Portent

by James Herbert

  Diane cried out when a muscled brown arm shot through the window and the youth's head and shoulder followed. His eyes quickly scanned the car's interior and came to rest on Rivers' overnight bag on the back seat. The man made a lunge for it, throwing himself halfway through the window and pinning Diane against her seat.

  Now Rivers moved, anger overcoming his fear. His left fist smashed into the side of the would-be thief's face. He followed up with another swift blow, this one aimed at the bridge of the sprawling youth's nose, sending him scrambling backwards to get clear. Diane pushed frantically at the intruder, helping him on his way.

  Once outside, he recovered enough to scream abuse at Rivers, then yank the door open and hurl himself inside. Diane tried to push him away once more, but he was too strong for her. This time, though, Rivers was ready.

  He had picked up his cane, which had been resting beside his leg in the footwell, and he aimed it at the looming face. The blow was short, sharp, and very hard. The black youth's broad nose became even broader, flattening itself with a cracking sound. The youth grunted and spittle shot from his mouth. Rivers used his hand to shove him backwards out of the car and the would-be thief fell into the road, a thick ooze of blood trickling from his broken nose.

  'Pull your door shut!' Rivers yelled at Diane, but realized he had left himself unprotected when his own door flew open and rough hands reached in to grab him by his neck. He was dragged backwards out of the Escort and, as he sprawled in the space created by Diane's car and the one next to it, sneakered feet began to kick at his body. He managed to hold on to one of the legs that was inflicting the damage and he pulled hard, sending his assailant crashing to the ground. Someone else grabbed him by the hair and shoulders and lifted him. The other man-fair-haired, T-shirted, wearing the usual mugger's mask of snarled hatred-came at him again, aiming a punch at Rivers' exposed gut.

  It hurt, it hurt badly. He doubled up, the man behind unable to hold him upright such was his reflex action, and sucked in air, his throat rasping with the effort. A knee aimed at his face sent him flying backwards against the neighbouring car.

  'The Filth!' he heard someone shout close to his ear and, as he steadied himself against the car's roof, still drawing asthmatic breaths, a body roughly pushed by him. As the fair-haired assailant squared up to him, Rivers saw uncertainty on his pock-marked face. This one was either wondering if he had enough time to do more damage, or if he had time to grab the wallet bulging in Rivers' jeans pocket before the police arrived. Someone else rushed between them shouting another warning.

  Rivers didn't wait for the man to make up his mind. He struck out with a bunched fist, putting all his weight behind the blow.

  His opponent was quick enough to dodge the full impact, but the punch caught him nevertheless. He staggered backwards, recovered his balance, and ran without, even looking at Rivers again. For his part, Rivers leaned back against the car, his chest still heaving, glad to see the thug go.

  Diane had jumped from the Escort the moment the black man had run off and now she flattened herself against its wing as a policeman pushed by. She was relieved to see other uniformed men dodging between vehicles, chasing after the scattering mob. She shook her head in bewilderment.

  'Steamers.'

  Rivers had come to the other side of the Escort's bonnet and was leaning against it, his breathing still laboured, one hand held over his midriff.

  'What?'

  'Gangs used to do it in subways or shopping arcades, now they go in for highway robbery. They get together and wait for a good traffic jam, or even wait at busy road junctions-they know the best places-then run between cars snatching wallets, handbags, anything that's easily available. It's usually over so fast the motorists don't know what's hit them. The police call it "steaming".'

  Diane walked around to him. 'I hadn't realized what I've been missing all these years down in the country.'

  'We were lucky. The police probably already had them spotted-maybe from the traffic helicopter-before they really got started. My guess is mobs have been in action throughout the night and morning, taking advantage of power failures and the chaos after the quake.'

  Other motorists and their passengers, some of them in obvious distress, were climbing from their vehicles to watch the chase.

  'Are you okay?' Rivers asked, his breathing finally beginning to ease.

