He must get to warmth and shelter or he was done
for, and he knew it. Wavering and weaving, he went on, his attention
fixed on the door ahead--a closed oval door. With a sob of exhausted
effort, Ross threw himself against it. The barrier gave, letting him
fall forward into a queer glimmering radiance of bluish light.
The light rousing him because it promised more, he crawled on past
another door which was flattened back against the inner wall. It was
like making one's way down a tube. Ross paused, pressing his lifeless
hands against his bare chest under the edge of his tunic, suddenly
realizing that there was warmth here. His breath did not puff out in
frosty streamers before him, nor did the air sear his lungs when he
ventured to draw in more than shallow gulps.
With that realization a measure of animal caution returned to him. To
remain where he was, just inside the entrance, was to court disaster. He
must find a hiding place before he collapsed, for he sensed he was very
near the end of his ability to struggle.
Pages:
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204