Free Furnace 3 - Death Sentence by Alexander Gordon Smith Page B

it would end. Crushed between the unstoppable force of the river and the immovable weight of the rock.
    I had almost smashed into the end of the passageway when I noticed the tunnel angling upwards. I reacted instantly, propelling myself off the ground and bracing myself in the narrow chute. The water flooded the space I’d occupied only moments ago with a sound like an atomic bomb being detonated, flecks of foam resembling pale talons reaching up for me. The river wasted no time in continuing the chase, bubbling up against the rock with frightening speed.
    Snatching in a lungful of air, I began to climb, my silver eyes picking out cracks and crevices in the rock and my massive arms pulling me up with ease. The heaving breath of the river made the stone slick and slippery, but every time I thought I’d lost my grip I rammed my legs against the sides of the vertical tunnel, locking myself in place. The water was fast, but I was faster. I was going to outclimb it.
    And then the top of the shaft came into sight, sealed tight by a hatch.
    I vaulted up the last few metres with a grace that surprised me, leaping from side to side like an ape. Wedging my feet in opposite corners, and hooking one hand into a crack in the ceiling, I reached up and felt the ring of metal. A single touch told me the hatch was solid steel, at least as big and as heavy as the one that had kept me in solitary. The water was still rising, maybe five metres between its icy depths and me. I had only one chance.
    Furious, I bunched up my fist and threw it at the hatch. I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but the sound it made when it connected almost made me lose my footing. The crack of bone on steel, and my cry of pain, were twin echoes that dropped down the shaft until they were swallowed by the roar of the river.
    It felt like my hand had been put down a garbage disposal, the pain unbelievable, even when compared with everything else I’d been through. But when I looked at the hatch I was amazed to see a dent in the metal, as though it had been struck by a sledgehammer.
    Grunting, I smashed my other fist against the hatch, this time causing the edge to buckle. Blood dripped from my knuckles, turning the white foam red inches beneath my feet. This time I wrapped the heavy chains once around each hand and lashed out again, and again, left and right, the steel barricade bending out of shape with each strike.
    The water reached my ankles, its touch seeming to drain all warmth from me. I gripped the ceiling harder,tensed my legs and my back to give my arm more leverage as it blasted upwards again. The hatch bent even further outwards, but still it didn’t break. Past its warped edge I could see the flickering light of torches, and more than anything I wanted to be out there. I didn’t want to die like this, swallowed whole by a beast of ice.
    But the river was up to my waist in seconds, so cold it made me feel as though all the bones had been filleted from my body. By the time it had reached my chest, my muscles had no strength left in them. I tried to take in one last breath but the water was too eager, filling the top of the shaft in a heartbeat and sliding its cold fingers down my throat.
    I choked, spasms ripping through my body as it fought for air. But there was none to be had. No air, no warmth, no strength. All I had left was my anger. It seethed and coiled inside me like a living thing, telling me to bunch up my fist again, ordering me to lash out one last time.
    The punch was slowed by the water, but not by much. It tore towards the hatch, impacting with enough strength to send a shock wave pulsing down the river. I felt something snap – a pistol shot, deafening in the maelstrom – and thought it was my bones breaking.
    Then the hatch swung open and I was pushed through it by the very force that had sought to drown me. I landed hard, slapping my still-bunched fists against the rock as I fought for breath. The water continued topump