dk.coldfire-第30部分

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　The　plane　hit　a　patch　of　turbulence　worse　than　anything　before。　
　She　was　half　convinced　that　they　were　no　longer　flying　but　sledding　across　corrugated　steel。　
　Christine　took　Holly's　hand　and　held　it　briefly；　as　if　they　were　old　friends…which；　in　a　curious　way；　they　were；　thanks　to　the　imminence　of　death；　which　had　a　bonding　effect　on　people。　
　〃Good　luck；　Holly。〃　
　〃You；　too；〃　Holly　said。　
　Beyond　her　mother；　little　Casey　looked　so　small。　
　Even　the　flight　attendants　were　seated　now；　and　in　the　position　they　had　instructed　the　passengers　to　take。　Finally　Holly　followed　their　example　and　assumed　the　posture　that　contributed　to　the　best　chance　of　survival　in　a　crash：　belted　securely　in　the　seat；　bent　forward；　head　tucked　between　her　knees；　gripping　her　ankles　with　her　hands。　
　The　plane　came　out　of　the　shattered　air；　slipping　down　glass…smooth　for　a　moment。　But　before　Holly　had　time　to　feel　any　relief；　the　whole　sky　seemed　to　be　shaking　as　though　gremlins　were　standing　at　the　four　corners　and　snapping　it　like　a　blanket。　
　Overhead　storage　partments　popped　open。　Traincases；　valises；　jackets；　and　personal　items　flew　out　and　rained　down　on　the　seats。　
　Something　struck　the　center　of　Holly's　bowed　back；　bouncing　off　her。　It　was　not　heavy；　hardly　hurt　at　all；　but　she　suddenly　worried　that　a　traincase；　laden　with　some　woman's　makeup　and　jars　of　face　cream；　would　drop　at　precisely　the　right　angle　to　crack　her　spine。　
　Captain　Sleighton　Delbaugh　called　out　instructions　to　Yankowski；　who　continued　to　kneel　between　the　pilots；　operating　the　throttles　while　they　were　preoccupied　with　maintaining　what　little　control　they　had　left。　He　was　braced；　but　a　hard　landing　was　not　going　to　be　kind　to　him。　
　They　were　ing　out　of　the　third　and　final　360…degree　turn。　The　runway　was　ahead　of　them；　but　not　straight…on；　just　as　Jimdamn；　he'd　never　gotten　the　guy's　last　name…had　predicted。　
　Also　as　the　stranger　had　foreseen；　they　were　descending　through　exceptional　turbulence；　bucking　and　shuddering　as　if　they　were　in　a　big　old　bus　with　a　couple　of　bent　axles；　thundering　down　a　steep　and　rugged　mountain　road。　Delbaugh　had　never　seen　anything　like　it；　even　if　the　plane　had　been　intact；　he'd　have　been　concerned　about　landing　in　those　treacherous　crosswinds　and　powerful　rising　thermals。　
　But　he　could　not　pull　up　and　go　on；　hoping　for　better　conditions　at　another　airport　or　on　another　pass　at　this　one。　They　had　kept　the　jumbo　jet　in　the　air　for　thirty…three　minutes　since　the　tail…engine　explosion。　
　That　was　a　feat　of　which　they　could　be　proud；　but　skill　and　cleverness　and　intelligence　and　nerve　were　not　enough　to　carry　them　much　farther。　
　Minute　by　minute；　and　now　second　by　second；　keeping　the　stricken　DC…10　in　the　air　was　increasingly　like　trying　to　fly　a　massive　rock。　
　They　were　about　two　thousand　meters　from　the　end　of　the　runway　and　closing　fast。　
　Delbaugh　thought　of　his　wife　and　seventeen…year…old　son　at　home　in　Westlake　Village；　north　of　Los　Angeles；　and　he　thought　of　his　other　son；　Tom；　who　was　already　on　his　way　to　Willamette　to　get　ready　for　his　junior　year。　He　longed　to　touch　their　faces　and　hold　them　close。　
　He　was　not　afraid　for　himself　Well；　not　much。　His　relatively　mild　concern　for　his　own　safety　was　not　a　result　of　the　stranger's　prediction　that　the　flight　crew　would　survive；　because　he　didn't　know　if　the　guy's　premonitions　were　always　correct。　In　part；　it　was　just　that　he　didn't　have　time　to　be　concerned　about　himself　Fifteen　hundred　meters。　
