The Fog - James Herbert [104]
He grinned at Holman, bringing his forehead down and kissing it.
‘Today is your Beginning. And to Begin, you must first die,’ he said, as others leaned forward to kiss Holman. Now they were all kneeling, packed tightly up against the two men in the centre.
‘You – you’ve got to let me go,’ Holman said, looking around anxiously. ‘I’m the only one who can do something about the fog.’
‘The fog, Brother? There is no fog. All you see around us is the spirit of mankind. Today is the Beginning. The mist is only the Being, the souls who have already begun the journey.’
‘Let me go!’
‘Peace! The bridge you are about to cross is short, and the brief pain you will feel will be nothing compared to the eternal happiness that waits beyond.’ And again, the whispered words, ‘You’ll be the fifth today, bastard. I’ll snap your neck like a fucking matchstick.’
His hands closed on Holman’s neck, but before the thick fingers could form into a stranglehold, Holman brought his fist up into the man’s lower stomach. The blow had no other effect than to tighten the religious leader’s smile into a grimace. He rose to his feet bringing his victim up with him, held by the neck. The fingers began to squeeze.
In a desperate move, Holman went limp so that his body dropped, then pushed forward. It was fortunate for him that the other followers were still kneeling around them, for the momentum forced the leader to step back thus tripping over the bowed head of one of his flock. They went down in a heap of struggling arms and legs, Holman managing to break free of the grip around his throat. He lashed out again with his fist, and with some satisfaction, drew blood from the big man’s nose.
The long robes of the religious sect hampered their movements and put Holman at an advantage. Instead of trying to rise above the clutching leader, he rolled forward over him, his shoulder cracking the man’s head hard against the pavement. His feet accidently kicked into the chest of one of the female members, sending her backwards and gaining him a free area to rise. Hands grabbed for him, voices screamed in dismay, but he was moving through them, slapping the hands away, pushing half-risen bodies back down. He heard the roar of the big man behind him and redoubled his efforts to get away. Just as he thought he was clear, a hand closed on his ankle, tripping him and sending him rolling across the pavement to crash against a restaurant front.
He rose as quickly as he could, but already the big man was coming for him, lifting his legs high to stride through the startled bodies as though wading through a stream, mouthing obscenities at Holman, the blood from his nose covering his face, giving him a red mask of pure hatred. Most of his confused followers were trying to gain their feet, and just as he was nearly through, one rose up in front of him. The big man pushed him viciously, sending him sprawling across the pavement to land at Holman’s feet.
Holman’s back was pressed up against the large window of a restaurant, the palms of his hands flat against it, ready to give him leverage to push himself away. The big man was only a few feet from him and still rushing forward, his arms outstretched to embrace him in a hug of death. But the frightened man at Holman’s feet was now scrabbling around on hands and knees, and the leader’s eyes were so intent on their prey that they failed to see him. Holman sprang to one side as the big man pitched forward, tripped by his follower on the ground.
Holman heard the scream and crash of shattered glass as the big man’s bare head and upper body fell through the window, scattering the fancy cakes and expensive confectionery that lay just inside. The heavy glass descended on him like a guillotine, cutting into his neck and breaking across his back.
Splinters and shards of glass flew out at Holman, but they did little damage for he was already running