Dr. Hoffman was at her side. “I believe that they are still alive, Mrs. Connor,” he said. “At least, from the sound of the explosion, it is clear that at least some of them are still alive. Perhaps your husband is among them. We must not give up hope.”
Beth turned to him, smiling faintly, grateful. Then she heard Jordan crying and she turned instantly away, moving toward the room where he lay. She didn't know who or what had caused the explosion, but she knew that there were obviously still some men alive in the deepest part of the cavern.
Coldly wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, she prayed that Connor was one of them.
* * *
Thor could not move another inch through the ventilation shaft. A large fan, easily powerful enough to clear the entire cavern of smoke, spun blindingly, only inches from his eyes.
He had crawled two hundred feet through the shaft before encountering it, a spinning black haze highlighted by the fluorescent lights that blazed from inside the facility. He could not see past the revolving blades, but he knew he had reached the cavern itself.
Yes, this was where the smoke had passed.
He studied the spinning black blades a long time. He knew that if he stuck a hand in there he would lose it instantly. The dusty edges would still be sharp enough to sever his arm. He glanced at the fan's foundation, visible in the dim white light, and saw that it was anchored into the wall with stout bolts sunk in concrete blocks.
He nodded, bringing up the battle-ax beside him. It was a difficult movement, turning the ax in the shaft until he held it by the broad, double-bladed head. Then he held it by the top of the wide steel with one hand, the steel handle of the ax protruding in front of him. For a moment he thought that he could time it, but the fan was spinning too quickly. He made two abrupt motions to thrust the handle through the blades, pulling back at the last second. Then he gritted his teeth with determination and shoved the handle with all his might, driving it forward.
The battle-ax was almost torn from his hands as the fan wrenched the handle to the side and Thor shouted, holding a tight grip and driving the handle in farther, at an angle, up and through the mesh on the far side of the spinning blades. The fan engine screamed to spin the blades, and Thor released one hand from the ax handle. Shouting, he brought his left hand back and slammed it against the fan motor, smashing the heel of his palm on the motor, but it didn't move and the engine strained to spin the blades.
Grimacing in pain, Thor could smell the engine overheating, pulling with incredible force against the ax handle. The ax handle was moving inexorably through the aluminum mesh, tearing, shredding, surrendering to the power of the engine.
Thor saw what would happen if the ax handle came loose from the far side; the double-sided blade on his side would spin uncontrollably in the confined space of the shaft to slice him into pieces. He cursed in rage, hitting the engine motor savagely with his open hand, driving forward, all his weight into the vicious blow.
It did not move.
Again and again he pounded, howling, pushing on the frame. He brought his hand back even farther, seeing the bloody black smear on the engine frame, and he struck it again and again, exhausted now, sweating and unable to breathe in the dank air but still it did not give and with a bellowing roar Thor saw a red rage and imagined his death here in this infernal shaft and he struck the fan to break his bones or shatter the bolts and the top of the foundation tore away, the fan frame leaning out.
Thor felt no relief, allowed no respite. Caught in his rage he hit it again, numb to the pain, and again, driving the frame out. Suddenly the ax shuddered in the iron grip of his right hand, almost tearing loose, the fan blades beginning to break free. Then Thor saw a narrow white line coming from the torn section of wall, snaking into the engine and with a hated curse he reached out, fiercely tearing the wire from the motor.
The fan engine died but Thor was in a black berserk rage and he hit the fan again with his palm, grasping it solidly as his hand smashed against it. He pushed with all the strength of his arm and shoulder, roaring and pushing harder still with his scrambling legs to drive it out and the frame tore cleanly out of the concrete wall, falling down and away to carry the aluminum mesh with it in a long, continuous crash.
Snarling at the pain in his hand, Thor tossed the battle-ax ahead of him and crawled quickly out of the shaft grasping the edge as he passed it to lower himself to the ground.
Panting, still angry from the rage required for the effort, Thor reached down and immediately hefted the ax again, to stand. When he turned toward the cavern he was met by the sight of a lone man, a young man. It was apparently one of the scientists.
Wide-eyed, hands clasped, the man stared.