Doctor Who_ The Bodysnatchers - Mark Morris [69]
The corridor branched several times, and each time, acting on instinct, Litefoot took the fork to the right.This part of the ship was dark and under-manned, and more than once Litefoot had to assure himself that he was not lost, that all he had to do to find his way back was to turn and continually follow the left-hand path.
Eventually he found himself in a roughly spherical chamber that immediately made him realise what it was that this section of the Zygon ship had been reminding him of. His journey latterly, he thought, had been like travelling through a gigantic rabbit warren, and now here he was in some form of central chamber or junction point, where there were no crystalline doors, but merely holes which were the entrances to what appeared to be secondary tunnels, leading off in all directions.
Some of the tunnels looked dark and narrow, singularly uninviting, but there were several in the low roof above his head that reminded him of the chute by which he and his friends had entered the ship from the factory. There was even one that was ridged like a giant windpipe, and which therefore looked as though he might be able to make an attempt to climb it.
He hesitated a moment, and then decided to try it. He could go on, but what did he expect to find? A door marked EXIT which would lead him straight out on to a London street where a landau would be waiting to take him home? No, if he desired his freedom then he had to grasp any opportunity that might present itself, and thus far this was the only one that had.
He stood beneath the shaft, reached up and took hold of the lowest of the bone-like ridges.They were more pronounced than he could have hoped for, almost like the rungs of a ladder. He took several deep breaths, and then, using all his strength, attempted to haul himself up into the shaft.At first he thought he was not going to make it, that the strength in his arms would not be equal to that required to pull himself up. He felt his arms beginning to tremble, his fingers slipping. He forced himself to recall the awful sensation of the cowl coming down over his head, sliding across his eyes.This encouraged him to grit his teeth and redouble his efforts. He would not fail here, he promised himself: he would escape from this place or die in the attempt.
Slowly he managed to bend his elbows until his head and then his shoulders had risen above them. That done, he shifted his weight to jam himself against the side of the shaft and brought his right knee up. Now he was secure enough to be able to reach up for the next rung with one hand and then the other. In this way he dragged himself painstakingly upwards until at last his flailing right foot managed to find purchase on the shaft's lowest rung.
He paused a moment to regain his breath. His head swam, his stomach roiled with nausea, and his body felt hot and damp beneath his clothes.
With grim humour he recalled how he had voiced his doubt about his heart's ability to take the strain should his life become as eventful as it briefly had five years ago. Well, George, he told himself, if you are going to die, at least this will be an interesting place in which to do so. His rest over, he began to climb the shaft, taking it steadily, pausing every now and again to rest his aching legs. Soon the bottom of the shaft was so far below him that it was no longer in sight.
He had been climbing for what he estimated to be the best part of half an hour when an odd ripple ran through the shaft. Litefoot paused, looking above and below him in an attempt to ascertain what might have caused the movement. Seeing nothing, he carried on, dismissing the matter as nothing more than