Bay of the Dead

transparent plastic wall. Stuck on the wall beside the phone was a post-it note on which someone had written: Press 1. Licking his lips, Trys scurried across to the phone and snatched it up. He pressed 1.

Almost immediately a voice said, 'Hello? Is that Trys?'

Trys's voice was little more than a croak. 'Who's this?'

'My name's Ianto Jones,' said the voice. 'How are you feeling?'

'Where the bloody hell am I?' Trys demanded.

The man who had called himself Ianto Jones sighed. 'Listen, I know you're confused and probably a bit scared, but trust me, you're perfectly safe and we'll be coming to let you out in. . oh, about twenty minutes. So just sit tight, OK? I'll explain everything when I get there.'

'Where's my wife?' asked Trys. 'Where's Sarah?'

'She's fine. She's healthy.'

'And the baby? Has she-'

'He's fine too.'

'He?' said Trys in a kind of wonder.

'Yes. You're a dad, Mr Thomas. Congratulations. See you soon.'

Nobby groaned. As if things weren't bad enough, that bloody Samuels woman was doing his head in. Her husband was nice, but she was like sodding whiplash. Moaning and complaining. Constantly demanding to know what was going on, and what would happen to them. Why couldn't she just accept that Nobby was as much in the dark as they were?

First he'd heard of all this zombie nonsense was when Rhys had called him up at piss-off o'clock and told him he needed serious payback for that little slip-up with the cocktail waitress. Well, fair enough. But if anyone found out Nobby had taken the chopper without proper authorisation he'd be in the brown stuff up to his neck, valiant rescue or not. Rhys was a good mate and all, but this was taking friendship a bit too far.

In the end what it came down to for Nobby was a choice between his job and his marriage. And what had finally swung it was Rhys's dead serious insistence that for him and Gwen (ah, gorgeous Gwen) Nobby's involvement might literally be a matter of life and death. But if Rhys had warned him one of the people he'd be rescuing was Cruella De Vil's more obnoxious sister, he might have thought again.

She was giving him earache again now, demanding to know how long they were going to be stuck up here on this roof. Nobby held up a hand to quieten her as his mobile went, playing the theme tune from The A-Team. He saw Rhys's name flash up.

'Yeah?' he said gruffly.

'It's over, mate,' said Rhys. 'We've sorted it.'

'Good for you,' said Nobby sarcastically.

'You can head off if you want,' Rhys told him. 'Drop your passengers off on the way. I'll find my own way home from here.'

'That's big of you,' muttered Nobby.

'Oh, and mate?' Rhys said.

'Yeah?'

'You won't get in bother for this. Trust me. I've got a bloke here, Gwen's boss, who'll sort it. In fact, he says if anything you'll get a commendation.'

'Gwen's boss?' said Nobby. 'That flash bloke with the disco ball under his coat? Who's he, then?'

'It's. . classified,' Rhys said, evidently feeling foolish for saying so.

'Your Gwen's in special ops, isn't she? All hush-hush and top secret?'

'Something like that,' said Rhys vaguely.

'You lucky bugger,' said Nobby. 'I bet it's all handcuffs and truncheons in your house.'

'Nobby,' said Rhys.

'Yeah?'

'Get yourself home, mate, and have a cold shower.'

Nobby laughed, considerably cheerier now. 'Will do, mate. See you soon.'

For a full minute after the shooting stopped, Rianne and Nina continued to cling to each other. At last Nina tentatively raised her head.

'It's gone quiet,' she said.

Carefully the two women extricated themselves from one another's embrace, as if fearful that any sudden moves might start things off all over again.

'What does that mean, do you think?' whispered Rianne.

Nina limped across to the door. 'Let's find out, shall we?'

Rianne half-held up a hand. 'Do you think that's a good idea? What if those things are still out there?'

'We'll just have a peep,' said Nina. 'After all, we can't stay here for ever, can we?'

Rianne drew a long, shuddering breath. 'No,' she said. 'I suppose we can't.'

The two women crept to the door of the empty ward and pushed it open. Nina listened for a moment, and then stuck her head out. The corridor stretching from here to the double doors at the far end was empty and silent. It was almost as if the hospital was stunned, as if it was holding its breath, ready for the next onslaught.

'See anything?' whispered Rianne.

'No,' murmured Nina. 'Come on.'

The two of them tiptoed along the corridor to the double doors. They jumped as a baby cried in one of the connecting wards, and grinned sheepishly at each other. There was no sign of Sister Felicity Andrews and her staff. Rianne hoped that they were with the new mothers, spreading calm and reassurance, damping down the panic.

When they reached the double doors, Nina put her ear to one and listened.

'Anything?' whispered Rianne.

Nina shook her head. 'I'm going to have a look.'

Rianne clenched her fists and drew them almost unconsciously up to her breasts as Nina eased the right- hand door open.

The instant she had done so there was a thump of feet on the open stairwell beyond the lifts and a quartet of people appeared. In the lead was a handsome man in a long coat, who swept past, heading downwards without a glance.

Nina stepped out. 'Hey!' she called.

The man bringing up the rear of the group — chubby, bedraggled, friendly looking — glanced across at her.

'What's happening?' she asked.

The man smiled wryly. 'Take me about three hours to answer that one, sweetheart.'

'OK, just answer me this then — is it safe to come out?'

The man halted, hesitated briefly, then shrugged. 'Is it ever safe round here?' he said. Then he nodded. 'But as far as it goes. . yeah. The zombies are dead. Again.'

By the time Jack, Gwen, Ianto and Rhys reached the ground floor, people were beginning to emerge from hiding. They reminded Jack of how people had looked after an air raid during the war — pale with trauma, blinking in the light, fearful of who might have been lost in the night's barrage but warily gleeful that they themselves had survived.

He and the rest of the Torchwood team moved through the huddled groups of bewildered humanity with a sense of determination, of purpose, speaking to no one. The immediate threat might have been over, but the mopping-up operation was going to take them the rest of the day.

Hearing raised voices over to his left, Jack glanced around. An elderly man in a wheelchair was ranting at a poor nurse, who looked as though she'd been through quite enough for one night. For a moment, Jack contemplated heading over, telling him to leave the poor girl alone. Then he heard the man snarl, 'Alexander Martin. Mr Martin to you. And don't you forget it!'

All at once Jack came to a halt, grinning in recognition. How many years had it been since he'd last seen Alexander Martin? My, but time had not been kind to the old curmudgeon.

For a moment he wondered about going over to say hi — and then decided that now was not the time. He'd save that particular pleasure for another day. But he vowed that pretty soon he'd pay Alexander a