The flames licked closer. The heat was a solid thing now, literally shoving them back from the wall of fire. They were right up against the far side of the passage now. No way out.
Then Guybrush looked up, and saw one.
He leapt, fist clenched, and punched open the air ventilation duct. A thin grate of metal clattered onto the floor. Ignoring Wally's protests, Guybrush picked the short pirate up and threw him into the gap. Then he jumped, grasping the sides of the opening, and pulled himself up.
They were in a tiny flat metal passage, full of smoke and noise. Guybrush pushed Wally forward. The metal beneath them yawed and cracked like a set of old floorboards, the heat below twisting them into new positions.
They scurried along, the passage neither heading left nor right. Guybrush's palms were already raw and blistering from the initial pull into the ventilation system. It didn't seem to be getting any cooler. The noise was the worst. Around him, Guybrush could hear his ship collapsing.
Suddenly Wally screamed, and vanished. Guybrush tried to stop, but he was too late. The floor gave way.
Or so it seemed. In actual fact Wally and Guybrush had found a ventilation shaft, a vertical metal passage that ran from the very bottom of the ship, at the hold, to the upper air-regulation machinery. From their position, it was a drop ten metres straight to the floor below. This would have meant certain death had the ventilation shaft ended in the hold ceiling, but in actual fact it curved around and exited horizontally through a wall. So instead of flattening themselves on the floor, Guybrush and Wally rocketed out of the hold wall, arms flailing uselessly, hit the floor, bounced up, hit it again, and skidded along, finally crashing into the far wall.
A set of tools hung on this wall wobbled, then overbalanced. Guybrush and Wally screamed.
Finally, it seemed all was still. Guybrush and Wally stood up, groaning. Though they could still hear the noise of the fire, down here it was cool. And no smoke.
There was a sudden crash, almost as if lightning had struck. A huge squalling noise came, passing directly overhead. Guybrush's hair stood on end, as he realised what was about to happen.
The fire had breached the hull. In a matter of seconds, this whole ship would be a depressurized wreck.
Even as the thought came, air started streaming past his face. It was heading towards one point.
The gaping ventilation shaft.
As one, Guybrush and Wally picked up a metal plate. They ran for the shaft, and flung the plate over the opening. With a noise like the last milk being sucked out with a straw, the suction pulled the plate flush over the opening, completing the seal.
The plate buckled inward. But it held.
Guybrush slumped against the wall, his legs suddenly weak. The rest of the ship was a burnt-out wreck, they had no means of navigation, and the air in here would probably last about six hours, but they were still alive.
Then he remembered UpChuck.