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The Cave Online Free

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We will send a new password to your email. Please fill your email to form below. Home Movies. The Cave Trailer. Deep beneath the surface in the Syrian province of Ghouta, a group of female doctors have established an underground field hospital.

Under the supervision of paediatrician Dr. Amani and her staff of doctors and nurses, hope is restored for some of the thousands of children and civilian victims of the ruthless Syrian civil war.

You May Also Like. HD America's Forgotten. HD Interreflections. HD Tortured for Christ. HD Beyond the Pole.

HD The Act of Killing. HD Dirty Pictures. HD The Cave. HD Winterland. Nothing in her experience ever gave her reason to doubt the shelter and those within it would be there when she returned.

She splashed into the river and felt rocks and sand shift under her feet as the shore fell off sharply.

She dived into the cold water and came up sputtering, then reached out with sure strokes for the steep opposite bank. She had learned to swim before she learned to walk and, at five, was at ease in the water.

Swimming was often the only way a river could be crossed. The girl played for a while, swimming back and forth, then let the current float her downstream.

Where the river widened and bubbled over rocks, she stood up and waded to shore, then walked back to the beach and began sorting pebbles.

She had just put a stone on top of a pile of especially pretty ones when the earth began to tremble. The child looked with surprise as the stone rolled down of its own accord, and stared in wonder at the small pyramid of pebbles shaking and leveling themselves.

Only then did she become aware she was shaking too, but she was still more confused than apprehensive. She glanced around, trying to understand why her universe had altered in some inexplicable way.

The earth was not supposed to move. The small river, which moments before had flowed smoothly, was roiling with choppy waves that splashed over its banks as the rocking streambed moved at cross purposes to the current, dredging mud up from the bottom.

Brush close by the upstream banks quivered, animated by unseen movement at the roots, and downstream, boulders bobbed in unaccustomed agitation.

Beyond them, stately conifers of the forest into which the stream flowed lurched grotesquely. A giant pine near the bank, its roots exposed and their hold weakened by the spring runoff, leaned toward the opposite shore.

With a crack, it gave way and crashed to the ground, bridging the turbid watercourse, and lay shaking on the unsteady earth. The girl started at the sound of the falling tree.

Her stomach churned and tightened into a knot as fear brushed the edge of her mind. She tried to stand but fell back, unbalanced by the sickening swaying.

She tried again, managed to pull herself up, and stood unsteadily, afraid to take a step. As she started toward the hide-covered shelter set back from the stream, she felt a low rumble rise to a terrifying roar.

A sour stench of wetness and rot issued from a crack opening in the ground, like the reek of morning breath from a yawning earth. She stared uncomprehendingly at dirt and rocks and small trees falling into the widening gap as the cooled shell of the molten planet cracked in the convulsion.

The lean-to, perched on the far edge of the abyss, tilted, as half the solid ground beneath it pulled away. The slender ridgepole teetered undecidedly, then collapsed and disappeared into the deep hole, taking its hide cover and all it contained with it.

The girl trembled in wide-eyed horror as the foul-breathed gaping maw swallowed everything that had given meaning and security to the five short years of her life.

She clambered toward the deep crack, but the earth rose up and threw her down. She clawed at the ground, trying to find a secure hold on the heaving, shifting land.

Then the gap closed, the roar ceased, and the shaking earth stilled, but not the child. Lying face down on the soft damp soil churned loose by the paroxysm that convulsed the land, she shook with fear.

She had reason to fear. The child was alone in a wilderness of grassy steppes and scattered forests. Glaciers spanned the continent on the north, pushing their cold before them.

Untold numbers of grazing animals, and the carnivores that preyed on them, roamed the vast prairies, but people were few. She had nowhere to go and she had no one who would come and look for her.

She was alone. The ground quivered again, settling itself, and the girl heard a rumbling from the depths, as though the earth were digesting a meal gulped in a single bite.

She jumped up in panic, terrified that it would split again. She looked at the place where the lean-to had been. Raw earth and uprooted shrubs were all that remained.

