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file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/James%20Axler%20-%20Deathlands%20015
%20-%20Chill%20Factor.html middle. It was eight feet high, shaped like a
pyramid and sheeted in pebbled ice.
Ryan was leading the way over it, fingers locked with Kate's, when he lost his
footing on the farther side. He gave a soundless cry, swamped by the rambling
of the water, and began to slide, out of control.
When his boots struck the passage floor, Ryan knew that they were in serious
trouble. It sloped steeply away from him, toward the sound of the river. He
tried to let go, but the young woman was also slipping, her hand tightly
gripping his.
In desperation, Ryan kicked out with his steel-tipped combat boots, chips of
ice flying around them. But he couldn't get a purchase, sliding faster and
faster, feet first.
For a moment he was aware that they were both falling through space, then Kate
was whirled away from him as they both plunged into the racing, icy river.
Chapter Nineteen
The shock was so terrible that it nearly stopped Ryan's heart. Though he'd
been cold and wet before sliding helplessly into the black waters of the
underground river, it was immeasurably, unimaginably so much more ghastly.
It was as though his entire body had been dumped into a whirlpool of razored
ice crystals, while making a particularly bad mat-trans jump.
He lost contact with Kate immediately, their hands torn apart by the
astounding pressure of the water's flow.
Ryan was rolled head over heels, trying to bring up his knees to make himself
as
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question. There wasn't the tiniest glimmer of light as he spun along, nothing
that would give him the slightest clue which way was up.
Even holding his breath was difficult with the pressure of the river squeezing
and pushing him. For a moment he felt something brush up against him, which he
guessed must be Kate. But the current wrenched them apart again.
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He knew that death was grinning close by, ready to take him into its own
endless darkness. A river like this might run for miles beneath the mountains,
sometimes dropping hundreds of feet over a jagged abyss, or squeezing itself
into a narrow tunnel, filling it from floor to roof.
He grabbed another breath.
The water turned him, so that he was going feet first, carried at what seemed
a dizzy speed, the icy flood surging into mouth and nostrils, nearly choking
him.
THREE TIMES Ryan had bobbed to the surface, the blackness and the bitter cold
of the air seeming little different to the darkness below the freezing river.
Each time he was able to take in less air before being dragged under again.
Despite his desperate efforts to survive, he could feel that he was losing
control.
J. B. Dix had once told him that a man falling through ice on a winter lake,
in the farthest north, could measure his life in seconds. Even if he was
hauled out immediately, the chill would have gone bone-deep and death was
almost certain.
The immense weight and power of the water was drowning his mind as well as his
body. Despite his efforts to fight for air, the weight of his clothes and the
cold were dragging him down.
Deeper.
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But he became dimly aware that the movement of the river had changed. The
crushing force that had toyed with him was slowing and becoming more gentle.
Ryan kicked hard, hoping he was moving in the right direction, feeling his
lungs close to bursting. His long-held breath whooshed out as his head again
broke the surface.
After the torrent, it was more like floating in a gentle lake. He was
conscious of space above and around him, like in the huge chamber that he'd
encountered earlier in his explorations of the old mine.
By swimming out, he was able to move even farther from the center of the
current, eventually bumping into a wall of smooth, wet rock. Though the
turbulence and pace had all eased, he was still being carried along at a brisk
walking pace, unable to find any purchase at all on the sides of the tunnel.
Ryan shook his head, clearing his ears. The brain-numbing sound of the torrent
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