The Fog - James Herbert [77]
‘If we cannot disperse the fog, our only hope is to find the antidote to the disease, fast. And to make that serum, we need a quantity – however small – of the mutated mycoplasma itself, as Professor Ryker says, in its “purest form”.’
‘But you know it would be impossible to get that,’ Ryker said, a worried frown creasing his face.
‘Impossible, why?’ Sir Trevor looked at the scientist. ‘Surely someone wearing some sort of protective clothing, breathing apparatus, that sort of thing, could get close enough to get a sample?’
‘It’s not a matter of getting close enough,’ said Ryker, ‘it means going to the very centre of the fog.’
‘The centre?’
‘Yes,’ said the Home Secretary. ‘Sensors in our aircraft have discovered a force in the centre of the fog. This is obviously the nucleus of the mycoplasma itself.’
‘The glow!’ said Holman, half to himself. ‘When we were driving through it, Casey saw a glow!’
‘Yes, Mr Holman,’ the Professor nodded his head. ‘It is possible that the organism has taken on a sort of incandescent quality because of the process it is going through.’
Sir Trevor Chambers broke in huffily. ‘All right. So the “neat” stuff is in the centre. That still doesn’t prevent some one with suitable protection going in to get it!’
Ryker looked towards the Home Secretary askance. He received a sharp nod of acquiescence.
‘We said earlier that Broadmeyer was careless,’ he said to Sir Trevor. ‘But only in small ways. No scientist is careless enough to handle dangerous chemicals or substances without suitable protection. He was covered from head to foot in protective clothing.’
‘Good God! You mean there is no protection from it?’
‘Not the practical protection that would enable a man to move freely. It was one of the reasons it was considered so dangerous, the fact that it could pass through the special heavy material of these suits.’
‘Lead-lined suits?’ said Holman.
‘Too clumsy and cumbersome for an operation of this sort. The wearer would have to travel half a mile to reach the fog’s centre in virtual darkness and still have no guarantee he would be safe from the mutated mycoplasma at its strongest.’
A hint of suspicion began to creep into Holman’s mind. ‘This sort of brings us back to the point about immunity, doesn’t it?’ he said, looking directly at the Home Secretary.
‘Yes, it does,’ said the Home Secretary, quite unembarrassed. ‘We need someone who is immune to the disease to go in and bring back a sample. You, Mr Holman, it would seem, are that person.’
15
Four spectral shapes moved through the thick yellow mist. Three were gross, misshapen versions of the human form, lumbering along at a slow, uneven pace, one leading a small trolley containing a dark, oblong box that had several strange attachments to it. The fourth figure was more representative of his species, yet seemed to have a peculiar hump on his back and a face that contained only a pair of eyes.
One of the heavily suited men tapped Holman on the shoulder. This was as far as they dared to go; the rest was up to him. His voice was muffled through the smog-mask as he gave them the thumbs-up sign and said, ‘okay’. The three scientists couldn’t have heard him anyway through their glass-visored helmets. The aperture for vision was very small and they had to swivel their heads to see one another, and even then the fog was so thick it was difficult to see more than two yards ahead.
It was clearer for Holman who was not wearing a suit, but still the farthest he could see was about five yards. The heavily clad figure who had tapped him on the shoulder handed him the handle to the trolley. By pressing a button in the tip of the handle, the small but heavy motorized vehicle would propel itself along, restricted in its speed by the person who controlled its power. Holman looked into the inscrutable mask of the scientist, trying at least to see the man’s eyes, but gave up, unable to penetrate the dark interior of the