her hip. Her hand closed over his.
"Help me up," she said. "I have to close the door."
"Are you all right?"
"Never mind, just help me up." She pulled on his arm, trying to haul herself to her feet.
"It's easier for me," he said. He yanked her up, apologizing for his roughness. She ignored him, and he could hear the whisper of her fingers on the damp stone as she looked for the door frame. Thudding feet sounded far down the passage, and the shouted commands, distorted by the distance and the narrow tunnel, blurred into a meaningless babble.
He was about to offer his help again when he heard the hinges squeal, and the heavy door slammed shut, blocking out the approaching thudding of booted feet.
"Don't you have a light?" he asked as she threw a heavy bolt home. Before she answered, he heard two heavy thumps. He realised she must have been dropping bars into place across the inside of the door.
"I don't need a light," she said. "Come on." She slipped past him, her body brushing against him in the narrow passage. Once more he felt her hand close over his wrist, and she pulled him along after her.
Bolan could tell by the unevenness of her stride that she had been hurt by the fall. She seemed to be limping. Far ahead, like some geometric hologram, a rectangle of brilliant lines began to glow. It grew larger as they ran, and Bolan realised they were approaching another door, be yond which there was light.
"Not much farther," she said through teeth clenched against the pain.
Bolan could tell when to stop, and he waited impatiently while she fumbled with the door. It swung open without warning, and the surge of white light hurt his eyes. He turned away, squinting to protect his eyes, and barely avoided tripping down a pair of steps.
Behind him, she slammed the door, rammed the last bar in place and turned to him. Her lips were set in a straight line. Her face was as nearly expressionless as any face he'd ever seen.
"Now that we can see again, you can go back to feeling superior," she said. "You can lead the way." She stretched out a bronze hand, her long, delicate fingers quivering like the fronds of a water plant swaying in the current.
Bolan closed his huge hand over hers and patted her on his forearm. "You tell me where to go," he said.
"Don't tempt me," she stated. She shook her head slightly, then pointed to the wall behind him. "Through that door."
"Are you willing to talk to me now?"
"Nothing has changed," she said. Her lips returned to their rigid set as Bolan scrutinised her. He had been right about her height if anything, perhaps an inch too generous. Her hair was as black as the tunnel they'd just left behind, and was piled on her head and held in place with simple combs of ivory or bone. An exquisite face hovered under the jet-black cloud like a coppery mist, broken only by a hint of pale lipstick. She wore jeans and a green work shirt, neither of which did much to conceal the generous figure.
"You're lovely," he said matter-of-factly, surprised that the words had come out of his mouth.
Despite her seeming toughness, there was something innocent about her.
But she misunderstood. "And you're wasting time," she said with just the suggestion of a smile.
Not bothering to explain, Bolan shrugged before turning slowly. She moved after him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder now. He opened the door she had pointed out and stepped through.
"No need to lock this one," she said as she followed him into the next room.
"Where to now?"
"Straight ahead."
Bolan nodded, then said, "All right." They were in a large, empty room. Its ceiling was thirty feet above them, composed of corrugated tin over rusting girders. It appeared to have functioned as a warehouse at one time.
"Go all the way across," she prompted.
"Don't we have to worry about them blowing through the other doors, just like they did the first?"
"That's been taken care of," she said.
He didn't know whether she meant it to sound cryptic, but it
"Help me up," she said. "I have to close the door."
"Are you all right?"
"Never mind, just help me up." She pulled on his arm, trying to haul herself to her feet.
"It's easier for me," he said. He yanked her up, apologizing for his roughness. She ignored him, and he could hear the whisper of her fingers on the damp stone as she looked for the door frame. Thudding feet sounded far down the passage, and the shouted commands, distorted by the distance and the narrow tunnel, blurred into a meaningless babble.
He was about to offer his help again when he heard the hinges squeal, and the heavy door slammed shut, blocking out the approaching thudding of booted feet.
"Don't you have a light?" he asked as she threw a heavy bolt home. Before she answered, he heard two heavy thumps. He realised she must have been dropping bars into place across the inside of the door.
"I don't need a light," she said. "Come on." She slipped past him, her body brushing against him in the narrow passage. Once more he felt her hand close over his wrist, and she pulled him along after her.
Bolan could tell by the unevenness of her stride that she had been hurt by the fall. She seemed to be limping. Far ahead, like some geometric hologram, a rectangle of brilliant lines began to glow. It grew larger as they ran, and Bolan realised they were approaching another door, be yond which there was light.
"Not much farther," she said through teeth clenched against the pain.
Bolan could tell when to stop, and he waited impatiently while she fumbled with the door. It swung open without warning, and the surge of white light hurt his eyes. He turned away, squinting to protect his eyes, and barely avoided tripping down a pair of steps.
Behind him, she slammed the door, rammed the last bar in place and turned to him. Her lips were set in a straight line. Her face was as nearly expressionless as any face he'd ever seen.
"Now that we can see again, you can go back to feeling superior," she said. "You can lead the way." She stretched out a bronze hand, her long, delicate fingers quivering like the fronds of a water plant swaying in the current.
Bolan closed his huge hand over hers and patted her on his forearm. "You tell me where to go," he said.
"Don't tempt me," she stated. She shook her head slightly, then pointed to the wall behind him. "Through that door."
"Are you willing to talk to me now?"
"Nothing has changed," she said. Her lips returned to their rigid set as Bolan scrutinised her. He had been right about her height if anything, perhaps an inch too generous. Her hair was as black as the tunnel they'd just left behind, and was piled on her head and held in place with simple combs of ivory or bone. An exquisite face hovered under the jet-black cloud like a coppery mist, broken only by a hint of pale lipstick. She wore jeans and a green work shirt, neither of which did much to conceal the generous figure.
"You're lovely," he said matter-of-factly, surprised that the words had come out of his mouth.
Despite her seeming toughness, there was something innocent about her.
But she misunderstood. "And you're wasting time," she said with just the suggestion of a smile.
Not bothering to explain, Bolan shrugged before turning slowly. She moved after him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder now. He opened the door she had pointed out and stepped through.
"No need to lock this one," she said as she followed him into the next room.
"Where to now?"
"Straight ahead."
Bolan nodded, then said, "All right." They were in a large, empty room. Its ceiling was thirty feet above them, composed of corrugated tin over rusting girders. It appeared to have functioned as a warehouse at one time.
"Go all the way across," she prompted.
"Don't we have to worry about them blowing through the other doors, just like they did the first?"
"That's been taken care of," she said.
He didn't know whether she meant it to sound cryptic, but it
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