Portent

by James Herbert

  'I'm not getting anything that makes sense on the sonar.'

  'Let's get the forward lights on again.'

  Fricker pressed the switch.

  'Holy Mother…' he heard Whitesell say.

  At this depth, Fricker knew he might possibly see anything from red shrimps to flat fish swimming through the midnight waters, even though any such activity was rare; but on this occasion there was just a thick wall of what looked like moving sludge.

  'That's mud out there. We must have stirred it up from the bottom of the trench,' said the lieutenant.

  'No way,' Fricker replied. 'We've got at least another 15,000 feet to go before we touch bottom.'

  'I'd check the fathometer if I were you.'

  'I already have and I'm right.'

  'Okay, Brains, you tell me what it is.'

  'It's the plankton,' Fricker said quietly. 'Now it's mixed with silt from the ocean bed.'

  'Impossible.'

  'Not really. Like I said, recently our weather satellites have been discovering plankton blooms rising to the surface anywhere and everywhere. It's quite a phenomenon. In this case we figure the plankton's been gathered and swept along the Mariana Trench by fierce currents and for some reason is being pushed to the surface right here.'

  'That's interesting, Carl, but at this point in time I gotta tell you I'm not entirely happy about being down here in this slime.'

  'You know how valuable this life form is to the Earth's atmosphere.'

  'Sure. It exchanges carbon dioxide with the atmosphere. That doesn't make me feel any better.'

  'It absorbs carbon dioxide at higher latitudes and releases it nearer the Equator. The point is the oceans store about fifty times as much carbon as the atmosphere, so the more manmade gas it soaks up the better to counter-balance the greenhouse effect.'

  'But we're in a warmer latitude here. All this shit is going to upset the balance.'

  'No, most of the blooms are in the northern and southern regions. This one's a freak.'

  'And we're here to find out why.'

  'We're just here to take a look.'

  The bathyscaph was abruptly buffeted and both men grabbed hand-holds.

  'Yeah, well it seems obvious to me something's happening below to disturb the normal-or should I say abnormal?-flow. Are you thinking of going lower to find out what?'

  'That's the idea.'

  'I don't think I like it.'

  'You have to make the decision; I'm only a passenger. But it could help a lot to know exactly what's going on.'

  'The hell you say.' Whitesell thought for a moment. 'I guess the commander wouldn't be too happy to hear I'd chickened out, and if it starts getting rough we can always turn about. How deep d'you want to go?'

  'Another 10,000 at least. Ideally I'd like to get down to the floor, but that may not be possible in all this.'

  'You got it. Ten thousand and then we have another conference, right? Let's keep the forward lights on as we go-these currents are getting tricky and I'd hate to hit the trench wall.' He grumbled softly to himself. 'Not that we'd have much chance of seeing it through that stuff.'

  'I'm switching on the camera-I want to get a visual record of all this.'

  A long time went by with Whitesell using the directional propellers constantly to resist the strong currents and keep their descent on course. Because of the bathyscaph's unnatural buoyancy in the upflow, more and more gasolene had to be released. Conversation was at a minimum as the occupants of the sphere concentrated on the job in hand, and the deeper they sank the more edgy Whitesell in particular became.

  At nearly 30,000 feet visibility outside was a little clearer. 'It's mainly silt out there now,' Fricker said. 'I think we've passed through most of the plankton.'

  'At this depth that's hardly surprising.'

  'So-do we keep going?'

  'You realize how long it's taken us to get to this point?'

  'Almost six hours.'

  'Right. And it'll take us quite a while to get topside again. Think about that if we get into trouble.'

  'I'm thinking about it right now, Hank. Just a little deeper, huh?' There was still nothing to see, nothing worthwhile for Fricker to report back with. He'd get Whitesell to take them to the ocean bed even if it meant persuading him foot by foot.

  'I'm gonna dump some more shot ballast to slow us down again.'

  Fricker smiled. 'Fine. No rush at all.'

