called to both Clay and the
operating trooper in the other car, "now let's pull it ... LOOK OUT!
FOAM ... FOAM ... FOAM," he yelled.

The ugly, deep red fireball from the exploding wreckage was still
growing as Clay slammed down on the fire-control panel. A curtain of
thick chemical foam burst from the poised nozzles atop Beulah's hull
and a split-second later, another stream of foam erupted from the
other patrol car. The dense, oxygen-absorbing retardant blanket
snuffed the fire out in three seconds. The cranes were still secured
to the foam-covered heap of metal. "Never mind the caution," Ben
called out, "get it apart. Fast."

Both crane operators slammed their controls into reverse and with an
ear-splitting screech, the twisted frames of the two vehicles ripped
apart into tumbled heaps of broken metal and plastics. Martin and
Ferguson jumped down the hatch steps and into ankle-deep foam and oil.
They waded and slipped around the front of the car to join the
troopers from the other car.

Ferguson was pawing at the scum-covered foam near the mangled section
of one of the cars. "He should be right about," Clay paused and bent
over, "here." He straightened up as the others gathered around the
scorched and ripped body of a man, half-submerged in the thick foam.
"Kelly," he called over the helmet transmitter, "open your door. We'll
need a couple of sacks."

He trudged to the rear of the patrol car and met the girl standing in
the door with a pair of folded plastic morgue bags in her hands.
Behind her, Clay could see the body of the woman on the surgical
table, an array of tubes and probes leading to plasma drip bottles and
other equipment racked out over the table.

"How is she?"

"Not good," Kelly replied. "Skull fracture, ruptured spleen, broken
ribs and double leg fractures. I've already called for an ambulance."

Ferguson nodded, took the bags from her and waded back through the
foam.

The four troopers worked in the silence of the deserted traffic lane.
A hundred yards away, traffic was moving steadily in the slow white
lane. Three-quarters of a mile to the south, fast and ultra high
traffic sped at its normal pace in the blue and yellow lanes.
Westbound green was still being rerouted into the slower white lane,
around the scene of the accident. It was now twenty-six minutes since
Car 56 had received the accident call. The light snow flurries had
turned to a steady fall of thick wet flakes, melting as they