a real issue, like altitude sickness in reverse. And heat exhaustion is unquestionably a danger.
"All right," she says. "Let's get going."
They advance into the draft, much fainter in this wide corridor than it was in the shaft, but still noticeable. Everything looks green in the phone's LCD light. Walking fast is a relief after slowly worming their way down the endless shaft in darkness, but she has to slow down for Lovemore, who is limping. At one point he bumps his head painfully on the ceiling; afterwards he walks on exaggeratedly bent knees. They reach an intersection with an equally wide and high corridor, but one without rail tracks. They stand there a moment, unable to determine from which direction the stronger draft comes.
"The tracks must go to the main elevator shaft," Veronica says. "We can't go up there. Let's try the other way."
Lovemore nods. He is now breathing with every few steps he takes, as if running rather than walking. They continue down this corridor, moving with new hope; the wind is stronger here, and noticeably cooler.
The corridor ends at a metal grille set in stone. Beyond the grille, a circular shaft six feet across rises at a forty-five-degree angle towards the sky. Cool air hurtles down into the mine. Veronica thinks she tastes water in the air. It's a way out – except for the solid metal grate that bars their way.
She examines this obstacle. It is not like the ones up above that were welded in place. This one has two halves separately seated in the stone walls; in the middle, their flat metal edges overlap and are bolted together. She unfolds her Leatherman and sets to work. Lovemore sits with his back to the corridor wall and concentrates on breathing.
There are only four narrow bolts. Two come out easily once she scrapes the rust off. The third requires a great deal more effort. But the fourth, near the bottom, will not budge, despite Veronica's increasingly frantic efforts. It appears to have rusted in place.
"Motherfucker," she pants, staring at the grate. One rusted nut. That is all that stands between them and the path to freedom. But it will not move.
"There must be stairs," Lovemore said hoarsely. "In case of some disaster. There must be stairs."
"If we can find them. Maybe they've been blocked. Or that exit's locked. And they'll probably take us right to Gorokwe's troops. Fuck. One fucking nut."
"The top of this shaft may also be walled off."
She winces. He's right. She stares venomously at the offending hexagonal hunk of metal. Then she reaches up to the top of the grate. Her previous removal of three bolts allows the two halves to pull away from each other and create a little vee of space, just enough to wedge her fingers into. She pulls as hard as she can. Even with this leverage it doesn't feel much different from trying to rip an iron bar apart with her bare hands.
Veronica threads the fingers of her other hand into the grate, and then climbs up onto it, placing both her feet flat against the metal bars, supporting herself with her hands. She pushes with all the strength of her legs. At first nothing happens. Then there is a groaning sound – and then an unexpected crack – and suddenly the grate is open and Veronica has to flail about to avoid falling off as metal rattles on the floor. She hoped she might loosen the rusted nut; instead she has torn it right off its bolt.
"Marvellous," Lovemore wheezes.
She drops back to the ground and pulls the two halves of the grate apart wide enough that she can squeeze between them. Then she looks up the wide ventilation intake shaft and wishes it wasn't so steep. They could maybe walk up a thirty-degree incline, like that they descended. This forty-five-degree shaft will have to be climbed with both hands. It will take them hours to reach the surface.
She says, "Maybe there's another way out, but I'm thinking this is the only way we might actually escape."
"Yes."
"It's a long way up."
"Yes."
"Do you think you can climb all the way?"
Lovemore looks at her a moment, then says, softly, "If I must, I will."
"I'm sorry," Veronica says. "I think you must."
Chapter 37
"Lovemore," Veronica croaks. "Look."
He doesn't react.
"Look." She grabs at him clumsily. "Up."
His head slowly turns upward, towards the distant blotch of … not light, exactly, but a different shade of darkness than what they have been moving through for hours.
"What