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stirring in his loins. He wanted to fight it off. Hell, her husband was his
best friend. She had just lost a son. Her daughter was asleep upstairs under
sedation.
'Kent.' Her voice was more decisive now, her eyes meeting his. 'I know
precisely how you feel. That's exactly the position I'm in now.'
'But you have a husband . . . ' He felt he had to make some kind of token
resistance.
'I don't have a husband . . . ' She sat up again, leaning towards him. 'He's
gone. He won't come back. He's hi love with that girl. I can only supply him
with his physical needs. As you just said, it isn't enough. Tonight, after I'd
given Sarah her sleeping tablets, I sat with the pill bottle in my hand for a
long time. The way out would have been so easy. Richard's gone. So is Bob. It
was only the thought of Sarah that prevented me from taking all those tablets
myself. She needs me. I'd only just made the decision to carry on with life,
see it through to the end . . . Then you arrived. God, I was glad to see you!'
She stood up, seeming to tower above him. He noted the fullness of her bosom,
the sum hips, legs, ankles. He preferred her to Anne in every way, although he
would not have admitted it. Every man has his own particular fancy; Kent
certainly had his right now.
'Kent,' she moved a step nearer. 'Would you stop here with me tonight?'
He nodded, smiling, watching in a daze as she switched off the fire. He stood
up and followed her out of the room, then up the narrow staircase, following
every movement of her buttocks just ahead of him.
The bed looked the most comfortable and inviting thing he had ever seen.
Even now she was starting to undress. By the time he had removed his shirt and
tie she was naked beneath the sheets, waiting for him.
It was silly to turn off the light, he told himself, but somehow he had to
make it different from all his previous relationships. This was not just
another physical encounter. Jane really wanted him. He hoped that he would not
disappoint her. She was groping for him even as he crawled in beside her.
Chapter 16
Section Eight exploded shortly after midnight!
Coyle was aware of the time because, even as the walls of the office came in
at him, the huge fireball which lit the sky showed up the face of the cheap
alarm clock on the desk. Doomtime - 12.07a.m.!
In that split second he was forcing his numbed, sleep-bemused mind to work.
Heedless of his own safety, he flung himself across the sleeping bag as a
human shield to protect Anne.
Then came the awful shock, a terror that divorced him from the holocaust all
around. His body hit the limp quilt with jarring force. It was empty. Anne was
gone!
There was flying debris everywhere; cascading brickwork showered all around
him, yet miraculously left him unscathed. Thick choking dust, glowing orange
like hazy sunlight, was filtering through the grimy window pane. Heat scorched
his naked flesh, withering it on his body. But he ignored the pain, scrambling
over piles of rubble, clawing at it frantically, trying to shout Anne's name -
but no words came out, not even a hoarse whisper. He was outside in the open -
though, to be precise, there was no longer any indoors or outdoors. A fiery
sky lit up the whole scene, revealing the entire length of the valley, a
flattened landscape over which the towering mountains were starting to
avalanche, with mighty rock falls that slid and bounced slowly and silently.
And everywhere there was total silence, because Bob Coyle could no longer
hear. He was reduced to a panic-stricken human robot that staggered
haphazardly, tearing at immovable heaps of rubble, crying inwardly because his
tears were dried by the heat as soon as they began.
Alone! Where was everyone else? Oh God, why could he not have died along with
everybody else? Yes, he wanted to be dead - to be with Anne.
Fires were erupting everywhere, small blazes starting up and spreading, the
hot wind fanning their flames to an inferno. Flashes of reason came to him.
Anne must have crept out soon after he'd fallen asleep. But why? Perhaps she'd
crossed the yard to the toilet. He looked around, trying to shield his
smarting eyes from the glare and the smoke. Everywhere was totally
unrecognisable; he didn't even know where the office had stood, or if he was
in the right street. Total destruction, just as they had forecast - the last
and greatest holocaust of all!
Still wandering, searching. His brain couldn't cope with the situation much
longer. Maybe he was shouting, maybe he wasn't. Inside he still cried.
Once he paused to glance down at his own tortured body - just a mass of
blisters that wept thick matter like melted syrup, hands and feet that no
longer bled because the thick ooze stemmed the blood flowing from the
abrasions. Hairless, a walking festering cinder. Still searching although he'd
given up hope.
Then he saw the man! Coyle stood staring, scraping at his eyes in an attempt
to make the mirage go away. A thing in human shape that stood atop a blazing
pyre, seemingly unharmed by the crackling flames. It was clothed in ragged
garments that neither burned nor shrivelled, its revolting flesh clearly
visible through the tatters. Its head had a sparse covering of hair, and
seemed too large for the frail body on which it rested. Its eyes picked him
out of the smoke, and forced Bob Coyle to meet a gaze that blazed with
contempt and hatred, that had him shivering in spite of the terrible heat. The
lips moved over a toothless cavity of a mouth.
'I, Balzur, have returned to witness the fruits of my curse, sent here by
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