The Fog - James Herbert [125]
‘Yes, we have seen it too as we drove here,’ said Ryker. ‘There were thousands of them by the river. We had to take an alternative route to get through.’
‘Oh, God, you don’t think—’ Holman began, remembering Bournemouth.
‘It’s possible,’ said Ryker gravely, guessing Holman’s meaning. ‘That’s why it is essential that we are successful this time and can clear the fog.’
‘Why, what can you do? Thousands, millions more likely, are going to commit mass suicide. They’ll throw themselves into the river. The Thames will be full of bodies – there’ll be so many you’ll be able to walk across it!’
‘Calm yourself, please, Mr Holman,’ Ryker placed a gentle hand on Holman’s arm. ‘We are going to spray the city, the whole town, with sleeping gas.’
‘What? That’s impossible!’
‘No, it isn’t,’ Ryker answered quietly. ‘Ever since the crisis began in London, small aircraft and helicopters – commercial as well as military – have been loading up with two things: calcium chloride and nitrous oxide, a gas you might describe as a knock-out gas. The intention is to send the city to sleep for as long as it takes to find and administer a serum. And remember: many will not have been affected by the disease yet for it varies from body to body as to how long it takes for the infection to begin its work; these people will have the best chance of all. Hundreds will still die, of course – thousands, perhaps – but we will save the majority. Provided we have a serum and provided we are in time!’
Holman picked up speed. It was plausible, countless lives could be saved! They had to succeed, no matter what they came up against, they had to succeed this time.
Soon, by carefully skirting likely trouble spots, they arrived at the black entrance to the twin tunnels. He stopped the vehicle and they clambered out, the two soldiers going first, each clutching their rifles, ready to use them if necessary.
‘There’s a body over there just inside the tunnel,’ the Sergeant said flatly, pointing towards the recumbent figure of the man Holman had knocked down.
‘I killed him,’ he told them, and they accepted it without comment, as though he had told them he’d stepped on a bug.
‘Now,’ said Ryker, who was emerging last from the vehicle, ‘we have to make sure the nucleus is still there and if it is, then you know what you must do, Mr Holman.’ And then he added, in surprise, ‘But there are two tunnels!’
Holman nodded. ‘Yes, one is the old tunnel – the right-hand one – used by northbound traffic; the other, more recent one, is the south. The nucleus is in the old one.’ He indicated with his hand, adding, ‘At least, I hope to God it’s still there.’
The four men walked into the entrance, three lumbering along, small oxygen tanks strapped to their backs, one, unencumbered, but looking humanly frail beside the others.
‘It’s pretty solid,’ the Captain remarked, peering up at the roof of the entrance. ‘Lovely solid chunks of concrete to came down and fill up the hole. Yes, should do very nicely.’
‘Fuck me,’ said the Sergeant through clenched lips, ‘there’s a bloody ’ead lyin’ over there.’
‘Forget it,’ said Holman coldly.
He walked into the blackness for about six yards, then stood there, allowing his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. ‘It’s there,’ he said after a while.
The two soldiers returned to the vehicle and unloaded a lead container mounted on wheels from its side, similar to the one Holman had used in Winchester, only bigger. The Sergeant unstrapped a long length of flexible steel tubing, narrower at one end. He coiled it over his shoulder and followed the Captain who was leading the motorized container back towards the tunnel’s entrance.
‘You know how to use the machine, Mr Holman,’ Ryker said, facing him and placing one hand on his shoulder as though contact would make his words more intelligible. ‘As I told you, there is no need to go too near the nucleus. You have sixty yards