The Fog - James Herbert [69]
‘But wouldn’t that necessitate surgery?’
She laughed. ‘No, I don’t think so, not in your case.’ She became serious once more. ‘We have plenty of dead bodies we can examine in that way.’
‘And what about Casey?’
‘Miss Simmons? We’ll try to cure her.’
The door opened and their breakfast was wheeled in on a trolley. Janet Halstead reached behind her and switched on a tape recorder.
‘Now, John,’ she said. ‘Take your time and tell us everything you know about this mysterious fog. Start at the beginning and try to leave nothing out.’
The rest of the day was just a blur to Holman. He was probed, tested, examined, interrogated. He was given an electrocardiograph to test his heart; his entire body was X-rayed; a radio-opaque substance was injected into the arterial system of his brain to show up any deformation of the normal pattern in order to trace any space-occupying lesion; electrodes were placed on the surface of his head over the occipital and frontal region to discover any evidence of a tumour; a small amount of cerebrospinal fluid was drained by a needle introduced into the subarachnoid space below the termination of his spinal cord and tested. All these, and many more tests, were carried out on his and Casey’s bodies and by late afternoon he was allowed to fall into an exhausted sleep.
He awoke several hours later to find Barrow slumped in a chair by his bedside, soft snoring noises droning from him. As Holman sat up, the policeman stirred and quickly woke, casting an anxious eye towards the bed. He grinned and rubbed his face.
‘You were out for the count,’ he said to Holman.
‘You weren’t doing too bad yourself,’ Holman answered flatly.
‘Yeah, but I’m a light sleeper.’ He looked at Holman ruefully. ‘Look, what about calling a truce? I know I was a bit rough on you, but it was pretty fantastic, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘Well, I’m sorry.’
‘Okay, let’s forget it. Actually, I’m surprised you’re still around.’
‘Special duty, mate. I’m your bodyguard. You’re an important person. You’ve got another one outside.’
‘Do they think somebody’s going to assassinate me, or – do they think I’m going to run away?’ His face took on an incredulous look as he hoisted himself up further in the bed.
Barrow was slightly flustered. With a sigh, he said, ‘I’ll be honest; they’re playing safe. Don’t forget the effect this gas has had on others; we don’t really know if you’ve recovered yet, do we?’
‘All right, I get it,’ said Holman, resigned. ‘Tell me what’s been happening while I’ve been asleep.’
‘Quite a lot. A couple of hours ago the doctors and researchers went into a confab. I don’t know what it was all about but they were having a go at those blokes from Porton Down, the Microbiological Research scientists. They were being evasive and finally refused to answer any more questions until they’d seen their Minister.’
‘It all seems to point in the same direction, doesn’t it,’ Holman commented.
‘Yeah,’ said Barrow dryly, ‘you could say that. Anyway, they went off to the Ministry of Defence about an hour ago, leaving the others in quite a rage. They’re carrying on with their work, but they’re not very happy about it.’
‘How’s Casey?’
‘I don’t know, but I’ll get the Medical Officer. She wanted to be informed when you woke.’ He walked to the door and gave instructions to the uniformed policeman outside to find Janet Halstead.
‘What’s happened with the fog?’ asked Holman as the Detective Inspector returned to his chair.
‘They found it, you know that, and luckily the winds have died down so it’s drifting along at a very slow rate. It’s an incredible sight, apparently, about a mile wide and a mile high.’
‘It’s grown.’ The fact disturbed Holman. ‘When I saw it last, it was half that size.’
‘Yeah, they know it’s growing. It’s becoming thicker in density, too, a sort of dingy