They had been walking for around twenty minutes when Mae spoke up. ‘Why us?’ she asked. ‘Why are there people like us who have escaped being devoured?’

‘I’ve got a theory,’ said Wobblebottom. ‘With me, I think it’s because I was in the security forces, out on the street, helping people and – occasionally – dealing with criminals and accidents. I saw some terrible things, and frequently had to pass on bad news to loved ones.’

‘Just like Warren,’ said the Doctor. ‘One of our friends,’ he added for the benefit of the Clowns. ‘He was like you – a law enforcement agent. Probably saw more than his fair share of grief. And you, Mae. All those stories in the newspaper. All that misery. It toughened you up. Gave you the strength to fight off the advances of the Shroud.’

The tunnel began to widen, and the Doctor could see lights ahead. Voices echoed off the metal walls of the tunnel and, after a moment, the group stepped into a vast underground cavern.

‘Welcome to Clown Camp!’ grinned Wobblebottom.

The Doctor and Mae stood near the entrance, drinking in the sight before them. The room looked as though it had once been some kind of theatre or performance venue, but the seats had been removed to make room for scores of small, multicoloured tents and tepees. Spotlights shone down from a ceiling high above, hidden among long lengths of cloth stretched out to resemble the roof of a circus big top.

Up on a stage, a group of young Clowns juggled, danced, spun plates, tumbled and chased each other with fake custard pies. And everywhere there was music. Bright, jolly, happy music. More motley-painted people played on instruments from wherever they sat or stood. It was all the Doctor could do not to whip out his recorder and join in. Instead he stood and smiled his widest smile.

‘Oh, this is amazing!’

A man dressed in an acrobat’s costume hurried their way, carrying a tray of drinks. ‘Welcome!’ he beamed. ‘I’m Jorge. Please, help yourself!’

Mae accepted a glass from the tray. ‘Thank you, Jorge,’ she said.

Flip Flop smiled. ‘Up until two weeks ago, Jorge was a Wanter, just like this guy. We restored him in less than eight sessions. Let’s hope it’s as easy this time.’ He turned and pushed the cart containing the sleeping Wanter towards an archway on the far side of the hall.

‘Is that where you keep them?’ asked the Doctor. ‘The Ragers, Wanters and Tremblers?’

‘In separate rooms,’ said Wobblebottom. ‘Would you like to see?’

He led the Doctor and Mae through the arch and into a corridor that looked almost identical to the one beneath the row of ruined houses – except this one was brightly lit and filled with the music that played in the main hall, pumped through by speakers fastened to the walls.

Each of the doors along the corridor had a barred window cut into it, and the Doctor stopped at the first one to peer through. Inside the room, two women and a man sat in armchairs, expressions of terror etched onto their faces. One of the women saw the Doctor looking at her and she squealed, drawing her knees up to her chest and pulling herself into a ball.

‘It’s OK,’ the Doctor said. ‘You’re in a good place, here. These people are going to help you to smile again.’ He turned to find Mae standing beside him, also looking into the room.

‘This is awful,’ she said.

Wobblebottom rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘Only for now,’ he assured her. ‘You saw Jorge – the acrobat who offered you drinks. These people will be just like him very soon.’

The next room contained only the sleeping Wanter they had brought with them. Flip Flop was carefully putting the man in the recovery position on a fold-out bed.

‘We have a dozen rooms for our patients,’ said Wobblebottom as he led the Doctor and Mae past more groups of Tremblers and Wanters, the latter pushing their arms out through the barred windows to try and grab the visitors’ clothing as they passed. ‘But this is where it gets a little distressing …’

They reached a bolted door at the end of the corridor, which was guarded by a Clown wearing a curly, yellow wig and large shoes. Wobblebottom nodded, and the guard slid back the metal latches and pulled it open. Instantly, the Doctor and Mae became aware of angry shouts and screams. There were three more doors beyond this one. The Doctor stepped up to the barred window cut into the first.

The room was empty of all furniture, which Wobblebottom explained was so the Ragers couldn’t use it to hurt themselves. The man inside was in his 40s, slightly overweight and short. At the sight of the visitors, he roared furiously and ran at the door, throwing himself at it with such force that Mae jumped involuntarily.

‘It’s all right,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’m a friend.’ But the words did nothing to change the man’s behaviour. He began to rain blows down on the door, tearing the skin from his already bloodied knuckles.

‘I knew him,’ said Wobblebottom sadly. ‘In real life, before the Shroud, I mean. He lived on my street. Ran a market stall selling vegetables. You couldn’t meet a nicer, more gentle person.’ As if to disprove the description, the man ran head first at the door, smashing his forehead against the metal and causing himself to stumble back. The Doctor quickly moved to the next room.

Mae followed, glancing in at the man as she passed. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, with his cheeks flushed purple with the rage he felt, but could never understand. And his eyes … She couldn’t look at them for long. The man’s eyes were bulging out of his head, as though they were about to burst. She hurried to join the Doctor and Wobblebottom as they approached the next room.

‘The ones that batter the door are bad enough,’ said Wobblebottom. ‘But it’s the quiet ones you want to watch out for. They can turn on you without warning.’

The Doctor stepped up to the door and looked inside – then he gripped the bars of the small window so tightly that his knuckles whitened. ‘Open this door at once!’ he demanded.

‘I can’t,’ said Wobblebottom. ‘It could be dangerous …’

‘Do it!’

Wobblebottom called down the corridor to the guard. ‘Dolfini …’

The Clown’s large shoes squeaked as he ran down to join them, unclipping a large bundle of keys from his belt. Finding the right one, Dolfini unlocked the door and the Doctor rushed inside. Following him, Mae gasped at what she saw.

Lying on the floor in the corner of the room was Clara.

Chapter 12

The Doctor followed the directions Wobblebottom had given him and carried Clara into a tepee near the rear of the auditorium. Warren was already inside, a female Clown in a fluorescent nurse’s outfit dabbing at a nasty-looking cut on his cheek.

‘Doctor!’ he exclaimed. ‘Is she OK?’

The Doctor laid Clara down on a pile of blankets. ‘A little concussed, but she’ll live,’ he said, accepting a damp cloth from the nurse and using it to mop her brow. Mae hurried over to Warren and hugged him tightly.

Dolfini appeared in the entrance to the tent. ‘I’m really sorry,’ he said, wringing his white-gloved hands together. ‘I found them both in the snow beside the wreck of some weird vehicle. The man was unconscious, and the girl was crawling over to him. I thought she was a Rager who’d attacked him, so I used my knockout gas on her.’

‘It’s OK,’ said the Doctor. ‘I know it was an honest mistake.’

Dolfini nodded and stomped away, his shoes squeaking.

‘What happened to you both?’ Mae asked.

Warren told the Doctor and Mae about their encounter with the bears and about the accident they’d had while trying to escape, although he couldn’t remember much after that. ‘The next thing I know, I’m lying here with Orma looking after me.’ He smiled at the Clown nurse, who blushed beneath her white make-up.

‘Orma!’ cried Mae. ‘That was the name you used in the wormhole.’