  'A little shaky, that's all. Thanks for getting rid of the brute.' She noticed a small trickle of blood from his lips. 'Did they hurt you badly?'

  'They did their best.' He dabbed at the blood with the handkerchief. 'Come on, let's get back into the car and be on our way. I'm beginning to hate this city.'

  For some reason she hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder for a brief moment. He regarded her with surprise.

  'Just glad you're with me,' she told him before breaking away and getting back into the car.

  14

  He sat on a rock not far from the open doorway, his dry leathered face raised as though seeking the sun's rays. But the sun was hidden by the vast sky mist, although its power was scarcely diminished.

  The old man had brooded this way for almost three hours now, as if awaiting some empyrean message, perhaps listening for the fleet wings of a carrier.

  Despite the sultry heat he wore a threadbare jacket and trousers so faded their colour was inferred rather than stated. His grey shirt, a size too large, was buttoned to the neck, as though he distrusted any rare appeasement to the chill breezes that usually inhabited this great strata.

  He waited.

  And he waited.

  Until a recognition whetted his cloudy grey eyes. A recognition of thoughts.

  A thin shivering hand touched his brow and his eyes closed. His shoulders bowed forward and wisps of fine white hair hung almost to his bent knees.

  A single-breath sigh winnowed past his dry old lips.

  So many, so many others.

  And the jeopardy in that, the danger to themselves, and to all.

  His shoulders hunched. Oh so many. And the minds so young. Save for one.

  'Ah.' A sharper sigh this time, provoked by a swift vision of her, a grazing of thoughts, an awareness again of each other's presence.

  This time the awareness would not so easily fade: the iron in that frangible link had been set.

  And a momentum was gathering pace.

  Pity us all, he silently implored. But pity the children most of all: they have not known their time.

  He bunched the collar of his jacket over his chest, even though the warmth remained and the wind was still quiescent.

  ***

  Bibby stepped out the back door on to the uneven red-stone path carrying a tray containing two glasses of lemonade and a small bowl of mixed nuts and raw carrots. As she trod the well-worn path she cast a maternal eye over the summer vegetables, the soil around them already dry and crusted, despite the recent downpour. At least the earth beneath the topsoil would still be good and damp, she reassured herself, then glanced towards the heavens for signs of more rain. Although a layer of cloud filled the sky to the hilly horizon, there was no bruising, no indication at all of rain to be shed. At least the big watertank at the back of the house had been replenished, so there was no need to worry about the usual summer hosepipe ban. Now, where were Josh and Minnie Mouse? Probably feeding the ducks judging by the half loaf left on the kitchen table.

  A shadow seemed to pass over her broad and generally good-natured features as she opened the rickety gate at the end of the path. The twins troubled her so, with their visions and their dreams. She feared for them, yet could offer no specific reason for that fear. Except, perhaps, that these visions seemed more frequent nowadays, with less and less interlude between them; it was as if they were taking on their own momentum, the events speeding up, heading towards…

  She stopped, a hand resting on the top of the gate. Towards what? Would there be an answer? Would it be soon? A bee droned by as she pondered. There was a heaviness in her
heart that was unaccountable, a sudden dread that caused her to sway and grip the gate more tightly. In a panic, Bibby scoured the area for the children and, when at first she could not see them, the anxiety almost caused the drinks to spill from the tray.

  With relief, she heard their voices from somewhere nearby, behind the shrubbery and trees that screened the pond from the garden. Of course they were there, she had known they would be there. Bibby chided herself for her foolishness. Their shouts and giggles were perfectly normal, the careless cries of children with no real concerns for the gravities of a stricken world. The notion strangely cheered as well as saddened her.

  'Where are you, my little dryads?' she called, knowing well that they would be at the water's edge teasing the ducks with bread morsels, luring the bigger ones away from the less hardy so that all would receive their share.

  Josh, or it might have been Eva, returned the call. 'Here, Nanny Bibby. Have you got more bread with you?'

