The Rescue - Nicholas Sparks [72]
“More cable!” he shouted, and a moment later he felt it pick up slack and he began to lower it. Once it was in position, he shouted for them to stop. He unhooked one end of the safety harness so that he could try to work it around the man’s body and reattach it.
He bent down again but saw with frustration that he still couldn’t reach the man. He needed another couple of feet.
“Can you hear me?” Taylor called into the car. “If you can understand what I’m saying, answer me.”
He heard the moan again, and though the passenger shifted, it was obvious that he was semiconscious at best.
The flames beneath the truck suddenly flared and intensified.
Gritting his teeth, Taylor shifted his grip on the rope to the lowest spot he could, then stretched for the passenger again. Closer this time—he could reach past the dash—but the passenger was still out of reach.
Taylor heard the others calling from the bridge.
“Can you get him out of there?” Joe shouted.
Taylor evaluated the scene. The front of the car seemed to be undamaged, and the man was unbuckled, lying half on the seat, half on the floor beneath the steering wheel, wedged in but looking as if he could be pulled out through the sheared opening of the roof. Taylor cupped his free hand around his mouth, shouting so that his voice could be heard:
“I think so. The windshield’s completely blown out, and the roof is wide open. There’s enough room for him to come up, and I can’t see anything holding him.”
“Can you reach him?”
“Not yet,” he called back. “I’m close, but I can’t get the harness around him. He’s incoherent.”
“Hurry up and do what you can,” came Joe’s anxious voice. “From here it looks like the engine fire’s getting worse.”
But Taylor already knew that. The truck was radiating extreme heat now, and he heard strange popping noises coming from within. Sweat began to drip down his face.
Bracing himself, Taylor once again grasped the rope and stretched himself, his fingertips this time grazing the unconscious man’s arm through the shattered windshield. The ladder was bouncing, and he tried to extend his reach with every bounce. Still inches away.
Suddenly, as if in a nightmare, he heard a loud whooshing sound, and flames suddenly exploded from the engine of the truck, leaping toward Taylor. He pulled up, covering his face instinctively as the flames receded toward the truck again.
“You okay?” Joe shouted.
“I’m fine!”
No time for any plans, no time to debate. . . .
Taylor reached for the cable and pulled it toward him. Stretching his toes, he worked the hook that held the safety harness until it was centered beneath his boot. Then, supporting his weight with his foot, he lifted himself slightly and unhooked his own harness from his support rope.
Holding on for dear life, with only one small point in the center of his boot supporting him, he slid his hands down the cable until he was almost crouching. Now low enough to reach the passenger, he let go of the cable with one hand and reached for the safety harness. He had to work it around the passenger’s chest, beneath his arms.
The ladder was bouncing hard now. Flames began to sear the roof of the Honda, only inches from his head. Rivulets of sweat poured into his eyes, blurring his vision. Adrenaline surged through his limbs. . . .
“Wake up!” he shouted, his voice hoarse with panic and frustration. “You’ve got to help me here!”
The passenger moaned again, his eyes flickering open. It wasn’t enough.
With flames spitting toward him, Taylor grabbed for the man, yanking hard on his arm.
“Help me, damnit!” Taylor screamed.
The man, finally awakened by some flicker of self-preservation, raised his head slightly.
“Put the harness under your arm!”
He didn’t seem to understand, but the new angle of his body presented an opportunity. Taylor immediately worked one end of the harness toward the man’s arm—the one lying across the seat—then slipped it underneath.
One down.
All the while, he kept on screaming, his cries growing even more desperate.
“Help