"Jack Williamson - Through the Purple Cloud Part" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williamson Jack)

implications of the incident narrated here will result in a farther modification of the changing theories of
relativity.
The plane was hurtling toward the base of a rugged, towering wall of grim black rock, which had
suddenly appeared beyond the purple disk. A crash was inevitable. The pilot had time only to bank the
ship, causing it to strike the ebon cliff obliquely instead of head on.
George was stunned by the crash.
His last recollection was of their plunging flight toward the sheer, soaring wall of black rock, of the
attempting turn that had failed to save them, of the splintering crashes and the merciless bruising shock of
the collision with the mountain.

The Land of the Scarlet Sky

MEMORY did not return at once, as he recovered. He found himself lying in the bottom of a dark,
cramped place, with a soft human body beside him. A hoarse voice, evidently that of the bearded man,
was muttering curses, while heavy feet, apparently belonging to the same individual, were carelessly
trampling George's legs.
Then George caught the acrid odors of burning paint and gasoline.
His memory returned. He knew that the plane had crashed into the black mountain wall, that it was
wrecked and in flames. The soft body against his was that of the girl. And it was the big man who was
trampling on the others.
George tried to struggle up, pressing a hand to his head to try to stop the dizzy pain, to clear the
faintness from his vision and the ringing noises from his ears, to sweep the misty clouds of pain from his
mind.
A suffocating breath of flame came from the forward part of the ship, where the blaze had evidently
started.
The fuselage was on its side, George saw. The door was above them. And the big, bull-like man,
walking upon their bodies as carelessly as if they were sacks of grain, was struggling to open the door.
Suddenly there was a sham snap, as if he had broken a lock with the strength of his great, heavy
hands. A moment later the door was thrown back, revealing the sky above, crimson, dark and sullen, red
as if deluged in blood.
For a moment the strange scarlet sky was in view. Then thick masses of black smoke, touched with
flickering, lurid yellow flames, floated across it. George heard the increasing roar of the conflagration.
He tried to struggle to his feet, still rubbing his throbbing head.
"Thanks, Mister," came the hoarse voice of the giant, mockingly.
The huge man placed one heavy foot on George's shoulder, while he was still on his knees, sprang
forward. He clambered through the door in the uppermost side of the side.
George was sent crashing to the bottom of the compartment again, under the force of the ruthless
kick.
Choking black smoke, so hot that it seared his lungs, was filling the little space when it struggled up
again. The roar and crackle of the flames was growing swiftly louder. A black and yellow canopy of
smoke and flame was rolling above the door.
Still his head throbbed with dull pain; his thoughts were slow, confused; he reeled, his knees buckled
uncertainly.
"Not much time, now," he muttered. "Guess they are all gone, in the front part of the ship."
He bent beside the girl, lifted her with an effort, fighting to control his shaking knees. She was
conscious.
"What's—matter?" she whispered in a slow, uncertain voice.
"Plane smashed," he said. "Burning. We must get out! Able to help? Do your best, but we have
time."
"I'll try," she murmured through white, compressed lips.