  Bibby let go of the gate and her stride was forceful, buoyant even, just the sound of those little gypsy-haired delights dispelling her dark mood. 'I've got something nice for you,' she said loudly as she made her way through the trees.

  They watched her approach, eager smiles on their faces. Although softened by the cloud layer, sunlight enhanced the fine blueness of their eyes so that even at a distance Bibby was startled by their lucent beauty. She scoffed at herself, for the light was always catching their gaze just so, and this indeed was no new experience; nevertheless, she took pleasure in her own surprise, happy that she could still be thrilled by the children's bewitching presence.

  'What have you got for us, Nanny?' It was Eva aka Minnie who broke ranks and ran towards her, the last of her breadcrumbs hastily scattered among the avaricious ducks.

  'Lemonade,' Bibby announced, 'and nuts'n'things.'

  Both children's mouths drooped at the latter.

  'Now you know they're good for you. Just because Grandad spoils you with sweets and chocolates…' She grinned at their arched eyebrows. 'Oh, I know what he brings you back from town and sneaks into your pockets when he thinks I'm not looking. Grandad Poggsy hasn't fooled me once since we've been married and believe me, kiddoes, that's been a long, long time.'

  Eva smiled up at her. 'We won't tell him you know, Nanny.'

  She laughed. 'Oh, I see. That would spoil things for him, wouldn't it? Yes, I bet he enjoys the subterfuge. And so do you two.'

  Eva frowned at the unusual word, but nodded agreement anyway. She looked to her brother, who was clapping breadcrumbs off his hands into the pond, the ducks quacking their approval. Josh joined his sister and grandmother, taking the lemonade from the tray as if it were vital that he drink immediately. He gulped down half of it before tendering thanks; then he did so with a smile.

  The twins were dressed in white T-shirts and shorts, their feet bare. With their grandmother they squatted in the grass and dipped into the bowl of nuts and carrots set between them. Eva began to tell Bibby of their morning's adventures, Josh chipping in when he felt the tale needed more detail, and Bibby began to relax in the peacefulness of the setting: the pond rippling lightly with the movement of the ducks, the graceful cascade of the willow on the opposite bank, the low lush hills in the distance. A chaffinch landed close by in the hopes of a morsel or two from the bowl, and the twins willingly obliged.

  After a while, the chatter faded, the bowl was empty, the lemonade gone. Bibby lay back on the grass and stretched her arms, content to rest there in blissful quietness until it was time to prepare lunch. An extra place would be needed, for Diane was bringing James Rivers home with her. He was an interesting man in some ways, there was a depth to him that initially wasn't obvious; but did he have any relevance to what was happening? Bibby was not as sure as Diane and Hugo appeared to be that he did. Did the mere fact that Rivers had witnessed the peculiar light -and survived-really have any importance? The children seemed to think so, but she could only wonder.

  As she lay there, lost in her own thoughts, she slowly became aware that the world around her had become even quieter.

  She raised her head to look at the children.

  They were sitting perfectly still, Josh's head cocked to one side as if listening for something.

  Bibby sat up. She had observed them like this many times before, so she was not unduly concerned. However, there was concentrated expression on their faces that was different to anything before, as if the thoughts in their minds were more elusive on this occasion.

  A shiver ran through Eva and, as though it were contagious, it was taken up by Josh a moment later.

  Bibby wanted to interrupt this odd contemplation for, unlike other times when the twins adopted this trance-like state, now there was a clear edge of fear in Josh's eyes and a slight trembling of Eva's lower lip. Bibby felt the need to draw them back from whatever imaginary abyss they were approaching, yet her hand stayed itself in mid-air, her call remained behind her lips, as an instinct warned her not to interfere.

  The children's eyes were cast to one side and focused on some unseen spot as they listened to voices of no substance. They sat with their backs straight, their ankles crossed, hands loose in their laps. Suddenly they stiffened, froze for a moment, then scrabbled towards each other in one instantaneous movement. They clung together, arms entwined, hugging each other close.

