Walk The Earth: Doctor Who/Studio C [Book 2]

Skylines

Skylines

Blue, blue caravan / Winding down to the valley of lights. / My true love is a man / Who would hold me for ten thousand nights. / In the wild, wild, wailing wind / He's a house 'neath the soft yellow moon / So blue, blue caravan / Won't you carry me down to him soon? -Vienna Teng, 'Blue Caravan'

A/N: I am almost caught up to myself in regards to writing this story. Whoops. Buuuut this and the next are THE SCENE that started me down the path of writing CTW, so you're getting them now. There will be a hiatus after tomorrow's chapter, though, so I can a bit of a buffer back for myself.

Five weeks after the Master's takeover, Matt and Jason had made it north of the Mason-Dixon line. The freight trains had started running again in earnest after the third week, transporting anything the Time Lord thought useful. Metal, mainly, from all sources. Cars, bikes, homes—nothing was safe. No one seemed to be entirely sure what the Master was doing, yet, but everyone seemed to know it wasn't good.

On the other hand, it gave the two easy transport east, as long as they were careful.

They were somewhere in Pennsylvania, at the moment. Their atlas was starting to look a little worse for wear, but it was still plenty useful, and they were both peering at it.

"Right, she can only land in one port," Jason was saying. "We've got one chance to get this right or we'll probably never catch her again. The only way to get the schedule of ships coming across the Atlantic is through the UCF and we can't afford to take that chance, so it's down to dumb luck on picking the right one." He glanced at the list of ports along the East Coast. "And I'm not liking our odds."

"New York," Matt said softly. Louder, he continued, "I say New York."

"Why's that?" Jason asked, his voice not challenging but merely curious.

"For one, it's one of the largest ports—sheer volume ups the chances of her landing there. Especially since it's taking most of Boston's load now, too." There was a moment of silence after he spoke.

The Resistance had held up Boston as their rallying flag, a city that would not fall, would not accept the reign of the UCF, and would not defer to the Master.

The Toclafane had come down on them last week.

Now, Boston was as good as a ghost town, inhabited almost entirely by the UCF they had fought so hard to keep out. If there was one thing the Resistance had accomplished, though, it was the annihilation of the city's harbor. The price the Master paid to subdue Boston was the loss of one of the largest ports on the East Coast.

Matt shook himself out of that train of thought, before continuing, "For another... Mal and I have a history in New York."

"Another story I haven't heard yet?"

"Our second trip together," he responded with an edge of fondness. "New York City, 1930."

"Are you sure?" Jason asked carefully. "We've only got one shot."

"I know. I'm sure."

~~~

Six weeks after the Master's takeover, Mallory found herself in Lisbon, Portugal.

She dared not stay long—the UCF had been tailing her since before she crossed the Spanish border, and while she'd managed to evade them so far, she wasn't planning on pushing her luck.

Her backpack was laden with food, nearly bursting at the seams. In the dark, early hours of the morning, she snuck aboard a cargo ship and waited.

It was not going to be a pleasant or easy journey—but in eight days, she was going to be back in her home country, and she couldn't help the flicker of excitement that thought brought to her.