The Fog - James Herbert [92]
How different she looked from the last time she had been in his flat. Would he ever forget that deranged look of hatred on her face, the violence of her attack on him? Would he always be waiting for that look to return, unable to close his mind to visions of the past, dreading that the disease was only lying dormant, lurking deep in the recesses of her brain, waiting for the moment to begin its evil, parasitical journey once again?
Janet Halstead had assured him Casey was completely cured, as was he, and there was no chance of the malignancy ever returning, but it was difficult to rid himself of all his fears. Only time would do that.
He was grateful to the doctor for allowing him to bring Casey home. Although all the tests had been completed, both on himself and the girl, and their usefulness in that particular area had been diminished, she could have insisted that they both remain at the Research Centre in case of any eventuality that might arise. But provided they reported in every day, Janet was happy to let them go, recognizing the need for them to retreat into their own privacy, to lick their wounds, to comfort one another. Medical treatment could only reach a certain point; after that, it was up to each individual’s natural protective instinct to complete the cure.
Holman was on call at any time although they had found no trace of the fog for two days now. The trail of havoc it had left behind it was appalling, for not everybody had been cleared from its path in time. The consequences of the fog were still occurring, for reaction to it took longer to manifest itself in some than in others. For many, the effect was immediate, causing instant madness, their brain cells crumpling rapidly against the onslaught of the mutated parasite. Many people were killed; many killed themselves.
On the first day of quiet, when the fog had inexplicably disappeared, the country had been left in a state of numbness. Then a stirring seemed to ripple through the land as the public demanded answers. What was the fog? Where had it come from? If it had come from the sea, what was its source? Had it really gone, and if so, could it possibly return? Were there still lunatics at large and what were the first symptoms? Had the government acted swiftly enough and what steps were being taken to ensure that a disaster of this kind and magnitude would never happen again? Had a foreign power secretly experimented on Britain and was the country now being held to ransom by that power?
All these questions and many more had been asked and the government had to provide answers – and quickly. Today was the day of answers and reassurances. Even the truth had been considered by the special inner Cabinet who had full knowledge of the source, but the consideration was easily rejected.
Holman’s hand found the soft curve of Casey’s waist and he dreaded the telephone call that might take him away from her. The thought of going back into the fog was repugnant to him and he prayed it had been finally vanquished.
She stirred and snuggled towards him, a low murmur of peace escaping from slightly parted lips. His hand slid up her back and he pulled her farther towards him until their bodies touched. Still half asleep, she pushed her leg between his and her arm encircled his waist, reaching down until her hand spread out over a buttock. He grew hard against her, softly and sweetly, his penis pressed between her soft flesh and his own.
Awake now, but her mind still comfortably dulled, her senses racing ahead of it, her hand reached down and casually stroked the back of his leg. She sighed and spoke his name and he whispered his love to her, kissing her hair and forehead. She raised her head and her lips met his, moist, gently demanding. He parted their bodies so he could touch her breasts and her nipples were hard beneath his fingertips,