"Reichs, Kathy - Temperance Brennan 04 - Fatal Voyage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reichs Kathy)

Wreckage and body parts covered the landscape like refuse discarded at a
dump. From where I stood, the skin-covered body portions looked starkly
pale against the backdrop of forest floor, viscera, and airplane parts.

Articles dangled from trees or lay snarled in the leaves and branches.

Fabric. Wiring. Sheet metal. Insulation. Molded plastic.

The locals had arrived and were securing the site and checking for
survivors. Figures searched among the trees, others stretched tape
around the perimeter of the debris field. They wore yellow jackets with
Swain County Sheriff's Department printed on the back. Still others just
wandered or stood in clumps, smoking, talking, or staring aimlessly.

Way off through the trees I noticed the flashing of red, blue, and
yellow lights, marking the location of the access route I'd failed to
find. In my mind I saw the police cruisers, fire engines, rescue trucks,
ambulances, and vehicles of citizen volunteers that would clog that road
by tomorrow morning.

The wind shifted and the smell of smoke grew stronger. I turned and saw
a thin, black plume curling upward just beyond the next ridge. My
stomach tightened, for I was close enough now to detect another odor
mingling with the sharp, acrid scent.

Being a forensic anthropologist, it is my job to investigate violent
death. I have examined hundreds of fire victims for coroners and medical
examiners, and know the smell of charred flesh. One gorge over, people
were burning.

I swallowed hard and refocused on the rescue operation. Some who had
been inactive were now moving across the site. I watched a sheriff's
deputy bend and inspect debris at his feet. He straightened, and an
object flashed in his left hand. Another deputy had begun stacking
debris.

"Shit!"

I started picking my way downward, clinging to underbrush and zigzagging
between trees and boulders to control my balance. The gradient was
steep, and a stumble could turn into a headlong plunge.

Ten yards from the bottom I stepped on a sheet of metal that slid and
sent me into the air like a snow boarder on a major wipeout. I landed
hard and began to half roll, half slide down the slope, bringing with me
an avalanche of pebbles, branches, leaves, and pine cones.

To stop my fall, I grabbed for a hand hold, skinning my palms and
tearing my nails before my left hand struck something solid and my
fingers closed around it. My wrist jerked painfully as it took the