cc.iceberg-第46节

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rs。
　
　One　step　in　front　of　the　other；　an　endless　cycle　that　slowly　pushed　Pitt　further　and　further　into　total　exhaustion。　His　thoughts　had　no　room　now　for　anything　but　the　next　landmark；　and　when　he　reached　it；　he　concentrated　every　ounce　of　his　sinking　energy　on　the　next　one。　Logic　was　nearly　nonexistent。　Only　when　he　heard　a　muted　alarm　going　off　somewhere　in　the　dim　corners　of　his　brain；　warning　him　that　he　was　straying　off　course；　did　he　stop　at　a　steaming　sulfur　pool　to　regain　a　heading　with　his　pass。
　
　Even　twelve　hours　ago　to　Pitt　seemed　like　twelve　years；　then　his　reflexes　had　been　razor…edged；　honed　and　pointed　for　any　necessary　mental　mand；　but　now　as　he　set　the　pin　in　the　water　his　trembling　hands　failed　him　and　the　ingenious　little　pass　supped　beneath　the　surface　and　shot　to　the　bottom　of　the　deep　crystal…clear　pool。　Pitt　had　time　to　grab　it　before　it　sank　out　of　reach；　but　he　could　only　sit　there　and　stare　transfixed　for　wasted　seconds　before　he　reacted　to　the　setback。　Then　it　was　too　late；　far　too　late；　for　his　hope　for　finding　his　way　out　of　Iceland's　barren　island　plateau　was　lost。
　
　His　puffed　eyes　were　almost　totally　closed；　his　legs　cramped　from　exhaustion；　and　his　breath　ing　in　agonized　gasps　that　broke　the　clear　still　air；　but　he　struggled　to　his　feet　and　stumbled　forward；　urged　on　by　an　inner　strength　he　didn't　know　existed。　For　the　next　two　hours　he　blundered　along　in　a　void　all　of　his　own。　Then；　in　the　middle　of　climbing　a　small　eight…foot　embankment；　his　body　turned　off　the　switch　to　consciousness　and　collapsed　like　a　deflated　balloon　just　inches　from　the　top　of　the　ridge。
　
　Pitt　knew　he　had　crossed　over　the　threshold　from　physical　sensibility　to　the　inertness　of　twilight　sleep。　But　something　didn't　quite　jell。　His　body　was　dead；　all　pain　was　gone；　all　feeling；　even　human　emotion　seemingly　had　died。　Yet；　he　could　still　see；　though　his　total　panorama　consisted　only　of　grass…covered　ground　no　more　than　a　few　inches　in　front　of　his　eyes。　And　he　could　hear；　his　ears　relayed　a　throbbing　sound　to　a　numbed　brain　that　refused　to　relay　any　explanation　as　to　the　cause　or　the　distance　from　which　the　strange　coughing　beat　came。
　
　Then　suddenly　there　was　silence。　The　sound　had　died　away；　leaving　only　the　vision　of　green　blades　wavering　slightly　in　a　whispering　breeze。　Something　in　the　desolation　over　which　he　had　stumbled　was　out　of　context。
　
　The　superhuman；　courageous　effort　had　been　wasted；　the　responsibility　to　the　people　back　in　the　freezing　ravine　now　evaporated　into　the　empty　atmosphere。　Pitt　was　past　caring　or　knowing　or　sensing　now；　he　could　relinquish　his　hold　on　life　and　peacefully　die　under　the　cold　Norse　sun。　It　would　have　been　so　easy　to　let　go　and　fall　into　the　black　pit　of　no　return　except　for　something　that　didn't　belong　in　the　picture；　an　illusion　that　shattered　the　whole　conception　of　death。
　
