The Thing (25 page)

It was pitch black inside the supply room. Macready cursed a blue streak as he hunted frantically for a light switch. He was weak and suffereing from mild hypothermia.

Voices sounded outside the door. "What's going on out there?" Macready yelled angrily. "How come nobody let me in? Don't you assholes tell me you didn't hear me, either."

Palmer stood to one side, holding his torch on the door as Childs tried the knob. Locked.

"Dammit," the mechanic murmured, remembering. "He's got the storeroom keys."

"Isn't there another set?"

Childs looked doubtful. "Garry might have another one stashed somewhere, but he's too doped up to think straight. Anyway, we can't afford to wait that long." He looked up the hall, then strode purposefully the other way and ripped a fire axe off the paneling. Norris, Palmer and the others backed off and gave him plenty of room as he started chopping at the door.

Macready's confused but steady voice echoed from the other side. "Hey! What the blazes are you guys doing?"

"You're a dead man, Macready." Childs raised the axe, swung again. "Or a dead whatever the hell you are!"

"Are you guys crazy?"

"No," said the mechanic as he worked, "and we're not going to let you make us that way, either." The axe bit deeply into the yielding wood.

Macready was silent, though they could hear him bumping around inside.

Go outside, Palmer was thinking urgently. Go and freeze outside so we won't have to do it do you.

"We found your clothes," Childs was saying. "The ones you tried to burn."

"What clothes?" Macready demanded to know.

"Forget it, Macready." The mechanic was swinging the axe like a madman. "You been made. it's all over."

"Someone's trying to mark me, you crazy bastard! Trying to frame me." They could hear him messing around with the supplies inside.

Childs cautioned Palmer and Norris as he readied the last couple of blows. "Move in slow now. Watch yourselves. These things are tricky. He might try hanging from the roof or something, so don't look just straight ahead. You ready?" Both men nodded.

With a last swing the wood surrounding the lock and doorknob gave way. Childs gave the freed barrier a solid kick and stepped aside. Palmer moved into the breach, his finger tense on the trigger of the blowtorch. Norris was right behind him.

They froze simultaneously, staring.

Macready stood in front of them, holding a burning flare in his left hand. His hair and beard were white with snow, but his eyes were clear. Frostbite darkened cheeks and nose.

Tucked beneath his right arms was a box labeled "DYNAMITE." The top of the box was missing and the pilot held the sputtering flare dangerously close to the exposed red cylinders. The individual fuses had been cut to quarter-inch lengths.

"Anybody messes with me," he said menacingly, "and the whole camp goes up . . ."

None of the men standing in the hallway was anxious to test Macready's resolve. They stood staring at him, waiting helplessly to see what he'd do next.

"Put those torches on the floor and back off. Very slowly. No fast moves or we'll all warm up in a hurry. For the last time."

Keeping his eyes on Macready, Norris bent and gently put his blowtorch down. Childs laid the axe carefully alongside it, followed by Sanders and Palmer. They backed out into the hall.

Macready moved toward them, forcing them to continue the retreat. "That's it, back way off."

They were all out in the corridor now and moving toward the recreation room. They hadn't gone far when Macready frowned and started to look over a shoulder.

"Hey, where's the rest of—"

Nauls and Norris came barreling out of the supply room into the pilot. They'd rushed outside and returned via the busted supply room window. Hands grabbed for the flare.

Macready spun Nauls off his back and put his shoulder into Norris, sending the older man crashing violently into the wall. Nauls rolled, tackled Macready's legs and brought him to his knees. The others rushed forward.

But Macready still had control of the flare and the dynamite, and started to bring the two together. "So help me," be yelled at them, his voice breaking, "I mean it!"

They skidded to a halt. Nauls quickly let loose of the pilot's legs and rolled to one side.

"It's cool, man," the cook assured him desperately. "We ain't near you, man. Stay cool." He got to his knees, edged over to join the rest of the tense group, making placating motions with both hands.

"Yeah, man, really," a frantic Palmer added, his eyes locked on the crate. "Just relax."

"Anybody touches me again," Macready warned them, his eyes darting from one face to the next, "up we go."

Norris still lay on the floor where he'd fallen after striking the wall. Now he coughed sharply and began to gasp for breath. His whole body gave a little weak quiver and then he was still.

Nauls crawled over to the geophysicist, shook him and looked back toward his companions. "I don't think he's breathing." He bent his head and put an ear on the older man's chest.

Macready rose, watching the cook. A little concern crept into his voice. "Go untie the doc and get him in here. Bring the others, too." He grinned menacingly. "From now on no one gets out of my sight."

They all started to move and he gestured threateningly with the flare. "No. Childs, you and Sanders stay here. You go, Palmer. Make it fast."

The assistant pilot nodded once, glad of the opportunity to get away from the dynamite, and took off down the corridor.

They waited. Nauls sat next to Norris's motionless form. He stared accusingly at Macready. "He's not breathing. You killed him, man."

"Shut up, Nauls. You talk too much."

Palmer was back in a hurry, supporting the doctor with an arm around his back. Garry and Clark had recovered enough to stagger unsteadily along behind.

Copper glanced once at Macready, took in the pilot's belligerent stance, the flare, the box of dynamite. "Mac, what in . . .?"

"Never mind the cheery greetings, Doc. Save it for later." He gestured toward Norris.

Copper nodded understandingly and knelt over the geophysicist's body. Nauls moved to one side. The doctor checked the recumbent man's eyes, listened to his chest, then looked back up at Macready.

"Get him to the infirmary. Fast. Only chance."

Macready nodded in agreement, looked at the others. "Childs, Sanders, Nauls . . . pick him up and let's go. And everyone stay in front of me and in clear view, got it? I don't want anybody ducking into any open doorways and waiting for me to come up next to them. I might trip, or get nervous, or both."

