around you. Nothing but death and destruction."

Martha is quick to brush her off. "This isn't his fault. He saved us. All of us!"

Still rubbing the back of his head, Leo chimes in, "And it was Tish who invited everyone to this thing in the first place. So I'd say, technically, it was her fault." He earns a nudge to the ribs for his suggestion.

With a sharp crash, the sirens stop. We race off in the direction of the ambulance, leaving Martha to make her choice. Her mother has a point.

Still, she catches us up just as we round the street corner. The ambulance has collided with one of the trees lining the pavement, smoke pouring from the bonnet. The back doors have been thrown off their hinges, clawed and battered. Inside, only the husks of the paramedics remain. The gurney is empty.

"Lazarus, back from the dead. Should've known, really."

"Where's he gone?"

He takes out his screwdriver to scan the area. "That way. The church."

"Cathedral." Frowning, we look to where Tish awkwardly stands. "It's Southwark Cathedral. He told me."

We enter cautiously. The vast space is dark, save for the moonlight shining through the windows. It casts a beam onto the rows of chairs. "Do you think he's in here?" Martha whispers.

"Where would you go if you were looking for sanctuary?"

Following the length of the aisle, we come to a stop. Lazarus kneels behind the altar, shrouded in a red blanket. He shivers and gasps for air but it brings him no comfort. His head lolls around in our direction dripping with cool sweat. "I came here before. A lifetime ago. I thought I was going to die then. In fact, I was sure of it." He watches the Doctor progress around the altar until he stops in front of him. "I sat here... just a child. The sound of planes and bombs outside."

"The Blitz."

His eyes open, a glimmer of remaining life shining right at their heart. "You've read about it?"

"I was there."

The man chuckles humourlessly. "You're too young."

"So are you," he responds.

More laughter is broken by a pained cry as his head falls back, his neck cracking and straining as change seeks to take over again. He manages to fight it off but speaks quicker, knowing that it won't be long, "In the morning, the fires had died, but I was still alive. I swore I'd never face death like that again... so defenceless. I would arm myself, fight back. Defeat it."