The Langoliers Page #8

All I know

is it's the only sound in town.

Well, it's not in town yet, but it will be.

And soon.

Dinah's right.

We gotta get out of here.

- And we gotta get out of here now.

- Yeah, but where do we go?

Atlantic City? Miami Beach?

The nearest spa?

Captain, you're suggesting

that there's no place we can go.

I think, I hope,

that you're wrong about that.

Now, first, I have a question.

Is it going to be possible

to refuel that plane

even though there's no power?

They have fuel pads in the ground

next to the Jetway.

They should be full.

But even if we do refuel the plane,

then what?

Then we take off again.

The sound is coming from the east.

The time rip was several

thousand miles to the west.

- Can you retrace our original course?

- Yeah, I can. But why?

The time rip might still be there.

Don't you see? We might

be able to fly right back through it.

Yeah, he might have something there.

He just might.

Yeah, he might.

He might or he might not.

It doesn't matter

because we're not going

anywhere in that plane.

Why not?

If we can refuel it, then why...?

Remember the matches?

The ones from the restaurant

that wouldn't light?

- What? What about them?

- Well, don't you see, mate?

If the matches won't light

and the beer's flat...

Then jet fuel won't burn.

It will be as used-up and as worn-out

as everything else in this world.

I might as well fill up

those fuel tanks with molasses.

You mean we're stuck here?

With that noise coming closer

and there's no way out?

You mentioned langoliers earlier,

Mr. Toomy.

- What are those?

- Dinah, don't talk to him.

Oh, don't worry.

I wouldn't hurt the child.

No more than I would have hurt

that girl. I'm just frightened, that's all.

- Aren't you?

- Yes.

But I don't take hostages

and I don't try to shoot teenage boys

when I'm frightened.

Touch.

What are the langoliers, Mr. Toomy?

Well...

...I used to think that they

were make-believe,

but I'm beginning to wonder

because I hear it too.

The sound?

The sound's the langoliers.

Well, I don't know

what else it could be.

Tell me more about them.

Well...

...my father used to say

that the langoliers were little creatures

that lived in closets

and sewers and other dark places.

- Like elves.

- No.

No, not like elves.

Nothing quite so pleasant, I'm afraid.

He said that all they really were

was hair and teeth

and fast little legs.

Oh, those little legs had to be fast

so that they could catch up

with all the bad little boys

no matter how quickly

they scampered.

Stop it.

- You're scaring her.

- No, he's not.

I know make-believe when I hear it.

I think what Laurel means

is that I'm scaring her.

Well, my dad said there were

thousands of langoliers.

There had to be

thousands of them

because there are millions

of bad little boys

and bad little girls

scampering all over the world.

Oh, my father loved that word,

"scampering."

I think because it implies senseless,

directionless, unproductive motion.

Because the langoliers, they run.

They have purpose.

In fact, you could say that

the langoliers are purpose personified.

What did the kids do that was so bad

the langoliers had to run after them?

Well, I'm glad you asked

that question, Dinah,

because when my daddy

said someone was bad,

he meant that that person was lazy.

And a lazy person couldn't be

part of the big picture.

Because in my house,

you were either part of the big picture

or you were lying down on the job.

And if you were lying down on the job

and you weren't part of the big picture,

then the langoliers would come

and take you out of the picture,

take you out of it altogether.

He said you'd be lying

in bed one night

and you'd hear them coming

towards you,

- crunching, chomping, and smacking...

- Stop it.

That's enough.

Okay.

I'll bet you were scared of your dad,

weren't you, Mr. Toomy?

You win the cigar, little miss.

I was terrified of him.

Is he dead?

Yeah.

Was he lying down on the job?

Did the langoliers get him?

Yes.

- Mr. Toomy?

- What?

I'm not the way you see me.

I'm not ugly. None of us are.

And just how do you know

how I see you, little blind miss?

You might be surprised.

- Okay, so, what do we do now?

- I don't know.

God, she looks beautiful,

doesn't she?

Yeah, especially compared

to everything else around here.

Brian, exactly how much fuel

do we have left?

Well, when we landed,

I had less than 5,000 pounds.

To get back to where this happened,

I'd need

at least a hundred thousand.

Whatever's happening

seems to be catching.

Well, I'm going back

to the restaurant.

I don't like leaving the ladies alone

with that banker fellow too long.

- Come on.

- Well, wait a minute.

Albert?

Albert, what is it?

Captain Engle.

Captain Engle, come here.

I think I have the solution

to our problem.

What are they doing?

They've taken the slide away

and they're putting the stairway

by the door.

And now they're going up.

Are you sure you don't have any idea

what they're up to?

All I know is that Albert went nuts.

He kept saying something

about the plane being more there.

I didn't get it.

He just was really jabbering.

I just hope they hurry up.

Because poor Mr. Toomy's right.

The langoliers are coming.

Sweetie, that's just something

his father made up.

Maybe once it was make-believe,

but not anymore.

All right, Albert. On with the show.

Exhibit A, the book of matches

from the restaurant.

It looks different outside.

The light's going.

That's what's different.

How's Mr. Toomy?

Are you kidding? He fell asleep.

I guess that's it.

There's nothing more

we can do out here.

Wait a minute. I smelled something.

I smelled sulphur.

- I did too.

- Try another one, Albert.

You see? You see?

Do you see what it means?

We brought our own time with us.

That's the past out there

and everywhere, I guess,

east of the hole that we came through.

But the present is still in here.

Still caught inside this airplane.

That's why it looks brighter, more alive,

than anything else here.

Bravo, Albert. Bravo. Try the beer.

Smell.

By God, it smells like beer.

Come on, mate, pour it. My doc says

suspense is bad for the old ticker.

Hey.

You awake?

So the matches work but the lager

doesn't. What does that mean?

Apparently it takes a moment

for things to catch up.

Oh, that's excellent. That's

the best beer I ever had in my life.

Oh, you're right.

It's bloody marvellous.

Here, try the soda.

Gentlemen, the cola

is very, very good today.

Christ almighty, it's dark.

You're supposed

to be watching the nut.

Oh, don't worry, he's still out.

Damn, that sound is creepy.

It's like a bunch of coked-up termites

in a balsa wood glider.

I think we ought to check on

Mr. Toomy.

I'm worried about him.

But if he's unconscious,

there's nothing we can do about it.

I don't think he is unconscious.

I don't think he's even asleep.

All right, let's go see.

Hey, look, I thought I'd...

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