dk.coldfire-第35部分

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trees。　
　He　snatched　up　the　shirt　and　pushed　it　into　Casey's　small　hands。　
　Coughing；　as　was　everyone　around　him；　he　said；　〃Hold　it　over　your　face；　honey；　breathe　through　it！〃　Then　he　was　blind。　The　foul　cloud　around　him　was　so　dark　that　he　could　not　even　see　the　child　he　was　carrying。　Indeed；　he　could　not　actually　perceive　the　churning　currents　of　the　cloud　itself　The　blackness　was　deeper　than　what　he　saw　when　he　closed　his　eyes；　for　behind　his　lids　pinpoint　bursts　of　color　formed　ghostly　patterns　that　lit　his　inner　world。　
　They　were　maybe　twenty　feet　from　the　open　end　of　the　crash…severed　fuselage。　He　was　not　in　danger　of　getting　lost；　for　the　aisle　was　the　only　route　he　could　follow。　
　He　tried　not　to　breathe。　He　could　hold　his　breath　for　a　minute；　anyway；　which　ought　to　be　long　enough。　The　only　problem　was　that　he　had　already　inhaled　some　of　the　bitter　smoke；　and　it　was　caustic；　burning　his　throat　as　if　he　had　swallowed　acid。　His　lungs　heaved　and　his　esophagus　spasmed；　forcing　him　to　cough；　and　every　cough　ended　in　an　involuntary　though　thankfully　shallow　inhalation。　
　Probably　less　than　fifteen　feet　to　go。　
　He　wanted　to　scream　at　the　people　in　front　of　him：　move；　damn　you；　move！　He　knew　they　were　stumbling　forward　as　fast　as　they　could；　every　bit　as　eager　to　get　out　as　he　was；　but　he　wanted　to　shout　at　them　anyway；　felt　a　shriek　of　rage　building　in　him；　and　he　realized　he　was　teetering　on　the　brink　of　hysteria。　
　He　stepped　on　several　small；　cylindrical　objects；　floundering　like　a　man　walking　on　marbles。　But　he　kept　his　balance。　
　Casey　was　wracked　by　violent　coughs。　He　could　not　hear　her；　but　holding　her　against　his　chest；　he　could　feel　each　twitch　and　flex　and　contraction　of　her　small　body　as　she　struggled　desperately　to　draw　half　filtered　breaths　through　the　I　LovE　L。A。　shirt。　
　Less　than　a　minute　had　passed　since　he　had　started　forward；　maybe　only　thirty　seconds　since　he　had　scooped　up　the　girl。　But　it　seemed　like　a　long　journey　down　an　endless　tunnel。　
　Although　fear　and　fury　had　thrown　his　mind　into　a　turmoil；　he　was　thinking　clearly　enough　to　remember　reading　somewhere　that　smoke　rose　in　a　burning　room　and　hung　near　the　ceiling。　If　they　didn't　reach　safety　within　a　few　seconds；　he　would　have　to　drop　to　the　deck　and　crawl　in　the　hope　that　he　would　escape　the　toxic　gases　and　find　at　least　marginally　cleaner　air　down　there。　
　Sudden　heat　coalesced　around　him。　
　He　imagined　himself　stepping　into　a　furnace；　his　skin　peeling　off　in　an　instant；　flesh　blistering　and　smoking。　His　heart　already　thudded　like　a　live　thing　throwing　itself　against　the　bars　of　a　cage；　but　it　began　to　beat　harder；　faster。　
　Certain　that　they　had　to　be　within　a　few　steps　of　the　hole　in　the　fusalage　that　he　had　glimpsed　earlier；　Jim　opened　his　eyes；　which　stung　and　watered　copiously。　Perfect　blackness　had　given　way　to　a　charcoal…gray　swirl　of　fumes　through　which　throbbed　blood…red　pulses　of　light。　The　pulses　were　flames　shrouded　by　smoke　and　seen　only　as　reflections　bounding　on　millions　of　swirling　particles　of　ash。　At　any　moment　the　fire　could　burst　upon　him　from　out　of　the　smoke　and　sear　him　to　the　bone。　
