The Fog - James Herbert [6]
It all seemed to have happened in slow motion. And yet it had all happened so fast. He stroked the girl’s head, trying to still her sobs, reassuring her that they’d be all right, but the cries for her brother stung his heart.
He looked up towards the daylight, hoping he would see someone up there, someone looking for survivors. Survivors? Survivors of what? The question exploded in his brain. An earthquake? It was incredible. Earthquakes had occurred in England before, and minor tremors were frequent. But an eruption of this size? The incredible, the unbelievable, had happened. In a crazy world, the most crazy thing had happened. Wiltshire had suffered an earthquake! He laughed aloud at the thought, startling the child. He pulled her raised head back to his chest, gently, and rocked her comfortingly.
What had caused it? It certainly wasn’t any gas-mains explosion; not with this devastation. The hole was too deep, too long. No, it had certainly been an earth tremor, not as serious as those suffered in other countries of course, but of just as great a magnitude because it had happened in England! Why? Had the nearby military installation been testing some underground explosives? He had evidence of some pretty strange goings-on from his discreet weekend visit, but doubted they had anything to do with this. A chain reaction, perhaps, from one of their experiments. But probably nothing to do with them for, after all, they had vast areas of British-occupied wasteland in far off countries to carry out their tests in. England was no place for experiments of this kind. It was more likely a freak of nature, a disturbance below that had been building up for centuries, probably thousands of years. And today had been the day for it to erupt.
But still the doubt lingered.
Just then Holman noticed movement at his feet. At first he thought it was dust caused by the disturbance, but then saw it was billowing up from below. It was like a mist, slowly rising in a sluggish swirling motion, slightly yellowish although he couldn’t be sure in the gloom. It seemed to spread along the length of the split, moving up towards his chest, covering the girl’s head. She started to cough, then looked up and her whimpers became stronger when she saw the mist. He lifted her higher so that her head was level with his shoulder. Then the mist reached his nostrils. It had a slightly acidy smell to it, unpleasant but not choking. He got to his knees, wondering what it could be. Gas? A ruptured main? He doubted it – gas was generally colourless, this had some substance to it. It was more like – well, a fog. It had body, the yellowish tinge, a slight but distinct odour. A vapour probably released by the eruption from deep underground, trapped for centuries, finally finding its way to the surface.
It was above his head now and he found it difficult to see through. He got to his feet, lifting the child with him. Once above the rising cloud, an immense fear overcame him, For some reason his horror of the swirling mist was more intense than the horror he’d just been through. Perhaps it was because this was happening slowly, whereas everything else had been so fast, leaving so little time for thought. This somehow seemed more evil, more sinister; he didn’t know why, but it filled him with a great sense of foreboding.
‘Help! Is there anybody up there? Can anyone hear me?’ He called out urgently, no panic in his voice yet, but he could feel hysteria rising. There was no answer. Maybe it was too dangerous to approach the edge of the hole. Perhaps there were too many injured