　A　pair　of　boots；　two　worn　leather　boots；　standing　in　front　of　Pitts　unseeing　eyes　where　only　a　moment　before　was　an　empty　plot　of　wild　grass。　And　then　phantom　hands　rolled　him　over　on　his　back　and　he　became　aware　of　a　face　framed　by　the　vacant　sky…a　stern　face　with　sea…blue　eyes。　Gray　hair　flowed　around　a　broad　forehead　like　the　helmet　on　a　warrior　in　a　Flemish　painting。　An　old　man；　aged　somewhere　beyond　seventy　years；　wearing　a　worn　turtleneck　sweater；　bent　and　touched　Pitts　face。
　
　Then　without　saying　a　word；　with　surprising　strength　for　a　man　of　his　years；　he　lifted　Pitt　up　and　carried　him　over　the　rise。　Through　the　cobwebs　of　his　mind；　Pitt　began　to　wonder　at　the　sheer　coincidence；　the　miracle；　which　indeed　it　was；　that　led　to　his　discovery。
　
　No　more　than　one　easy　stride　over　the　small　summit　lay　a　road；　he　had　fallen　within　spitting　distance　of　a　small　dirt　road　that　paralleled　a　tumbling　glacial　river　of　white　froth；　rushing　swiftly　through　a　narrow　gorge　of　black　lava　rock。　Yet　the　sound　Pitts　ears　had　detected　came　not　from　the　roar　of　the　falling　water；　but　from　the　exhaust　of　an　engine　belonging　to　a　battered；　dustcovered　British…made　jeep。
　
　Like　a　child　placing　a　doll　in　a　highchair；　the　old　Icelander　set　Pitt　in　the　front　passenger　seat　of　the　jeep。
　
　Then　he　climbed　behind　the　wheel　and　steered　the　rugged　little　vehicle　over　the　winding　road；　stopping　every　so　often　to　open　a　closed　cattle　gate；　an　operation　that　became　routine　as　they　entered　a　section　of　rolling　hills　divided　by　lush　green　meadows　bursting　with　plovers　that　clouded　the　sky　at　the　approach　of　the　jeep。　They　stopped　in　front　of　a　small　farmhouse　with　white　sideboards　and　a　red　roof。　Pitt　shrugged　off　the　supporting　hands　and　staggered　into　the　living　room　of　the　fortable　little　house。　〃A　telephone；　quickly。　I　need　a　telephone。
　
　The　blue　eyes　narrowed。　〃You　are　English？〃　the　Icelander　asked　slowly　in　a　heavy　Nordic　accent。
　〃American；〃　Pitt　answered　impatiently。　〃There　are　two　dozen　seriously　injured　people　out　there　who　will　die　if　we　don't　get　help　to　them　soon。〃
　〃There　are　others　on　the　plateau？〃　there　was　no　concealing　the　astonishment。
　〃Yes；　yes！〃　Pitt　nodded　his　head　violently。　God；　man；　the　phone。　Where　do　you　keep　it？〃
　
　The　Icelander　shrugged　helplessly。　〃The　nearest　telephone　lines　are　forty　kilometers　away。〃
　
　A　great　tidal　wave　of　despair　swept　over　Pitt　only　to　ebb　and　vanish　at　the　stranger's　next　words。
　〃However；　I　have　a　radio　transmitter。〃　He　motioned　to　a　side　room。　〃Please；　this　way。〃
　
　Pitt　followed　him　into　a　small；　well…lit；　but　Spartan　room；　the　three　primary　pieces　of　furniture　being　a　chair；　a　cabinet　and　an　ancient　hand…carved　table　holding　a　gleaming　transmitter；　not　more　than　a　few　months　from　manufacture；　Pitt　could　only　marvel　at　the　latest　equipment　being　used　in　an　isolated　farmhouse。　The　Icelander　crossed　hurriedly　to　the　transmitter；　sat　down　and　began　twisting　the　array　of　dials　and　knobs。　He　switched　the　radio　to　SEND；　selected　the　frequency　and　picked　up　the　microphone。
　
　He　spoke　a　few　words　rapidly　in　Icelandic　and　waited。　Nothing　came　back　over　the　speaker。　He　shifted　the　transmitting　frequency　fractionally　and　spoke　again。
