Portent by James Herbert Read Free Book Online Page B

his foot reflexively, holding himself rigid before the impact.
        'Oh, shit,' he muttered, thumping the steering wheel with his other hand. The pain was like fire, spreading both ways, up to his groin and down to his ankle. Fire… He scrabbled for the seat-belt buckle, his fingers clumsy, too hasty. He couldn't feel the release, his fingers were numb, his arm… his arm was burning…
        Rain drummed on the metal over his head, lashing against the windows, a grey, running sheet.
        'Christ!' he shouted, then mentally told himself: You're not in the plane, you're not going down! Take it easy, there's no danger. His forehead was damp with perspiration as he fumbled with the release button.
        At last the belt undipped and slid back just as a fresh wave of pain made him cry out. Now he clutched his leg with both hands. Going down, going down, going down…
        Rivers was aware of where he was, that there was no danger, the car wasn't badly damaged; but the dead body of Gardenia was crashing around the cabin, eyes rolling in its head and mouth grinning crazily, a corpse mocking the living because it knew what was coming, what was next, what it was like to die… Rivers knew where he was, what had happened, yet his throat still tightened to scream.
        But the door pulled away from him before the sound came and a hooded figure was peering in, the face beneath the hood drawn with concern. His senses fluttered and the interior seemed to spin.
        'Are you all right?' the woman said.
        The car became still again. His senses quietened. But his body would not stop trembling.
        'Your leg. Have you hurt it?' Her voice was raised so that it could be heard over the beating rain.
        He stared at her uncomprehendingly. Water dripped from the plastic cape she wore as she stretched across him to see if there was any damage.
        She turned to him, their faces close, her body protecting him from the pelting rain outside. Even though her face was in shadow, he saw that her features were soft, and even though her eyes appeared black in the dimness, he could tell that they were gentle.
        'I can't see anything wrong,' she said. 'Can you try and move your leg?'
        He wanted to explain, but his words were mumbled. He grimaced and tried again. 'It's okay. I took a knock to an old injury.'
        She smiled and he blinked at her. He could smell the rain, its freshness, on her and somehow her presence subdued the nightmare.
        'Do you think you can move?' she asked.
        'Uh? Oh-yeah, I can move. It's whether the car can.'
        'It'll be stuck for a while, I'm afraid. You ran into a shallow ditch.' He noticed she had a soft American accent. 'That was a spectacular skid, by the way. Luckily you just managed to scrape by a tree, although your right wing is going to need a little straightening.'
        'You saw it happen?'
        'Ringside seat. It was wonderful, but I won't ask you to show me it again.' She patted his shoulder. 'Come on now, let's get you to the house.'
        'I didn't know I was near any houses.'
        'You're not-not that near, anyhow. I'm afraid you're in for a hike. Think you can make it?'
        He looked over to the passenger side. 'I'll need this.' Rivers reached for the cane, which had slid over to lean against the opposite door. 'I'll manage,' he snapped brusquely when the woman took his elbow to help him from the car.
        She stepped back, but her face showed no surprise or resentment when he stood. In fact she gave him a small smile and her words were friendly. 'You're going to get mighty wet,' she told him.
        He already was. The rain had soaked him the moment he'd left the car. He looked upwards, eyes blinking against the torrent, and saw only a vast greyness above, with no breaks at all. Unexpectedly, the rain was almost tropical in its warmth.
        He slammed the car door shut and turned back to her. 'How