Peter Anghelides - Pack Animals

‘Seemed like nothing important at the time. They recaptured nearly a hundred animals after a mass breakout from a breeding kennels in Lisvane. The Torchwood systems flagged it as insignificant because it was just domestic animals, not aliens.’ Toshiko caught her breath again. ‘We only tagged it at all because there was contemporaneous Rift activity.’

‘Probably the alien tech they used. But no signs of them capturing extraterrestrials?’

‘Not unless they were disguised as border collies.’

‘You’d be surprised. All right. Thanks, Tosh. And don’t put your back out.’

There was the briefest of pauses before Toshiko said, ‘Pardon?’

‘Moving furniture,’ Jack explained as he signed off. ‘Leave the heavy lifting to Ianto. He’s a bit of an expert.’ He looked around, levering himself up a little on the arms of the wheelchair. ‘Owen, where is Ianto?’

‘Dunno, mate,’ Owen said, and holstered his weapon. No point in drawing unnecessary attention. ‘I thought you were in a rush to get out of that ambulance ’cause you knew where Ianto was. I told you, I just followed the blues and twos.’ Here he indicated a couple of police officers who were directing members of the public to leave the zoo and discouraging stragglers who had not yet evacuated.

Owen was saying something else, but Jack didn’t hear it properly. He was distracted by the sight of someone else. ‘Gimme a break,’ he muttered, and shrank into the wheelchair.

David Brigstocke was picking his way across the grass verge towards them. He showed his Press pass to one of the police officers. The PC was more occupied with a weeping woman, and nodded Brigstocke on. The journalist had one hand in the pocket of his cheap check jacket. No doubt clicking on his digital recorder as he prepared to accost Jack once more.

‘Who’s your friend?’ Owen asked Jack.

‘David Brigstocke, BBC Radio Wales.’ The journalist offered a handshake that Owen did not accept. ‘And yet, I know you , Dr Harper. Born fourteenth of February 1980. Recruited into Torchwood in-’

‘Yeah yeah,’ interrupted Owen. ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’ He grabbed the handles of the wheelchair, but was unable to manoeuvre Jack away because the newcomer had placed his feet directly by the front wheels.

‘All right.’ The journalist spoke directly over Jack’s head, staring intently at Owen. ‘I know you were involved in that fatal shooting at the Ostelow Academy last February. On your birthday, too – don’t you get any time off? The “Valentine’s Day Massacre”, that’s what the Western Mail called it. Only they didn’t have any pictures of the fish-headed alien that started the brawl. Torchwood did a pretty thorough cover-up.’

‘You’re the one who’s fishing,’ Owen replied calmly.

‘No casualties, either. All tidied up by your colleague, Mr Jones, no doubt.’ Brigstocke flicked a glance down at Jack. ‘Nice to see him earlier today. Is he around?’

Jack kept his face neutral.

‘Or perhaps,’ continued Brigstocke casually, ‘you got your mates in Achenbrite to handle that? I saw them here earlier.’

Jack stiffened at the name. He groaned inwardly as soon as he saw that Brigstocke had registered his involuntary reaction.

‘You gonna get out of our way?’ Owen asked in a dangerous tone. ‘You could be a casualty, Mr Brigstocke. Hit and run by a wheelchair.’

Brigstocke stood his ground, still smiling. ‘That wouldn’t be a threat, would it, Dr Harper?’

Jack gestured to Owen not to respond. ‘It’s OK, Owen. I can handle this.’

The journalist snorted. ‘Handle me, you mean?’

Beneath the ambulance blanket, Jack’s foot throbbed and he wanted to shout at the pain. Instead, he gritted his teeth and tried to smile politely. ‘Now is not a good time, Mr Brigstocke.’

‘When would be a good time, Captain Harkness?’

‘Kinda busy right now. Dr Harper is taking care of me…’

Brigstocke offered another sarcastic handshake to Owen. ‘I should congratulate you, because you’ve worked miracles on this patient.’ His humour seemed to be dissipating, though. ‘I saw your injuries, Jack. All right, that head wound looked worse earlier than it does now. But they covered you over with the sheet, I saw that. They thought you were dead, and they’re supposed to be the experts. Paramedics don’t make mistakes like that.’ A harder, more insistent tone had entered his voice. ‘So, would it be fair to say that your deadly injury has healed? The whole world would marvel at that, wouldn’t they, Jack?’

Jack put his hands on the wheel rims of the chair to indicate that the conversation was over, and he was ready to leave. ‘Another time.’ He clamped his teeth together, and began to roll the chair across the tarmac walkway. Owen paced behind him, but Brigstocke scuttled alongside.

By the time he’d reached the police line, Jack had abandoned any hope of escape.

Brigstocke dropped to his haunches in front of the wheelchair. ‘Why won’t you give me the time to talk about Rhodri?’ He placed his hands on Jack’s knees like a supplicant. A jolt of fresh agony sparked through Jack’s limbs and he stifled a yell. ‘You can tell me what happened to him. Not for a news story, Jack. But for his family. For his friends.’ His voice caught in his throat. ‘Yes. And for me.’

‘Dunno what you mean.’

‘Don’t lie to me, Jack! I’ve seen what’s been going on here at the zoo today.’

‘Yeah. It’s a tiger escape. Nasty business. Panic. Lot of people got hurt.’

‘I followed you here, you idiot! From Holy Innocents. I saw that thing. That was no tiger. What else have you got concealed in this place – a flying unicorn maybe?’

Jack blew out a long sigh. ‘Sorry, David. I really can’t help you. And I think you kinda know that.’

Unexpectedly, Brigstocke yelped and jerked to his feet. He was holding his hand behind him for some reason, like he’d been kicked in the butt.

The policeman behind him staggered. His peaked cap dropped off, though he managed to catch it and replace it on his head. ‘Steady, sir,’ he said to Brigstocke, and resumed his calm conversation with the distressed woman.

No sooner had the cop turned away again than his legs buckled and he dropped to his knees. His cap flipped right up into the air, and then shot across the walkway as though thrown there. Jack heard a filthy insult uttered in Welsh and a slapping sound. The cop reacted by snapping his hand to his own face. When he turned round angrily to confront his assailant, he glared angrily at David Brigstocke. An angry red mark was already showing finger marks on the cop’s cheek and neck.

‘All right, sir, I think we’ve had enough.’

Two more police officers confronted the bewildered Brigstocke.

Jack felt the wheelchair start to move briskly along the tarmac path and away from the scene. He turned awkwardly to ask Owen to take it easy. Owen was several metres away and watching the wheelchair propel itself away from him and up the gradient of the walkway.

The chair stopped, turned slightly, and applied its own brakes.

Jack sensed the gentle touch of a warm hand stroking his neck tenderly. Hot breath against his face. The soft caress of lips, the insistent pressure of an exploratory tongue parting his lips and flicking over his teeth. He’d know that kiss anywhere. He closed his eyes and surrendered to it. After a moment, he was finally able to gasp: ‘Ianto!’

He grinned at Owen as he jogged up the path. ‘You all right, Jack? It looked like you were having a fit. Ouch!’

‘Careful,’ Ianto’s voice said from somewhere nearby.

Owen gaped at nothing. ‘Oh, you are bloody kidding me!’