　
　This　time　a　voice　answered　almost　immediately。　The　pressure　of　the　race　against　death　made　Pitt　as　tense　as　a　guy　wire　in　a　hurricane　gale；　and　in　total　indifference　to　his　pain　and　fatigue　he　paced　the　floor　while　his　benefactor　conversed　with　the　…Reykjavik　authorities。　After　ten　minutes　of　explanation　and　translation；　Pitt　requested　and　received　a　call　from　the　American　Embassy。
　〃Where　in　the　goddamned　hell　have　you　been？〃
　
　Sandecker's　voice　exploded　over　the　speaker　so　loudly　that　it　might　have　e　from　the　doorway。
　〃Waiting　for　a　streetcar；　walking　in　the　park；〃　Pitt　snapped　back。
　〃It　makes　no　difference。　How　soon　before　a　team　of　medics　can　be　assembled　and　in　the　air？〃
　
　There　was　a　tense　silence　before　the　admiral　answered。　There　was；　he　knew；　a　tone　of　urgent　insistence　in　Pitts　voice；　a　tone　Sandecker　had　seldom　heard　from　Pitts　lips。　〃I　can　have　a　team　of　Air　Force　paramedics　ready　to　load　in　thirty　minutes；〃　he　said　slowly。　〃Would　you　mind　telling　me　the　reason　behind　your　request　for　a　medical　unit？〃
　
　Pitt　didn't　answer　immediately。　His　thoughts　were　barely　able　to　focus。　He　nodded　thankfully　as　the　Icelander　offered　him　the　chair。
　〃Every　minute　we　waste　with　explanations；　someone　may　die。　For　God's　sake；　Admiral；〃　Pitt　implored；　〃contact　the　Air　Force　and　get　their　paramedics　loaded　on　helicopters　and　supplied　to　aid　victims　of　an　air　disaster。　Then　while　there's　time；　I　can　fill　you　in　on　the　details。〃
　〃Understood；〃　Sandecker　said　without　wasting　a　word。　〃Stand　by。〃
　
　Pitt　nodded　again；　this　time　to　himself；　and　slumped　dejectedly　in　the　chair。　It　won't　be　long　now；　he　thought；　if　only　they're　in　time。　He　felt　a　hand　on　his　shoulder；　half　turned　and　managed　a　crooked　smile　up　at　the　warm…eyed　Icelander。
　〃I've　been　a　rude　guest；〃　he　said　quietly。　〃I　haven't　introduced　myself　or　thanked　you　for　saving　my　life。〃
　
　The　old　man　offered　a　long；　weathered　hand。
　〃Golfur　Andursson；〃　he　said。　〃I　am　chief　guide　for　the　Rarfur　River。〃
　
　Pitt　grit）ped　Andursson's　hand　and　introduced　himself　and　then　asked；　〃A　chief　guide？〃
　〃Yes；　a　guide　is　also　the　river　warden。　We　act　as　guides　for　fishermen　and　watch　over　the　ecology　of　the　river；　much　like　a　conservationist　in　your　own　country　who　protects　the　natural　resoarces　of　your　inland　water　grounds。〃
　〃It　must　be　lonely　work…〃　Pitts　mouth　stopped　working　and　he　gasped　as　a　sharp　pain　in　his　chest　nearly　carried　him　into　blackness。　He　clutched　the　table；　fighting　to　remain　conscious。
　〃e；〃　Andursson　said。　〃You　must　let　me　tend　to　your　injuries。〃
　〃No；〃　Pitt　answered　firmly。　〃I　must　stay　by　the　radio。　I'm　not　leaving　this　chair。〃
　
　Andursson　hesitated。　Then　he　shook　his　head　and　said　nothing。　He　disappeared　from　the　room　and　returned　in　less　than　two　minutes　carrying　a　large　first…aid　case　and　a　bottle。
　
　You　are　lucky；〃　he　said　smiling。　〃One　of　your　countrymen　fished　the　river　just　last　month　and　left　this　with　me。〃　He　held　up　and　proudly　displayed　a　fifth　of　Seagram's　V。O。　Canadian　Whiskey。　Pitt　noticed　that　the　seal　on　the　cap　had　not　been　broken。
　
　Pitt　was　on