He was going to speak of the force of the wind but realized with surprise that there was no wind. They were already beyond the earth’s stratosphere.
They climbed out of the storeroom, dropped the hatch door into place, and started to walk along the narrow runway over the top of the plane. Epworth, who was in the lead, glanced outward.
Six hundred miles an hour, and no place to fall. In every direction extended a dense black sky, lighted by gleaming balls of red that he knew were stars and the sun—nothing above, nothing below, and on each side endless ether. If they fell off this ship going with incredible swiftness, where would they go? They were now too far away from the earth to fall back on the terrestrial globe, and even if the gravital drag of the earth grasped them they would be frozen stiff before they got there, or shattered into fragments if they landed. It was a cold, clammy, helpless feeling. Once off that ship they would go nowhere; they would find death in endless space, where it is supposed to be 439° below zero.
Aside from this they realized that they had very few minutes to spare. They must get below into the air chambers very quickly or perish with cold, or in the rare atmospheric void.
All three were suddenly afflicted with vertigo, and began to reel along dangerously near the edges of the little platform-run. Realizing that this was certain destruction, they gained control of their faculties by sheer force of will power, and holding their breath dashed up to the first hatchway, and pulled at the ring.
It was locked on the inside, and therefore immovable.
For a second Epworth was appalled. Had Toplinsky beaten him to the idea of escape? If so they were doomed. Already it was too late for them to run back to the storeroom hatch opening. They were too far spent to undertake it.
Had they simply jumped from one death to another in leaving the storeroom? Epworth shivered at the thought—with cold as well as the fear of death. For the first time he thought of his body floating through space, embalmed in ice.
Then gathering his courage he ran on to the next hatch opening. By this time he had discovered that the openings in the top of the airship were four in number and about equal distances apart.
Glory be! The hatch door was locked but a small, slender stairway ran down the side of the ship to a side door. Like a monkey he flashed down this stairway followed by his companions. They dropped onto a small square platform, and Epworth caught the bright knob of the door. If it was locked they were as good as dead men. They were still holding their breath, and life hung by a hair.