dk.solesurvivor-第2部分

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could　not　reason　himself　back　to　a　perception　of　stability。
　　Indeed；　the　plummeting　sensation　grew　so　severe　and　terrifying　that　he　took　his　foot　off　the　accelerator　and　tapped　the　brake　pedal。
　　Horns　blared　and　skidding　tyres　squealed　as　traffic　adjusted　to　his　sudden　deceleration。　As　cars　and　trucks　swept　past　the　Honda；　the　drivers　glared　murderously　at　Joe　or　mouthed　offensive　words；　or　made　obscene　gestures。　This　was　greater　Los　Angeles　in　an　age　of　change；　crackling　with　the　energy　of　doom；　yearning　for　the　Apocalypse；　where　an　unintended　slight　or　an　inadvertent　trespass　on　someone　else's　turf　might　result　in　a　thermonuclear　response。
　　His　sense　of　falling　did　not　abate。　His　stomach　turned　over　as　if　he　were　aboard　a　roller　coaster；　plunging　along　a　precipitous　length　of　track。　Although　he　was　alone　in　the　car；　he　heard　the　screams　of　passengers；　faint　at　first　and　then　louder；　not　the　good…humoured　shrieks　of　thrill　seekers　at　an　amusement　park；　but　cries　of　genuine　anguish。
　　As　though　from　a　distance；　he　listened　to　himself　whispering；　'No；　no；　no；　no。；
　　A　brief　gap　in　traffic　allowed　him　to　angle　the　Honda　off　the　pavement。　The　shoulder　of　the　freeway　was　narrow。　He　stopped　as　close　as　possible　to　the　guardrail；　over　which　lush　oleander　bushes　loomed　like　a　great　cresting　green　tide。
　　He　put　the　car　in　park　but　didn't　switch　off　the　engine。　Even　though　he　was　sheathed　in　cold　sweat；　he　needed　the　chill　blasts　of　air…conditioning　to　be　able　to　breathe。　The　pressure　on　his　chest　increased。　Each　stuttering　inhalation　was　a　struggle；　and　each　hot　exhalation　burst　from　him　with　an　explosive　wheeze。
　　Although　the　air　in　the　Honda　was　clear；　Joe　smelled　smoke。　He　tasted　it　too：　the　acrid　melange　of　burning　oil；　melting　plastic；　smouldering　vinyl；　scorched　metal。
　　When　he　glanced　at　the　dense　clusters　of　leaves　and　the　deep…red　flowers　of　the　oleander　pressing　against　the　windows　on　the　passenger　side；　his　imagination　morphed　them　into　billowing　clouds　of　greasy　smoke。　The　window　became　a　rectangular　porthole　with　rounded　corners　and　thick　dual…pane　glass。
　　Joe　might　have　thought　he　was　losing　his　mind…if　he　hadn't　suffered　similar　anxiety　attacks　during　the　past　year。　Although　sometimes　as　much　as　two　weeks　passed　between　episodes；　he　often　endured　as　many　as　three　in　one　day；　each　lasting　between　ten　minutes　and　half　an　hour。
　　He　had　seen　a　therapist。　The　counselling　had　not　helped。
　　His　doctor　remended　anti…anxiety　medication。　He　rejected　the　prescription。　He　wanted　to　feel　the　pain。　It　was　all　he　had。
　　Closing　his　eyes；　covering　his　face　with　his　icy　hands；　he　strove　to　regain　control　of　himself；　but　the　catastrophe　continued　to　unfold　around　him。　The　sense　of　falling　intensified。　The　smell　of　smoke　thickened。　The　screams　of　phantom　passengers　grew　louder。
　　Everything　shook。　The　floor　beneath　his　feet。　The　cabin　walls。　The　ceiling。　Horrendous　rattling　and　twanging　and　banging　and　gong…like　clanging　acpanied　the　shaking；　shaking；　shaking。
　　'Please；'　he　pleaded。
　　Without　opening　his　eyes；　he　lowered　his　hands　from　his　face。　They　lay　fisted　at　his　sides。
　　After　a　moment；　the　small　hands　of　frightened　children　clutched　at　his　hands；　and　he　held　them　tightly。
　　The　children　were　not　in　the　car；　of　course；　but　in　their　seats　in　the　doomed　airliner。　Joe　was　flashing　back　to　the　crash　of　Flight　353。　For　the　duration　of　this　seizure；　he　would　be　in　two　places　at　once：
　　in　the　real　world　of　the　Honda　and　in　the　Nationwide　Air　747　as　it　found　its　way　down　from　the　serenity　of　the　stratosphere；　through
　　overcast　night　sky；　into　a　meadow　as　unforgiving　as　iron。
