The Fog - James Herbert [129]
‘We’ll be all right up here, sir,’ the soldier said as Holman scrambled up after him. ‘I’ve set it so that the tunnel will come down causing very little to come our way – but we’ll have to be wary of a few flying rocks.’
‘What about the container?’ Holman pointed towards the mobile box that stood further down, closer to the entrance.
‘Oh, that’ll be all right, sir. There’s not much that can harm that thing.’ He connected the plastic-sheathed fuse to a small handbox. ‘One twist of this knob here, sir, and we’ll have that entrance down in no time.’
‘No plunger?’ asked Holman, feeling naïve.
‘Not for this.’ The Sergeant grinned, his enjoyment increasing as the time for his blast grew nearer.
The radio crackled into life again and a voice said, ‘Captain Peters here. Can you hear me, Sergeant?’
The Sergeant leaned towards the speaker. ‘I can hear you, sir.’
‘Right. We’re in position here. We’ll give it a countdown of one minute. Check your timer.’
Holman saw the soldier look at a small clockface on the detonation box he held in his hand. His gloved finger poised above a catch at its side. The voice from the radio said, ‘Start it after three.’ The seconds were counted and the Sergeant’s clumsy finger pushed the catch down, starting a tiny red second hand on its circular course.
‘All right, Sergeant. I’m handing the radio back to Professor Ryker now,’ the Captain’s voice said. ‘Be ready on the stroke of sixty. Good luck and keep your bloody heads down.’ The radio went silent again.
Holman watched in fascination as the red hand crept round the dial. Several times he thought it had stopped but realized it was only an optical illusion. As it reached the forty-five-second mark, he felt the urge to blow his nose, but he knew it was only nerves and rubbed it with a shaking finger instead. Ten. His throat felt dry. Seven. He cleared it. Five. He remembered to breathe. Three. Would the blast be powerful enough to completely block the entrance? Two. It had to be. One.
He buried his head in his hands as he sensed rather than saw the Sergeant briskly turn the knob.
He felt the whooshing of air before he heard the explosion, sweeping his hair back, dragging at his clothes. He thought the ground had actually trembled beneath him. Then he heard the roar, a split second behind the actual blast, muffled at first then developing into a loud, rumbling crack of thunder.
He kept his head down close to the concrete surface, expecting to feel fragments of rubble descending upon them, but none came. Still, he lay there, covering his head until the Sergeant’s hand prodded him on the shoulder.
‘It’s all right now, sir. A nice clean one, that.’
The Sergeant was on his knees looking towards the tunnel’s entrance, nodding his head in self-admiration. Holman looked up, deafened by the blast, but anxious to see its results.
Dust was swirling around the entrance, mixed with the fog, but after a few seconds, it began to drift away. Holman managed to smile at what he saw.
Tons of broken concrete and rubble had completely filled the high entrance – if one could call it an entrance any more. For some inexplicable reason, he had expected just to see the entrance blocked up, but of course, the beginning of the hole had now moved back forty feet or so and a steep slope of broken rock led up to its broken roof.
He clapped the grinning Sergeant on the arm and picked up the radio. ‘Hello, Professor Ryker,’ he said into it and was puzzled as to why he couldn’t hear his own voice. Then realized his head was still ringing with the blast so he placed the radio on the ground while he studied the wreckage more thoroughly. The Sergeant had already dropped down on to the incline and was now walking towards it. He reached its foot and stood there, examining the damage. At last satisfied, he turned and waved at Holman and once more gave him the thumbs-up sign.
By now, Holman’s head was clearing so he picked up the radio again