Free Ascent: (Book 1) The Ladder by Anthony Thackston Page B

could put the entire Mine at risk.
                “The itchy throat is where it starts. Soon, breathing will become impossible,” Scraggle calls down. “We cannot lose the Dreamer.”
                Joe scratches at his neck and swallows. He knows the only direction left is up so he picks up his pace and climbs toward the fog.
                Just below the green swirling cloud, Joe slows down his ascent. The feeling of uncertainty is almost overwhelming. If it wasn’t for the alternative, Joe would stop and probably even regret climbing this far up. But uncertainty is not enough. Especially, if Scraggle has the cure.
                Hand over hand, slow and steady, Joe climbs through the fog. It’s thick enough that he is unable to see above it or below it, but not so dense that he cannot see his own hands. Joe looks around inside of the fog and notices the farther away from the Ladder it is, the better visibility becomes. The fog is actually thickest just behind the Ladder. He squints his eyes, attempting to get a better view. He tries to wave the fog out of his face with little success. Any fog he manages to push aside is quickly replaced with more. Leaning in closer gives him a better look at something out of place. His eyes focus just behind the Ladder, finding a shallow cut-out in the wall.
                Inside the cut-out is a row of tubes pointing inside the tunnel. There is a constant spray of fog coming from the tubes. Some of the spray hits Joe in the eyes, forcing him to take one hand off the Ladder to rub his eyes, trying to get the fog out.
                “Teary eyes are next. Tarry not a while, Dreamer. The dizzy spells will be upon you soon.” Scraggle’s voice, again, echoes through the tunnel.
                Tears expel the spray out of Joe’s eyes. Once he has them open again, he resumes the upward chase. He reaches the top of the fog and pops his head out of it. The green light is no longer as prominent.
                “Where’s this coming from?” Joe yells up.
                “The surface awaits,” is the only reply Scraggle gives.
                Looking up into the sparsely lit black of the tunnel, Joe can no longer see Scraggle. Except for the old man’s voice, there is no indicator that Joe is climbing after anyone at all. Above the fog the lights stretch even thinner. A faint sound, though, hums several feet up.
    What is that? h e thinks to himself as he climbs higher into the dark.
                The sound is muffled but does seem to get louder the higher Joe climbs. He’s near enough to another light that anything there should be visible but the wall looks no different than the rest of the stone and dirt tunnel. After climbing a few feet higher, Joe stops at the sound of metal grinding. It sounds as though it is covered by something.
                Against his own better judgment, Joe reaches out to place a hand on the stone wall. Dark, dirty stone seems to be all there is until he touches something softer. It’s definitely not stone. It feels like the same material his own clothes are made of. He pushes against it and finds the material gives. Still, in the dim light, it looks just like the surrounding walls of the vertical tunnel.
                Joe feels around, trying to find an edge. When he does, he lifts the cloth. Beneath it, just barely visible, are glimpses of the light reflecting on something metallic. Whatever it is, it looks like it is rotating.
                Joe starts to reach in but yanks his hand out immediately after something sharp pricks his finger. He looks at the blood running down his hand before wiping it off on his sleeve. It’s not a terrible wound. Nothing life threatening as far as he can tell. A bottle of the antiseptic would take care of it but he is too high up for that. Whatever is on the Surface will have to