Mike McQuay - Escape From New York

He made the top of the stairs and looked out. Maggie, Hellman and the President were pinned down in the heliport shack. They were surrounded by Indians in full war paint. The sun had gone nearly all the way down, the only light a streak of cherry pink that formed a horizontal band across the sky.

Maggie kept them back with the pistol, using it sparingly, only when they threatened to move in. The Indians ran around the shack, yelling and throwing things.

He watched them for a second, but his attention was diverted by the glider. Several of the inmates had climbed up on the wing and were jumping up and down on it like a see-saw, tottering the machine over the edge. One of them was working on the anchor rope, hacking on it with an ax.

Plissken, without thought, came out of the doorway and started walking resolutely toward them. The maniacs wanted to dump the thing. He kept moving. The ax hacked through the rope. He started running.

“No,” he called. “No!”

With a triumphant yell, they tipped the balance and the plane slid quietly off the building to begin its incredible plunge to the pavement so very far below. It had so far to fall that they wouldn’t even hear the sound of its crash.

He stopped walking, everything stopped. The glider was done for. Snake Plissken was done for-almost.

The Indians surrounding the heliport all stood and watched him. He smiled and began limping toward them. He must have been a horrible sight, even to them.

They edged forward, clubs and rocks at the ready.

He shrugged at them, turning an index finger into his cheek. Then-he bolted! Right past them he ran, right through the blown-away door of the shack.

The attack resumed immediately, chunks of cement and debris bouncing through the glassless viewport window. Maggie fired while Brain screamed at them at the top of his voice, shaking his fist.

“Goddamn redskins,” he yelled. “Savages!”

Maggie’s eyes drifted up to Plissken’s. They shared a look. She smiled. “I believe this is yours,” she said, and handed him the pistol.

Crouching down, he took it from her. “You people ready?” he asked.

Brain looked over at him, his face composed. “Yeah,” he said.

He looked at the President. The man was flattened against a wall, tears streaming down his face.

“Mister President?” he asked.

“Yes,” the man answered, eyes closed tight. “Yes, yes. Anything.”

“Okay,” the Snake said, and jumped up.

Wheeling out the viewport, he fired three times. Three men fell. The others retreated for cover.

“Let’s go!” Plissken yelled and, grabbing the President by the arm, they ran out of the shack. Maggie was right on their heels without hesitation. Brain followed.

They got to the stairs before the Indians came for them. They hurried down and slammed closed the bottom door.

“Keep ’em out,” Plissken said, and the three put their weight against the door while he ran down the hall.

There was a battered desk lying in the hallway. Getting behind, he shoved it, screeching along the quarry stone floor. The savages were banging on the other side of the door.

“Help me,” he said. “Out of the way.”

They grabbed the desk and shoved it up against the door, bracing it on the wall on the other side. There was no way the door could be opened.

“All right,” Hellman said, breathing easily.

“Yeah, all right,” Plissken replied, and, grabbing Hellman by the throat, shoved him backward to bang into a wall. He stuck the automatic up to his forehead. “That your car in the lobby?” he asked politely.

Hellman choked around his grasp. “Uh-huh,” he managed.

“Keys!”

Hellman, his eyes like ping-pong balls, fumbled in his pants pocket and fished out the keys. As soon as they were out of the pocket, the Snake removed his stranglehold and snatched them away.

“Ah… Snake, listen…” Hellman stuttered.

Plissken thrust his hand out, unwilling to listen anymore. “The diagram of the bridge.”

“Wait a minute, Snake.”

“Damnit, Harold,” Plissken said. “You just don’t know when you’re well off.” He tore into Hellman’s coat with his free hand, finding the diagram in an inside pocket.

“Fine,” he said. “Smooth as silk.” Stepping away from Brain Hellman, he took the bewildered President by the arm again and started leading him resolutely down the dark hall. He passed by Maggie. She stared at him silently, her face resigned to the choices that she made.

“You picked wrong,” he told her and kept moving.

Brain was right behind him, dogging him. He had Maggie by the hand. “I swear to God, Snake. I thought you were dead.”

“You and everybody else,” the Snake said over his shoulder.

“I can help you with the diagram,” Hellman persisted. “You can’t read and drive at the same time.”

“Beat it.”

They were coming near the hallway’s end. Those damnable stairs again. Brain was still there, whining like a baby.

“You gotta take us with you.”

“Shouldn’t have double-crossed me again, Brain ” he said, and somewhere, way back in his mind, a flash of realization hit him like a dose of tear gas in the face. He held up the President’s wrist to look at the dangling handcuff. The briefcase was gone.

He stared wordlessly at Harker.

“He shot it off,” the man said meekly.

“The tape?”

Harker shook his little cue ball head. “Gone,” he simpered. “I don’t know where.”

“I do,” Maggie said quietly.

Plissken turned to stare at her. “You’re lying,” he spat.

Brain jumped right in, laying his hands on Plissken’s forearm. “No lie, Snake. No lie! Take you right to it”

Plissken jerked away from Hellman’s grasp. “You’d better be on the level this time,” was all he said, then started down the stairs.

Snake Plissken didn’t even remember the walk down. He had pushed way beyond his physical limitations and was simply moving on automatic. It seemed to him that his mind and his body had made a deal using the countdown watch on his arm. The deal was: if you let us forget about the pain, we’ll keep you moving for another hour or so. It seemed fair enough to the Snake, especially when he considered the alternatives.

When they came out in the lobby, nearly everyone else seemed to be in worse shape than him. Hellman was puffing wildly, unable to get his breath.

“Shit,” he said. “Oh shit…”

“Don’t talk,” Maggie said, helping him support his weight. “Breathe.”

Plissken looked at his watch. It read: 1:00:20. His body reminded his brain that there was still some time left.

“I’m tryin’,” Hellman said, but he was still gasping.

The President wasn’t tired. He understood the value of saving his bacon. “Come on,” he said. “We’re wasting time.”

Plissken was already at the car. He hurried inside and put the key in the ignition. Nothing. Not even a cough.

“It’s dead,” he told them when they came up to his window.

He got out of the car. Brain rushed to the hood and threw it open. A Gypsy with a crossbow popped out like a jack-in-the-box. The whole motor was gone out of the thing.

“Car trouble?” came a voice.

They turned to the darkness, and torches came up bright. The Duke was there, smiling at them. He was sitting on top of the steam engine that had been under the hood. Reaching down, he patted the thing, his fingers dancing obscenely on the steam release valve before coming back up to the rifle on his lap.

“Can’t trust these steam engines,” the man said. “They always let you down. Isn’t that right, Brain.”

Hellman took a step toward him, and Plissken slipped his hand onto the pistol in his pocket. Almost as if Brain sensed that, he stopped walking, midway between the rock and the hard place. “This ain’t my idea, Duke,” he said.