The Broken Sun by Darrell Pitt Page B

had to remember or he was going to die.
    Backstroke.
    The single word came to him like an explosion. He had to swim in the direction of
the avalanche, but freestyle would only cause him to bury himself deeper into the
snow. So he had to be counterintuitive: turn his back on the monster racing towards
him and backstroke over it.
    Jack threw himself backwards as the snow swept under his legs, backstroking into
the current. The white mass roared past him. Onto him. Still, he forced himself to
swim into the behemoth as it swept over him, pouring over his face and body, growing
thicker and heavier.
    He was surrounded by a choking white haze. It was all around him. Up. Down. Pressing
against him from every direction, crushing him like a cold blanket. Now the roar
of the avalanche had passed and a terrible silence replaced it.
    With an almighty effort, Jack pulled one arm towards his face and created an air
pocket. Dragging his other arm free, he burrowed out a space about a foot wide. He
had to get out of here, but he wasn’t sure which way was up and which way was down.
    He didn’t want to start digging in the wrong direction because he might get himself
deeper into the snow. He was already freezing. And exhausted. He would be dead within
minutes. He had to tunnel towards the surface, but where was that?
    He spat.
    Much to his relief, the drool fell immediately across his chin.
    Good old gravity , he thought. And good old Miss Bloxley.
    Without her, and that blasted book she had lent him, he would have had no chance
at all. But he wasn’t out of danger yet. He pulled his legs towards him, rolled about
and pushed down. Hard. He moved, not far, but far enough. He thrust downwards again.
And again.
    The air around him was running out. He had to stay calm. Panicking would only use
up his precious oxygen, but his heart was racing like a roller-coaster . Jack took
three deep breaths and pushed downwards again. It was impossible to tell how much
snow was between him and the surface. It could be inches. Or feet.
    His fingers and face were now completely numb. If he didn’t find the surface soon—
    His left elbow met air.
    Yes!
    He pulled himself up and his head emerged. He saw grey sky and mountains. He breathed
in. Air. Glorious air!
    â€˜Jack!’ Scarlet’s voice came from nowhere.
    Then Mr Doyle was dragging at him. ‘Hold on, my boy,’ he said. ‘We’ll have you out
in a jiffy.’
    Jack tried to mumble that he was fine, but he couldn’t form words. His lips would
not work. They dragged him free and wrapped themselves around him to warm his body.
There were tears in Mr Doyle’s eyes.
    â€˜You’re safe,’ he said. ‘You’re safe, you’re safe…’
    An hour later they were sitting around Professor Howard Morely’s fireplace, drinking
tea. Returning to the house, they had found the professor bound and gagged in one
of his closets and immediately went to his aid.
    â€˜I owe you my life,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure how I will ever repay you.’
    The professor was a small, round man, balding with a grey beard. He clenched his
cup of tea with fingers too pudgy to fit through the handle.
    â€˜No repayment is necessary,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘However, we would appreciate some information.’
    â€˜It’s the least I can do.’
    â€˜We have been told that some people believe the Broken Sun is actually a map that
points to New Atlantis. Is there any truth in this?’
    The professor clenched his jaw. ‘That was Clarke and Stein’s belief. I didn’t share
in their pursuit of the mythical city. My interest was in the craftsmanship of the
Broken Sun. Nothing like it has ever been found in the ancient world—and I doubt
ever will be again.’
    â€˜But Clarke and Stein were trying to find New Atlantis?’
    Professor Morely nodded.
    â€˜May I ask, then,’ Scarlet said, ‘why weren’t the