Dirty Harry 07 - Massacre at Russian River Read Online Free PDF Page B

helicopter was so precipitous that he was once more thrown by the motion.
    All at once the helicopter struck the tops of the trees. For an instant they seemed to hold it up. Then there was a great deal of noise, many things breaking simultaneously, bits of the Sikorsky, bits of the trees, metal and wood snapped, glass ruptured and shattered, the rotors broke off, one by one, as easily as if they’d been matchsticks.
    Then there was no more resistance from the branches and foliage, and the helicopter, broken and punctured, dropped farther, spinning crazily, shearing off branches and trunks.
    Again and again the passengers, living and dead, were thrown against the walls of the craft. There were shrieks and curses and the sound of flesh giving way to metal. Henry Beller still clutched his useless gun, and then suddenly he vanished. Harry had looked and seen him beside him, and then he had looked again and he wasn’t there any longer. He’d been sucked out of a hole that should not have been there, a great big jagged hole created by the crash. This had taken place so fast that poor Beller had gone without a sound.
    Suddenly there was a noise as loud as anything Harry had ever before heard in his life, a terrific clatter of machinery ripping finally, fatally apart; then a shuddering of metal and a poisonous smell of fuel.
    They were on the ground. But not safe. What was left of the helicopter would probably catch fire and explode at any moment.
    It was all that Harry could do to drag himself out of the tangled ruins. He hurt and hurt in so many places that he could not determine whether any of his injuries were serious enough to demand immediate attention. He hoped not. Immediate attention was out of the question at this point.
    He found himself pulling someone’s arms and meeting resistance. It was the detective from San Jose. Harry soon discovered that the man’s legs were snared in the wreckage. Though he was alive, there was no way that Harry could pry him out of it. He was left with no choice. He could do nothing for the man.
    But there was something he could do for Turk, who lay prostrate across the shattered floor of the downed craft. Aside from blood smearing his face, no other external injuries were in evidence. But it was possible that something vital had come apart inside. And it was also possible that Turk was suffering from shock.
    Harry applied what strength remained to him to pull the narcotics officer out of the helicopter. Turk wouldn’t move on his own. Nor could Harry communicate with him. Turk’s eyes were open, his mouth seemed to move in mimicry of speech, but he gave no indication that he had any idea of what his predicament was.
    Harry hoisted him erect and maintained him that way with his arm as he steered him away from the helicopter. Watching them both was the trapped detective from San Jose. His agonized scream followed them like a curse.
    The scream was lost in a roar of flames that suddenly shot into the sky from which the helicopter had just come. No more than five seconds passed before the fuel was ignited. The explosion had been a dress rehearsal for the apocalypse. It sounded very much as though the world had come to an end, this part of the world anyhow. Fiery shards of metal were jettisoned over the landscape. They came raining down on the forest, carrying the fire with them.
    The blast put the air into motion, shock waves rode out into the woods and underbrush. Flaming debris kept coming out of the sky as though there were no end to it. Harry and Turk remained flattened out on the moss-strewn earth, waiting for the cataclysm to come to an end.
    It did finally. Harry got up again. To his surprise, Turk showed signs of life. He no longer appeared to require Harry’s aid. Using the trunk of a nearby pine to prop himself up, he brushed his trousers. But the dirt and pine needles and the blood, his own and other people’s, wouldn’t come off. His expression was one of great disgust. He was