Doctor Who: Enemy Within

by Nancy G.

Chapter 1

Donna was sitting on a bar stool at a shady outdoor cabana, sipping a cold fruity drink with an umbrella in it. She was watching the Doctor. Donna couldn't help but laugh, seeing the Doctor sitting astride the donkacorn. It was a creature which looked like a large, sturdy donkey. Except this one was pink with a black mane and tail, and had glittery hooves and a silver horn growing out of its forehead.

Grinning with delight, the Doctor's laughed. His burgundy trainers all but trailed the ground behind him, as the animal trotted down the beach, it's short-legged alien handler struggling to keep up, clinging to the donkacorn's elaborate headcollar,. A gaggle of meter high, pot-bellied, purple-skinned holiday makers, waiting their turn in the queue for a ride, boggled at the sight. Donna thought that the ride vendor should probably hire the Doctor as an attraction, and sell tickets.

Without warning, Donna's mobile rang. She frowned, wondering who could be calling her way out here. The Doctor had taken her to the seaside on a small earth-like planet called, of all things, Martianvilla. She could never get over the wonder that she could get phone calls hundreds, or even thousands of years into the future—or in the past, in any part of the universe. Sighing, she recognized the number and pressed 'Send.'

"Hello?...Mum? Is that really you?" Donna said. She made a face and pulled the phone away from her ear, as her mum, Sylvia, scolded her for asking such a question.

Thanking the man for the ride, the Doctor came bounding over to Donna, happy as a child who'd been told he could have all the ice cream he ever wanted. Then the Doctor saw the look on Donna's face.

"What's wrong?" He asked her, jamming his hands into the pockets of his blue trousers, looking concerned.

"It's mum. She just rang me up to let me know granddad's ill. He's in hospital. Some kind of mysterious illness that's been going around." Donna told him.

"Guess I'd better take you home then" The Doctor said sympathetically. "I mean, if that's what you want."

Donna nodded and without another word, they headed back to the TARDIS. They went inside and the Doctor immediately programmed Chiswick into the navigational circuits. As the central column lit up and began to move up and down in flight, the Doctor stared at Donna.

"Hold on a minute. Did you say, "mysterious illness"?" He asked, suddenly curious.

"...and now for your Total Radio news on the hour. Further reports of a mysterious flu-like illness are coming in from Cardiff, Dublin, Glasgow and Edinburgh. This is in addition to recent reports of people contracting the sickness in the cities of Manchester, Liverpool and Birmingham. The illness first appeared in London five weeks ago, and some are already calling this the London flu. So far, forty-one deaths have been linked to the this illness, which is thought to be some sort of new virus, with victims ranging in age between twelve and ninety-seven...

….The NHS and other health officials are urging the public not to panic, and say that they are doing everything they can to halt the spread of the illness, which they have named the L-378 virus. Many members of Parliament are beginning to express their concern over the economic impact of this flu outbreak, as an increasing number of workers and shoppers are choosing to remain at home, for fear of becoming ill themselves...

…In related news, Toxilco Pharmaceuticals founder John Huxley, in a press conference yesterday, made the claim that his company has allegedly developed an effective vaccine for the L-378 virus. However, in a statement issued shortly after Huxley's announcement, MP Mark Seacourt has cautioned government officials against rushing their approval of the vaccine, until safety concerns could be addressed, and proper research conducted. He cited concern over the speed with with this vaccine was developed, and questioned Huxley's test results...In other news this morning, a lorry rollover on the M-4, just before the exit for...

Maureen turned off the car radio. Going down the M-4, she glanced at her two children in the rear view mirror. The two boys where in the back seat. Her ten year old was preoccupied with a video game. Her thirteen year old was miming hip-hop moves, while listening to music on his I-pod. What if they they could get a vaccination? She thought to herself. Would they be completely immune? Was this new vaccine safe? Maybe she should get the shot first, just to be sure. Or did that sound too over-protective?

There was a long tailback up ahead. Maureen gave a low groan of frustration. They were going to be late for gran's birthday party. She thought about having the kids stay with gran out in the country for a while, until this London flu thing died down. But what about them missing school? As each lane of traffic on her side of the motorway slowly ground to a halt, Maureen sighed and pressed her forehead against the steering wheel. It was all so confusing and stressful. She wished the government would do something besides witter on about safety and economics.

One of the House of Common's newest MP's, Mark Seacourt, parked his car on the street. Running late, as usual. Finding a parking space in this part of town wasn't easy. He sat and watched passing traffic without really seeing it, deep in thought. The middle aged man was wearing an expensively tailored dark business suit, having come from an emergency meeting with his staff and some high government officials. They'd just spent the better part of the afternoon, ironing out details on how best his office should handle calls from the public in regards to the flu epidemic.

Turning off the engine, he reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Mark stared at the business card in his hand. The address was for a posh new tower of flats near Canary Wharf.

When the lift let him off at the top floor of the building, Mark boggled, feeling suddenly discombobulated. The lift doors closed soundlessly, leaving him all alone in a deserted hall. There were no doors. There were no windows. All he saw before him was a cold, sterile hallway. White ceiling, floors and walls, with no signs, art prints or even so much as a potted plant, to break the monotony. As he turned to press the call button to go back down the lift, Mark frowned. There was no button. He shook his head. But...there had to be. He started to walk away, turned, went back, looked around again, hoping maybe he'd missed seeing it. The lift doors were there, but there seemed to be no way to open them. He was trapped.