Code Three Page 5
Martin saw a clear area in the green lane and swung the car over thedividing curbing. The big tracks floated the patrol car over thetwo-foot high, rounded abutment that divided each speed lane. Snow wasfalling faster as the headlight picked out a tangled mass of wreckagesmoldering a hundred feet inside the median separating the green andwhite lanes. A crumpled body lay on the pavement twenty feet from thebiggest clump of smashed metal, and other fragments of vehicles werestrung out down the roadway for fifty feet. There was no movement.
NorCon thruway laws were strict and none were more rigidly enforcedthan the regulation that no one other than a member of the patrol setfoot outside of their vehicle while on any thruway traffic lane. Thismeant not giving any assistance whatsoever to accident victims. Theruling had been called inhuman, monstrous, unthinkable, and lawmakersin the three nations of the compact had forced NorCon to revoke therule in the early days of the thruways. After speeding cars and cargocarriers had cut down twice as many do-gooders on foot at accidentscenes than the accidents themselves caused, the law was reinstated.The lives of the many were more vital than the lives of a few.
Martin halted the patrol vehicle a few feet from the wreckage andBeulah was still rocking gently on her tracks by the time both PatrolTrooper Clay Ferguson and MSO Kelly Lightfoot hit the pavement on therun.
In the cab, Martin called in on the radio. "Car 56 is on scene.Release blue at Marker 95 and resume speeds all lanes at Marker 95in--" he paused and looked back at the halted traffic piled up beforethe lane had been closed "--seven minutes." He jumped for the stepsand sprinted out of the patrol car in the wake of Ferguson and Kelly.
The team's surgeon was kneeling beside the inert body on the road.After an ear to the chest, Kelly opened her field kit bag and slappedan electrode to the victim's temple. The needle on the encephalicmeter in the lid of the kit never flickered. Kelly shut the bag andhurried with it over to the mass of wreckage. A thin column of black,oily smoke rose from somewhere near the bottom of the heap. It wasalmost impossible to identify at a glance whether the mangled metalwas the remains of one or more cars. Only the absence of trackequipment made it certain that they even had been passenger vehicles.
Clay was carefully climbing up the side of the piled up wrecks to awindow that gaped near the top.
"Work fast, kid," Martin called up. "Something's burning down thereand this whole thing may go up. I'll get this traffic moving."
He turned to face the halted mass of cars and cargo carriers east ofthe wreck. He flipped a switch that cut his helmet transmitter intothe remote standard vehicular radio circuit aboard the patrol car.
"Attention, please, all cars in green lane. All cars in the left linemove out now, the next line fall in behind. You are directed to clearthe area immediately. Maintain fifty miles an hour for the next mile.You may resume desired speeds and change lanes at mile Marker 95. Irepeat, all cars in green lane...." he went over the instructions oncemore, relayed through Beulah's transmitter to the standard receiverson all cars. He was still talking as the traffic began to move.
By the time he turned back to help his teammates, cars were moving ina steady stream past the huge, red-flashing bulk of the patrol car.
Both Clay and Kelly were lying flat across the smashed, upturned sideof the uppermost car in the pile. Kelly had her field bag open on theground and she was reaching down through the smashed window.
"What is it Clay?" Martin called.
The younger officer looked down over his shoulder. "We've got a womanalive down here but she's wedged in tight. She's hurt pretty badly andKelly's trying to slip a hypo into her now. Get the arm out, Ben."
Martin ran back to the patrol car and flipped up a panel on the hull.He pulled back on one of the several levers recessed into the hull andthe big wrecking crane swung smoothly out of its cradle and over thewreckage. The end of the crane arm was directly over Ferguson. "Lemmehave the spreaders," Clay called. The arm dipped and from either sideof the tip, a pair of flanges shot out like tusks on an elephant. "Put'er in neutral," Clay directed. Martin pressed another lever and thecrane now could be moved in any direction by fingertip pulls at itsextremity. Ferguson carefully guided the crane with its projectingtusks into the smashed orifice of the car window. "O.K., Ben, spreadit."
The crane locked into position and the entire arm split open in a "V"from its base. Martin pressed steadily on the two levers controllingeach side of the divided arm and the tusks dug into the sides of thesmashed window. There was a steady screeching of tearing and rippingmetal as the crane tore window and frame apart. "Hold it," Fergusonyelled and then eased himself into the widened hole.
"Ben," Kelly called from her perch atop the wreckage, "litter."
* * * * *
Martin raced to the rear of the patrol car where the sloping rampstood open to the lighted dispensary. He snatched at one of theautolitters and triggered its tiny drive motor. A homing beacon in hishelmet guided the litter as it rolled down the ramp, turned by itselfand rolled across the pavement a foot behind him. It stopped when hestopped and Ben touched another switch, cutting the homing beacon.
Clay's head appeared out of the hole. "Get it up here, Ben. I can gether out. And I think there's another one alive still further down."
Martin raised the crane and its ripper bars retracted. The split armsspewed a pair of cables terminating in magnalocks. The cables dangledover the ends of the autolitter, caught the lift plates on the litterand a second later, the cart was swinging beside the smashed window asClay and Kelly eased the torn body of a woman out of the wreckage andonto the litter. As Ben brought the litter back to the pavement, thecolumn of smoke had thickened. He disconnected the cables and homedthe stretcher back to the patrol car. The hospital cart with itsunconscious victim, rolled smoothly back to the car, up the ramp andinto the dispensary to the surgical table.
Martin climbed up the wreckage beside Kelly. Inside the twistedinterior of the car, the thick smoke all but obscured the bent back ofthe younger trooper and his powerful handlight barely penetrated thegloom. Blood was smeared over almost every surface and the stink ofleaking jet fuel was virtually overpowering. From the depths of thenightmarish scene came a tortured scream. Kelly reached into acoverall pocket and produced another sedation hypo. She squirmedaround and started to slip down into the wreckage with Ferguson.Martin grabbed her arm. "No, Kelly, this thing's ready to blow. Comeon, 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. "Andthat's an order."
Clay straightened up and put his hands on the edge of the window toboost himself out. "Ben, there's a guy alive down there. We just can'tleave him."
"Get down from there, Kelly," Martin ordered. "I know that man's downthere just as well as you do, Clay. But we won't be helping him onedamn bit if we get blown to hell and gone right along with him. Nowget outta there and maybe we can pull this thing apart and get to himbefore it does blow."
The lanky Canadian eased out of the window and the two troopers movedback to the patrol car. Kelly was already in her dispensary, workingon the injured woman.
Martin slid into his control seat. "Shut your ramp, Kelly," he calledover 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 thedivider. 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 toFerguson.
"Get the foam nozzles up, just in case, and then stand by on thecrane."
A mile away, they saw the flashing emergency lights of Car 119 as itraced diagonally across the yellow and blue lanes, whipping withponderous ease through the moving traffic.
"Take the south side, 119," Martin called out. "We'll try and pul
lthis mess apart."
"Affirmative," came the reply. Even before the other patrol vehiclecame to a halt, its crane was swinging out from the side, and theganged magnalocks were dangling from their cables.
"O.K., kid," Ben ordered, "hook it."
At the interior crane controls, Clay swung Beulah's crane and cablemags towards the wreckage. The magnalocks slammed into the metallicmess with a bang almost at the same instant the locks hit the otherside from Car 119.
Clay eased up the cable slack. "Good," Ben called to both Clay and theoperating trooper in the other car, "now let's pull it ... LOOK OUT!FOAM ... FOAM ... FOAM," he yelled.
The ugly, deep red fireball from