Free Icebound by Dean Koontz Page A

the knots that held the harness together across his chest and under his arms. When he was free from the main line, he coiled it and hung it around his neck.
    To avoid some of the wind’s vicious force, he got on his hands and knees and crawled to Lin. Roger Breskin’s light followed him. He took his own flashlight from his belt and placed it on the ledge, against the cliff face, with the beam shining on the unconscious man.
    Unconscious—or dead?
    Before he could know the answer to that question, he had to get a look at Lin’s face. Turning the man onto his back was not an easy chore, because Brian had to be careful that the scientist did not roll off into the abyss. By the time Lin was on his back, he’d regained consciousness. His amber skin—at least those few square inches of his face that were exposed—was shockingly pale. Against the slit in his mask, his mouth worked without making an audible sound. Behind his frost-spotted goggles, his eyes were open; they expressed some confusion but didn’t appear to be the eyes of a man in severe pain or delirium.
    “How do you feel?” Brian shouted above the shrill wind.
    Lin stared at him uncomprehendingly and tried to sit up.
    Brian pressed him down. “Be careful! You don’t want to fall.”
    Lin turned his head and stared at the darkness from which the snow streamed ever faster. When he looked at Brian again, his pallor had deepened.
    “Are you badly hurt?” Brian asked. Because of the thermal clothing Lin wore, Brian couldn’t determine if the man had any broken bones.
    “Some chest pain,” Lin said barely loudly enough to be heard above the storm.
    “Heart?”
    “No. When I went over the edge…the ice was still rocking…from the wave…the cliff face was slanted. I
slid
down…and landed here hard on my side. That’s all I remember.”
    “Broken ribs?”
    Lin took a deep breath and winced. “No. Probably not. Only bruised, I think. Damn sore. But nothing’s fractured.”
    Brian removed the coil of rope from around his neck. “I’ll have to make a harness under your arms, across your chest. Can you tolerate that?”
    “Do I have a choice?”
    “No.”
    “So I’ll tolerate it.”
    “You’ll have to sit up.”
    Groaning, Lin eased cautiously into a sitting position, with his back toward the cliff and his legs dangling in the void.
    Brian quickly fashioned a harness, tied a tight double knot over Lin’s breastbone, and got to his feet. He reached down and helped the injured man to stand. They turned in place to put the sea and the murderous wind at their backs. Dry, almost granular snow snapped against the wall of ice, bounced from it, and spun against their faces.
    “Ready?” Roger called from twenty feet above.
    “Yeah. But take it easy!”
    Lin clapped his hands rapidly, loudly. Platelets of ice fell from his gloves. He flexed his fingers. “Feel numb…all over. I can move my fingers…but hardly feel them.”
    “You’ll be okay.”
    “Can’t feel…toes at all. Sleepy. Not good.”
    He was right about that. When the body became so cold that it encouraged sleep to maintain precious heat, death could not be far away.
    “As soon as you’re topside, get into the sled,” Brian said. “Fifteen minutes, you’ll be as warm as toast.”
    “You got me just in time. Why?”
    “Why what?”
    “You risked your life.”
    “Not really.”
    “Yes, you did.”
    “Well, wouldn’t you have done the same?”
    The taut line was pulled upward, taking George Lin with it. The ascent was smooth. At the top of the precipice, however, Lin got stuck, with his shoulders past the brink and the rest of him dangling in the wind. He was too weak to pull himself to safety.
    Roger Breskin’s years of training as a weight lifter served him well. He left the snowmobile and easily manhandled George Lin the last few feet onto the top of the iceberg. He untied the harness from the man’s shoulders and threw the main line down to Brian.
    “Check with