Doctor Who: Dinosaur Invasion

DOCTOR WHO AND THE DINOSAUR INVASION By MALCOLM HULKE Based on the BBC television serial Doctor Who and the Invasion of the Dinosaurs by Malcolm Hulke by arrangement with the British Broadcasting Corporation The Dinosaurs Three hundred and fifty million years ago, reptiles became the first animals to breed on land. Reptilian land life developed into many forms, the first true dinosaurs, not more than six inches long, appearing during the Triassic*period. By one hundred and fifty million years ago, some reptiles had developed into giants. One, the Diplodocus, measured eighty-four feet from head to tip of tail, and must have weighed thirty-five tons. During the Age of the Reptiles, many varieties of dinosaurs—all enormous in size—spread and multiplied over the Earth’s surface. Then, over a very short period in geological terms, the dinosaurs died out. Their remains have been found in every continent. Was it a sudden change in the Earth’s temperature that killed them off? Was it disease? Or did the newer and more nimble life-forms, the mammals, attack and kill them? Perhaps no one will ever know. Certainly no one ever expected them to come back. *Triassic—after the three-fold mountain system in Germany. The first mammals, and also flies and termites, appeared at that time. 1 London Alert! Shughie McPherson woke up that morning with a pounding headache. For a full half hour he lay on his untidy bed and stared at a crack in the ceiling. He was thinking about the, muddle which was his life. In his thirty-seven years he had had more jobs than he could remember. He was married once, but that hadn’t lasted long. One day his wife had said to him, ‘Shughie, you’re a layabout!’ Then she’d packed a suitcase and gone back home to her mother. He had never tried to find her. That was years ago. His mind turned to more recent events. About a week ago some of his Glasgow friends had said, ‘Shughie, we’re going to London for the Cup Final. Why not come along?’ ‘I’ve nae money,’ he explained. ‘You’ll ha’ to do without me this time.’ ‘We’re going in wee Jamie’s van,’ they replied. ‘It’ll cost you nothing.’ Eight of them got into the van, two in front and six sitting on crates of beer in the back. By the time they reached London nine hours later, Shughie had forgotten where they were going or why. He was drunk. He remembered waking up in this house the next morning. Donald Ewing, a ship’s riveter from Clyde- side, was shaking his shoulders. ‘Shughie, rouse yoursel! We’re awa’ back to Glasgee!’ Shughie’s sleepy brain tried to make sense of the situation. ‘But we’re in London, and we’re going to see the Cup.’ ‘Not now we’re not,’ said Donald. He was already fully dressed. ‘Everyone’s got to leave London. It’s an emergency.’ Jamie, the owner of the van, came to the door of the little bedroom and yelled, ‘Will you no come and get in the van, Donald? I’m leaving in five seconds! ‘ Donald protested. ‘There’s wee Shughie here, still in bed.’ Jamie looked down at Shughie. ‘If you don’t get yoursel into my van double quick, you can stay here and die! Come on, Donald, let’s be off.’ The two men tumbled out of the room. Shughie thought they’d both gone mad. He turned over and went back to sleep. When he woke up later the house was completely silent. Pangs of hunger drove him out of bed. Standing on the landing, he called out: ‘Donald? Jamie? Ian?’ No answer. He went down the stairs into the hall and called again. Still no answer. He stumbled into a back room, and through there into the kitchen. Here he found a cupboard well stocked with tinned food. He ripped open a tin of corned beef and gorged the contents. Finding some matches, he turned one of the knobs on the cooker to make himself a cup of tea. Nothing happened. He tried another knob. No gas. Nothing strange in that. Many times in his life the Gas Board had disconnected his gas supply because he hadn’t paid the bills. He went to the sink for a glass of water. The tap spat out a few drops, and no more. Well, maybe that bill hadn’t been paid either. He returned to the back room where he’d noticed a television set: it didn’t work. He tried the lights: no electricity. Daylight was beginning to fail. He searched the cupboards for candles: there was a bundle next to the dead electricity meter. He lit one, stuck it to a saucer, and