The Fog - James Herbert [62]
Wreford cleared his throat and looked down, for a moment embarrassed, then the snap was back in his voice as he went on. ‘Well, the reports began to accumulate and pretty soon, it wasn’t just me, but the whole building involved. They seemed to be just individual incidents at first, some minor, others a deal more serious, but together they began to take on a pattern. They seemed to be happening in a ragged line between Wiltshire, Dorset and Hampshire. They’re pretty curious in our control room of course as to why I had put in an unofficial request for reports around those areas. I’m saving my answer for the Commissioner for Police; we have a meeting in,’ he looked at his watch, ‘ten minutes. I want you to be there.’
Holman nodded his agreement.
Wreford’s face became even more grave as he went on. Most of these incidents were isolated, usually concerning one person, occasionally two or three, certainly no more. But just under an hour ago, the most alarming news of all came through. We’re all very much in the dark at the moment – we’re getting a fuller picture by the minute – but it seems incredible, totally unbelievable.’
‘For Christ’s sake!’ said Holman impatiently.
‘At around 6.00 this morning, virtually the entire population of Bournemouth left their homes and walked into the sea in a mass suicide attempt.’
Silence filled the room. At last, Holman managed to say, ‘It’s impossible.’
‘Impossible, yes, but it has happened. Over 148,820 people. And that’s not counting the thousands that were on holiday there. Men, women, children – all drowned. They’re still trying to drag those who couldn’t reach the sea back from the beach. Poole Harbour is just crammed with floating bodies, the shores around Bournemouth are littered with corpses.’
Barrow, who had been quiet up to now, spoke. ‘What about the fog, sir? Has it been sighted?’
‘I’ve issued instructions to locate it but naturally the local towns have enough on their minds without worrying about fog. I couldn’t give them the reason yet without causing a large-scale panic. I have to see the Commissioner before I do that. But one thing I did learn: Bournemouth was covered in a thick blanket of fog yesterday.’
The Commissioner of Police wasted no time in getting in contact with the Home Secretary and arranging an immediate meeting. He’d listened grimly to Holman’s story, occasionally interrupting to ask a relevant question, but not once voicing a negative opinion. Holman asked that the Minister of State for Defence and his own chief, the Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State for the Department of the Environment, be present at their meeting with the Home Secretary, remembering the meeting Spiers had arranged before his death.
Twenty minutes later, he found himself relating his story again in a large, oak-panelled room in Whitehall surrounded by the Ministers and their chiefs-of-staff, having questions fired at him in rapid succession, the Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State for the Army angrily rejecting his insinuations that the military in Salisbury might have some answers as to the cause of the fog.
The Home Secretary banged his fist sharply on the heavy table before them. ‘Gentlemen, we will not have arguments at this stage. James, I want a full report on your establishments on Salisbury,’ he ordered the Under-Secretary for the Army. ‘I want to know of all recent experiments carried out there, particularly the Broadmeyer Experiment.’ Holman caught the troubled look that passed between the two men.
‘Richard,’ the Home Secretary turned to the Minister of State for Defence, ‘we’ll need troops to clear Bournemouth and to control any panic that is bound to break out in the surrounding area. Commissioner, have your men located the fog yet?’
‘No sir, but they have orders to report directly to me as soon as they have.’
‘I suggest you get on to the Met Office and find out shifts in air currents.’
‘They’re helping us locate the fog now, sir.’
‘When you’ve found it, you’ll want to know where it’s going, won’t you?’ the Home Secretary said without a trace of sarcasm