7
Miranda led Jeff along the debris trail that spread across the top of the ski area.
“This is bad,” Jeff kicked at the tangle of wires and foot-diameter pipes in front of them. It was no part of any airplane. The long pipes had one end bolted to concrete footings but had been bent and twisted despite their size. A heavy one-inch cable of woven steel snaked among the wreckage. Other curious parts—like a giant, steel wagon wheel four meters across—were caught up in the tangle. All of it was blackened to some degree.
“It is?” It was certainly broken, but she had no frame of reference to make any sense of its goodness or badness.
“This is the top of the Cirque Poma lift. They gotta fix it or I won’t be able to ski the double black diamond trails here next winter.”
“Double black diamond?”
