Portent Read online

  James Herbert

  Portent

  ***

  The end is closer than you think…

  The time is just a few short years from now. But already the signs of global disaster are multiplying. Freak storms, earthquakes, floods, volcanic eruptions are sweeping the earth. The last violent spasms of a dying planet.

  Then a series of ominous events signal the emergence of new and terrifying forces.

  While scuba-diving on the Great Barrier Reef a diver watches fascinated as a tiny light floats past him towards the surface. Moments later he is torn to pieces as the reef erupts with shattering power.

  In Varanasi on the banks of the Ganges a young boy pauses in his back-breaking labours, transfixed by the play of a mysterious light amidst the monsoon rains-before a towering geyser of boiling water bursts from beneath the streets to scald him into oblivion.

  In the Chinese city of Kashi travellers bring back reports of a strange light seen shining above the endless dunes of the Taklimakan Desert. And as the city's inhabitants watch for its return the desert rises up like a vast living thing to engulf them in a colossal tidal wave of sand.

  All have seen a portent. A sign of unimaginable powers about to be unleashed. A sign that something incredible is about to begin.

  PORTENT is a novel of terrifying vision and awesome power that takes us to the brink of mankind's darkest nightmare. It is James Herbert's greatest novel to date.

  ***

  P. (scanning & OCR) & P. (formatting & proofing) edition.

  ***

  One must have chaos in oneself in order to give birth to a dancing star.

  Friedrich Nietzsche

  Truly, it is in darkness that one finds the light, so when we are in sorrow, then this light is nearest of all to us.

  Meister Eckhart

  Mystery suicide of 7,000 penguins thousands of penguins have stampeded to their deaths on an island over which the ozone layer has been seriously damaged. Experts are baffled by the mass suicide of 7,000 King penguins on the uninhabited sub-Antarctic Macquarie Island.

  Daily Mail-Monday, June 25, 1990. Penguins Stampede And Die, Hobart, Tasmania, June 24.

  Thousands of king penguins at a rookery on Macquarie Island stampeded, leaving 7,000 penguins dead and officials said today that they were investigating the mysterious occurrence. "We don't know at this stage why they stampeded," a spokesman for the Australian State Parks Wildlife and Heritage Ministry said. "We have not observed this type of behavior before." Macquarie Island is between Australia and Antarctica and is administratively part of the Australian Island state of Tasmania.

  New York Times-June 25. 1990. Towards The Next Millennium.

  PRELUDE

  Midnight.

  He had lain awake in the darkness for many hours, but now he rose from the narrow bed and went to the door. There he paused. A shiver ran through him.

  Had it begun? Was this the moment he had both dreaded and craved for so long?

  He dragged the door open, the effort slow, reluctant, as though night-demons outside awaited admission. But it was only the chill breeze from the lake that pressed by his thin body.

  He stooped to go through, his fingers brushing the ridges of the rough wood as he passed. He did not stray far from the open doorway.

  His face lifted towards the sky and he listened to the far beating of wings. Was the eagle also aware? Was that the reason for its desolate cry? Had the sensing come sharp and clear, piercing the brooding with a thrust that caused almost physical pain?

  He breathed in the night air as though it were precious, something rare. As indeed it had become. He sank to his knees and felt the coarse grass, gripping it in his frail fists as if he might fall from the Earth itself.

  He offered his prayer and it was to the soil beneath him.

  Forgive, he pleaded.

  But deep in his soul he knew it was too late. The cancer would be cleansed-it would be tom-from its host.

  And mankind was the cancer.

  In despair he wept, and the night, so callous in its indifference, offered no comfort.

  He stirred from the weeping.

  He raised his head, straightened; yet he remained on his knees. There was a new, a different, awareness within him. Somewhere, another knew of this midnight's moment.

  And this one gloated.

  For this was her time too.

