Portent (6 page)

    He got back into the Renault, checked the directions once more, and went on his way.

    

    

    It hit like a force from hell.

    One moment the skies were sullen with threat, the next they had spewed their wrath. The rain came with such violence that his car's windows were instantly flooded. Rivers stabbed the brake, too hard, too fast, and the car slewed across the lane in a screeching skid. He felt the front wing jolt, but barely heard the crunch over the downpour. His upper body lurched forward when the car dipped and came to an abrupt halt, the seat-belt biting into his stomach and chest, but mercifully locking him there, keeping him from the glass in front. Pain shot up his injured leg and he gasped and clutched his kneecap. He had stamped 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 far?' he asked.

    'Far enough for you to need assistance in these conditions,' she replied. 'The track's going to be pretty squishy by now.'

    'Let's see how I get on.'

    'At least lean on my shoulder, okay?' The rain bounced with force off her bright yellow cape and she had pulled the hood forward so that much of her face was in shadow again.

    'I'd better take a quick look at the damage first.'

    'No need. It's minimal, only a scrape, a little dent. Got your keys?'

    He nodded.

    'Then hang on.'

    He did so, and although her shoulder was small beneath his hand, it was firm enough.

    The track was more than 'squishy'; it had already become a quagmire. Ironically, it was the woman who slipped first and he grabbed her arm to hold her steady. She twisted helplessly and he found both his arms around her, her body close against his own. It was a strangely intimate moment, brief yet potent.

    'You were supposed to be helping me,' he said.

    She appeared flustered and moved away, her face lowered so that he could no longer look into her eyes. 'Sorry,' he thought he heard her say over the noise.

    They went on, awkwardly, now both clinging to each other for support, the rain lashing their bowed bodies, increasing in intensity rather than diminishing. The drops were like thousands of tiny water bombs flailing their heads and shoulders, exploding as they struck, weighing them down with their force. The water was cooler, but only slightly so, and vapour rose from the ooze beneath their feet as well as from the foliage on either side of the track. Again the thought of a tropical downpour crossed Rivers' mind.

    The pain in his leg increased as they continued their awkward journey. Then he fell, going to his knees, dragging the woman down with him. He slipped again as he tried to rise, once more pulling her down. She rolled on to her side, the cowl falling back from her face, her dark shoulder-length hair immediately bedraggled. To his surprise, she was laughing.

    'I haven't…' she panted. '… I haven't had so much fun… so much fun in a long time.'

    He wiped the dampness from his own face, which provoked more laughter from her. Rivers looked at his hand and realised he had just smeared mud over himself.

    'It's okay,' she said, struggling to get up. 'Your mud-pack's already being washed away.' She gave a whoop when she slipped again.

    The climatologist stooped and picked up the cane that was sinking into the mire. He dug the end deep into the soil and levered himself upright, grateful that the earth beneath the soaked top layer was still firm. He reached for the woman. Take it nice and steady. Dig one foot in and put all your weight on it.'

    She did as instructed and joined him, apparently still happy. Her hair was flat around her face and her eyes sparkled with inner humour. He could not help but smile back. 'Shall we try again?' she suggested.

    'How much further?'

    'A ways yet. Think you can make it?'

    'I don't intend to stay here.'

    'Let's lean.' This time she put her arm around his waist and tucked her shoulder into his. His own free hand went round to her other shoulder.

    As they trudged onwards, embankments rose up on either side of the track, while trees formed a rough canopy over their heads. Even so, the rain tore through the branches, its impact lessened only slightly. Tiny rivers were running down the steep slopes, taking clods of sodden earth with them in miniature landslides and leaves, twigs, even small branches were dropping from the flimsy covering overhead.

    'What is this?' she shouted over the downpour. 'I know the weather's become freaky, but rain like this? It's impossible.'

    'Keep telling yourself that-maybe we'll get to your home quicker.'

    She tugged the hood to one side so she could look at him. 'Do I get the feeling you're not enjoying this as much as I am?'

    He skidded, but kept his feet this time. 'I'm smiling, aren't I?'

    'As a matter of fact, you're not. It's more like a grimace. Is your leg hurting bad?'

    'Yeah, it's hurting bad. But I'll manage.'

    He swore under his breath as another slip kindled fresh fire in his knee joint.

    Rain lashed them with renewed strength as they emerged from the trees' cover, forcing them to bend against it, each step seeming to take a greater effort.