Bursting into tears, she ran back to the stream and crumpled into a sobbing heap near the muddy water. But the damp banks of the stream offered no refuge from the restless planet.

Another aftershock, this time more severe, shuddered the ground. She gasped with surprise at the splash of cold water on her naked body.

Panic returned; she sprang to her feet. She had to get away from this terrifying place of shaking, devouring earth, but where could she go?

There was no place for seeds to sprout on the rocky beach and it was clear of brush, but the upstream banks were choked with shrubs just sending forth new leaves.

Some deep instinct told her to stay near water, but the tangled brambles looked impenetrable. Through wet eyes that blurred her vision, she looked the other way at the forest of tall conifers.

Thin beams of sunlight filtered through the overlapping branches of dense evergreens crowding close to the stream. The shaded forest was nearly devoid of undergrowth, but many of the trees were no longer upright.

A few had fallen to the ground; more leaned at awkward angles, supported by neighbors still firmly anchored.

Beyond the jumble of trees, the boreal forest was dark and no more inviting than the brush upstream. A tremble beneath her feet while she was looking downstream set her in motion.

Casting one last yearning look at the vacant landscape, childishly hopeful that somehow the lean-to would still be there, she ran into the woods.

Urged on by occasional grumbling as the earth settled, the child followed the flowing water, stopping only to drink in her hurry to get far away.

Conifers that had succumbed to the quaking earth lay prostrate on the ground and she skirted craters left by the circular tangle of shallow roots—moist soil and rocks still clinging to their exposed undersides.

She saw less evidence of disturbance toward evening, fewer uprooted trees and dislodged boulders, and the water cleared.

She stopped when she could no longer see her way and sank down on the forest floor, exhausted. Exercise had kept her warm while she was moving, but she shivered in the chill night air, burrowed into the thick carpet of fallen needles and curled up in a tight little ball, throwing handfuls over herself for a cover.

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Blu-ray's main application is the medium for physical distribution of subjects such as movies and video games for PlayStation 3, PlayStation 4 and Xbox One.

The name "blue light" refers to the blue solvent actually purple laser used to read optic disc. This information can store information with a higher density than the longer wavelength red laser used on DVDs.

The plastic disk The Cave is mm 4. In addition to these hardware specifications, Blu-ray is also connected to multimedia forms.

The BD format The Cave was developed by the Blu-ray Disc Association, which represents manufacturers of consumer electronics, computer equipment and movies.

She began treating children — particularly those who were injured under bombardment in remote areas of the province — in emergency rooms.

She began working at the Cave in The chemical attack on Al Ghouta altered Dr. She was forcibly displaced to northern Syria in and currently lives in Turkey.

She sustained a head injury in one of the attacks on the Cave; as a result, she suffers from partial amnesia. She generally makes light of her condition with her colleagues but remains deeply fearful of another attack.

Samaher studied and received several trainings in professional nursing before the start of the Syrian conflict. At the beginning of the uprising in , she and her sister assisted in rescuing injured protestors.

Samaher and her husband left for Jordan in to avoid arrest. But with rising numbers of severely injured Syrians arriving in Jordan, Samaher felt a responsibility to contribute to relief efforts.

She returned to Syria in and began working at the Cave. Salim Namour is the oldest doctor working at the Cave, as well as the most experienced.

He is a good friend and adviser to Dr. Amani, he and makes it clear to everyone that he respects and believes in her.

He also works closely with Samaher as he performs the most difficult surgeries at the Cave, always with classical music playing on his mobile phone.

Salim is a general surgeon and previously volunteered in the medical rescue and relief of civilian victims of the Iraq war as well as the Lebanese-Israeli war in When the uprising in Syria began in , he treated injured protestors and adopted the pseudonym Sakhr to avoid being identified by the Assad regime and its supporters.

He was one of the most active doctors in Al Ghouta after the chemical weapons attack. He provided testimony to the United Nations and human rights organizations that investigated the attacks.