　　Michelle　had　been　sitting　between　the　kids。　Her　hands；　not　Joe's；　were　those　that　Chrissie　and　Nina　gripped　in　their　last　long　minutes　of　unimaginable　dread。
　　As　the　shaking　grew　worse；　the　air　was　filled　with　projectiles。
　　
　　Paperback　books；　laptop　puters；　pocket　calculators；　flatware　and　dishes…because　a　few　passengers　had　not　yet　finished　dinner　when　disaster　struck…plastic　drinking　glasses；　single…serving　bottles　of　liquor；　pencils　and　pens　ricocheted　through　the　cabin。
　　Coughing　because　of　the　smoke；　Michelle　would　have　urged　the　girls　to　keep　their　heads　down。　Heads　down。　Protect　your　faces。
　　Such　faces。　Beloved　faces。　Seven…year…old　Chrissie　had　her　mother's　high　cheekbones　and　clear　green　eyes。　Joe　would　never　forget　the　flush　of　joy　that　suffused　Chrissie's　face　when　she　was　taking　a　ballet　lesson；　or　the　squint…eyed　concentration　with　which　she　approached　home　plate　to　take　her　turn　at　bat　in　Little　League　baseball　games。　Nina；　only　four；　the　pug…nosed　munchkin　with　eyes　as　blue　as　sapphires；　had　a　way　of　crinkling　her　sweet　face　in　pure　delight　at　the　sight　of　a　dog　or　cat。　Animals　were　drawn　to　her…and　she　to　them…as　though　she　were　the　reincarnation　of　St。　Francis　of　Assisi；　which　was　not　a　far…fetched　idea　when　one　saw　her　gazing　with　wonder　and　love　upon　even　an　ugly　garden　lizard　cupped　in　her　small；　careful　hands。
　　Heads　down。　Protect　your　faces。
　　In　that　advice　was　hope；　the　implication　that　they　would　all　survive　and　that　the　worst　thing　that　might　happen　to　them　would　be　a　face…disfiguring　encounter　with　a　hurtling　laptop　or　broken　glass。
　　The　fearsome　turbulence　increased。　The　angle　of　descent　grew　more　severe；　pinning　Joe　to　his　seat；　so　that　he　couldn't　easily　bend　forward　and　protect　his　face。
　　Maybe　the　oxygen　masks　dropped　from　overhead；　or　maybe　damage　to　the　craft　had　resulted　in　a　systems　failure；　with　the　consequence　that　masks　had　not　been　deployed　at　every　seat。　He　didn't　know　if　Michelle；　Chrissie；　and　Nina　had　been　able　to　breathe　or　if；　choking　on　the　billowing　soot；　they　had　struggled　futilely　to　find　fresh　air。
　　Smoke　surged　more　thickly　through　the　passenger　partment。　The　cabin　became　as　claustrophobic　as　any　coal　mine　deep　beneath　the　surface　of　the　earth。
　　In　the　blinding　blackdamp；　unseen　sinuosities　of　fire　uncoiled　like　snakes。　The　wrenching　terror　of　the　aircraft's　uncontrolled　descent　was　equalled　by　the　terror　of　not　knowing　where　those　flames　were　or　when　they　might　flash　with　greater　vigour　through　the　747。
　　As　the　stress　on　the　airliner　increased　to　all　but　intolerable　levels；　thunderous　vibrations　shuddered　through　the　fuselage。　The　giant　wings　thrummed　as　though　they　would　tear　loose。　The　steel　frame　groaned　like　a　living　beast　in　mortal　agony；　and　perhaps　minor　welds　broke　with　sounds　as　loud　and　sharp　as　gunshots。　A　few　rivets　sheered　off；　each　with　a　piercing　screeeeek。
　　To　Michelle　and　Chrissie　and　little　Nina；　perhaps　it　seemed　that　the　plane　would　disintegrate　in　flight　and　that　they　would　be　cast　into　the　black　sky；　be　spun　away　from　one　another；　plummeting　in　their　separate　seats　to　three　separate　deaths；　each　abjectly　alone　at　the　instant　of　impact。
　　The　huge　747…400；　however；　was　a　marvel　of　design　and　a　triumph　of　engineering；　brilliantly　conceived　and　soundly　constructed。　In　spite　of　the　mysterious　hydraulics　failure　that　rendered　the　aircraft　uncontrollable；　the　wings　did　not　tear　loose；　and　the　fuselage　did　not　disintegrate。　Its　powerful　Pratt　and　Whitney　engines　screaming　as　if　in　defiance　of　gravity；　Nationwide　Flight　353　held　together　throughout　its　final　descent。
