and his powerful handlight barely penetrated the
gloom. Blood was smeared over almost every surface and the stink of
leaking jet fuel was virtually overpowering. From the depths of the
nightmarish scene came a tortured scream. Kelly reached into a
coverall pocket and produced another sedation hypo. She squirmed
around and started to slip down into the wreckage with Ferguson.
Martin grabbed her arm. "No, Kelly, this thing's ready to blow. Come
on, Clay, get out of there. Now!"

Ferguson continued to pry at the twisted plates below him.

"I said 'get out of there' Ferguson," the senior officer roared. "And
that's an order."

Clay straightened up and put his hands on the edge of the window to
boost himself out. "Ben, there's a guy alive down there. We just can't
leave him."

"Get down from there, Kelly," Martin ordered. "I know that man's down
there just as well as you do, Clay. But we won't be helping him one
damn bit if we get blown to hell and gone right along with him. Now
get outta there and maybe we can pull this thing apart and get to him
before it does blow."

The lanky Canadian eased out of the window and the two troopers moved
back to the patrol car. Kelly was already in her dispensary, working
on the injured woman.

Martin slid into his control seat. "Shut your ramp, Kelly," he called
over the intercom, "I'm going to move around to the other side."

The radio broke in. "Car 119 to Car 56, we're just turning into the
divider. Be there in a minute."

"Snap it up," Ben replied. "We need you in a hurry."

As he maneuvered Beulah around the wreckage he snapped orders to
Ferguson.

"Get the foam nozzles up, just in case, and then stand by on the
crane."

A mile away, they saw the flashing emergency lights of Car 119 as it
raced diagonally across the yellow and blue lanes, whipping with
ponderous ease through the moving traffic.

"Take the south side, 119," Martin called out. "We'll try and pull
this mess apart."

"Affirmative," came the reply. Even before the other patrol vehicle
came to a halt, its crane was swinging out from the side, and the
ganged magnalocks were dangling from their cables.

"O.K., kid," Ben ordered, "hook it."

At the interior crane controls, Clay swung Beulah's crane and cable
mags towards the wreckage. The magnalocks slammed into the metallic
mess with a bang almost at the same instant the locks hit the other
side from Car 119.

Clay eased up the cable slack. "Good," Ben