  They busied themselves with instruments again, both of them happy to be occupied as they sank further into the deep. Fricker tried the underwater telephone once more to no avail; the mess above them was making contact with the surface even more difficult than usual. Between checks and adjustments Whitesell glanced out of the observation window, his unease mounting to a distinct nervousness. There was something wrong but he didn't know what. Years of similar dives and the few odd scary moments had seasoned him well, and he had the reputation of being one of the most relaxed and capable bathyscaph divers in the service; but something was spooking him on this voyage and it irritated him not to know the cause.

  Fricker turned on the sensitive fathometer. That's strange,' he said and waited for Whitesell's groan to fade. 'We're not getting a steady reading. It's as if

  He was about to say it was as if the ocean floor was fluctuating when the lieutenant gripped his arm.

  'D'you see what I see?'

  Fricker peered through the circular window. There was something whitish out there in the murk, something that was rising smoothly and slowly, unaffected by the currents that rocked the sphere to and fro.

  'Is it a fish or a luminous plant?' Whitesell wanted to know.

  'Beats me.' Fricker flipped off the cabin lights and then the outside forward lights.

  The glow became stronger, and continued to rise steadily.

  'It's a light,' said Whitesell in almost a whisper. 'It's-a-God-damn-light.'

  That's impossible,' Fricker said incredulously.

  Yet it did appear to be a light of some kind. Its soft radiance was unchanging, although shadows of eddying silt curled around it. Because of the thickness of the glass and the distortion of the dense water, its size was difficult to judge, but Fricker thought it might have a radius of between six inches and one foot. They craned their necks to follow its progress, but it was soon gone from view.

  In the small glow of the cabin's console lights they looked at one another.

  'I got no idea what it was, but it scared the shit outa me,' said Whitesell.

  'It… Fricker was almost lost for words. 'It was fantastic.'

  'Yeah, incredible, but I still didn't like it.'

  'Let's go after it,' said Fricker, already reaching for the switch that would release more ballast.

  'Wait, it's moving too fast, we'd never-'

  The terrible muffled rending that emanated from somewhere below the bathyscaph caused both men to freeze. The sound came again, only this time it was a roar that the layers of water did little to mute. Other sounds followed, the cracking of rock, the thumps of objects striking the steel of their vessel. The sphere began to tremble, then to bounce, and Fricker and Whitesell were thrown against the curved walls and instruments.

  'Get the forward lights!' Fricker shouted. 'Let's see what's going on down there!'

  Trained to act on command no matter what, the lieutenant struck the switch. Unfortunately, before they could look outside, the bathyscaph was hit by a sudden upwards surge; it tilted violently, throwing the two men together in a tumble of arms and legs.

  'What's happening?' yelled Whitesell.

  Fricker had a strong notion as to the cause of the turmoil, for deep ocean trenches such as this often lay close to rows of active volcanoes and had always been areas of powerful geological activity. Many earthquakes occurred within their vicinity.

  'Get us up, fast as you can!' he shouted at his companion, aware that 'fast' could only be a relative term when inside pressure had to adapt to that of the outside throughout the ascent.

/>   And anyway, it was already too late for them.

  Through the sphere's observation window, and because the bathyscaph's lights were shining directly towards the ocean bottom, they could see what looked like a huge bubbling grey cloud hurtling towards the Dauphin, turning the freezing waters around it to steam as it came and bringing with it tons of broken bedrock.

  The submersible was pushed upwards before the rising spume at a tremendous speed and blood was already pouring from Fricker and Whitesell's eyes and ears and every other orifice when the bathyscaph flipped over.

  Strong as it was, the steel hull of the Dauphin cracked, the glass of the observation window burst, and the two men inside imploded.

  21

  The sun was tinged red and nearly touching the tips of the furthest mountains when Rivers drove back through the long glen.

  He was tired, drained almost. But there was a wonderment in his eyes that had not been there since his childhood.

  A deer ran ahead of him along the bumpy track, only scuttling up an embankment when the car drew too close.

  Clouds that were now golden-edged swept over the landscape, driven on by westerly winds, and the waters of the loch rippled that same gold, while the hillsides were burnished a false autumnal brown.

