‘I said step away from the sergeant now!’ yelled Private Wright. ‘Sarge! Sarge! Can you hear me?’

Sergeant Scott continued to cry and moan.

The Doctor rested a hand on the young soldier’s shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing I can do right now to help him, but if you let us through I might be able to find a way.’

Private Wright shrugged off the Doctor’s hand and took a step towards the silent woman, his gun still aiming at her. ‘This is your final warning, ma’am!’ he shouted. ‘Release the sergeant’s hand immediately or I will open fire!’

‘Don’t!’ warned the Doctor. ‘She’s not what you think she is …’

Private Wright spun on the Doctor, finger twitching on the trigger. ‘Then tell me what she is, sir!’

‘I can’t,’ said the Doctor, ‘not in a way you would understand right now.’ He held his hands out. ‘Give me the gun, and we can talk—’

‘No, don’t!’ Sergeant Scott fell to his knees, lost in his memories. ‘No!’

The woman dropped to her knees beside him.

Private Wright turned the gun on her again. ‘Step away from my sergeant!’

‘Soldier!’ said the Doctor firmly. ‘Lower your weapon. Please.’

The terrified private briefly turned his gun on the Doctor, then back to the woman clutching his sergeant’s hand. He was blinking back tears of his own. ‘I don’t … I don’t …’

‘You don’t understand,’ said the Doctor, finishing the young man’s sentence. ‘That’s fine. Really it is. But you have to listen to me. I can help …’

Then Sergeant Scott threw back his head and wailed like an injured animal.

Crack!

Private Wright fired his rifle. A bullet hole appeared briefly in the centre of the Shroud’s chest, then the creature vanished in a shower of blue sparks. Instantly, Sergeant Scott fell to the ground, shaking and coughing as though in the midst of a choking fit.

The Doctor dropped to his knees beside him, his fingers feeling for a pulse in the soldier’s neck. He thought he’d found it for a second but then, nothing. Sergeant Scott slumped down, unmoving.

‘What happened?’ cried a voice. ‘We heard a gunshot.’ The Doctor looked up to find Warren standing behind him. Clara and Mae were peering around the side of the lorry.

Private Wright was frozen to the spot, his rifle still clutched in his trembling hands.

‘Help Clara put the sergeant’s body in the back of the truck,’ the Doctor said to Warren. ‘Mae, find somewhere quiet for Private Wright to sit. Then I need all of you to meet me outside the hospital.’

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Clara.

The Doctor stood, taking a final look at the dead soldier at his feet. ‘I’m going to talk to whoever’s in charge around here.’

Leaving them to their tasks, the Doctor raced across the parking lot and up the steps into the hospital reception area – only to be stopped by another armed guard.

‘I’m sorry sir,’ the soldier said. ‘You can’t go any further.’

‘Here we go again,’ said the Doctor to himself. ‘Another bout with the military mind …’ He smiled pleasantly to the guard. ‘Really? No further?’

‘I’m afraid not, sir. Access to the hospital is restricted to military personnel only.’

‘Exactly what I was hoping you’d say!’ beamed the Doctor, turning to leave. ‘Thank you so much for your time.’

He found Warren, Mae and Clara waiting for him on the steps outside. ‘I need a diversion,’ he said quietly.

‘But even if you get past this guy, there will be other soldiers inside,’ said Clara. ‘You won’t get as far as the General.’

‘I will if I go via the TARDIS first …’

A few moments later, the Doctor ducked into an alcove and watched as Warren climbed the steps to reception, breathing heavily. As he reached the top, he clutched at his chest and collapsed. Mae and Clara ran up to kneel beside him. ‘Help!’ cried Mae. ‘I think he’s had a heart attack! Someone help!’

The soldier on duty dashed to their side, allowing the Doctor to slip unnoticed down the corridor behind him.

General Harley B. West spread his map of Dallas over the surface of the table and stood back to admire his work. In less than an hour, he had transformed one of the hospital’s operating theatres into a command centre for the Texas National Guard. Of course, several patients had been forced to have their operations postponed as a result, but there were always going to be casualties when the might of the military was brought in to defend the greatest nation in the world.

As soon as he had heard about the strange faces appearing all over the city, General West had put his unit on standby. Thankfully, they were still in a state of readiness since yesterday. After hearing of President Kennedy’s assassination, General West had prepared his troops to enforce the state of martial law he imagined would be instigated in the area. Instead, the powers that be had simply cordoned off Dealey Plaza as though it were a common or garden crime scene and not an assault on democracy itself. OK, maybe he hadn’t been a supporter of this particular President, but he would fight to his last breath to defend the freedoms that had allowed the man to be voted into office.

This wasn’t the first time the state governors had ignored his advice, either. There was that sorry business last year when the Soviets had stationed missiles in Cuba and threatened to launch them at the USA. Just thinking about it made the General’s blood boil and he was forced to grip the edge of the operating table to control his rage. Of course, he’d been one of the few voices calling for an all-out tactical strike on Cuba for agreeing to side with Moscow. Castro couldn’t fire missiles from the bottom of the sea, he’d pointed out. However, democracy and negotiation had triumphed in the end. Another war – and another chance for General West to be bathed in military glory – had been averted.

Still, he had to stay positive. He’d get his ticker-tape parade one day, and maybe this crazy, faces-out-of-nowhere nonsense was how it was going to happen. It was probably down to the Russians – as usual – and this time, those pencil pushers at the State Capitol would be forced to listen to reason. The time for talking to those who hated freedom was over. What was needed now was swift military action, and he was just the man to provide it.

The door to the theatre swung open and his second in command, Captain Adam Keating, entered, carrying a canvas bag. He was a much younger man than the General, having progressed swiftly through the ranks due to having the steadfast support of the men he commanded and the respect of his superiors alike. Still, he wasn’t all bad, and the General suspected he could hold his own in a battle, if he ever got to see one.

‘Did you get them?’ the General asked, smoothing the creases from his map.

‘I did,’ replied Keating, ‘but the nurses in the children’s ward weren’t happy about it.’

‘This is war, Keating!’ snapped the General. ‘We’re not here to make people happy.’

‘Technically, this isn’t war, sir,’ Keating pointed out. ‘We don’t know who or what we’re up against yet, so we can’t declare war.’

‘Only a matter of time,’ the old soldier grunted.

‘Well? Let’s see ’em.’

With a barely concealed sigh, Captain Keating tipped the contents of the bag onto the table. The General found himself faced with dozens of plastic dolls. ‘Excellent work!’ he exclaimed, snatching up the largest of the toys. He held it in his hands for a second, then ripped the head off and tossed the rest into the corner of the room.

‘The greatest concentration of heads and faces rising up has been here at the hospital,’ he said, placing the doll’s head on the map. ‘So we’ll use that one for here …’ He grabbed another doll and quickly decapitated it. ‘We’ve also had sightings at Fair Park, Cotton Bowl Stadium and several at the Museum of Contemporary Art – although if you spend your days staring at half-naked sculptures, you deserve everything you get.’