"I don't understand," Palmer was saying as they ran, "why didn't it take control of Fuchs? Isn't that it's number . . . to get more recruits?"
Childs considered the question as he opened the door to a closet. It contained several metal buckets full of sand and a large fire extinguisher. That was all. He slammed it shut and moved to the next door.
"I guess it didn't have enough time. The generator was out what, thirty minutes? Twenty? Takes the bastards about an hour or maybe more to take control of somebody, remember?
"Maybe it got started on him and when the lights came back on, it figured it had a choice between trying to hide out and finish the job or splitting and preserving its cover. It could hardly leave Fuchs standing around to tell the rest of us who the mystery guest is. So it offed him."
Yeah, but why Fuchs?" Sanders wanted to know. The next room held steel cannisters, cold air, and nothing alive. They moved on. "Why not Macready, or you or me? The lights were out all over camp. It could've jumped any one of us."
"Maybe none of the rest of us were as accessible, or alone at the time," Childs suggested. "But I wouldn't bet that was the reason." His thoughts were churning.
"Fuchs was supposed to come up with a new test for this thing, remember? He must have been on to something. These bastards got scared and got rid of him. Maybe they didn't even bother to try taking him over. Probably were more concerned about getting rid of him."
He stopped abruptly in the middle of the corridor, turning to stare back down the passageway. "Hey, where's . . .?" He glanced over at Sanders. "Didn't you say Nauls and Macready were right behind you?"
Sanders also looked back the way they'd come, sweat standing out on his brow. "Yeah. Yeah, they were. I saw 'em just before I started down the stairs. I could see their lights coming toward me."
"Well then, where the hell are they?" There was a pause and then they were pounding back down the hallway, shouting as they ran.
"Macready!" Palmer yelled.
Childs stopped long enough to bellow up a side corridor. "Nauls! Macready!"
There was no reply. They continued searching and shouting for several minutes, until finally they reached the same outside door Sanders had used. The shouting ceased and the three men exchanged nervous glances.
"What now?" Palmer whispered, staring at the door.
Childs reached for the latch, his hand hovering over it while conflicting emotions tore through him. Then he pulled his fingers back and spoke resolutely. "The siren's still blowing. You know the orders. Back to the rec room."
Reluctantly, they abandoned the door and whatever might lie just on the other side. As they retraced their steps they continued to cry out to the two men who'd been outside with Sanders.
The difference was that now they didn't expect an answer.
The full-fledged storm rumbled outside, its persistent howl penetrating even the tightly sealed, heavily insulated recreation room. It was silent inside. The men looked at each other, at the three dozing on the couch, anywhere but toward the thick window that showed only darkness and an occasional flurry of ice particles.
Childs paced back and forth, his fist regularly slamming an open palm.
"Quit that," Palmer finally told him. "You're making me nervous." Immediately the irony of his statement struck him and he let out a short, uneasy laugh.
The mechanic spun on a heel and. strode up to Norris. "How long they been outside now?"
"Can't be sure," Norris replied carefully. "I sort of half glanced at my watch when they went out." He looked down at the digital readout.
"Take a guess. We need to know."
The geophysicist considered. "Forty . . . forty-five minutes."
"You sure it hasn't been longer? An hour, maybe?"
Norris squirmed. "I told you, I didn't pay much attention. I guess it could be."
The silence was thick in the room as the men regarded each other.
Childs started for the exit. "We'd better start closing off the outside hatchways."
"You sure, Childs?" Palmer asked.
The mechanic stopped and stared across at Norris, who nodded reluctant agreement. "What would Macready do, Palmer?"
The pilot though of his friend and boss. "Yeah, you're right," he said tightly. "I'll start on the north side, you and Sanders take the south and east."
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Childs was giving him a peculiar look.
"I don't . . . oh, yeah. We've got to work together. In that case we'd better get moving." Childs was still staring at him. "Hey, look, I just forgot for a minute, okay?"
"Try not to forget again, huh?" Childs started out of the room.
They were nearly finished with the lockup when Norris's faint shout reached them.
"All of you . . . come here!"
"Shit, now what?" Sanders grumbled. He threw the interior bolt on the door they'd just reached and hurried after his two companions.
When he entered the main hallway he saw Norris and the others bunched up against one of the windows that flanked the door.
"Hey, what's going on?" He pushed toward the window, straining to see around Childs and the rest. Palmer glanced back at him and pointed toward the foggy glass.
A figure was barely visible against the night. It was staggering toward the compound, pulling itself forward by using the guide ropes. Occasionally a particularly powerful gust of wind forced it to halt. It waited until the blast had subsided before stumbling forward again.
"Who is it?" Nauls whispered. "Nauls or Macready?"
"Can't tell for certain yet." Palmer didn't take his eyes from the window. "But we'll know in a minute."
The silhouette came onward, growing larger if not more distinct, until it disappeared. Then a steady pounding sounded from the other side of the door. Childs hefted his torch and took a couple of steps backward, nodding toward Norris. The geophysicist threw the bolts and pulled on the handle.
Sleet and hail and Nauls all came in a single, frozen mass. Norris hastily put his weight against the door and slammed it shut, then rethrew the restraining bolts. Sanders had to help him.
Totally winded, Nauls knelt on the hard floor, head bent, hands resting on his knees. The men gathered around him, watching him closely.
"Where's Macready?" Palmer asked.
The cook's head came up. His expression, beneath the ice melting from his face and the rim of his hood, was grim. He tore off the snow goggles and flung them aside, then dug down inside the bulky front of his parka.