  QUEENSLAND COAST, AUSTRALIA

  The Great Barrier Reef

  It was a calm sea of varying hues-blues, greens, even indigo where in the distance the continental shelf dropped away-and the sun seemed bleached by its own heat. The Pacific swells barely ruffled the surface here on the inner side of the great reef and the floating pontoon, with its thirty-metre-long catamaran moored alongside, rested easy in the water. A short way off an amphibian had landed, two of its passengers already slipping from the airplane's floats into the tepid sea, their bright diving suits as florid as any marine life they might find below.

  A semi-submersible lazily moved away from the broad platform, heading with confidence towards the hidden coral canyons, its occupants watching from the vessel's steel and glass tank below the waterline, excited so far by anything that moved in the turquoise gloom. It wasn't long before these human observers inside their dry aquarium thrilled to the sight of damsel and impossibly vivid blue and yellow clown fish; when an orange-headed olive sea-snake flicked by, the vessel all but rocked with the commotion from within.

  On the decks of the catamaran, day-trippers lunched on seafood platters and cheap wine, most of them keeping to the shaded areas or moving down to the roofed section of the broad raft, content to watch the nearby snorkel divers or just ocean-gaze.

  Further off, one of the bright-garbed aqua-divers slipped down into the cooler depths, the shadow of the amphibian hanging above him on the sun-drenched ceiling like some giant water skater waiting for smaller prey. He paused for a while, waiting for his diving companion to descend, and looked about him, deciding upon a direction.

  Neville Schneider III-Snidey to his friends, just Snide to those who weren't-was not, in fact, the third of anything: he was born, bred and laid in Melbourne, the single son of a single parent (maternal), but he liked the American flavour of the added numeral. As a successful self-made man in the footwear trade, he felt entitled to any title he chose. Ill was good. It spoke of lineage. Lineage implied respectability. And it was a not quite legitimate denial of illegitimacy. Anyway, nowadays he felt like a III.

  He looked trim enough for his forty-seven years in his yellow and purple wet-suit, with his slight paunch held in check by the sponge rubber and his bald head nicely sealed in by the tight cap. The total exhaustion he had felt after every dive was beginning to ease, so he must be toning up. And there was no doubting that his nightly bedroom workout back at the hotel was improving nicely-Sandie and Cheryl would vouch for that. Pity neither one liked getting her hair wet-things could have been even more interesting down here.

  Something nudged him, interrupting his thoughts. Barry, his diving instructor and paid companion (and dole-bludger, if truth be told), arrived beside him and Schneider quickly indicated with a straight hand the way he wanted to go. A curled finger and thumb 'okayed' him and both men finned off, their movement smooth and easy through the water.

  Schneider loved the feeling of near weightlessness, although he was still a little scared of the seemingly infinite liquid-space all around him and exactly what he might meet in it-yesterday a reef shark, white-tipped fins like tiny snowcaps, had glided by, mercifully indifferent to him (Schneider had been reassured later that humans honestly weren't the shark's favourite food, no matter what certain movies insisted). For a short time, at least, he could feel free from the domestic and business burdens. Jodie could spend two weeks humpin
g the garbo or any drongo she liked for all he cared, and the shoe business-his shoe business, his shoe empire-could hoof it on its own for the same time. A fortnight of rest and recreation was what the doctor had ordered and 'scubing' was part of the recreation. Just one part of it. Another two parts were sunning themselves around the pool back on Hayman Island. When they'd fried enough, Sandie and Cheryl would spend the rest of the afternoon prettying themselves up for the hero's return. Schneider was that hero. And by God, he felt like one splashing about down here in the deep. Macho stuff this, no mistake.

  Barry had gone on ahead and was pointing at something in the coral, no doubt keen to earn his considerable retainer as instructor and guide. Schneider caught up and nodded in slow motion when he saw the multi-coloured spiral gillworms nestling in the rocks. Like a kid's painting, he thought, spiky sploshes of uncontrolled colour, with no precision and no design.

  For a moment or two Schneider was struck by the sensitivity of his own soul.