　He　was　not　going　to　make　it。　
　No　breathable　air。　
　Fire　seeking　him　on　all　sides。　
　He　was　going　to　ignite。　Burn　like　a　living　tallow　candle。　In　a　vision　sparked　by　terror　rather　than　by　a　higher　power；　he　saw　himself　dropping　to　his　knees　in　defeat。　The　child　in　his　arms。　Fusing　with　her　in　a　melting　inferno。　。　。　
　A　sudden　wind　pulled　at　him。　The　smoke　was　sucked　away　toward　his　left。　
　He　saw　daylight；　cool　and　gray　and　easily　differentiated　from　the　deadly　glow　of　burning　jet　fuel。　
　Propelled　by　a　gruesome　image　of　himself　and　the　child　fried　by　a　flash　fire　on　the　very　brink　of　safety；　he　threw　himself　toward　the　grayness　and　fell　out　of　the　airliner。　No　portable　stairs　were　waiting；　of　course；　no　emergency　chute；　just　bare　earth。　
　Fortunately　a　crop　had　recently　been　harvested；　and　the　stubble　had　been　plowed　under　for　mulch。　The　newly　tilled　earth　was　hard　enough　to　knock　the　wind　out　of　him　but　far　too　soft　to　break　his　bones。　
　He　clung　fiercely　to　Casey；　gasping　for　breath。　He　rolled　onto　his　knees；　got　up；　still　holding　her　in　his　arms；　and　staggered　out　of　the　corona　of　heat　that　radiated　from　the　blazing　plane。　
　Some　of　the　survivors　were　running　away；　as　if　they　thought　the　DC…10　had　been　loaded　with　dynamite　and　was　going　to　blow　half　the　state　of　Iowa　to　smithereens　any　second　now。　Others　were　wandering　aimlessly　in　shock。　Still　others　were　lying　on　the　ground：　some　too　stunned　to　go　another　inch；　some　injured；　and　perhaps　some　of　them　were　dead。　
　Grateful　for　the　clean　air；　coughing　out　sour　fumes　from　his　soiled　lungs；　Jim　looked　for　Christine　Dubrovek　among　the　people　in　the　field。　
　He　turned　this　way　and　that；　calling　her　name；　but　he　couldn't　see　her。　
　He　began　to　think　that　she　had　perished　in　the　airplane；　that　he　might　not　have　been　treading　over　only　passengers'　possessions　in　the　port　aisle　but　also　over　a　couple　of　the　passengers　themselves。　
　Perhaps　sensing　what　Jim　was　thinking；　Casey　let　the　palm　tree　decorated　T…shirt　fall　from　her　grasp。　Clinging　to　him；　coughing　out　the　last　of　the　smoke；　she　began　to　ask　for　her　mother　in　a　fearful　tone　of　voice　that　indicated　she　expected　the　worst。　
　A　burgeoning　sense　of　triumph　had　taken　hold　of　him。　But　now　a　new　fear　rattled　in　him　like　ice　cubes　in　a　tall　glass。　Suddenly　the　warm　August　sun　over　the　Iowa　field　and　the　waves　of　heat　pouring　off　the　DC…10　did　not　touch　him；　and　he　felt　as　though　he　was　standing　on　an　arctic　plain。　
　〃Steve？〃　At　first　he　did　not　react　to　the　name。　
　〃Steve？〃　Then　he　remembered　that　he　had　been　Steve　Harkman　to　her…which　she　and　her　husband　and　the　real　Steve　Harkman　would　probably　puzzle　about　for　the　rest　of　their　lives…and　he　turned　toward　the　voice。　Christine　was　there；　stumbling　through　the　freshly　tilled　earth；　her　face　and　clothes　stained　from　the　oily　smoke；　shoeless；　arms　out　to　receive　her　little　girl。　
　Jim　gave　the　child　to　her。　
　Mother　and　daughter　hugged　each　other　fiercely。　
