2014 : Jack’s Beach Shack : Jack’s Bed
She woke curled up in a tight fetal position. What had she been dreaming of? She remembered as she uncurled. The Zygon. Jack pounding the life back into her. The terrible damage she’d done him dragging him back into the car—
—then, she suddenly sat up. Sarah Jane Smith of 2014 heard a sound she knew all too well. Ohh, far too well. The engines of a Cybership. The scream of it as it tore through thick air. It was getting louder. She ripped herself out of the covers, fully dressed. She went out the back door and stood in the blast of the storm. The wind and water struck her hard, but she barely even cared. If there was a Cybership as close as it sounded, nothing else mattered.
Yes . it was there . .she felt her knees go weak, and found herself clutching at the wet, rough door frame. It came right to her, and she could even see others, distant in the sky. A terrible invasion. It swooped toward her as if it had been looking for her.
And maybe it was. And she would be ready for it, she insisted of herself, gritting her teeth and making her self stand square on her feet. Then the ship was gone as if it had never been. The storm remained, and she slammed the door against it. Teeth chattering, she went to build up the fire.
She’d been right to trust Jack to drive, she thought, a fond and pain filled smile on her face for those sweet strange days. Dear Jack.
These new memories were as complete to her as any other she had, but she didn’t yet know what would happen if and when she ever woke up from that nap in 1978.
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