The siege of Eastern Al Ghouta separated him from his wife and four children, who were living in regime-controlled Damascus.

Quiet and shy, Dr. Alaa is dedicated to her work. She completed her medical studies at the University of Damascus and was studying for her specialty in pediatrics when the uprising began in She was forced to abandon her studies when the regime took over university medical centers.

She volunteered at field hospitals and treated injured protestors. Alaa was working in Al Ghouta when it came under siege and went to work with Dr.

Amani and Samaher after the Cave was established. She continued her studies in pediatrics on her own to complete her specialization. She is currently living and working in the northern region of Syria which is under Turkish protection.

This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.

Marca Registrada. Assistance comes from a variety of sources in as many different ways. But some contributions to my work came from people I have never met and probably never will.

I am grateful, nonetheless, to the citizens of the city of Portland, and the country of Multnomah, Oregon, whose taxes support the Multnomah County Library, without whose reference materials this book would not have been written.

I am also grateful to the archaeologists, anthropologists, and other specialists who wrote the books from which I gathered most of the information for the setting and background of this novel.

There were many who helped more directly. John DeCamp, friend and fellow writer, who knew the agonies and the ecstasies, and had the uncanny knack of calling exactly when I had to talk to someone who did.

Karen Auel, who encouraged her mother more than she ever knew because she laughed where she was supposed to laugh and cried where she was supposed to cry, though it was a first draft.

Cathy Humble, of whom I asked the greatest favor one can ask of a friend—honest criticism—because I valued her sense of words.

She did the impossible; her critique was both acutely perceptive and gentle. Deanna Sterett, for getting caught up in the story, and who knew enough abo ut hunting to point out some oversights.

Lana Elmer, who listened with unflagging attention to hours of dissertation and still liked the story. Anna Bacus, who offered her unique insights and her sharp eye for spelling.

Not all my research was done in libraries. My husband and I made many field trips to learn firsthand various aspects of living close to nature.

In the line of direct experience, special thanks are due to Frank Heyl, Arctic Survival Expert with the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry, who showed me how to make my bed in a snow cave and then expected me to lie in it!

I survived that cold January night on the slopes of Mount Hood and learned much more about survival from Mr. He showed me firemaking without matches, axes made of stone, cord twining and basket weaving, sinew and rawhide, and how to knap my own stone blade that cuts through leather as though it were butter.

Gratitude beyond measure goes to Jean Naggar, a literary agent so good she turned my wildest fantasy into reality and then bettered it.

And to Carole Baron, my shrewd, sharp, and sensitive editor, who believed in the reality, then took my very best effort and made it better.

Finally, there are two individuals who had no idea they were helping me, yet whose assistance was invaluable. He thought he was addressing a whole group.

The words he said were exactly those I needed to hear. The other is a man I know only through his book, Ralph S.

Solecki, author of Shanidar Alfred A. Knopf, New York. The story of his excavation of Shanidar Cave and discovery of several Neanderthal skeletons profoundly moved me.

He gave me a perspective of prehistoric cave man I might not otherwise have had and a better understanding of the meaning of humanity.

But I must do more than thank Professor Solecki—I must apologize for one instance of literary license I took with his facts for the sake of my fiction.

In real life, it was a Neanderthal who put flowers in the grave. Nothing in her experience ever gave her reason to doubt the shelter and those within it would be there when she returned.

She splashed into the river and felt rocks and sand shift under her feet as the shore fell off sharply. She dived into the cold water and came up sputtering, then reached out with sure strokes for the steep opposite bank.

She had learned to swim before she learned to walk and, at five, was at ease in the water. Swimming was often the only way a river could be crossed.

The girl played for a while, swimming back and forth, then let the current float her downstream. Where the river widened and bubbled over rocks, she stood up and waded to shore, then walked back to the beach and began sorting pebbles.

She had just put a stone on top of a pile of especially pretty ones when the earth began to tremble.

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