dk.coldfire-第31部分

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　She　held　her　breath　or　thought　she　did；　but　at　the　same　time　she　heard　herself　gasping　frantically。　
　The　creaks　and　squeals　of　tortured　metal；　which　had　been　echoing　eerily　through　the　fuselage　for　a　couple　of　minutes；　suddenly　grew　much　louder。　
　The　aircraft　tipped　farther　to　the　right。　A　sound　like　a　cannonshot　boomed　through　the　passenger　partment；　and　the　plane　bounced　up；　came　down　hard。　The　landing　gear　collapsed。　
　They　were　sliding　along　the　runway；　rocking　and　jolting；　then　the　plane　began　to　turn　as　it　slid；　making　Holly's　heart　clutch　up　and　her　stomach　knot。　It　was　the　biggest　carnival　ride　in　the　world；　except　it　wasn't　any　fun　at　all；　her　seatbelt　was　like　a　blade　against　her　midriff；　cutting　her　in　half；　and　if　there　had　been　a　carny　ticket…taker；　she　knew　he　would　have　had　the　ghastly　face　of　a　rotting　corpse　and　a　rictus　for　a　smile。　
　The　noise　was　intolerable；　though　the　passengers'　screaming　was　not　the　worst　of　it。　For　the　most　part　their　voices　were　drowned　out　by　the　scream　of　the　aircraft　itself　as　its　belly　dissolved　against　the　pavement　and　other　pieces　of　it　were　torn　loose。　Maybe　dinosaurs；　sinking　into　Mesozoic　pits　of　tar；　had　equaled　the　volume　of　that　dying　cry；　but　nothing　on　the　face　of　the　earth　since　that　era　had　protested　its　demise　at　such　a　piercing　pitch　and　thunderous　volume。　It　wasn't　purely　a　machine　sound；　it　was　metallic　but　somehow　alive；　and　it　was　so　eerie　and　chilling　that　it　might　have　been　the　bined；　tortured　cries　of　all　the　denizens　of　hell；　hundreds　of　millions　of　despairing　souls　wailing　at　once。　She　was　sure　her　eardrums　would　burst。　
　Disregarding　the　instructions　she　had　been　given；　she　raised　her　head　and　looked　quickly　around。　Cascades　of　white；　yellow；　and　turquoise　sparks　foamed　past　the　portholes；　as　if　the　airplane　was　passing　through　an　extravagant　fireworks　display。　Six　or　seven　rows　ahead；　the　fuselage　cracked　open　like　an　eggshell　rapped　against　the　edge　of　a　ceramic　bowl。　
　She　had　seen　enough；　too　much。　She　tucked　her　head　between　her　knees　again。　
　She　heard　herself　chanting　at　the　deck　in　front　of　her；　but　she　was　caught　in　such　a　whirlpool　of　horror　that　the　only　way　she　could　discover　what　she　was　saying　was　to　strain　to　hear　herself　above　the　cacophony　of　the　crash：　〃Don't；　don't；　don't；　don't；　don't；　don't。　〃　Maybe　she　passed　out　for　a　few　seconds；　or　maybe　her　senses　shut　down　briefly　due　to　extreme　overload；　but　in　a　wink　everything　was　still。　The　air　was　filled　with　acrid　odors　that　her　recovering　senses　could　not　identify。　
　The　ordeal　was　over；　but　she　could　not　recall　the　plane　ing　to　rest。　
　She　was　alive。　
　Intense　joy　swept　through　her。　She　raised　her　head；　sat　up；　ready　to　whoop　with　the　uncontainable　thrill　of　survival…and　saw　the　fire。　
　The　DC…10　had　not　cartwheeled。　The　warning　to　Captain　Delbaugh　had　paid　off　But　as　Jim　had　feared；　the　chaotic　aftermath　of　the　crash　held　as　many　dangers　as　the　impact　itself　Along　the　entire　starboard　side　of　the　plane；　where　jet　fuel　had　spilled；　orange　flames　churned　at　the　windows。　
