Hansen was on the radio. "What the hell was that?"
"Level four is blasted open," Fisher replied. "The lake's coming in. Where are you?"
"Near the top of the first-level ramp. There are about a dozen bad guys here. They're putting up a fight. The rest went up in the elevator."
"Hold on, we're coming. Gillespie's hurt. Can you spare Valentina?"
"She's on her way."
Fisher was halfway down the corridor. The ramp intersection was in sight. He glanced over his shoulder and saw debris and litter swirling through the ballistics door as if blown by a giant fan. The first of the water boiled through at knee height, but within seconds it rose over the top of the jamb and began climbing toward the ceiling.
He heard Gillespie mutter, "God Almighty . . ."
He looked down at her. Her eyes were open and she was blinking rapidly.
"Can you walk?" Fisher asked.
"The hell with that! I can run!" she shouted.
He released her collar. She rolled over, scrambled to her feet, grabbed Fisher's outstretched hand, and together they sprinted to the ramp, around the railing, and started up the incline. Behind them, the wave surged into the intersection, crashed over the railing, and slammed into their legs, shoving them sideways. Fisher went down. His nose shattered on the concrete. His vision swirled. He tasted blood. He spit, pushed himself to his knees. Ahead of him, Gillespie had stopped on the ramp. She saw him fall and turned back.
"No! I'm okay. . . . I'm up!" he shouted. "Keep going!"
Valentina came sprinting down the ramp, and Fisher shouted, "Take her!" and together she and Gillespie turned and kept going. Fisher gathered his feet under him, then slipped and skidded back down the ramp. The water crashed over his head, enveloping him. The world went muffled. Then he was sliding again. In the froth he glimpsed a straight line . . . a piece of steel. The railing!He slapped at it with his hand and missed. Tried again and, this time, managed to hold on. He reached up with his opposite hand, grabbed the next railing, and heaved. His head broke into the air. Behind him, the fourth level was gone, flooded up to the ceiling.
"Sam!"
Fisher looked up. Noboru was leaning over the railing with his hand extended and Hansen holding on to his legs. "Grab on!"
Fisher put his foot on the railing. It slipped off. Pain shot up his leg. He gasped. Something wrong with my left foot,he thought. Broken.He tried again, this time using his knee, and managed to climb halfway from the water. With both arms braced on the railing, Fisher lifted his right leg from the water, pressed it against the top rail. Noboru's hand was eighteen inches away. Fisher took a breath, coiled his leg beneath him, and pushed off. His palm touched Noboru's; then he was falling again. He curled his fingertips into claws. Noboru did the same. Fisher jerked to a stop. Noboru's other hand was waving before his eyes. Fisher latched onto it with his free hand. Hansen began hauling them upward.
Together, they sprawled backward onto the ramp. They'd gained only a temporary advantage, he saw: The water was already rising around the curve.
"You okay?" Hansen asked, helping Fisher to his feet. "You're bleeding."
"I'm fine. Let's go."
Hansen and Noboru charged up the ramp and around the next turn. Fisher hobbled after them. "Sam?" Hansen called.
"Keep going!"
Hansen reappeared on the ramp. "Your foot."
"Fell asleep."
The water lapped over his ankles. Fisher stopped and looked down. His toes were almost pointing backward. The pain thundered in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, then forced them open again.
Hansen started back down toward him.
"Ben."
The tone of Fisher's voice stopped Hansen in his tracks. "I can help you, Sam."
"Get everybody topside. I'm right behind you."
"Your foot's broken."
"I'm not going to argue with you. Go now, or the next time I see you I'm going to shoot you."
Hansen held his gaze for a few moments, then nodded, turned around, and disappeared.
THEwater was shockingly cold. Fisher stood perfectly still, letting it surge over his calves, then his knees. The throbbing in his ankle tapered off. From the level above came the sound of Grozas firing. It went on for fifteen more seconds; then there was silence.
Fisher radioed: "Ben, where are you?"
"First level. Bad guys are either gone or dead. Elevator's out of commission. We're heading back the way we came in."
"Good."
"As soon as everyone's out, I'll--"
"No need. I'm coming up on the first-level ramp," Fisher lied. "I'm a minute behind you. Leave the rope for me."
Silence.
Fisher hobbled forward a few feet until the water level retreated to his knees
"Leave the rope for me," Fisher repeated.
"Roger."
He felt a wave of relief. Hansen and the others would make it. Knowing that, he steeled himself for what he had to do. He had no intention of standing on this ramp and waiting for the water to overtake him.
He took a deep breath, then a step forward. Pain burst behind his eyes. Another breath, another step forward. Each one got easier until he was clear of the water and twenty feet from the top of the ramp. He paused and patted his sides, looking for his Groza. It was gone. At the top of the ramp he saw a discarded AK-47. He fixed his eyes on it and kept going. Ten feet . . . five feet . . .
Pause. Breathe. Go.
Behind him the water had gained some ground, now lapping at his heels.
Five feet . . .He stopped, leaned down, and snagged the AK's sling with his fingertip and lifted it up. As a cane it was too short, but it took a portion of the weight off his ankle. He walked into the next level's intersection.
One more to go.
Hansen's voice: "We're out, Sam. Where are you?"
"Almost there."
Fisher pulled off his headset and tossed it away and kept walking.
The last ramp seemed to take hours. Hundreds of steps, but Fisher knew it couldn't have been more than minutes. The water dogged him, surging and retreating as it filled the level behind him, then finally rolling over his legs and staying there.
He reached the top of the ramp. Level 1. He took another minibreak, then turned right and started down across the intersection toward the utility-room corridor. He was twenty feet away when the floor trembled, then heaved upward. A crack shot threw the floor, splitting the corridor down the middle. Fisher started backpedaling. A geyser of water burst from the floor, and the concrete began falling away into the chasm.
Fisher turned around, looked around. Directly ahead of him lay the elevator. Out of service,he thought numbly. He turned back. The utility corridor was gone; in its place a ravine filled with white water. It boiled up the walls and started rushing into the intersection.
No choice, Sam.
He started hobbling toward the elevator. He heard the wall of water approaching and could feel on his back the rush of cool air being pushed ahead of the surge, but he ignored it and kept his eyes fixed on the elevator.
He was ten feet from the door when the wave slammed into him.
EPILOGUE