　　At　some　point　Michelle　would　have　realized　that　all　hope　was　lost；　that　they　were　in　a　dying　plunge。　With　characteristic　courage　and　selflessness；　she　would　have　thought　only　of　the　children　then；　would　have　concentrated　on　forting　them；　distracting　them　as　much　as　possible　from　thoughts　of　death。　No　doubt　she　leaned　toward　Nina；　pulled　her　close；　and　in　spite　of　the　breath…stealing　fumes；　spoke　into　the　girl's　ear　to　be　heard　above　the　clamour：　it's　okay；　baby；　we're　together；　I　love　you；　hold　on　to　Mommy；　I　love　you；　you're　the　best　little　girl　who　ever　was。　Shaking　down；　down；　down　through　the　Colorado　night；　her　voice　full　of　emotion　but　devoid　of　panic　she　had　surely　sought　out　Chrissie　too：　it's　all　right；　I'm　with　you；　honey；　hold　my　hand；　I　love　you　so　much；　I'm　so　very　proud　of　you；　we're　together；　it's　all　right；　we'll　always　be　together。
　　In　the　Honda　alongside　the　freeway；　Joe　could　hear　Michelle's　voice　almost　as　if　from　memory；　as　though　he　had　been　with　her　as　she　had　forted　the　children。　He　wanted　desperately　to　believe　that　his　daughters　had　been　able　to　draw　upon　the　strength　of　the　exceptional　woman　who　had　been　their　mother。　He　needed　to　know　that　the　last　thing　the　girls　heard　in　this　world　was　Michelle　telling　them　how　very　precious　they　were；　how　cherished。
　　The　airliner　met　the　meadow　with　such　devastating　impact　that　the　sound　was　heard　more　than　twenty　miles　away　in　the　rural　Colorado　vastness；　stirring　hawks　and　owls　and　eagles　out　of　trees　and　into　flight；　startling　weary　ranchers　from　their　armchairs　and　early　beds。
　　
　　In　the　Honda；　Joe　Carpenter　let　out　a　muffled　cry。　He　doubled　over　as　if　he　had　been　struck　hard　in　the　chest。
　　The　crash　was　catastrophic。　Flight　353　exploded　on　impact　and　tumbled　across　the　meadow；　disintegrating　into　thousands　of　scorched　and　twisted　fragments；　spewing　orange　gouts　of　burning　jet　fuel　that　set　fire　to　evergreens　at　the　edge　of　the　field。　Three　hundred　and　thirty　people；　including　passengers　and　crew；　perished　instantly。
　　Michelle；　who　had　taught　Joe　Carpenter　most　of　what　he　knew　about　love　and　passion；　was　snuffed　out　in　that　merciless　moment。　Chrissie；　seven…year…old　ballerina　and　baseball　player；　would　never　again　pirouette　on　point　or　run　the　bases。　And　if　animals　felt　the　same　psychic　connection　with　Nina　that　she　felt　with　them；　then　in　that　chilly　Colorado　night；　the　meadows　and　the　wooded　hills　had　been　filled　with　small　creatures　that　cowered　miserably　in　their　burrows。
　　Of　his　family；　Joe　Carpenter　was　the　sole　survivor。
　　He　had　not　been　with　them　on　Flight　353。　Every　soul　aboard　had　been　hammered　into　ruin　against　the　anvil　of　the　earth。　If　he　had　been　with　them；　then　he　too　would　have　been　identifiable　only　by　his　dental　records　and　a　printable　finger　or　two。
　　His　flashbacks　to　the　crash　were　not　memories　but　exhausting　fevers　of　imagination；　frequently　expressed　in　dreams　and　sometimes　in　anxiety　attacks　like　this　one。　Racked　by　guilt　because　he　had　not　perished　with　his　wife　and　daughters；　Joe　tortured　himself　with　these　attempts　to　share　the　horror　that　they　must　have　experienced。
　　Inevitably；　his　imaginary　journeys　on　the　earthbound　airplane　failed　to　bring　him　the　healing　acceptance　for　which　he　longed。　Instead；　each　nightmare　and　each　waking　seizure　salted　his　wounds。
　　He　opened　his　eyes　and　stared　at　the　traffic　speeding　past　him。　If　he　chose　the　right　moment；　he　could　open　the　door；　step　out　of　the　car；　walk　onto　the　freeway；　and　be　struck　dead　by　a　truck。
　　He　remained　safely　in　the　Honda；　not　because　he　was　afraid　to　die；　but　for　reasons　unclear　even　to　him。　Perhaps；　for　the　time　being　at　least；　he　felt　the　need　to　punish　himself　with　more　life。
　　Against　the　passenger…side　windows；　the　overgrown　oleander　bushes　stirred　ceaselessly　in　the　wind　from　the　passing　traffic。　The　friction　of　the　greenery　against　the　glass　raised　an　eerie　whispering　like　lost　and　forlorn　voices。
　　He　was　not　shaking　an