The Fog - James Herbert [4]
Panic drove him into action. He frantically pushed himself away from the steering wheel but the sudden movement caused the car to slide a terrifying two feet further down. He forced himself to keep calm, his breath coming in short gasps, the sounds of falling masonry, glass and dislodged earth filling his ears. More cautiously, he began to edge himself over into the back seat. He froze as the car shifted again, but this time the movement was fractional. He kept his position for a few tense moments then started to ease himself back again.
Gaining the back seat, he turned round into a position where he could wind down a rear side window. He saw there was just sufficient gap between the car and the side of the chasm for him to squeeze through. Loose earth fell through the open window adding more weight to the precariously balanced vehicle.
Abandoning caution, he scrambled through and clung to the crumpling wall of rock and earth, expecting to hear the wrenching sound of the car tearing itself loose to fall into the depths below. For a full five minutes he stayed there, his head tight against the earth, clutching desperately to the treacherous surface.
The unsettled dust began to clear slightly and he looked around him fearfully. From the jagged outline above he guessed the eruption was at least five hundred yards long. The sides seemed steady now although shales of earth still showered down into what seemed a bottomless pit. He peered into the darkness below and shuddered at the awesome sight. It was as though the very bowels of the earth had opened up; the blackness seemed infinite.
A slight tremor made him bury his hands and face into the earth, his heart pounding wildly, expecting at any moment to be dislodged from his insecure perch.
A sudden cry forced his eyes open once more. He peered through the disturbed dust and saw what looked like a tiny figure lying on a narrow sloping ledge about fifty feet away on the opposite wall of earth. With shock, he realized it was one of the children he’d seen in the street above. The little girl. Of the boy who’d been with her, there was no sign. She began to whimper piteously.
Holman knew he had to reach her or she would soon slide down the incline into the deep chasm. He called out to her, but she didn’t seem to hear. He looked around, wondering how he would cross the gorge to get to her. She was about ten feet above him and thirty feet below ground level. Climbing to her shouldn’t be too difficult providing he took great care; the sides were full of protuberances and old roots. The problem was to get across – and quickly.
Another thought struck him; what if the gap should close? The thought of being crushed to death as though in a giant nutcracker spurred him into action.
The car would have to act as a bridge. Two steps and he would be on the other side. It was dangerous but the only course of action he could take. Tentatively he placed a foot on the roof of the car. It held. He put his weight on it, still holding on to the wall on his side. The roof slanted downward and the thought of slipping on its smooth surface terrified him. Before he could allow himself to think further he took two bounds across the gap, almost willing himself to fly.
But the second step caused the car to lose its grip on the sides of the walls and it slipped forward and down, taking Holman with it. Desperately he grabbed at the side he had been making for and, with more luck than judgement, managed to grasp a dead tree root. It cracked and broke, but thin tendons held it together and swung him inwards.
The child looked up at the sound of the crashing car and screamed when she saw the man hanging there. Rivers of earth, disturbed by her feet, ran over the ledge and showered into the gaping hole. She buried her head in her hands and sobbed, calling for her lost brother.
Holman hung there, thin strands of rotted wood between him and death. His feet sought support from the crumbling earth and one hand grabbed at solid rock. He managed to find a handhold and eased his weight from the