Doctor Who - 04 - On a Pale Horse

.12. Everybody Dies

„Everybody knows that everybody dies. And nobody knows it like the Doctor."

River Song "Forest of the Dead."

***

The town wasn't quiet anymore. Everywhere he went, there were sobs and screams, and sounds of doors and windows being nailed shut, horses' whinnying and creaking of overloaded carts full of packs, and food, and townsfolk trying to escape the imminent death. And there were those horrible people, all clad in drab robes, with hoods covering their faces, ringing their little bells and shouting out loud: "Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead!"

Thomas crouched behind a low wall near the castle's gate. He'd been everywhere in town, but Allan was nowhere to be found, not to mention the Doctor and his sister, Donna. He'd ask the kids to help him, but now their terrified parents locked all of them inside their houses, and Thomas thought that was reasonable. Pestilence was walking the streets of Bristol and it was smart to get out of its way. Yet Thomas had to find Allan, because Allan was his best friend in the world, and he would do exactly the same for him. That was what the friendship was all about, wasn't it? Anyway, Thomas was almost positive that Allan had somehow managed to get to the castle. It was the last spot in Bristol he hadn't check yet.

He waited until a little wicket gate in the larger door squeaked open, and a ginger head popped out. Thomas jumped to his feet.

"Oi, you!" he shouted in a whisper. "Are you Liam?"

The owner of a ginger mop, a young boy with a pale and scared face, looked at him with screwed eyes.

"That I am," he whispered back. "You Thomas? Well, don't just stand there, hurry up. They'll have me flogged if they find out. C'mon, move it!"

Thomas sprinted across the yard and into the wicket, almost colliding with the boy. Liam banged the door shut and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

"They bloody think they're safe behind these walls," he said. "Bloody fools, if you ask me. No walls can stop the Great Mortality. Once it's in the town – everybody dies. We're all doomed."

"Brilliant," Thomas gasped. "So, have you seen Allan?"

"Allan? No." The boy shook his head. "He's sent a word, though. A day before yesterday it was. Asking for a blue box. Well, I know where it is."

"The blue box!" Thomas snorted. "What use is that for me? I thought Allan was here!"

"He never showed up," said the boy. "That box's weird though. They had a smith to try and open it, and he failed. They tried to pry the door open with crowbars, tried to hack at it with axes, and nothing worked. A wooden door, but stronger than iron. Wonder what's inside that box; must be a treasure, or a relic, like some saint's bones or something; what do you reckon?"

"I don't know and I don't care," Thomas spat angrily. "Are you sure Allan wasn't here?"

"Absolutely. The gate's been locked, none's getting in or out without them in the castle knowing. Well, except for you, that is."

"Yes, thank you, Liam," said Thomas. He sighed and ran his fingers through his black curls. "Right, I'll be going then."

"Going where?" the boy asked. "The town must be a nightmare. Come on, I can hide you in the kitchen. Lots of food and no bloody madmen looking for vampires and Jews, and other usual suspects, burning incenses and houses, and killing folks in the streets."

"I'll risk it." Thomas lifted the latch and opened the little door. "Thanks for letting me in, Liam."

"You're mad, you are," the boy answered. "All of you lot, minstrels and mummers – mad."

Thomas bent down in the wicket. "God be with you, Liam."

"Yeah, God speed."

And he was in the dying town again, his heart heavier now than it had been before. He was walking slowly through its streets, keeping to slanting walls and shadows under thatched roofs. It was raining again and streets were muddy. He saw a few people praying in the square, by the stone cross, some of them flogging themselves with whips. The women's hair was cut short, and their feet were bare. The men's backs were all bloodied and their shirts torn. They were kneeling in ankle deep mud, rain pattering on their heads, their voices rising and falling monotonously as they begged God not to save them, but to cleanse them with blood and pain and fire. Most of townspeople, though, wouldn't even think of joining in the prayer; they seemed more angry than pious; and they were giving the flogging few unfriendly stares. Thomas shrugged as he passed them – he thought they were mad to think it was God who had brought the plague upon them.

Then he saw a small cart full of dead people. He had never seen so many dead people before. And not like that – sorrowful and horrible, piled up one on top of another, their eyes still open and milky, their faces blackened and gruesome, horrible stench of the pestilence permeating the air.

Thomas started running. The rain was a blessing now, as it was hiding his tears. Not that it mattered anymore; nobody would think him weak for crying at such desperate hour. He reached the Cook's house and banged on the door, swallowing last tears and wiping his face with a sleeve.

"Who's there?" Robert's distrustful voice asked from behind darkened planks.

"It's me. Thomas."

"Are you sick?"

Thomas shrugged and shuffled miserably on the threshold. As reasonable as Robert's question was, it still hurt. But then, Thomas might have been sick with the pestilence, endangering Robert's family if he entered their house.

"I'm fine, Robert," he answered in a shaky voice. "No fever. Just drenched."

"Oh, Thomas, my word, come in, lad!" The latch rattled and the door swung open. "Where have you been? Angelica has been worrying sick. No word from you for two whole days."

"I was looking for Allan," the boy wheezed as he slumped on a little stool in a corner of the room. "I couldn't find him. He's gone. And the town went mad. Some are blaming sailors, some are blaming all out-of-towners, and some are blaming themselves. Blame spreads faster than pestilence. But how are you doing? Anybody sick in the household?"

"No," Robert answered quietly. "But our neighbours... The whole family... dead within a day..."

"And a horrible death it was too," Angelica added in a hushed voice.

"Is it going to be the end of the world?" Thomas mused. "Like the flood, only without the Noah's ark?"

"It is just the fever," the Cook answered sternly. "Born of the summer's heat, to be gone by the winter's frost."

"What summer heat, though?" his wife whispered from behind his back. "It wasn't a hot summer so far; it wasn't hot enough to breed the fever. And how are we to survive till winter?"

"We'll stay in the house," Robert said. "We'll lock the door and we won't let anyone in. We have food and water. All we have to do is wait."

"All we can do is wait," Angelica corrected. She reached out to her children and cuddled them tightly. "Just wait."