  Rivers drove the vehicle skilfully enough, but his thoughts were on other matters, for it had been a day of learning, of understanding. A day of revelation.

  It had also been one of confusion and anxiety, for the lessons learned had not come without debate or initial fearful rejection. The old man had been patient with his pupil's cynicism as well as his trepidation, and had explained with enormous care and gentle warmth.

  Yet this wise man had not claimed to know all the answers, for there were mysteries that the human mind could never comprehend in its present state of evolution. There was one certainty that he impressed on the climatologist, however: whatever turmoil lay ahead, they were not alone in the struggle; unity was their ally, and the force it brought with it was their champion. Change was about and there were many to be tested; Rivers was but one of their number.

  Shadows were long in places along the valley way and the coming dusk teased visibility; with his mind far from the movement, Rivers switched on the car's headlights. A jack-rabbit, followed by another, and then another, bounded across the track in front of the car, quickly disappearing into the undergrowth and reappearing further up the slope, their speed as fast as Rivers' and their direction the same. Soon they were swallowed by the tall grass.

  The loch was narrowing, coming to an end, and the track was beginning to rise. As he rounded a slight curve Rivers glanced over his shoulder at the long valley. His foot jammed on to the brake and the car skidded into a small area levelled out as a tourist viewpoint. He pulled on the handbrake and stared back down the length of the glen.

  There must have been at least a hundred of the glowing orbs hovering over the great stretch of water, each one a tiny shimmering star enhanced by the gathering dusk.

  22

  Josh angled his head to give his drawing a new perspective. He added a few more touches with his crayon, then held the picture up. He smiled and turned towards his mother who was still on the telephone.

  'You're sure, Hugo?' he heard her saying.

  A tinny sound from the old-fashioned receiver, his granddad speaking.

  'Give her our love, won't you?' His mother smiled over at Josh. 'Yes, he's fine. I bought him a little sketch pad today to keep him occupied. He's busy with it now. Jim? I still don't know-he hasn't returned. Yes, I'm very anxious. I can't understand why he didn't leave word.' A pause while Grandad Poggsy spoke. 'Yes, Hugo, soon as I know myself. We'll be back soon.'

  Diane said goodbye to her father-in-law and replaced the receiver. 'Grandad sends his love, Josh,' she said to the boy who was sitting at the dressing-table in his pyjamas. She went to one of the single beds and sat on the edge. 'You got a cuddle for Mama?'

  Josh slipped from the stool and ran to his mother's outstretched arms. She hugged him close and kissed his cheek. 'Eva's going to be okay, Josh,' she told him, curling her fingers through his tousled hair.

  'Is she still awake?'

  'Uh huh. Not even sleepy now. How did you know earlier, Josh? When I rang this afternoon?'

  He shrugged. 'I just felt her wake. I told you she wasn't sleeping any more, didn't I?'

  'Yes, yes, you did.'

  'Is she going home from hospital?'

  'They want to keep her overnight for observation.'

  He pulled his head back to look at her face.

  'To see if she's still all right in the morning,' Diane explained. 'Then I think they'll let Grandad and Grandma take her home.' She pulled him close again and rocked his little body in her arms. 'I wish I understood how it works with you two, this link you have with each other. It's very precious, Josh, that kind of closeness, to know what the other one's thinking, how they feel.'

  'Sometimes it's horrible.'

  'When you get upset with each other?' She felt him nod. 'All brothers and sisters fight from time to time, Josh, even twins like you. It's okay so long as you make up and don't let the bad feeling last.'

  'But I left her in that bad place, I let the bad lady get her.'

  'No, it was only a dream. It didn't really happen. And anyway, she's awake and talking ten-to-the-dozen now. She's going to be fine.'

  'I'm glad Eva's better, Mummy. It's been lonely.'

  She squeezed him. 'You've always got me.'

  'It's not the same.'

