He leaped far forward, felt his feet sink into the clutching quicksand.
The muck enfolded him like cold, slimy snake coils twisting around and crushing him.
As he sank below the surface, he heard the bursting air bubbles above him like sibilant whispers of death. The dread, crushing quicksand drew around like crushing giant hands.
This time Rawson had no heat ray gun to help him escape!
His lips twisted helplessly under the pressure of the sand and the water. It was like being buried alive in cement that had not yet hardened.
His feet struck something solid. The hull. Using his feet as leverage he forced himself forward against the grasping ooze, until he came to one of the ports. It was open and the quicksand had oozed in.
Rawson managed to grasp the railing by sheer muscle and forced himself inside. The shifting, liquefied sand covered the entire top deck.
But the door to the lower hatches and the control decks had sealed automatically. He turned the lever and pushed the door of the hatch inwards.
The pressure of the sand hurled him inside like water shot from a nozzle.