The surface in front of me bubbled, foamed, and broke. Stinking pink muck spattered, blinding me momentarily. When I managed to clear my vision, Mo’Lock was right in front of me, his sight seemingly unaffected by the fumes. He must have swum backward to find me. He threw his long arm around my neck, pulled me close, and helped me stay above the current.

“Hang on!” the ghoul yelled.

“I’m trying!” I screamed back. “But I think I left my Palm Pilot back there!”

“Shut up and save your breath, Cal!”

We were traveling through the tunnel at three times the rate we had walked in. It was difficult to tell where we were, save for the fact there was now little more than a foot and a half of air separating us from the jagged ceiling. The thick current tugged and pulled at our legs, slamming us side to side against the tunnel walls. Mo’Lock did his best to hold onto me, but the constant pounding made the task next to impossible.

Twice he lost me, only to grab me again. The second time, I went under and got a mouthful of grotesque, gelatinous head pudding. I choked and almost swallowed. I thought I’d drown in the crap for sure, but somehow I forced the slime from my mouth, shut my eyes tight, and held my breath. I thought I’d try to ride it out, hold on until the tunnel ended at Whitney Green. Maybe there the pink sludge would spill into the burnt foundation of the building and I would find air.

Then I felt a hand grabbing at my head, followed by a painful yank that removed several clumps of hair. I gasped and gulped greedily—fresh air. Mo’Lock had pulled me to the surface. I spat and choked, trying to clear my eyes and ears.

“Cal!” The voice screamed.

It was Blout just ahead of us, sounding closer by the second.

I screamed. “Blout! Over here!”

“Up ahead, Cal! My hand! My hand! Can you see it?!”

I tried to focus through one eye. Ahead was the point where we fell into the tunnel. I could just make out a dark object swinging back and forth from the ceiling.

“See it?” Mo’Lock yelled at my ear.

“I think so.” I blinked my eyes hard. The slime was stubborn and sticky. Finally I was able to make out the fuzzy outline of Blout’s hand hanging down just yards from me and closing fast. “I see it!”

There was another surge of brains. We were thrown against the left wall of the tunnel and a second swell almost scraped our heads against the ceiling. Mo’Lock pulled me closer, then moved his hand to the back of my shirt and held on like a mother cat holds a kitten’s scruff. I could see Blout’s hand dangling from an unseen ledge.

Mo’Lock strained to hold me further above the pink and gray rapids. “Grab hold, Cal! Grab hold of his hand!”