Timeline - Michael Crichton [151]
By the time the first arrows were flying, she had reached the door to the flour mill. De Kere was by then running backward, screaming at the archers, shaking his fist in the air. Arrows thunked down all around him.
In the upper mill room, troops were crashing against the door, which was blocked by the ladder. She knew the ladder wouldn’t hold for long. She went to the hole in the floor and swung down into the room beneath. With all the commotion, the drunken soldiers were waking up, staggering bleary-eyed to their feet. But with so much yellow dust in the air, it was hard to see them very well.
That was what gave her the idea: all the dust in the air.
She reached into her pouch and brought out one of the red cubes. It said “60” on it. She pulled the tab, and tossed it in a corner of the room.
She started counting silently backward in her mind.
Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight.
De Kere was now on the floor directly above her, but he hesitated to come down, unsure if she was armed. She heard many voices and footsteps up above; the soldiers from the guardhouse had broken through. There must be a dozen men up there. Maybe more.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the drunken soldiers by the sacks lunge forward and grab at her. She kicked hard between his legs and he fell whimpering, curling on the ground.
Fifty-two. Fifty-one.
She crouched down, and moved into the small side room where she first arrived. The water wheel was creaking, spraying water. She shut the low door, but it had no latch or lock. Anyone could come in.
Fifty. Forty-nine.
She looked down. The opening in the floor, where the wheel continued its rotation downward, was wide enough to allow her to pass through. Now all she had to do was grab one of the passing paddles and ride the wheel down until she was low enough to drop safely into the shallow water.
But as she faced the water wheel, trying to time her move, she realized it was easier said than done. The wheel seemed to be turning very fast, the paddles blurring past her. She felt the water spatter her face, blurring her vision. How much time was left? Thirty seconds? Twenty? Staring at the wheel, she’d lost track. But she knew she couldn’t wait. If Chris was right, the entire mill would explode any second now. Kate reached forward, grabbed a passing paddle—started to fall with it—chickened out—released it—reached again—chickened out—and then pulled back, took a breath, steadied herself, got ready again.
She heard the thump of men jumping down from the upper floor, one after another, into the adjacent room. She had no time left.
She had to go.
She took a deep breath, grabbed the next paddle with both hands, pressing her body against the wheel. She slipped through the opening—and emerged into sunlight—she had made it!—until suddenly she was yanked away from the wheel, and found herself hanging in midair.
She looked up.
Robert de Kere held her arm in a steel grip. Reaching down through the opening, he had caught her at the last moment as she descended. And now he was holding her, dangling her in the air. Inches away, the wheel continued to turn. She tried to twist free of de Kere’s grip. His face was grim, determined as he watched her.
She struggled.
He held tight.
Then she saw something change in his eyes—some instant of uncertainty—and the soggy wooden floor began to give way beneath him. Their combined weight was too much for the old wood planking, which for years had been soaked by water from the wheel. The planks now bent slowly downward. One plank broke soundlessly, and de Kere’s knee went through, but still he held her fast.
How much time? she thought. With her free hand, she pounded on de Kere’s wrist, trying to make him release her.
How much time?
De Kere was like a bulldog, hanging on, never letting go. Another plank in the floor broke, and he lurched sideways. If another broke, he would fall through alongside her.
And he didn’t care. He would hang