"Cut him loose from the line up by his shack," he mumbled, still fumbling with the parka.
Childs gaped down at him. "Cut him loose?"
"Had to." The cook swallowed. "When we were poking around his place I found this." He pulled a thick wad of clothing from his jacket. It was torn and blackened at the edges, showing clear evidence of having been burned.
He turned out the collar. The name tag inside read clearly: R.J. MACREADY. Norris and the others gathered around, each inspecting the clothing intently.
Nauls let out a long whoosh and climbed painfully to his feet. "It was stashed in his old propane furnace. The wind must have dislodged it and knocked it down where I could find it. I don't think he saw me find it. In fact, I know he didn't, or I wouldn't be here showing it to you now."
The men continued to inspect the damning evidence, still finding it hard to belief.
"Made sure I got ahead of him on the towline on the way back, kept my mouth shut . . . cut him loose."
Sanders was incredulous. "I can't believe it. Macready?"
Nauls nodded slowly. "I know it's tough to buy, but it sure as hell explains a lot. He's one of them. No wonder we've been going around in circles for so long. Remember how he took the gun and command from Garry? He's had us chasing our tails for hours, been playing with us. He's one of those things, all right."
"When do you think it got to him?" Sanders inquired, badly frightened all over again. He'd finally succeeded in getting himself under contro
l, and now this. Macready had been about the only man in camp the radio operator really trusted.
"Could have been anytime," Palmer murmured disconsolately. "And anywhere."
Childs was frowning at Nauls. Something had been bothering him ever since the exhausted cook had come tumbling into the corridor. "If it did get to him."
Nauls turned on him. "Look, man . . .!"
"When the lights went out," Palmer was muttering.
"Would have been the perfect time," Norris added.
"Right," Palmer agreed. "Garry was missing. And Sanders," he added pointedly.
"Fuck you, Palmer." The radio operator jumped his accuser. Childs and Norris had to separate them.
"Here we go again," said the geophysicist, breathing hard, "acting just like it wants. Can't you two peabrains get that through your skulls? I don't think—"
A new hammering at the door interrupted him and made everyone jump backward. Nauls cowered behind everyone else, staring in terror at the door.
The sound of Macready's voice in between the pounding was unmistakable. "Open up!"
Nobody answered. Norris and Childs raised their blowtorches and pointed them at the door, continuing to back slowly down the corridor.
"Hey, somebody!" the voice continued. "Open up! It's me, Macready." The pounding resumed. "Come on, damn it! The line snapped on me. Been crawling around like a seal out here. Let me in."
Nauls's whisper was harsh in the corridor. "That's bullshit. He's got to know damn well that I cut it. 'Snapped' my ass."
The men kept their voices down as they debated how to proceed.
"Let's open up," Palmer suggested, indicating the torches. "We've got him covered if he tries anything."
Childs glared at him, ignoring the pounding at the door. "Hell, no. I was out on the ice when it took Bennings. You can't believe how fast these suckers can move. The door stays closed, man."
Sanders was shaking and didn't give a damn if anyone noticed. "You think he's changed into one of those things?"
Norris checked his watch. "He hasn't had enough time."
"How do you know, man?" the radio operator asked him.
"Blair said it takes at least an hour."
"Blair don't know nothing. Blair's crazy. Maybe it don't take an hour. Maybe only thirty minutes."
"It's the best estimate we have to work with," Norris argued back. "Hell, it's the only estimate we have to work with. I admit I'm not sure about how long he's been outside but I don't think it's been an hour yet."
Childs was staring at the door, talking to himself. "Nothing human could have made it back here in this weather without a guideline." The wind roared beyond the door, accentuating the mechanic's point.
"Where is everybody?" Macready demanded to know from the other side of the barrier. His voice was weak, tired. "I'm half frostbit."
Palmer took a hesitant step toward the door. "Let's open it. Now."
"Why are you so damn anxious to let him in here?" Childs asked venomously.
Palmer was trembling slightly. "He's so close. If he has changed, this'd be our best chance to blow him away."
Childs vetoed the idea. "No. Why risk it? Just let him freeze out there."
Sanders voice cracked as be spoke. "What if we're wrong about him? What if that's the real Macready out there, trying to get in? He'll freeze to death. What if we're wrong, man?"
"Then we're wrong," Childs told him coldly.
They waited. Several minutes passed. The pounding faded, finally stopped altogether.
"Maybe he's unconscious," Sanders ventured. "We could open the door and give it a fast check."
Norris shook his head. "If you're so damn curious, look out the windows."
Sanders hesitated, then moved forward. He pressed his face against the inner pane and squeezed sideways as he tried to see the doorstep.
"I don't see nothing."
Palmer moved forward and peered out the other window. "Neither do I. If he collapsed against the door, he'd be out of our lines of sight. And it's darker than a witch's bedroom out there."
A muffled noise reached them. Everyone turned at the sound of breaking glass.
Palmer's eyes bulged. "The window to supply room G. It's not a triple pane!"
Sanders pressed back against the wall next to the door. "What are we going to do? What are we going to do?"
"Get a grip on yourself, man," Norris ordered him. "You go off the deep end, nobody's going to have the time to hold your hand." The radio operator nodded slowly, took deep, measured breaths as he fought to comply.
The geophysicist's fingers tightened on the blowtorch. He stared resolutely down the corridor. "All right, we've got no choice now." He and Childs led the way, the others trailing close behind.
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. Chi
lds 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.