Illustration: “Darfang” © 2005 by Patrick Stacy.
Peter Beckin was positive he’d never been so cold in his life. Or this scared.
The tunnel stretched for half a kilometer through the dark reddish rock, curving in a downward slope to disappear in a blue glow of lighting tubes that illuminated the mine. He paced back and forth on the hard ground, his legs exhausted and his feet aching. Each puff of breath from his dry throat faded in the half-darkness. He glanced often at the locked security gate behind him, toward the lift that could take him up to warmth and safety. Then he forced himself to look back down the tunnel. His eyes burned from lack of sleep. His heart thudded with every step he took, as if reminding him that each beat could be the last one.
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