Free Sepulchre by James Herbert Page B

scarlet around him, through narrow passages, breaking out into round caverns, swept on by a bubbling tide that never stilled, towards a source that was no more than a distant rhythmic echo somewhere ahead in the labyrinth of busy tunnels, the rush to the sound as exhilarating as it was terrifying.
    There were other things racing with him that were alien to these passages, black misshapen forms that were there only to disease and destroy; but these parasites themselves were steadily destroyed, attacked by globules which engulfed, swallowed, digested. And these defenders decided that he, too, was foreign, had no place alongside healthy corpuscles, that he was an interloper, a danger, up to no good. Even though it was his own body he journeyed through.
    He screamed at the giant lumps to get away, to leave him alone, he meant no harm. But they were programmed to fight to the death all that was not right in the system and had no minds of their own. Two attached themselves to him as he was flushed through into a wider tunnel, and he felt the burning of his own back, his arm, acid seeping into him.
    Yet he was so near, the rushing even faster, moving in contractions, the steady beat louder, louder still, becoming a thunder, the rapids leading to a fall, the fall to be mighty and devouring. And that was his desire, no other yearning possible to him now: he wanted to be consumed by the mountainous heart.
    Instead these blind, ignorant creatures, organisms that knew nothing of other things, were eating him. His body was decomposing under their chemical excretions.
    Nearly there, nearly there.
    He could hear the hysteria of his own laughter.
    Nearly there.
    The noise ahead - THUD-UP THUD-UP - deafened him, filled him with dread. Elated him.
    Nearly there.
    Nearly swallowed.
    It wasn't too late.
    He would make it.
    Be absorbed by the heart.
    THUD-UP THUD-UP There . . . !
    But not there.
    Drifting back, drawn away, consciousness ing upwards, a soft retreat . . .
    An abrupt awakening.
    There was someone with him in the bedroom. Kline opened his mouth to call out, but something clamped hard over it. A hand. A strong, threatening hand. He felt the extra weight on the bed. Somebody, a shadow among shadows, kneeling over him.
    Another hand encircled his throat.
    'Someone else and you could be dead,' Halloran whispered close to his ear.
    11 A DANGEROUS ENCOUNTER
    Halloran glanced into the rearview mirror.
    The blue Peugeot was still there, keeping well back, at least four or five other cars between it and the custom-built Mercedes Halloran was driving. His own back-up, in a Granada. was directly behind him.
    He reached for the RT mounted beneath the dashboard and set the transmit button.
    'Hector-One,' he said quietly into the mouthpiece.
    'Hector-Two, we hear you,' came the reply through the receiver. 'And we see the tag.'
    Kline leaned forward from the backseat, his face close to Halloran's shoulder. There was a bright expectancy in his eyes.
    'Turning off soon,' said Halloran. 'Stay close 'til then. Out.' He replaced the instrument.
    'We're being followed?' Kline asked, nervousness now mingled with expectancy.
    Cora, next to him in the backseat, stiffened, and Monk, who occupied the front passenger seat - riding shotgun, as he liked to think of it - shifted his bulk to look first at his employer, then out the tinted rear window. His fingers automatically went to the revolver at his waist.
    'No need for that,' Halloran warned. 'And use the side mirror if you want to spot them.'
    'Nobody can see in,' Monk protested petulantly, already aggrieved with Halloran for having made him look so useless twice the day before.
    "They can see shadows through the glass. Face the road and take your hand off that weapon.'
    'Do it,' snapped Kline. Then to Halloran: 'Which one is it?'
    'The light blue. A Peugeot, a few cars back. It's been on our tail since we left London. My guess is it took over from another car that picked us up in the City, probably close to