The Fog - James Herbert [140]
Holman staggered towards him again, knowing he had to finish it soon or Barrow would kill them both. His anger when he saw the detective’s intention gave him just the added strength he needed to launch another attack. His fingers encircled Barrow’s head and found his eyes. He dug his fingers in and pulled back with all his might.
Barrow screamed and came away from the girl, his hands flying to his face, trying to break Holman’s merciless grip. He pushed himself back, crushing Holman against the opposite wall but even though the grip was released, he found he couldn’t see through his bruised eyeballs. He struck out blindly but Holman easily dodged the blow, using the opportunity himself to send a vicious hook into Barrow’s stomach, doubling him up. He kicked him in the face, the back of Barrow’s head taking the worst of the blow, but nevertheless, the force of it sending him staggering back down the corridor.
Even as Holman went after him, the detective was straightening his body, shaking his head, his sight returning. A smile was just beginning to spread across his face again when Holman charged into him, using his shoulder in an attempt to knock him flat. Barrow almost avoided the attack by twisting his body, but Holman just caught him, spinning him round, both of them falling to the floor again. Both men raised themselves to their knees at the same time and faced one another, but it was Barrow who reacted first. He used the hardened edge of his hand on the side of Holman’s neck, bringing it down in a short sharp chopping motion. Again if it hadn’t been for the collar of the leather jacket, Holman would have been seriously injured; as it was he fell forward on to his face, the whole of his left shoulder and the top of his arm completely numbed with pain.
He lay there gasping, his body heaving with the exertion, and he heard the dry insane chuckle of Barrow as he got to his feet.
The Detective Inspector looked down at his weakened opponent, his face a mask of sadistic pleasure. Casey was further down the hall, collapsed on her knees, leaning against the wall, her blouse hanging in tatters around her. She wept for Holman, but knew she could do no more to help him, the madman was too strong. Barrow raised a foot to bring it crushing down on the back of Holman’s head.
As he did, Holman looked up and their eyes met: gloating victory showed through Barrow’s crazed glare; defeat showed in Holman’s. But the detective hesitated a moment too long in relishing his triumph and the defeat in Holman’s eyes was replaced by a look of hope.
They had moved so far down the hall that Barrow now stood with his back to the stairs. Holman’s right hand snaked out and grabbed for Barrow’s foot, the one that supported his weight. He gripped the ankle and yanked it forward, using the last of his remaining strength to do so. The detective fell back and crashed down the stone stairs, over and over until he reached the bottom and bounced off the facing wall.
Holman’s head sank to the floor and he lay there, his body heaving, too exhausted to move. He could hear Casey sobbing farther down the hall, but he could not summon the strength to go to her just yet. She called his name and slowly began to crawl towards him.
He lay there, his mind buzzing with thoughts as it does when too tired to concentrate on anything specific. He had been through so much in the last few days: his mind had had to adapt to so many strange factors; he’d had to accept death, not just individual but multiple death; he’d had to accept killing.
He heard a scraping noise coming from the