dk.coldfire-第40部分

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　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　pinched　spaces；　pushing　things　aside　when　she　could；　going　over　or　around　or　under　whenever　an　obstacle　proved　to　be　immovable。　The　neat　rows　and　aisles　of　the　plane　had　been　pulled　and　hammered　into　a　maze。　
　She　was　shaken　when　she　spotted　yellow　and　red　flickers　of　flame　along　the　perimeter　of　the　deck　and　in　the　starboard　front　corner　by　the　bulkhead　that　separated　the　passenger　cabin　from　the　cockpit。　But　the　fire　was　fitful；　unlike　the　blistering　conflagration　that　she　had　fled　moments　ago。　It　might　abruptly　flare　up；　of　course；　consuming　everything　in　its　path；　although　currently　it　seemed　unable　to　find　sufficiently　bustible　material　or　oxygen　to　do　more　than　barely　sustain　itself　Smoke　curled　around　her　in　sinuous　tendrils；　but　it　was　more　annoying　than　threatening。　Breathable　air　was　in　good　supply；　and　she　didn't　even　cough　much。　
　More　than　anything；　the　corpses　were　what　unnerved　her。　Though　the　crash　apparently　had　been　somewhat　less　severe　than　it　would　have　been　without　Jim　Ironheart's　intervention；　not　everyone　had　survived；　and　a　number　of　fatalities　had　occurred　in　the　first…class　section。　She　saw　a　man　pinned　to　his　seat　by　a　foot…long；　inch…diameter　steel　tube　that　had　pierced　his　throat；　his　sightless　eyes　were　wide　open　in　a　final　expression　of　surprise。　A　woman；　nearly　decapitated；　was　on　her　side；　still　belted　into　her　seat；　which　had　torn　free　of　the　deck　plates　to　which　it　had　been　bolted。　
　Where　other　seats　had　broken　free　and　slammed　together；　she　saw　injured　passengers　and　cadavers　heaped　on　one　another；　and　the　only　way　to　tell　the　quick　from　the　dead　was　to　listen　closely　to　determine　which　of　them　was　groaning。　
　She　blanked　out　the　horror。　She　was　aware　of　the　blood；　but　she　looked　through　it　rather　than　at　it。　She　averted　her　eyes　from　the　most　grievous　wounds；　refused　to　dwell　on　the　nightmare　images　of　the　shattered　passengers　whom　she　kept　confronting。　Human　bodies　became　abstract　forms　to　her；　as　if　they　were　not　real　but　only　blocks　of　shape　and　color　put　down　on　canvas　by　a　cubist　imitating　Picasso。　If　she　allowed　herself　to　think　about　what　she　was　seeing；　she　would　either　have　to　retrace　the　route　she　had　taken　and　get　out；　or　curl　into　a　fetal　ball　and　weep。　
　She　encountered　a　dozen　people　who　needed　to　be　extracted　from　the　wreckage　and　given　immediate　medical　treatment；　but　they　were　all　either　too　large　or　too　tightly　wedged　in　the　rubble　for　her　to　be　of　any　assistance。　
　Besides；　she　was　drawn　forward　by　the　haunting　cries　of　the　child；　driven　by　that　instinctive　understanding　that　children　were　always　to　be　saved　first：　one　of　the　major　clauses　of　nature's　genetically　programmed　triage　policy。　
　Sirens　rose　in　the　distance。　She　had　never　paused　to　think　that　professional　rescuers　would　be　on　their　way。　It　didn't　matter。　She　couldn't　O　back　and　wait　for　them　to　handle　this。　What　if　reaching　the　child　a　minute　or　two　sooner　made　all　the　difference　between　death　and　survival？　As　Holly　inched　forward；　now　and　then　glimpsing　anemic　but　worrisome　flames　through　gaps　in　the　web　of　destruction；　she　heard　Jim　Ironheart　behind　her；　calling　her　name　at　the　opening　where　the　fore　part　of　the　plane　had　been　amputated　from　the　rest　of　it。　In　the　chaos　falling　from　the　mid…section　of　the　DC…10；　they　had　apparently　emerged　from　the　smoke　at　different　places；　heading　in　opposite　directions；　for　she　had　not　been　able　to　find　him　even　though　he　should　have　been　right　behind　her。　
　She　had　been　pretty　sure　that　he　and　Casey　had　survived；　only　because　he　obviously　had　a　talent　for　survival；　but　it　was　good　to　hear　his　voice。　
　〃In　here！〃　she　shouted；　although　the　tangle　of　devastation　prevented　from　seeing　him。　
　〃What're　you　doing？〃　〃Looking　for　a　little　boy；〃　she　called　back。　〃I　hear　him；　I'm　getting　closer；　but　I　can't　see　him　yet。〃　
　〃Get　out　of　there！〃　he　shouted　above　the　increasingly　loud　wail　of　approaching　emergency　vehicles。　〃Paramedics　are　on　the　way；　they'　trained　for　this。〃　
　〃e　on；〃　she　said；　pushing　forward。　〃There're　other　people　in　here　who　need　help　now！〃　Holly　was　nearing　the　front　of　the　first…class　section；　where　the　steel　of　the　fuselage　had　broken　inward　but　not　in　such　profusion　as　in　the　area　behind　her。　Detached　seats；　carry…on　luggage；　and　other　detritus　had　flown　forward　on　impact；　however；　piling　up　deeper　there　than　anywhere　More　people　had　wound　up　in　that　pile；　too；　both　dead　and　alive。　
　When　she　shoved　a　broken　and　empty　seat　out　of　her　way　and　paused　to　get　her　breath；　she　heard　Jim　clawing　into　the　wreckage　behind　her。　
　Lying　on　her　side；　she　squirmed　through　a　narrow　passage　and　into　a　pocket　of　open　space；　ing　face　to　face　with　the　boy　whose　cries　she　had　been　following。　He　was　about　five　years　old；　with　enormous　dark　eyes。　
　He　blinked　at　her　in　amazement　and　swallowed　a　sob；　as　if　he　had　never　really　expected　anyone　to　reach　him。　
　He　was　under　an　inverted　bank　of　five　seats；　in　a　peaked　space　formed　by　the　seats　themselves；　as　if　in　a　tent。　He　was　lying　on　his　belly