  He twisted away, motioning to Barry to get on with it. Crikes, he'd turn into a purse-carrying poofter if he went on like this. These little beauts were okay, but it was excitement that he was after. Well, maybe not quite. If he was going to be honest with himself-and he was the only person he could be truly honest with, although even then not all the time-it was the idea of aqua-diving in the big ocean that he liked, something to drop into the conversation at Jodie's next bollocks-boring dinner party, or to the boys in the bar at the next footwear convention. With some slight embellishments, natch.

  What was that!

  Strewth, only Barry grabbing his ankle to show him a new find. It'd better be good. Oh great, an over-sized seashell with a thorny sprig sticking out of it. Maybe he was paying Barry too much. What the heck was the gink doing now? He was pretending to stuff something into his mouth. Oh yeah, I get it. The shell was eating the prickly stuff. Big deal. Now if it was a man's leg the thing was pigging on, that might be interesting.

  Schneider stiffened as a dark bulk appeared from the gloom. He clutched his guide's shoulder and stabbed a finger towards the moving mass, ready to flee but wanting Barry to cover his retreat when he did so. The other swimmer shook his head in exaggerated motion. He put his hands to his mask and mimed an inspection of the coral around them.

  Schneider breathed a sigh of relief into his aqualung and nodded understanding. It wasn't a whale or a huge killer shark making its ponderous way towards them but the semi-submersible he'd seen on the surface earlier, filled with tourists who didn't have the guts to actually get into the water and take a decko at the wildlife down here. He grinned-a difficult thing to do with a mouth full of rubber-and pushed himself off the reef to head towards the odd, window-walled vessel. The other diver saw his client's intention and remained where he was, content to watch. Let the dingbat have his fun while he could. Barry had worked for his kind many times before-big, loud-mouthed, and basically unhealthy; coronaries queued up for these guys.

  Schneider set a course that would take him directly beneath the creeping semi-sub, hoping that if he kept in line with the steel bow he wouldn't be noticed. Surprising how much easier it was to swim underwater than on top. Nearly there, little ways further and I'll be underneath. Just wait till I jump up and bash that glass with me fist. That'll scare the shit out of the buggers… Jesus!

  He flinched as something soft struck his mask. What was it? Only a fish, you dill. A damsel, all electric blue with a dash of greeny-yellow. And there goes its mate. Look where you're going, you little sprat. Okay, maybe not a sprat, but not a mackerel either. Wonder what they taste like…

  He whirled as a shoal of tiny fish bumped him, their impact almost as soft as snowflakes, but startling all the same. What was going on? Christ, his own colours were bright enough to be seen. Bloody hell, more of them! The whole sea was alive with racing fish… fish, and other things, things that looked like eels, others like snakes, and more things that looked like flotsam, except they were moving in one direction, speeding out to the deeper ocean. There was one of those bloody great turtles… Jesus, how could it swim so fast?

  Schneider was buffeted not just by the sea creatures, but also by the currents they caused. He turned in the water, flapping his arms, trying to stabilize himself. Where was Barry, why wasn't he rushing to help him, what the fuck did he think he was being paid for?

  And then the waters became still once again. Save for one or two stragglers, the sea seemed empty. In fact, much more empty than before…

  Above him, and just a few metres away, he could make out the blurred images of the semi-sub's passengers, their grey faces pressed against the toughened panes. They looked almost comical, but Schneider did not feel like laughing. There was something weird about the stillness all around him.

  He realized he was sinking and used his fins to prevent himself going any deeper. Only a few feet down and it was so much darker.

  A movement beneath him caught his eye. Something else was rising from below.

  Another fish? Too bright, it was too bright.

  A diver, it had to be another diver, a diver using a flashlight. Did Barry carry a flashlight? Maybe it was one of those marine scientist blokes on his way up. Maybe he or she caused all the commotion in the first place. Oughta be a law…

  Wait on. It was a light all right, but nothing with it, no one holding it. Just a light… a round light, size of a tennis ball… travelling on its own. One of those luminous fishes that hung around on the ocean bed? But it wasn't that deep here.