  It was heartrending for Bibby to watch them and she moved towards them, ready to engulf them both in her arms, to offer them the protection of her plump bosom. But once again she hesitated, aware that there could be no physical risk to them, that the danger-if there was such-was within their own minds and entirely beyond her reach.

  Eva's tousled head was against her brother's shoulder and her eyes, as were his, were wide and staring. She could feel the presence of so many others like her and Josh, and so many others who were not like them, those with thoughts that were malign and misshapen. And one was stronger than most, and its thoughts were foul and full of ill-intent. They conjured up an image that caused the children-and these mind-aberrations-to whimper in fear. The instigator seemed huge and swollen in their thoughts, a power with a terrible loathing of humanity, and with the sensing came the essence, a vague visualization, of the being itself, something dark and brooding, something gross…

  Now Bibby did enfold the children within her arms, for their small bodies were shaking and tears flowed from eyes now closed. She drew them close, but felt they were still far away, out of reach for the moment, in a place where she had no power to follow.

  Josh and Eva were inside each other's mind and together they confronted this awesome thing whose image could not sustain itself, but fluctuated with the beat of a slow heart. It had no edges and no character, and it bloomed and withered, withered and bloomed, with rhythmic pulsing. They recognized it, for it had touched them before, although never like this, never with such strength and so blatantly. They felt weakened, almost overwhelmed. They felt at its mercy.

  Until another's thoughts announced themselves and undermined this malignant, pervasive growth and the cohorts that had gathered behind it. This new presence was full of light and was wonderful, and it exhumed all shadows. And it was one they knew, for it had visited them before: Josh and Eva called it the 'Dream Man'.

  Instantly the connection was broken: the children-and others with them-were released.

  Josh and Eva collapsed against their grandmother and she held them as tightly as she could without crushing their little bodies, rocking them to and fro so that they would feel safe again, aware that she, herself, could never realize the true nature of their fear.

  ***

  Candlelight filtered through the lace veils that screened the bed from the rest of the gloomed room, lending soft illumination to the violations within, only sounds escaping the concealing shrouds, although movement inside might occasionally ruffle their textured folds. The room itself was locked and on the outside two guards slept, one on a hard-backed chair, the other prone on the floor. Th
ey would be needed later.

  Mama Pitie rose over the glistening bloodstained body that lay mute and helpless on the soiled sheets, her massive thighs straddling the drugged man's hips. Her fingers groped beneath her to find his swollen penis, its size still immense, sustained by the potion she had poured between his murmuring lips hours before, and she fed it into herself, her own capacity and moisture helping to smooth its absorption. She pressed down, feeling its swift journey, relishing the ascent, her knees straining, thigh muscles stretching pleasurably. She moaned, a deep grumbling sound, and shifted her buttocks, pushing harder, crushing the man's pelvis into the bed so that he uttered a protest, wheezed for release, his vocal chords traumatized by the needle inserted before his rape had begun.

  Mama filled herself with him, thrusting hard so that the bed shook, the veils swayed. She lifted his enfeebled hands to her great heavy breasts and forced them against the protuberant nipples, guiding him as a woman might guide a shy lover, but harshly, squeezing his fingers so that they squeezed her, leading them down over her gross belly and through the mass of tough black hair that curled between her legs, making him touch her there at her body's hidden entrance, pressing his hands against his own root. She sighed with the sensation, but was soon frustrated by his inactivity. The man was almost spent, the power of her potion dwindling rapidly.

  Almost four hours had passed since he had been brought to this room and laid semiconscious on her bed. And his youth had served her well during those hours. But now there was little vigour left in him and he was beyond any brew she could administer. Soon his carcass would be taken to the swamps up in Cajun country and left to putrefy or be devoured by the gators, probably both.

  His kinfolk might miss him, would pester the police some, but young bucks like this were loose shots, they came and went as they pleased, loyal only to their pushers. Mama Pitie had an alliance with the best pushers in town.