　Mainly；　he　was　worried　about　his　passengers　and　crew；　who　trusted　him　with　their　lives。　If　any　part　of　the　crash　was　his　fault；　due　to　a　lack　of　resolve　or　nerve　or　quickness；　all　the　good　he　had　done　and　tried　to　do　in　his　life　would　not　pensate　for　this　one　catastrophic　failure。　
　Perhaps　that　attitude　proved　that　he　was；　as　some　friends　suggested；　too　hard　on　himself；　but　he　knew　that　many　pilots　worked　under　no　less　heavy　a　sense　of　responsibility。　
　He　remembered　what　the　stranger　had　said：〃。　。　you'll　lose　a　hundred　andforty…seven　passengers。　。　。〃　His　hands　throbbed　with　pain　as　he　kept　a　tight　grip　on　the　yoke；　which　vibrated　violently。　
　〃。　。　plus　four　flight　attendants。　。　。〃　
　Twelve　hundred　meters。　
　〃She　wants　to　e　right；〃　Delbaugh　said。　
　〃Hold　her！〃　Anilov　said；　for　at　this　low　altitude　and　on　an　approach；　it　was　all　in　Delbaugh's　hands。　
　One　hundred　and　fifty…one　dead；　all　those　families　bereaved；　countles　other　lives　altered　by　a　single　tragedy。　
　Eleven　hundred　meters。　
　But　how　the　hell　could　that　guy　know　how　many　would　die？　Not　possible。　
　Was　he　trying　to　say　he　was　clairvoyant　or　what？　It　was　all　a　crock；　as　Yankowski　had　said。　Yeah；　but　he　knew　about　the　engine　before　it　exploded；　he　knew　about　the　washboard　turbulence；　and　only　an　idiot　would　discount　all　of　that。　
　A　thousand　meters。　
　〃Here　we　go；〃　Delbaugh　heard　himself　say。　
　Bent　forward　in　his　seat；　head　between　his　knees；　gripping　his　ankles；　Jim　Ironheart　thought　of　the　punchline　to　an　old　joke：　kiss　your　ass　goodbye。　
　He　prayed　that　by　his　own　actions　he　had　not　disrupted　the　river　of　fate　to　such　an　extent　that　he　would　wash　away　not　only　himself　and　the　Dubroveks　but　other　people　on　Flight　246　who　had　never　been　meant　to　die　in　the　crash。　Because　of　what　he　had　told　the　pilot；　he　had　potentially　altered　the　future；　and　now　what　happened　might　be　worse；　not　better；　than　what　had　been　meant　to　happen。　
　The　higher　power　working　through　him　had　seemed；　ultimately；　to　approve　of　his　attempt　to　save　more　lives　than　just　those　of　Christine　and　Casey。　On　the　other　hand；　the　nature　and　identity　of　that　power　was　so　enigmatic　that　only　a　fool　would　presume　to　understand　its　motives　or　intentions。　
　The　plane　shivered　and　shook。　The　scream　of　the　engines　seemed　to　grow　ever　more　shrill。　
　He　stared　at　the　deck　beneath　his　feet；　expecting　it　to　burst　open。　
　More　than　anything；　he　was　afraid　for　Holly　Thorne。　Her　presence　on　the　flight　was　a　profound　deviation　from　the　script　that　fate　had　originally　written。　He　was　eaten　by　a　fear　that　he　might　save　the　lives　of　more　people　on　the　plane　than　he'd　at　first　intended…but　that　Holly　would　be　broken　in　half　by　the　impact。　
　As　the　DC…10　quaked　and　rattled　its　way　toward　the　earth；　Holly　squeezed　herself　into　as　tight　a　package　as　she　could；　and　closed　her　eyes。　
　In　her　private　darkness；　faces　swam　through　her　mind：　her　mom　and　dad；　which　was　to　be　expected；　Lenny　Callaway；　the　first　boy　she　had　ever　loved；　which　was　not　expected；　because　she　had　not　seen　him　since　they　were　both　sixteen；　Mrs。　Rooney；　a　high…school　teacher　who　had　taken　a　special　interest　in　her；　Lori　Clugar；　her　best　friend　all　through　high　school　and　half　of　college；　before　life　had　carried　them　to　different　corners　of　the　country　and　out　of　touch；　and　more　than　a　dozen　others；　all　of　whom　she　had　loved　and　still　loved。　No　one　person　could　have　occupied　her　thoughts　for　more　than　a　fraction　of　a　second；　yet　the　nearness　of　death　seemed　to　distort　time；　so　she　felt　as　if　she　were　lingering　with　each　beloved　face。　
