 We sat close, elbow to elbow, knee to knee, grasping each other's hands. The raft spun, struck the wall, sped on and on, down and down at horrifying speed. In my heart was the certainty that we were doomed. Presently, Hans spoke. Dark, dark. I do not like this dark. The room coughs coy, Hans. Will it keep alive? No. It's smashed in pieces. We can't light a torch, that's certain. The torch will not keep burning. There's too much rain.