　It　appeared　as　if　he　was　voyaging　aboard　a　submarine　in　a　sea　of　fire　on　an　alien　world。　Some　of　the　windows　had　shattered　on　impact；　and　flames　were　spouting　through　those　apertures；　as　well　as　through　the　ragged　tear　in　the　fuselage　that　now　separated　economy　class　from　the　forward　section　of　the　airliner。　
　Even　as　Jim　uncoupled　his　seatbelt　and　got　shakily　to　his　feet；　he　saw　seats　catching　afire　on　the　starboard　side。　Passengers　over　there　were　crouching　or　dropping　down　on　their　hands　and　knees　to　scramble　under　the　spreading　flames。　
　He　stepped　into　the　aisle；　grabbed　Holly；　and　hugged　her　as　she　struggled　to　her　feet。　He　looked　past　her　at　the　Dubroveks。　Mother　and　child　were　uninjured；　though　Casey　was　crying。　
　Holding　Holly　by　the　hand；　searching　for　the　quickest　way　out；　Jim　turned　toward　the　back　of　the　aircraft　and　for　a　moment　could　not　understand　what　he　was　seeing。　Like　a　voracious　blob　out　of　an　old　horror　movie；　an　amorphous　mass　churned　toward　them　from　the　hideously　gouged　and　crumpled　rear　of　the　DC…10；　black　and　billowy；　devouring　everything　over　which　it　rolled。　Smoke。　He　hadn't　instantly　realized　it　was　smoke　because　it　was　so　thick　that　it　appeared　to　have　the　substance　of　a　wall　of　oil　or　mud。　
　Death　by　suffocation；　or　worse；　lay　behind　them。　They　would　have　to　go　forward　in　spite　of　the　fire　ahead。　Flames　licked　around　the　torn　edge　of　fuselage　on　the　starboard　side；　reaching　well　into　the　cabin；　fanning　across　more　than　half　the　diameter　of　the　sliced…open　aircraft。　
　But　they　should　be　able　to　exit　toward　the　port　side；　where　no　fire　was　yet　visible。　
　〃Quick；〃　he　said；　turning　to　Christine　and　Casey　as　they　came　out　of　row　sixteen。　〃Forward；　fast　as　you　can；　go；　go！〃　However；　other　passengers　from　the　first　six　rows　of　the　economy　section　were　in　the　aisle　ahead　of　them。　Everyone　was　trying　to　get　out　fast。　A　valiant　young　flight　attendant　was　doing　what　she　could　to　help；　but　progress　was　not　easy。　The　aisle　was　littered　with　carry…on　luggage；　purses；　paperback　books；　and　other　items　that　had　fallen　out　of　the　overhead　storage　partments；　and　within　a　few　shuffling　steps；　Jim's　feet　had　bee　entangled　in　debris。　
　The　churning　smoke　reached　them　from　behind；　enfolded　them；　so　pungent　that　his　eyes　teared　at　once。　He　not　only　choked　on　the　first　whiff　of　fumes　but　gagged　with　revulsion；　and　he　did　not　want　to　think　about　what　might　be　burning　behind　him　in　addition　to　upholstery；　foam　seat　cushions；　carpet；　and　other　elements　of　the　aircraft's　interior　decor。　
　As　the　thick　oily　cloud　poured　past　him　and　engulfed　the　forward　section；　the　passengers　ahead　began　to　vanish。　They　appeared　to　be　stepping　through　the　folds　of　a　black　velvet　curtain。　
　Before　visibility　dropped　to　a　couple　of　inches；　Jim　let　go　of　Holly　and　clutched　Christine's　shoulder。　〃Let　me　take　her；〃　he　said；　and　scooped　Casey　into　his　arms。　
　A　paper　bag　from　an　LAX　giftshop　was　in　the　aisle　at　his　feet。　It　had　burst　open　as　people　tramped　across　it。　He　saw　a　white　T…shirt…I　LovE　L。A：　with　pink　and　peach　and　pale…green　palm　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