James Gunn - The Immortals

Harry shivered. Soon it would be hard to keep to the road. “Hurry,” he said to Pearce, “if you don’t want to spend the night out here with the ghouls and the headhunters.”

“There are worse companions,” Pearce whispered.

By the time they reached the motel, the moonless night was completely upon them and the old suburbs were behind. The sprawling place was dark except for a big neon sign that said MOTEL, a smaller sign that said VACANCY, and, at the gate in the fence that surrounded the whole place, a mat that said WELCOME. On a frosted glass plate were the words Push button.

Harry was about to push the button when Christopher said urgently, “Doctor Elliott, look!” He pointed toward the fence at the right with a stick he had picked up half a mile back.

“What?” Harry snapped. He was tired and nervous and dirty. He peered into the darkness. “A dead rabbit.”

“Christopher means the fence is electrified,” Marna said, “and the mat you’re standing on is made of metal. I don’t think we should go in here.”

“Nonsense,” Harry said sharply. “Would you rather stay out here at the mercy of whatever roams the night? I’ve stopped at these motels before. There’s nothing wrong with them.”

Christopher held out his stick. “Maybe you’d better push the button with this.”

Harry frowned, took the stick, and stepped off the mat. “Oh, all right,” he said ungraciously. At the second try, he pushed the button.

The frosted glass plate became a television eye. “Who rings?”

“Four travelers bound for Topeka,” Harry said. He held up the pass in front of the eye. “We can pay.”

“Welcome,” said the speaker. “Cabins thirteen and fourteen will open when you deposit the correct amount of money. What time do you wish to be awakened?”

Harry looked at his companions. “Sunrise,” he said.

“Good night,” said the speaker. “Sleep tight.”

The gate rolled up. Christopher led Pearce around the welcome mat and down the driveway beyond. Marna followed. Irritated, Harry jumped over the mat and caught up with them.

A single line of glass bricks along the edge of the driveway glowed fluorescently to point out the way they should go. They passed a tank trap and several machine-gun emplacements, but the place was deserted.

When they reached Cabin 13, Harry said, “We won’t need the other one; we’ll stay together.” He put three twenty-dollar uranium pieces into the coin slot.

“Thank you,” the door said. “Come in.”

As the door opened, Christopher darted inside. The small room held a double bed, a chair, a desk, and a floor lamp. In the corner was a small partitioned bathroom with an enclosed shower, a lavatory, and a toilet. The boy went immediately to the desk, removed a plastic menu card from it, and returned to the door. He helped Pearce enter the room and then waited by the door until Harry and Marna were inside. He cracked the menu card into two pieces. As the door swung shut, he slipped one of the pieces between the door and the jamb. As he started back toward Pearce, he stumbled against the lamp and knocked it over. It crashed and went out. They were left with only the illumination from the bathroom light.

“Clumsy little fool!” Harry said.

Marna was at the desk, writing. She turned and handed the paper to Harry. He edged toward the light and looked at it. It read:

Christopher has broken the eye, but the room is still bugged. We can’t destroy the bugs without too much suspicion. Can I speak to you outside?

“That is the most ridiculous—” Harry began.

“This seems adequate,” Pearce whispered. “You two can sleep in fourteen.” His blind face was turned intently toward Harry.

Harry sighed. He might as well humor them. He opened the door and stepped into the night with Marna. The girl moved close to him, put her arms around his neck and her cheek against his. Without his volition, his arms went around her waist. Her lips moved against his ear; a moment later he realized that she was speaking.

“I do not like you, Doctor Elliott, but I do not want us all killed. Can you afford another cabin?”

“Of course, but—I’m not going to leave those two alone.”

“It would be foolish for us not to stick together. Please, now. Ask no questions. When we go in fourteen, take off your jacket and throw it casually over the lamp. I’ll do the rest.”

Harry let himself be led to the next cabin. He fed the door. It greeted them and let them in. The room was identical with 13. Marna slipped a piece of plastic between the door and the jamb as the door closed. She looked at Harry expectantly.

He shrugged, took off his jacket, and tossed it over the lamp. The room took on a shadowy and sinister appearance. Marna knelt, rolled up a throw rug, and pulled down the covers on the bed. She went to the wall phone, gave it a little tug, and the entire flat vision plate swung out on hinges. She reached into it, grabbed something, and pulled it out. There seemed to be hundreds of turns of copper wire on a spool.

Marna went to the shower enclosure, unwinding wire as she went. She stood outside the enclosure and fastened one end of the wire to the hot-water faucet. Then she strung it around the room like a spider’s web, broke it off, and fastened the end to the drain in the shower floor. She threaded the second piece of wire through the room close to but not touching the first wire.

Careful not to touch the wires, she reached into the shower enclosure and turned on the hot-water faucet. It gurgled, but no hot water came out. She tiptoed her way out between the wires, picked up the throw rug, and tossed it on the bed.

“Well, ’night,” she said, motioning Harry toward the door and gesturing for him to be careful of the wires. When Harry reached the door without mishap, Marna turned off the lamp and removed the jacket.

She let the door slam behind them and gave a big sigh of relief.

“Now you’ve fixed it!” Harry whispered savagely. “I can’t take a shower, and I’ll have to sleep on the floor.”

“You wouldn’t want to take a shower anyway,” Marna said. “It would be your last one. All of them are wired. You can have the bed if you want it, although I’d advise you to sleep on the floor with the rest of us.”

Harry couldn’t sleep. First it had been the room, shadowed and silent, and then the harsh breathing of the old man and the softer breaths of Christopher and Marna. As a resident, he was not used to sleeping in the same room with other persons.

Then his arm had tingled—not much, but just enough to keep him awake. He had got out of bed and crawled to where Marna was lying on the floor. She, too, had been awake. Silently he had urged her to share the bed with him, gesturing that he would not touch her. He had no desire to touch her, and if he had, he swore by Hippocrates that he would restrain himself. He only wanted to ease the tingling under the bracelet so that he could go to sleep.

She motioned that he could lie on the floor beside her, but he shook his head. Finally she relented enough to move to the floor beside the bed. By lying on his stomach and letting his arm dangle, Harry relieved the tingling and fell into an uneasy sleep.

He had dreams. There was one in which he was performing a long and difficult lung resection. The microsurgical controls slipped in his sweaty fingers; the laser beam sliced through the aorta. The patient started up on the operating table, the blood spurting from her heart. It was Marna. She began to chase him down long hospital halls.

The overhead lights kept getting farther and farther apart until Harry was running in complete darkness through warm, sticky blood that rose higher and higher until it closed over his head.