There was a light someplace. It flickered on, then went out again. I heard a door clang. I started to shout.
“Knowles!” I Screamed. “Mr. Knowles!”
The light flickered on again. “Coming, Jack–”
I started to blubber. “Oh, you made it! You made it.”
“I didn’t make it, Jack. I couldn’t reach the next section. When I got back to the lock I passed out.” He stopped to wheeze. “There’s a crater–” The light flickered off and fell clanging to the floor. “Help me, Jack,” he said querulously. “Can’t you see I need help? I tried to–”
I heard him stumble and fall. I called to him, but he didn’t answer.
I tried to get up, but I was stuck fast, a cork in a bottle . . .
I came to, lying face down-with a clean sheet under me. “Feeling better?” someone asked. It was Knowles, standing by my bed, dressed in a bathrobe.
“You’re dead,” I told him.
“Not a bit.” He grinned. “They got to us in time.”
“What happened?” I stared at him, still not believing my eyes.
“Just like we thought-a crashed rocket. An unmanned mail rocket got out of control and hit the tunnel.”
“Where’s Fats?”
“Hi!”
I twisted my head around; it was Konski, face down like myself.
“You owe me twenty,” he said cheerfully.
“I owe you–” I found I was dripping tears for no good reason. “Okay, I owe you twenty. But you’ll have to come to Des Moines to collect it.”