  Getting closer. Closer. And it was pure white, and bright… But no, there were colours around its edge, like a soft rainbow… shimmering… Fascinating.

  It passed by him, floating upwards.

  Schneider watched its progress, craning his neck, his eyes bright behind the mask. A pale glow, almost like moonlight, washed over the semi-submersible's lower deck, and bloodless spectral shapes observed through the glass.

  The globe grew fainter as it approached the water's surface, not because it had dulled, itself, but because it had to compete with the blanketing sunshine above.

  Then it broke through and all that Schneider could see was the gentlest of glows, still rising, becoming smaller, becoming lost, until, finally, it was gone.

  Schneider remembered to breathe.

  He floated in the weighty silence.

  Tell'em about that at Jodie's next dreary bash, he thought.

  Even though dulled by the tremendous volume of water around him, the rending craaack that came from behind was like a massive thunderclap, brutally raw in its impact, deafening in its intensity. He turned before the full force of disrupted water hit him, his hands instinctively reaching for his covered ears, and saw Barry lifted from the coral as though jettisoned. The diver twisted and squirmed, fighting the currents to gain control of his own body.

  From Schneider's position, it was difficult to make out exactly what was happening, but he could see coral breaking away and tumbling like boulders, with flurries of bubbles bursting from the reef itself.

  As his own body was buffeted by the sudden surge, he witnessed the most horrific thing in what was to be his comparatively short life.

  With a boom that might have come from a hundred cannon, fragments of living polyps shot towards the surface like blasted shrapnel, tearing through the other diver's body as though it were no more than papier-mache. Barry-or the main part of Barry-disappeared in a great swirl of red, while other pieces of him flew upwards with harder fragments to explode into the sunshine above in a furious fountain of blood, coral and flesh.

  Schneider screamed into his air tube.

  Just before the whole of the coral reef in his vicinity erupted with a violence that pierced every floating thing above-semi-submersible, amphibian plane, catamaran, pontoon, scuba deck and swimmers-splitting every object, soft and hard, with equal ease, tearing them into a million pieces, he managed to curse his doctor, who had ordered this bloody holiday in the first place.

  Then Neville
Trevor Schneider Ill's number increased a thousandfold.

  ***

  'Coffee, Doc?'

  'Uh?' James Rivers turned from the small window, his thoughts still on the interesting cloud formations, mainly cumulonimbus, in the distance.

  The stocky, mustachioed man leaning over him raised the beaker he was holding an inch or so. 'Coffee. Gonna be your last chance before the shit hits us.'

  Rivers nodded and took the plastic beaker from Gardenia, wincing as the hot liquid burned through to his fingers. He sipped quickly, then switched hands, managing a smile as he did so. The bastard was still having fun with him.

  'What altitude are we going in at?' he asked loudly enough to be heard over the droning of the aircraft's four engines.

  'Haven't decided yet,' the other man replied, taking a glance at the monitors ranged in front of Rivers. 'I'd kinda like to go in low, say 5,000-we'd get more info that way-but I guess it's up to the pilot. Ten thousand would be a lot safer. How's your stomach?'

  'It'll take whatever you decide.'

  Gardenia scratched his balding head. 'We've had some bad ones over the past few years-Hurricane Gilbert was the first of them back in'88-but this one's heading up to be the worst. Check those readings.' He stretched over the narrow desk to peer through the double-layered polycarbonate windows, forcing Rivers to press back into his seat.

  'Surface wind looks to be eighty or ninety knots right now.' Gardenia's eyes squinted through thick, horn-rimmed glasses. 'That's soon gonna change, though. Hey, what has three humps and sings "Stormy Weather" through its asshole?'

  Rivers shook his head, although he had an idea what the answer would be; these jokes had been doing the rounds for two years now, ever since the disaster.