The Fog - James Herbert [86]
‘No, darling,’ he said, cupping her face in his hands. ‘It’ll hit you later.’ And God help you when it does, he thought. ‘You’ve been through too much. Your mind’s protecting you. The pain will find you soon enough. Don’t go looking for it.’
She cried out then and buried her head against him, her body now convulsing with her sobs. He held her tightly to him, knowing the hurt was seeping through, his words had spurred it to.
‘I loved him, I loved him so much! How can I ever live with what I’ve done?’
‘It wasn’t your fault, Casey, you weren’t responsible.’
‘And you, John, I tried to kill you. Can you forgive me?’
‘I told you, darling, you weren’t responsible.’
‘Am I really all right now? Am I really better?’
‘Yes, of course you are. And I’ll help you forget, Casey. I promise I’ll help you forget.’
It would take a long time to heal the wound she’d inflicted upon herself, but he knew she was strong enough to get over it. Maybe the fact that Simmons’ motives were not entirely pure would help, or maybe it would make matters worse. There was no way of knowing. It would be up to Casey, and up to him to make up for part of that love she’d lost.
He talked to her quietly for a long time, the intensity of his words breaking through her barrier of regret, reaching, searching, until she began to respond with feelings other than self-pity. ‘What’s going to happen now?’ she finally asked.
‘They want me to go back into the fog for the mycoplasma.’
‘Why? Why you? Janet told me about the mutation and how it’s causing the madness. But who wants you to get it? And why does it have to be you?’
Briefly, he told her of the events that had passed, of the disasters, of his immunity, and the fact that she would now be immune. He told her of the disease, of its origin, of the blind foolishness that had freed it. He barely mentioned his experience that morning, not wanting to give her cause for even more concern, merely telling her he’d been unable to locate the source.
She listened in quiet horror, occasionally shaking her head in disbelief, the rising fear inside her only slightly quelled by the knowledge that she was presumably now immune.
They were interrupted by Janet Halstead who bustled into the room, a tight smile betraying her tiredness. ‘We still have a few more tests to make on Miss Simmons, John, and then I think she should get some rest. Your policeman is anxious to have a word with you, I believe.’
Holman kissed Casey and promised to return as soon as he was allowed. Casey wanted to tell him not to go back to the fog, to stay near by, to take her away as soon as she was strong enough, but she knew her words would be wasted. And she knew the lives of many others depended on him. Despite all the technological advances of science, it seemed survival still depended on the action of a man. One man.
Barrow was still waiting for him in the corridor outside. ‘They want you to go in again,’ he told Holman.
‘But what about the contraptions they set up to contain it?’
‘Didn’t work. The mutation itself just didn’t cross their paths. At the moment they’re still spraying the fog with calcium chloride, hundreds of tons of it, and it seems to be receding. They want you out there and ready to go in when they’ve dispersed it as much as they can.’
‘What about the wind? Has it dropped?’
‘It’s not as bad as it was.’
‘All right. Since I have no choice, I’ll choose to try again.’
The helicopter flew them to a point east of Haslemere where they were met by Hermann Ryker, William Douglas-Glyne and Lieutenant-General Sir Keith Macklen. The men were standing among a group of vehicles that held a high vantage point overlooking the surrounding countryside. Holman was impressed by the constant stream of light aircraft that flew over the distant cloud of fog which looked even more ominous in the evening gloom.
Douglas-Glyne strode towards him, his hand outstretched. ‘Valiant effort this morning, Mr Holman,’ he said, grasping Holman’s hand.
Holman grinned wryly at the insincerity of the words. ‘Sorry I couldn’t pull it off,’ he said.