Ryan ignored the conversation. The level of the water had risen, leaving precious little more than three feet beneath the cavern ceiling where it plunged through the orifice leading out of the basin. From the looks of things, the water was going to fill all the space within minutes.
Ryan took a length of rope from his pack and cut off a ten-foot piece with the panga.
“Watch it with that knife,” Hoyle shouted. “You cut a hole in this raft, and we got no chance at all.”
Working quickly, Ryan slid the panga back into its sheath, then tied one end of the section of rope to a loop on the raft. Checking the wall at his side, he found a notched rock that would allow him to tie the other end.
“When we start loading people into that raft,” he explained, “we’re not going to be able to hold it. This way we can keep it steady until we’re prepared.”
He cut another ten-foot length and passed it to Jak. “The side, not the other end. So we’ll be able to cut it away.”
Jak tied the rope on to the raft without comment, understanding at once.
In seconds the raft was as stable as they could make it. The vinyl craft jumped on the water, now at least a couple inches higher, and pulled at the tethers.
At Ryan’s command, the companions loaded into the raft one at a time. The additional weight made it sink even more into the water, and the river’s pull on it grew stronger.
Ryan pulled himself into the tangle and press of bodies. Krysty took hold of his clothing and aided his efforts. Even as Ryan tried to find a comfortable position, a small knot of brushwooders took up a line along the ledge leading down to the basin. A spark flared in the hands of one, then caught and became a miniature crimson star that threw off a spitting pink light to quickly fill the tidal cavern.
“Flare,” Jak said.
Mildred raised her pistol and pulled through a round just as the brushwooders spotted the raft. With the way the raft bobbed and twisted, it was impossible to hit anything she aimed at. Her shot went well wide and high of its intended mark.
The brushwooders brought their weapons to bear.
Ryan ripped the panga from his hip and grabbed the forward lip of the raft, hauling himself over Hoyle. “Jak, cut away!”
The albino had one of the leaf-shaped throwing knives in his hand in an eye blink, the keen edge sliding through the stabilizing rope at the side of the raft. Immediately the craft jumped like a fish hitting the end of a line after a long run. Incredibly it lifted partially out of the water, threatening to turn crossways in the chop of the swirling currents.
Bullets plopped into the water from the brushwooders’ guns, the sharp reports of the weapons punching through the steady roar of the rising river.
Ryan slashed with the panga. Off balance aboard the writhing raft, he parted the rope less than two inches from the vinyl air pocket forming the side. There was no time to brace himself against the sudden lunge the raft took. He felt Krysty’s hands at his back, taking hold of his belt and adding her weight to his.
“Hold on, lover,” she called.
The river took them, shoving them at the bottleneck at an unbelievable rate of speed. They missed the bottleneck opening by several feet and slammed into the wall. The raft rode the trapped current up out of the water, crashing the left side and a large portion of the bottom against the immovable rock.
Ryan grabbed one of the tie-downs and threw an arm across Krysty’s shoulders, pulling her close to him. There was nothing else any of them could do. The river had them at its mercy, and it was a toss-up as to whether the raft would remain on top of the water or plummet into its black depths.
Chapter Twenty
Twisting suddenly, the raft came around, shifting ends and plunging down the dark throat of the tunnel. The light of the flare vanished behind them, though the brushwooders’ bullets hammered into the sides of the tunnel for a few seconds more.