dk.solesurvivor-第3节

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；　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　any　more。
　　The　sweat　on　his　face　began　to　dry　in　the　cold　air　gushing　from　the　dashboard　vents。
　　He　was　no　longer　plagued　by　a　sensation　of　falling。　He　had　reached　bottom。
　　Through　the　August　heat　and　a　thin　haze　of　smog；　passing　cars　and　trucks　shimmered　like　mirages；　trembling　westward　toward　cleaner　air　and　the　cooling　sea。　Joe　waited　for　a　break　in　traffic　and　then　headed　once　more　for　the　edge　of　the　continent。
　　
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　　The　sand　was　bone　white　in　the　glare　of　the　August　sun。　Cool　and　green　and　rolling　came　the　sea；　scattering　the　tiny　shells　of　dead　and　dying　creatures　on　the　strand。
　　The　beach　at　Santa　Monica　was　crowded　with　people　tanning；　playing　games；　and　eating　picnic　lunches　on　blankets　and　big　towels。　Although　the　day　was　a　scorcher　farther　inland；　here　it　was　merely　pleasantly　warm；　with　a　breeze　ing　off　the　Pacific。
　　A　few　sunbathers　glanced　curiously　at　Joe　as　he　walked　north　through　the　coconut…oiled　throng；　because　he　was　not　dressed　for　the　beach。　He　wore　a　white　T…shirt；　tan　chinos；　and　running　shoes　without　socks。　He　had　not　e　to　swim　or　sunbathe。
　　As　lifeguards　watched　the　swimmers；　strolling　young　women　in　bikinis　watched　the　lifeguards。　Their　rhythmic　rituals　distracted　them　entirely　from　the　architects　of　shells　cast　on　the　foaming　shore　near　their　feet。
　　Children　played　in　the　surf；　but　Joe　could　not　bear　to　watch　them。　Their　laughter；　shouts；　and　squeals　of　delight　abraded　his　nerves　and　sparked　in　him　an　irrational　anger。
　　Carrying　a　Styrofoam　cooler　and　a　towel；　he　continued　north；　gazing　at　the　seared　hills　of　Malibu　beyond　the　curve　of　Santa　Monica　Bay。　At　last　he　found　a　less　populated　stretch　of　sand。　He　unrolled　the　towel；　sat　facing　the　sea；　and　took　a　bottle　of　beer　from　its　bed　of　ice　in　the　cooler。
　　If　ocean…view　property　had　been　within　his　means；　he　would　have　finished　out　his　life　at　the　water's　edge。　The　ceaseless　susurration　of　surf；　the　sun…gilded　and　moon…silvered　relentlessness　of　ining　breakers；　and　the　smooth　liquid　curve　to　the　far　horizon　brought　him　not　any　sense　of　peace；　not　serenity；　but　a　wele　numbness。
　　The　rhythms　of　the　sea　were　all　he　ever　expected　to　know　of　eternity　and　of　God。
　　If　he　drank　a　few　beers　and　let　the　therapeutic　vistas　of　the
　　
　　Pacific　wash　through　him；　he　might　then　be　calm　enough　to　go　to　the　cemetery。　To　stand　upon　the　earth　that　blanketed　his　wife　and　his　daughters。　To　touch　the　stone　that　bore　their　names。
　　This　day；　of　all　days；　he　had　an　obligation　to　the　dead。　Two　teenage　boys；　improbably　thin；　wearing　baggy　swim　trunks　slung　low　on　their　narrow　hips；　ambled　along　the　beach　from　the　north　and　stopped　near　Joe's　towel。　One　wore　his　long　hair　in　a　ponytail；　the　other　in　a　buzz　cut。　Both　were　deeply　browned　by　the　sun。　They　turned　to　gaze　at　the　ocean；　their　backs　to　him；　blocking　his　view。
　　As　Joe　was　about　to　ask　them　to　move　out　of　his　way；　the　kid　with　the　ponytail　said；　'You　holding　anything；　man？'
　　Joe　didn't　answer　because　he　thought；　at　first；　that　the　boy　was　talking　to　his　buzz…cut　friend。
　　'You　holding　anything？'　the　kid　asked　again；　still　staring　at　the　ocean。　'Looking　to　make　a　score　or　move　some　merchandise？'
　　'I've　got　nothing　but　beer；'　Joe　said　impatiently；　tipping　up　his　sunglasses　to　get　a　better　look　at　them；　'and　it's　not　for　sale。'
　　'Well；'　said　the　kid　with　the　buzz　cut；　'if　you　ain't　a　candy　store；　there's　a　couple　guys　watching　sure　think　you　are。'
　　'Where？'
　　'Don't　look　now；'　said　the　boy　with　the　ponytail。　'Wait　till　we　get　some　distance。　We　been　watching　them　watch　you。　They　stink　of　cop　so　bad；　I'm　surprised　you　can't　smell　'em。'
　　The　other　said；　'Fifty　feet　south；　near　the　lifeguard　tower。　Two　dinks　in　Hawaiian　shirts；　look　like　preachers　on　vacation。'
　　'One's　got　binoculars。　One's　got　a　walkie…talkie。'　Bewildered；　Joe　lowered　his　sunglasses　and　said；　'Thanks。'　'Hey；'　said　the　boy　with　the　ponytail；　'just　doing　the　friendly　thing；　man。　We　hate　those　self…righteous　assholes。'
　　With　nihilistic　bitterness　that　sounded　absurd　ing　from　anyone　so　young；　the　kid　with　the　buzz　cut　said；　'Screw　the　system。'
　　As　arrogant　as　young　male　tigers；　the　boys　continued　south　along　the　beach；　checking　out　the　girls。　Joe　had　never　gotten　a　good　look　at　their　faces。
　　A　few　minutes　later；　when　he　finished　his　first　beer；　he　turned；　opened　the　lid　of　the　cooler；　put　away　the　empty　can；　and　looked　nonchalantly　back　along　the　sward。　Two　men　in　Hawaiian　shirts　were　standing　in　the　shadow　of　the　lifeguard　tower。
　　The　taller　of　the　two；　in　a　predominantly　green　shirt　and　white　cotton　slacks；　was　studying　Joe　through　a　pair　of　binoculars。　Alert　to　the　possibility　that　he'd　been　spotted；　he　calmly　turned　with　the　binoculars　to　the　south；　as　if　interested　not　in　Joe　but　in　a　group　of　bikini…clad　teenagers。
　　The　shorter　man　wore　a　shirt　that　was　mostly　red　and　orange。　His　tan　slacks　were　rolled　at　the　cuffs。　He　was　barefoot　in　the　sand；　holding　his　shoes　and　socks　in　his　left　hand。
　　In　his　right　hand；　held　down　at　his　side；　wa