The Fog - James Herbert [100]
The phone went dead as soon as Holman said he understood and would carry out the instructions. He told Casey what was happening as he quickly dressed, doing his best to keep his voice calm and assured. She did not cry, nor protest, knowing circumstances were directing their actions, that they could no longer control their own destinies, that they had to move as events dictated. He told her to bolt the door behind him and then lock herself in his bedroom. They wasted little time in saying goodbye for the temptation to lock themselves in, away from the outside world and its madness, was too great; the slightest hint from either one of them would all too easily be succumbed to. Instead, they kissed and, without a word, he left.
He used the stairs to get to the ground, not daring to chance the lift which was unreliable at the best of times. The nightmare took on a new dimension once he was in the street.
It was the feeling of emptiness that was most frightening. A feeling of complete hollowness. Nothing was substantial, nothing quite real. He stayed close to the walls, dreading bumping into anyone, but, at the same time, eager to meet someone of his kind, of flesh and blood. He heard a strange wailing noise and realized it was human. He heard a car pass by, travelling fast, fading into the distance, then a crash, followed by cold silence. He heard a scream, a woman’s scream, mingled with a laugh. Hysterical laughter. A madman’s laugh. But it was all remote and unreal, the phony rantings of a fairground ghost house.
He was thankful it was still early morning and most people were either asleep or just stirring. In his mind’s eye he saw a picture of the bedlam that would come later that day, and he quickened his step almost into a trot. He guessed what the task before him would be, but in a strange way, he now welcomed it. At least it would be positive action and not just stumbling around in the mist waiting for something to happen. And he would be among people again, hopefully normal people. Thank God Casey was immune. If the plan failed, whatever they had in mind (and he had a shrewd idea), he would go back to her and get her away. To hell with them; they’d made the mess, let them deal with it. He’d done enough already.
Too late he saw the dark shadow before him and they collided, the impact sending the other man to the ground. Without thinking, Holman stooped down to help the sprawled figure to his feet. The man reached up and held on to Holman’s shoulders and it was only then, when their faces were no more than a foot apart, that Holman noticed the strange grin on the man’s face. He backed away, but the man clung to him, a low growling, chuckling noise coming from his wide grinning mouth. Holman tried to push him off, but an arm reached around his neck and his head was forced forward. He struck out in panic and the man’s chuckle turned into a snarl of rage as he retaliated with a savage kick at Holman’s ankle. Holman ducked forward, releasing himself from the tenacious grasp, then brought the flat of his hand up underneath the man’s chin and pushed it back and back, swiftly, moving with it until the back of the man’s head connected with the brick wall behind him. There was a loud crack and the man went down on his knees, one hand reaching for the back of his head, a pathetic whining sob coming from him. His other hand groped blindly for Holman’s leg, but Holman stepped back out of reach then turned and began to run.
When he stopped, he found himself completely isolated. He must have run into the road for he could see nothing on either side of him. He walked forward briskly, but alert for any danger, hoping he was heading in the right direction. He heard a scream on his left, a long