　What　flashed　before　her　was　not　her　life；　but　the　special　people　in　it　though　in　a　way　that　was　the　same　thing。　
　Even　above　the　creak…rumble…shriek　of　the　jet；　and　in　spite　of　her　focus　on　the　faces　in　her　mind；　she　heard　Christine　Dubrovek　speak　to　her　daughter　in　the　last　moments　of　their　shaky　descent：　〃I　love　you；　Casey。〃　
　Holly　began　to　cry。　
　Three　hundred　meters。　
　Delbaugh　had　the　nose　up。　
　Everything　looked　good。　As　good　as　it　could　look　under　the　circumstances。　
　They　were　at　a　slight　angle　to　the　runway；　but　he　might　be　able　to　realign　the　aircraft　once　they　were　on　the　ground。　If　he　couldn't　bring　it　around　to　any　useful　degree；　they　would　roll　three　thousand　or　maybe　even　four　thousand　feet　before　their　angle　of　approach　carried　them　off　the　edge　of　the　pavement　and　into　a　field　where　it　appeared　that　a　crop　of　some　kind　had　been　harvested　recently。　That　was　not　a　desirable　termination　point；　but　at　least　by　then　a　lot　of　their　momentum　would　have　been　lost；　the　plane　might　still　break　up；　depending　on　the　nature　of　the　bare　earth　under　its　wheels；　but　there　was　little　chance　that　it　would　disintegrate　catastrophically。　
　Two　hundred　meters。　
　Turbulence　gone。　
　Floating。　Like　a　feather。　
　〃All　right；〃　Anilov　said；　just　as　Delbaugh　said；　〃Easy；　easy；〃　and　they　both　meant　the　same　thing：　it　looked　good；　they　were　going　to　make　it。　
　One　hundred　meters。　
　Nose　still　up。　
　Perfect；　perfect。　
　Touchdown　and　TWANG！　…the　tires　barked　on　the　blacktop　simultaneously　with　the　queer　sound。　
　Delbaugh　remembered　the　stranger's　warning；　so　he　said；　〃Power　number　one！〃　and　pulled　hard　to　the　left。　Yankowski　remembered　as　well；　though　he　had　said　it　was　all　a　crock；　and　he　responded　to　Delbaugh's　throttle　mand　even　as　it　was　being　given。　The　right　wing　dipped；　just　as　they　had　been　told　it　would；　but　their　quick　action　pulled　the　plane　left；　and　the　right　wing　came　back　up。　There　was　a　danger　of　overpensation；　so　Delbaugh　issued　a　new　throttle　mand　while　still　trying　to　hold　the　craft　to　the　left。　They　were　rolling　along；　rolling　along；　the　plane　shaking；　and　he　gave　the　order　to　reverse　engines　because　they　couldn't；　for　God's　sake；　continue　to　accelerate；　they　were　in　mortal　danger　as　long　as　they　were　moving　at　high　speed；　rolling；　rolling；　moving　inexorably　at　an　angle　on　the　runway；　rolling　and　slowing　now；　but　rolling。　And　the　right　wing　was　tipping　down　again；　acpanied　by　hellish　popping　and　metallic　tearing　noises　as　age…fatigued　steel…trouble　in　the　joining　of　wing　and　fuselage；　Jim　had　said…succumbed　to　the　stress　of　their　wildly　erratic　flight　and　once…in…a…century　crosswinds。　Rolling；　rolling；　but　Delbaugh　couldn't　do　a　damn　thing　about　a　structural　failure；　couldn't　get　out　there　and　reweld　the　joints　or　hold　the　damn　rivets　in　place。　Rolling；　rolling；　their　momentum　dropping；　but　the　right　wing　still　going　down；　none　of　his　countermeasures　working　any　longer；　the　wing　down；　and　down；　oh　God；　the　wing　Holly　felt　the　plane　tipping　farther　to　the　right　than　before。　
　She　held　her　breath　or　thought　she　did；　but　at　the　same　time　she　heard　herself　gasping　frantically。　
　The　creaks　and　squea