Norris's body was laid out on the examination table. The refrigerator and its legacy of ruined blood stood mutely nearby, reminding everyone of the last time they'd gathered in this room.

Copper turned to reach for something and nearly fell. He was still woozy from the morphine. Palmer and Sanders steadied him. Macready stood in a corner with his back against the wall and watched.

Copper slipped an oxygen mask over Norris's face, then. made a couple of passing grabs at the regulator attached to the cylinder before finally getting a hand on it. He twisted the valve control and a hissing sound filled the room. The dial on the regulator came alive.

Bending over Norris, the doctor ripped the man's shirt open and yanked apart the stained undershirt. He worked laboriously, inhibited by the aftereffects of the drug still coursing through his system. He didn't look up at Macready when the pilot spoke, instead continued working on his patient.

"So you sweethearts had yourselves a little trial. I may, just have to kill you on general principles, Nauls." The cook spat at him.

"You might already have done that to Norris." Behind him, Copper was swathing the geophysicist's chest with a gleaming oleaginous substance.

Macready allowed himself a mild sneer. "Did it ever occur to the jury that anybody could have gotten to some of my clothes and fixed them up to look nice and incriminating like?" His tone was casual but his attitude was not. The flare still hovered dangerously close to the dynamite.

"We ain't buying that," said the surly Childs.

"Dammit, quit the bickering and give me a hand!" Copper yelled at them. "Somebody wheel that fibrillator over here."

"The what?" Childs asked.

"The machine, there, and fast!" Copper replied exasperatedly.

Keeping a cautious eye on the pilot and moving deliberately so as not to alarm him, Sanders grabbed the handles of the cart and pushed it close to the table. Copper promptly climbed onto the table and straddled Norris's chest.

With Copper and the motionless Norris occupying the table and with Sanders standing close by the fibrillator, Clark was screened from Macready's sight. Casually he let his right hand drift toward the tray of surgical instruments on the second shelf of the cart. He quietly sorted through them, discarding shining forceps, a delicate clamp, a pair of tweezers, while keeping a close watch on Macready and the drama taking place on the table.

No one saw his fingers close around the haft of the gleaming scalpel. He slowly reversed it, pointing the blade up his sleeve, the handle hidden in his palm.

Copper spun to his right. "Palmer, turn the oxygen up another notch . . . to nine, and hold the mask down over his face so he can't throw it off." The assistant pilot hurried to comply. "Childs, you grab his shoulders."

"Right." The mechanic moved around to the front of the table, careful not to get too close to Macready. He put massive hands on either side of Norris's head and leaned forward, using his weight.

Copper reached toward the cart and grabbed a pair of palm-sized pads. They were attached to the machine by thick cords. While Childs waited he took the opportunity to smile meaningfully at Macready.

"You're going to have to sleep sometime."

Copper glanced over at him. "Quiet down." He nodded to Sanders. "Turn that thing on."

Sanders's fingers nudged the "on" button forward. A warning light located just below the switch came to life and a low hum rose from the machine.

"Now hold him down. Push hard, if you have to," Copper instructed the mechanic.

"I'm a real light sleeper, Childs." Macready returned the smile easily.

"Shut up, Macready!" Busy as he was, Copper still found the energy to be angry.

Leaning forward, he pressed the two padded contact plates to the geophysicist's chest. Norris's body heaved upward as the current shot through him. There was a slight crackling sound and an odd chirp from behind the oxygen mask.

Copper removed the pads. Norris's chest did not move. The doctor spoke urgently to Sanders. "Again. More current this time." The radio operator stared blankly at the complex instrument.

Copper leaned back and pointed. "There's a dial next to the "on" switch. It's set on three. Turn it up to six." Sanders nodded, and did as directed.

Another buzz from the machine. Copper gave the bare, treated skin several jolts. Sanders watched anxiously. So did Clark, the scalpel completely hidden by his hand and shirtsleeve. He started to work his way as inconspicuously as he could around the table. No one paid him any attention.

"And if anyone tries to wake me," Macready was saying easily, "my little alarm here's liable to go off and put everybody back to sleep." He patted the side of the dynamite box with the still-burning flare. Palmer winced.

"Damn you, Macready, that's enough!" Copper berated him. He touched the contacts to Norris's chest again.

And this time there was a reaction. It was as explosive and violent as it was unexpected. Norris's body arched off the table and nearly threw the doctor to the floor. The doctor looked like a bull rider, bouncing crazily on the geophysicist's heaving body.

A new crackling sound filled the room, and it didn't come from the fibrillator. Norris's sternum cracked like a lake bed in the Sahara. The skin peeled back and flaked off in fleshy strips. The oxygen mask was blown toward the ceiling as Palmer back-pedaled to get away from the unnaturally contorting corpse.

A sound came out of Norris's mouth, but it wasn't produced by the man they'd known as Norris. It was a hideous, grating, angry mewing noise.

Copper threw himself off the bucking body and landed hard on the floor. No one moved to give him a hand. They were all mesmerized by the transformation that was coming over the geophysicist's suddenly active form.

Sanders had abandoned the fibrillator and pressed himself back against the nearest wall. "
Madre de dios
, what . . ."

The thing that had been Norris was changing in front of their eyes. This wasn't like that time in the dark kennel, or that horrible night out on the ice sheet. The infirmary lights were bright and efficient. They could clearly see every detail of the noisome metamorphosis.

Clothing tore as organic matter beneath it swelled past restraining polyester bonds. A shoe split like a melon and fell from the table. A single talon became visible inside the expanding, more flexible sock. Other appendages rapidly began to take shape, a gruesome assortment of hooks and bulges and knobby growths that owed their development to no line of earthly evolution.