    This ground was rock solid only a little while ago,' she shouted close to his ear.

    'The rain's getting into the cracks and undermining the topsoil. It'll sink a lot deeper if this goes on much longer.' Suddenly there was pain so intense that it brought him to a jerky halt. He gasped, his head raised to the skies, his teeth clenched.

    'Let's find some shelter and rest,' she said hurriedly, her eyes filled with concern.

    'Shelter?' He looked around.

    'The trees are thicker away from the track. They'll give us enough cover, I'm sure.'

    Rivers knew he would never reach the house in this condition; even when his injury wasn't screeching pain, it was throbbing it. The car was a long way behind them now, perhaps even as far as the house was ahead. At least if they found some shelter he'd be able to swallow a couple of painkillers. 'Just show me where,' he said breathlessly.

    'We have to get up there.' She pointed towards the embankment. 'Can you climb?'

    Shit, he thought. 'I'll give it a try,' he said.

    They lurched over to the rise on their right side, making for a dip, a gulley where rainwater washed down.

    'You first,' she called. 'I'll support you from behind, then you can pull me up.'

    Rivers wasn't keen on the idea of this attractive Samaritan pushing his butt, but agreed it made sense. He reached for the top of the embankment, while thrusting his cane into the soft earth of the gulley. The ascent wasn't easy, but with a lot of effort and a lot of pushing, he made it to the top. Once there, he knelt on his good leg and extended the cane down towards his helper.

    She grasped the end and her eyes searched for something else to grip with her other hand. It gave him another brief chance to study her upturned face, to take in the paleness of her skin, the cleanly defined lines of her lips, and again, the softness of those eyes. Rivers wondered at himself.

    He pulled hard as she began to climb, drawing her steadily towards him as she dug deep into the flowing mud with toecaps and her other hand. She had almost reached the top, Rivers using his free hand beneath her shoulder, when the loosened earth he was perched on crumbled away, throwing him forward so that he cannoned into her, sending them both slithering down the short slope into the quagmire below.

    The woman gave a little scream as they tumbled, not one of fear but of surprise, and when they landed, Rivers half over her lap with his face in the mud and she herself sprawled flat, she uttered a curse that was directed at the heavens rather than their own ineptitude.

    Rivers lifted himself from the mire and when she saw his face, her anxiety turned into a grin.

    He, on the other hand, failed to see the humour in the situation at all, and was about to remark on that very fact when lights approached through the thick blanket of rain.

    The vehicle moved smoothly and at a steady speed along the track's slithery surface, tyres occasionally sinking where they travelled through flooded ruts and dips, the engine quiet under the sound of the rainfall. Its bonnet joined the windscreen almost seamlessly, forming an aerodynamic wedge from bumper to roof, and with the all-around windows and dark green bodywork glistening sleekly in the wet, its bullet shape and furiously glaring headlights, it gave the appearance of an advancing beast rather than an automobile.

    It stopped beside the sprawled couple and the driver's window lowered slowly.

    The friendly, wrinkled face that looked down at them instantly dispelled any sinister illusions Rivers might have had. The voice was familiar when the man spoke.

    'Can I offer you a lift, Mr. Rivers, or are you having too much fun down there with my daughter?'

    'Welcome to Hazelrod.'

    Hugo Poggs glanced over his shoulder at Rivers, who was beside his yellow-caped 'rescuer' in the eight-seater Toyota Previa. The woman next to Poggs turned in her seat to look directly at Rivers. Her face was round, plump rather than fat, and her greying hair was pulled back into a girlish braided ponytail. Her pale blue eyes regarded him with some amusement. 'I had no idea climatologists brought their own weather with them.'

    This aroused a low, throaty chuckle from Poggs as he guided the vehicle from the rutted track into a broad, cobblestoned courtyard where wood and brick outbuildings and an old stable block were overlooked by a large and much deteriorated Georgian house. A short, burly man in a green oilskin coat and Australian ranger's hat waved at them as he dashed across the yard towards one of the sheds carrying a metal bucket.

    'Feeding time,' Poggs remarked as he drew the Toyota to a halt as close to the three front steps of the house as possible. He switched off the engine and leaned a stout arm over the back of the seat to appraise Rivers. His cheeks were ruddied by tiny veins and his chin sunk almost completely into the flesh beneath it. He was a heavy man and when he spoke he had a habit-or perhaps it was a necessity-of taking a short breath first. 'I suggest we get you cleaned up and into some dry things before we make the introductions.'