left it in the back room; then lit another and carried it to see by as he investigated the rest of the house. No one had told him whose house it was, but in one room he found children’s toys, so presumed a family lived there. In a front room there was a double bed. All the drawers in the room were open. Clothes were strewn about on the floor as though people had packed hurriedly, leaving behind what they didn’t want to carry. In the front bedroom, partly hidden at the back of the wardrobe, Shughie found the six bottles of whisky that were to be his only companions for the next four days. After half an hour staring at the crack in the ceiling and thinking about his life, Shughie McPherson got up. Now, after four days, he had become accustomed to living in this house on his own. He kept hoping that his friends would come back, and had completely forgotten why or how they went away. He stretched and yawned, pulled on his trousers and shirt and went down the stairs to open another tin of food. Then he remembered that last night he’d eaten the last tin of corned beef and drunk the last drop of whisky. Standing in the hallway, he scratched his throbbing head, and decided the time had come for action. He went to the house next door and knocked. The front door was unlocked. It swung open when he pushed it. ‘Hello?’ he called out. No answer. He stepped into the hall. ‘Anyone at home?’ Still no answer. ‘I’m from the house next door. There’s no food or water or anything...’ He listened. Silence. He tried the next house. The door was locked. He pressed the bell push, but it didn’t ring. ‘Probably didn’t pay their electricity bill either,’ he said to himself, and moved on again. No answer this time, either. Shughie began to wish he was back in Glasgow, in the friendly district where he had always lived. A sudden panic gripped him. Where were all the people who lived in these strange houses? Were they all dead? He started running and shouting. Street after street was deserted, front doors of houses gaping open. And then turning a corner, he sighed with relief: a familiar sight. A friendly milk float was standing in the middle of the road. Shughie ran forward. ‘Hey! Milkman! Where are you?’ He stopped dead. The milkman was lying on the road on the other side of the float. He was a young man with very fair hair. He lay on his back, mouth open, eyes staring in death. Cautiously, very afraid, Shughie crept forward to look at the dead young milkman. The fair hair at the back of the young man’s head was a tangle of congealed blood and gravel from the surface of the road. Shughie fell to his knees, clasped his hands together, and started to say the Lord’s Prayer. ‘Our Father who art in Heaven, hallow’d be thy name...’ His words were drowned by a sudden roar from the monster behind him. Shughie turned and looked up. A massive claw hit him in the face. In his last moment of life, Shughie McPherson resolved to give up drinking whisky. The TARDIS, looking as always like an old-fashioned London police telephone box, materialised in a pleasant suburban park. The Doctor and his young journalist companion, Sarah Jane Smith, stepped out into bright sunlight. Sarah looked about and sniffed a little dubiously. ‘It seems all right.’ She was hoping they hadn’t landed in the poisonous atmosphere of some distant planet. ‘Of course it’s all right! I promised that I’d get you back home safely,’ replied the Doctor indignantly. Sarah looked at some abandoned cricket stumps on the grass near by. ‘We set off from the research centre, not here.’ ‘Don’t expect miracles,’ snapped the Doctor. ‘The co-ordinates were a bit off beam. But we can’t be far away from UNIT Headquarters.’ ‘So where can we be?’ ‘Somewhere in London,’ said the Doctor. ‘And what about the date?’ Sarah persisted. ‘Are we in the future or the past?’ ‘Time is relative.’ The Doctor locked the TARDIS, and pocketed the key. ‘My guess is that we have returned to Earth at much the time we left. Now let’s find a public telephone and inform the Brigadier that we’re back.’ The Doctor strode away towards some distant metal railings at the edge of the park. Sarah was about to follow, but paused when she heard a sound coming from the opposite direction. She turned and saw a clump of trees half a mile away.

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