  Diane felt a tiny pang of sadness, a regret that no matter how much she showed her love for the children, she would never be quite as close as they were to each other, and although they loved her in return, she would always be just on the outside of their mutual bond. Perhaps if she had been their real mother…

  'Can I draw again, Mummy?'

  She released him, lest he sense her anguish. 'Sure.' She followed him back to the dressing-table. 'That's good, Josh,' she said, looking down at the crayon drawing. 'Is it the garden from your dream?'

  'Yes. See, there's all my friends.'

  The figures, with their matchstick limbs, were colourful and their dot-and-line faces were happy. He and Eva had drawn this same picture time and time again: the bright blue sky crayoned in as a kind of ceiling with a definite end, the round spiky sun beneath it; half a lake jutted in from the left-hand side, and broad green strokes depicted the grass and hills; the matchstick children themselves ran about and waved their arms among tall uncoloured posts. More than once in the past Diane or Bibby had enquired what these posts or pillars were meant to be, but each time Josh and Eva would jerk their shoulders and say: 'They're just there.'

  Diane turned away and went to the window, arms folded beneath her breasts. There wasn't much to see out there-only the car park against a backdrop of now darkening hills-but she had gazed from the window several times throughout the day, hoping to see the hire car pull in and Rivers step out from it. Where could he be? Why would he leave before she and Josh had even risen without knocking on their door or pushing a message under it? It didn't make sense. But then she had felt since the day she met him that Rivers was unpredictable. Oh, he appeared normal and sensible on the surface, but something was going on deep inside him that was as puzzling as it was disconcerting. She wondered if he had been different before the plane crash. Or maybe he'd been a different kind of man before his lover had died. Was he still grieving for her? If only he wasn't so self-contained, if only he would be more open with his feelings. And how much did his physical pain affect him? Sometimes she could see the tension there, the furrowed brow, the tightening of his lips, as pain from his injury bothered him. He disguised it well enough most of the time, but it was always evident in his eyes. The change in his demeanour, the expression of immense relief, when the twins had soothed away the pain had been so notable. Did he, himself, realize that constant hurt was debilitating to the soul as well as the body? Oh Jim, where are you? She fe
lt anger. Why are you doing this?

  Diane made an effort to calm herself and looked back towards Josh. 'Are you tired, honey?'

  Josh laid down his crayon. 'A little bit.'

  'Come on, then, let's tuck you into bed.' She had bathed him earlier after they'd eaten in the hotel's small and, because of the children's early dinner hour, lonely dining room, glad to be distracted for a short time.

  The boy skipped over to his bed and yanked back the cover. Diane folded it down neatly so that only a sheet was over him. Once he was settled she would go to reception-not for the first time that day-and see if there were any messages. It wasn't very logical, but he just might have phoned the hotel without wanting to speak directly to her. Maybe then she'd go to the bar and order a stiff drink; a Scotch and soda would be very welcome right then.

  Josh, who had already snuggled down on to the pillow, suddenly raised his head. He looked past her at the wall as if he could see through it.

  'What is it, Josh?' she asked, laying a hand on his shoulder. 'He's back.'

  'What?'

  'He's back, Mama. And… and he's sort of… sort of funny.'

  'Stay there now.' She laid him down again. 'Just stay quiet, Josh, and try to go to sleep. I won't be long.'

  Josh closed his eyes when his mother left the room, but sleep was far away. His thoughts travelled to an older mind than his, the mind of an ancient who sat in darkness not many miles away and who wept for the world.

  ***

  Shadebank shot his cuffs so that at least three-quarters of an inch showed beneath the sleeves of his linen jacket. He fingered one of the gold cufflinks, his morose gaze fixed on the window of the stretch-limo he and the three other passengers were travelling in. There were not many people on the streets of the city at this time of morning.

  Beside him, and taking up most of the seat, sat Mama Pitie, her eyes closed and fat lips twitching as if she were deep in prayer. The limousine's air-conditioned coolness seemed to provide her with little comfort: she stank of sweat and cheap perfume and her breathing was so laboured she might have been powering the vehicle's engine herself. Was the big woman scared of flying? Shadebank sincerely hoped she was.