　Weeping；　looking　across　Casey's　shoulder　at　Jim；　Christine　said；　〃Thank　you；　thank　you　for　getting　her　out　of　there；　my　God；　Steve；　I　can't　ever　thank　you　enough。〃　
　He　did　not　want　thanks。　All　he　wanted　was　Holly　Thorne；　alive　and　uninjured。　
　〃Have　you　seen　Holly？〃　he　asked　worriedly。　
　〃Yes。　She　heard　a　child　crying　for　help；　she　thought　maybe　it　was　Casey。〃　Christine　was　shaking　and　frantic；　as　if　she　was　not　in　the　least　convinced　their　ordeal　was　over；　as　if　she　thought　the　earth　might　crack　open　and　hot　lava　spew　out；　beginning　a　new　chapter　of　the　nightmare。　
　〃How　did　we　get　separated？　We　were　behind　one　another；　then　we　were　outside；　and　in　the　turmoil；　somehow　you　and　Casey　just　weren't　there〃　〃Holly；〃　he　said　impatiently。　〃Where'd　she　go？〃　〃She　wanted　to　go　back　inside　for　Casey；　but　then　she　realized　the　cry　was　ing　from　the　forward　section。〃　Christine　held　up　a　purse　and　chattered　on：　〃She　carried　her　purse　out　of　there　without　realizing　she　did　it；　so　she　gave　it　to　me　and　went　back；　she　knew　it　couldn't　be　Casey；　but　she　went　anyway。〃　
　Christine　pointed；　and　for　the　first　time　Jim　saw　that　the　front　of　the　DC…10；　all　the　way　back　through　the　first…class　section；　had　pletely　torn　free　from　the　portion　in　which　they　had　been　riding。　It　was　two　hundred　feet　farther　along　the　field。　Though　it　was　burning　less　vigorously　than　the　larger　mid…section；　it　was　considerably　more　mangled　than　the　rest　of　the　craft；　including　the　badly　battered　rear　quarter。　
　He　was　appalled　to　hear　that　Holly　had　reentered　any　part　of　the　smouldering　wreckage。　The　cockpit　and　forward　section　rested　in　the　Iowa　field　like　a　monolith　in　an　alien　graveyard　on　a　faraway　world；　wildly　out　of　place　here；　and　therefore　infinitely　strange；　huge　and　looming；　thoroughly　ominous。　
　He　ran　toward　it；　calling　Holly's　name。　
　Though　she　knew　it　was　the　very　plane　in　which　she　had　departed　Los　Angeles　a　few　hours　ago；　Holly　could　barely　believe　that　the　forward　section　of　the　DC…10　had　actually　once　been　part　of　a　whole　and　functioning　aircraft。　It　seemed　more　like　a　deeply　disturbed　sculptor's　interpretation　of　a　DC…10；　welded　together　from　parts　of　real　airliners　but　also　from　junk　of　every　description；　from　pie　pans　and　cake　tins　and　garbage　cans　and　old　lengths　of　pipe；　from　auto　fenders　and　scrap　wire　and　aluminum　siding　and　pieces　of　a　wrought…iron　fence。　
　Rivets　had　popped；　glass　had　dissolved；　seats　had　torn　loose　and　piled　up　like　broken　and　unwanted　armchairs　in　the　corner　of　an　auction　barn；　metal　had　bent　and　twisted；　and　in　places　it　had　shattered　as　pletely　as　crystal　met　by　a　hammer　Interior　fuselage　panels　had　peeled　back；　and　heavy　structural　beams　had　burst　inward。　The　floor　had　erupted　upward　in　places；　either　from　this　impact　or　from　an　explosion　below。　
　Everywhere　jagged；　gnarled　metal　objects　bristled　in　profusion；　and　it　looked　like　nothing　so　much　as　a　junkyard　for　old　machines　just　after　a　tornado　had　passed　through。　
　Trying　to　track　down　what　sounded　like　the　cries　of　a　frightened　child；　Holly　could　not　always　proceed　erect。　She　had　to　crouch　and　squirm　through　pinch