The Fog - James Herbert [111]
Holman turned the wheel sharply and swerved around him, narrowly avoiding running him down. Mason swung his head around to watch him through the rear windows, but he had disappeared into the mists again.
‘It seems, even in total madness, there are a few individuals though,’ he commented.
They passed fewer people as they drove through the City, but when they left its grey canyons behind they were faced with a spectacular scene.
Across the road in front of them was a mass of white-pink bodies, a sea of writhing limbs. As their eyes narrowed to focus, they saw it was made up of small groups of people, but packed so tightly together they represented a solid mass. All were engaged in copulation.
‘Jesus!’ said Mason slowly. ‘Look at them! A bloody street orgy!’
‘It probably started with one couple and the others just joined in,’ said Holman.
‘But there’s some there that must be in their sixties.’
‘And others not more than kids.’
‘What do we do?’ asked Mason, tearing his eyes away from the scene to look at Holman.
Holman smiled thinly, a faint feeling of satisfaction at his companion’s sudden perplexity causing the smile. Mason’s calm throughout had bothered him.
‘Well, we don’t join them,’ he said, and then, more grimly, ‘we go around, of course.’
He turned the vehicle and found a narrow side street. As he drove away, Mason craned his neck to keep the spectacle in sight for as long as possible, cursing at the fog when it obliterated it.
‘Incredible,’ was all he could say.
Holman turned into another, wider street to get them back on their original course. They had travelled no more than fifty yards when he stopped the vehicle with a sudden jerk.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked the startled Mason who had been checking his instruments.
‘Look,’ said Holman, pointing ahead.
Mason narrowed his eyes and peered into the fog. He heard her screams before he actually saw the girl. She looked to be no more than fifteen and she was backed into a doorway. Even at that distance, they could see her eyes were wide with terror and her screams echoed round the cramped interior of the vehicle.
Advancing on her were two men, both heavy set, both wearing clothes that were in tatters, both grinning at the girl. Their faces and hands were black with filth giving them an even more menacing appearance. But most frightening of all was their actions upon themselves for it made their intent obvious. Each had unbuttoned his trousers and was slowly stroking his penis, calling out to the girl, mouthing obscenities, informing her of their intentions upon her small body. She crouched in the doorway – whether she, herself, was mad yet was not apparent – whimpering, holding her hands up to her face as if to hide the sight from her mind.
‘Oh God,’ said Holman.
‘Look, we can’t go out there. In this suit, I’d be no help to you at all. And you’re too valuable to risk your life. And if we stopped to help everybody we see in trouble, we’d never get to the nucleus!’
‘Shut up,’ said Holman quietly. He stabbed his foot down hard on the accelerator and the vehicle leapt forward with a jolt. As it gathered speed it mounted the kerb and sped towards the two men, two wheels on the pavement, two wheels in the road. The two men just had time to see it coming, their grinning faces barely registering the fear that had begun its swift climb, before the vehicle hit them. One disappeared beneath the wheels, the other was tossed into the air to slam against the merciless concrete of a building. Their short screams, and the longer, more shrill scream of the girl, spun around in Holman’s head even when the sound had stopped. He brought the vehicle to a screeching halt, throwing the astonished Mason forward on to his instruments. Holman swung around in his seat and looked through the rear apertures just in time to see the girl running into the fog, her face still hidden in her hands in an effort to block the horror.
He saw the crumpled figure of one of the men