The Steam Mole by Dave Freer Read Free Book Online Page B

dark. He managed to catch himself on his hands, landing against the wall of thetermite run, half the breath knocked out of him by the fall. He had little choice but to breathe the smoky stuff out there. Fortunately, they were a long way from the cutting edge, and the air pumped from the power station to here was not quite unbreathable…not for a breath or so.
    The lock clanged shut. And with a dragon hiss and a shower of sparks, the huge steam mole began to move away. Tim had to flatten himself against the wall to avoid being crushed by drill bits sticking out of the drill head.
    In a sudden panic Tim ran after the steam mole, falling over the sleepers they laid for the mole rails. Gasping. Trying to yell.
    He couldn’t run very far in this air. Panting, he leaned against the wall, trying to think, trying not to panic. Surely they couldn’t just abandon him here.
    The sparks of the mole and its clack-clack sounds grew farther away.
    The air in here would surely kill him before he could walk out. He felt nauseous and weak already, but tried to think calmly, which was just so difficult. There were breather holes and emergency exits every half a mile. The question was, was he near one, or just past one? He stood still trying to decide, swaying on his feet. Then he moved forward, feeling the wall. It was totally dark, and the steam mole’s sounds grew ever more distant.
    He was just getting to think he might try crawling when his hand hit wood instead of cast concrete…and then the heavy wheel of a door screw.
    It took all he could offer of his strength to haul the screw open and pull himself into the shaft. The air there was stale, but better. Still, climbing the metal staples to the upper hatch was incredibly hard work—not because it was, but because of how Tim was feeling. At the top, he hauled at the latch, nearly falling from the ladder as it suddenly opened.
    To a blast of heat…and air.
    Hot out there or not, Tim clambered out on hands and knees. The sun beating down on him was hot…but joyous. He crawled away from the hole. There wasn’t much logic in doing that, he just didn’t want to be near it.

Jack Calland was unceremoniously turfed out of bed. “Move. Yer back on the work squads.”
    â€œI thought I had to be looked after. I think I’m dying,” said Jack, groaning for all he was worth.
    â€œGo ahead and die,” said the warder, kicking him in the ribs. Jack rolled away, weighing his chances. They didn’t seem too good. There was another warder in earshot. “Orders from the commandant. He must have had word from on high that we don’t need yer anymore. So I can get the dogs, or yer can get moving.”
    Jack cursed to himself and staggered to his feet. It had to be today. Just when things were finally so close. He’d planned to become a corpse tonight. Well, a living one. But he’d found out where the morgue was, and that he could get into it. And the corpses of the prisoners were dumped into the river for the crocodiles. Only Jack had seen the river from the camp perimeter. It was more dry mud than water this time of year. There were crocodiles, but they took the first few corpses and took their time to come back for the rest. Jack planned…well, hoped, to either get away before that, or be at the back of the pile.
    He’d actually been getting better, not sicker. Fluids, rest, and some food…and he was no longer walking on the edge of death. He’d taken care not to let the “hospital” know that. But now…they didn’t seem to care anymore. Something had changed, and it had to be something to do with Mary. He wished desperately he knew what it was.
    Well, he’d just have to play dead and get dumped with the corpses. In the huge prison compound there were at least four or five every day, victims of the tropical heat and diseases. Jack knew the Empire put scanty value on their lives. He was just