On the other hand, the water was viciously cold, and being burrows creatures, long removed from the Outside, they were not at all used to cold. Furthermore, they kept passing the mouths of tributary pipes which belched more filth—and more water—into the main channel along which they were hurtling. This had two results: it kept raising the level of the water they were in closer and closer to the curving pipe top overhead—and it kept increasing the speed of the current. The first was frightening enough, but the increased speed might shortly make it impossible for Roy to catch on to a pipe joint with the hook that was tied about his hands and arms. And if Roy failed, they’d never get out.
No, Eric decided, he’d better take the very next pipe joint they passed. The result would be a matter of luck—and he had come to feel he could trust his luck. It was certainly much better than his father’s: he had managed to get out of Monster Territory, alive and with his mate.
Ile turned his bead and peered down the pipe in front of them, examining its top with the beam from his forehead glow lamp. There, above the wild splashes of water and the somersaulting chunks of offal and rubbish, was that it—a dim patch that seemed to be rushing swiftly in their direction?
Eric narrowed his eyes and strained to see. Yes. It was a joint.
“Roy!” he sang out and brought his arm in a wide motion over his head, pointing with his whole hand. “Do you see it? We’ll take that one.”
The beam from the Runner’s glow lamp crept along his own and focused on the patch in the pipe top, now only a short distance away. “I see it,” Roy called. “Get ready. Here we go.”
He swung his hook up as they sped under the joint, catching an edge of it. For a moment they paused, swinging from side to side in the noisy, cascading water. Then they were on their way again. The hook had slipped out.
Roy cursed himself bitterly. “I didn’t get a grip on it! I almost—damn it, I didn’t get a good grip on it! I should be sewered alive.”
In spite of their predicament, Eric found himself grinning. That was exactly what was happening to the Runner! But he didn’t bother to point it out. “My fault,” he told him instead. “I didn’t give you enough warning. I’ll let you know earlier next time.”
But he was worried. The cold from the water had begun to numb his body. The other two were no doubt losing sensation as welclass="underline" that would make it more difficult for Roy to hold on with his hook. How had the ancestors ever been able to survive low temperatures in the Outside? According to Rachel, some had even thrived on it and taken recreation especially in cold weather. What heroes there must have been in those days!
Well, he was no hero: he found the cold crippling. And it was getting worse every moment. Also the current was observably much faster than when they had started. If Roy managed to hook the next pipe joint, Eric decided, he couldn’t be expected to cling to it for long. They’d have to move very fast indeed.
With this in mind, he reached down to his waist strap and pulled out the knife he’d taken from Jonathan Danielson’s body in the first cage a long, long time ago. He cut the thongs that bound him to Rachel. Now, only his arms were holding them together, but he’d be able to do his part of the job much more rapidly.
“How are you, darling?” he asked, suddenly conscious of the fact that she had been silent for some time. This was a pregnant woman, after all. She didn’t reply. “How are you?” he demanded more urgently.
“I’m cold,” she said in a low, dull voice. “Eric, I’m cold and I’m tired. I don’t have much left.”
Frantically, he turned his head again to scan the top of the pipe. The next chance would be their last. He’d better give Roy plenty of opportunity to prepare. And this time Roy had better—
The moment Eric saw the faint trace of a patch in the distance, he called out and pointed. The Runner located the joint, set himself. “I won’t let go—I promise you!” he said between clenched teeth.
As the joint passed overhead, he thrashed wildly with his legs, rising slightly out of the water. He slammed the hook into a crack that ran along an edge of the joint—and twisted it. The curved end of the hook slid and locked inside the joint.
“Up to you, now, Eric,” he gasped. “Go ahead!”
Rachel was still tied to Roy, but Eric, depending solely on his grip, was almost torn loose by the suddenness of their stop. It was by one hand only, a hand slipping up her arm to her throat, that he still held himself to her. He threw the other arm around her again and pulled himself close.
Then, reaching past her to Roy, he hauled himself up and over both of them, clambering across their madly jerking bodies until he stood on the Runner’s shoulders. These were wet and slippery, but he was able to grab the middle of the hook with his left hand and steady himself. He whipped out his knife and went to work, ferociously, on the joint. Under him, the Runner fought for air, as with Eric’s full weight upon him, his face would go slight-; ly below the level of the water, slightly above it, then slightly below again.
Eric knew exactly what he had to do. He had been over this sequence in his mind dozens and dozens of times. He had been reviewing it while in the water, while looking for. a joint in the distance, while climbing over Rachel to stand on Roy’s shoulders. He had to reverse the process of opening a joint that he had used when standing on the floor of the burrows.
It should work.
On the burrows floor, you first tugged the covering plate to the right. Therefore, operating from underneath and using the knife, Eric pried it to the left. He switched the knife to the other side and pried to the right. Now, at exactly the right moment, while the heavy plate was still sliding, pull down on the knife handle, making the knife into a lever—and pray it doesn’t break!
The plate moved upward. Eric let go of the hook with his left hand and grabbed the edge of the plate through the open space he had created. He pushed with all his might. The plate rolled off to one side.
He pulled himself out of the water and through the open joint. Crouched uncomfortably now on top of the pipe, he had flooring directly above him. The question was, what kind of flooring—Monster territory or of theburrows? And if it were burrows flooring, had there been human beings nearby to cut an opening through it?
There had, and he slumped for a moment in abject relief as he saw the familiar outlines of a slab. They could get out! Again he jabbed his knife in the thin space where edge met edge and used it as a lever. Once the slab lifted a bit, he put his shoulders under it, bracing his feet on the pipe—and straightened, pushing up. The slab rose and fell away from the opening, rattling the floor with its weight.
Eric, standing fully upright, could see curved walls and low ceilings all around him. The blessed, blessed burrows!
He scrambled back down and lay on the surface of the pipe, reaching through the joint. The Runner’s face was bluish and Rachel’s head lolled limply against his back. “Can’t help—you much,” Roy panted from the water. “You’ll have to—all by yourself, if you can. I’m—I’m finished.”
Eric got his hands under Roy’s armpits and tugged. The Runner and Rachel came up easily about halfway, but there, with no more water to buoy them, they became suddenly far too heavy for him to lift any more. He held on desperately. Then Roy made a last effort. He got his elbows, still tied to the dripping hook, over the top of the pipe and heaved. It was just enough to make a difference. Eric was able to pull them both on to the pipe. They rested for a moment, then Eric and Roy together dragged themselves and Rachel through the opening to the burrows floor.