The Fog - James Herbert [82]
‘Get down there, quickly!’ he shouted above the noise of the helicopter’s engine. ‘There was a body in that hole. That man’s trying to bury it!’
As they landed, the small-time crook who had been amazed at the chance of having the whole town of Winchester to himself to plunder undisturbed with his two cronies, and was now insane because of this ill-seized opportunity, ignored the descending machine and happily continued filling in the pit he had dragged the unconscious man towards. The hole had been left by workmen who had just begun to dig a grave that was to house the remains of an important church dignitary whose last wishes were to be buried in the shadow of his beloved cathedral. The work had been interrupted by the sudden evacuation order and the burial that was to have taken place later in the day was now replaced by a far less dignified ceremony.
Holman lay at the bottom of the open grave where he’d been roughly dumped. There was a large swelling on his forehead caused by his fall against the tree and only the earth falling on to his body prodded his unconscious state, making him stir, a low moan escaping from his lips. As he raised a hand to his head, his eyes still closed, and opened his mouth to groan even louder, a shovel full of damp earth landed on his face, making his eyes suddenly blink open only to close again instantly as the loose soil ran into them.
He spluttered and choked as the earth fell into his open mouth and ran down his throat. He tried to sit up, but his head was still not clear enough to allow it, so instead, he ran his hands over his face in order to clear off the dirt. He could feel the clumps of earth still landing on his body and his mind struggled to understand what was happening. It was only the chuckling sound that broke through his stupor and brought him fully to his senses.
He opened his eyes again, this time cautiously keeping them covered with his fingers. He saw the edges of the trench above him and then caught sight of the figure that was shovelling the dirt on to him. He suddenly realized where he was and what was happening. The man was burying him alive!
Panic-stricken, he clutched at the loose earth at the sides of the pit and pulled himself to an upright position. With a snarl of anger, the man above him raised his shovel to strike down at him to prevent him leaving his premature grave.
He raised an arm to ward off the blow, closing his eyes, knowing there was not room enough to allow him to dodge it. But it never came. He heard voices shouting and then scuffling noises. When he opened his eyes, all he could see through the open rectangle of earth above him was the grey, disturbed sky. He became aware of the rain that was beating down into the hole, its soothing wetness serving to revive his senses even more. He drew his knees up, preparing himself to fight off any further attack.
Suddenly, a face appeared, breaking into the rectangle of sky. It grinned, and its voice said, ‘This is no time to lie down on the job, Mr Holman.’
A hand was extended to help him climb from his gruesome resting place.
16
Holman was filled with apprehension as he walked down the long corridor towards Observation Room 3 in which, he had been informed, Casey was now resting. He hadn’t been able to see Janet Halstead on his return to the Research Centre for she’d been working through the night organizing her staff as well as hospitals throughout the country for the emergency and still finding time to supervise Casey’s treatment, but now she was snatching a necessary few hours’ sleep. Another doctor had told him the radiology treatment had gone well and now they were waiting for Casey to come out of a deep slumber