The Thing Page #24

Through the kitchen. The foundation is crumbling. He

sings on.

NARROW PASSAGEWAY

Gurgling and hissing. A taloned arm slinks around a

corner in retreat.

MACREADY (O.S.)

Chime in if you know that words, old

boy.

MACREADY:

plows through several more rooms before ending up in the

pub area. He backs it up and retrieves a bottle of liquor

from the bar.

MACREADY:

You like whiskey? Come on, join me

for a drink. Be good for you. Grow

fangs on your chest.

He takes a drink and rams through another wall.

INT. REC ROOM

The tractor blazes into the rec room. MacReady parks it

directly in front of the hole in the roof, created by The

Thing when it surprised them earlier.

MACREADY:

Damn it, ran out of gas.

He pulls off the heavy hydrogen tanks and drapes them over

the tractor. As he talks his eyes move like a hawk

passing from roof, to doorways, to rubble.

Wind and ice bristle through the gaping holes, stinging

MacReady with the cold. He winces at his mittenless,

blackened fingers.

MACREADY:

Sweetheart, it's going to get mighty

cold in here soon... You better make

your move... I mean, hell, I'm only

one person...

He takes a swig from his bottle.

MACREADY:

I know you're bugged because we

ruined your trip, right? Spiffy

little toy you had there.

A slight tremor perks his eyes and ears. He looks up

through the hole, then around. He lights a lighter and

cups it in his hand near the stick of dynamite in his lap.

MACREADY:

But your real hang up is your

looks...

A stronger tremor. The adrenalin pumps.

MACREADY:

(wants him bad)

Atta boy. I know you're around.

The floor shakes. MacReady stands, his head whirling

around the room.

MACREADY:

Come on, sucker.

The tractor inches up off the ground. MacReady falls

forward and looks straight down through the chassis and

into the vile and grinning face below. A claw flashes up,

splitting the steering wheel but missing his face.

He depresses the ignition, bolting the tractor ten feet.

He jumps, hanging onto the edge of the hole in the

ceiling. The Thing's face and arms burst through the

metal plating of the tractor. The reaching claws just

miss him as he pulls himself through.

EXT. ROOF

He lights his fuse, drops in the stick, turns and runs.

Half of The Thing's grotesque and angular torso bolts up

through the hole, howling in fury. An appendage springs

outward and winds around MacReady's jacket, hissing like

acid into the fabric.

An immense explosion. The hydrogen tanks send a white

fireball fifty feet into the sky. The Thing's body

disintegrating almost immediately.

The force of the blast sweeps MacReady off the roof. He

and the severed appendage crash to the hard ice in flames.

He rolls over and over trying to smother the fire and tear

off the insidious limb.

CUT TO:

INT. CAMP

A ruin. One half of it burnt almost to the ground.

MacReady wears a thick blanket which covers him like a

shroud, from his shoulders to the floor.

He walks bent over and in much pain, trying to blunt

patches of fire with an extinguisher. It is futile. He

gives up.

CUT TO:

INT. PUB AREA

Mostly untouched by the fire, but like most of the rest of

the camp, exposed to the outside. The storm has settled

considerably.

CLOSE ON MACREADY

lighting a cigar. His hands are heavily wrapped. He

pours himself a drink.

A puffy white hand, missing two fingers, enters the frame

and whirls a startled MacReady around. It is Childs.

White and black blotches cover his frostbitten face.

CHILDS:

Did you kill it?

He looks as weak as MacReady. A beat.

MACREADY:

I think so.

CHILDS:

What do you mean "you think so?"

Both men speak guardedly and stare at each other

suspiciously.

MACREADY:

Yeah. I got it.

(refers to Childs'

condition)

Pretty mean frostbite.

Childs steps back, keeping his distance. He indicates his

puffy white hand.

CHILDS:

It'll turn black again soon enough.

Then I guess I'll be losing the

whole thing...

(refers to feet)

... Think my toes are already gone.

MacReady, carrying the bottle and glass, limps over and

sits down behind a gaming table. There is a chess set and

several decks of cards. The two men continue to eye each

other.

CHILDS:

So you're the only one who made it.

MacReady begins setting up a non-electronic chessboard.

MACREADY:

Not the only one.

CHILDS:

The fire's got the temperature way

up all over camp... won't last long

though.

MACREADY:

Neither will we.

CHILDS:

Maybe we should try and fix the

radio... try and get some help.

MACREADY:

Maybe we shouldn't.

CHILDS:

Then we'll never make it.

MacReady puffs on his cigar. He reveals a small blowtorch

from under the table and places it beside him on top.

MACREADY:

Maybe we shouldn't make it.

CHILDS:

(beat)

If you're worried about anything,

let's take that blood test of yours.

MACREADY:

If we've got any surprises for each

other -- we shouldn't be in any

condition to do anything about it.

(beat)

You play chess?

They regard each other for a moment. Childs painfully

sits down across from MacReady.

CHILDS:

I guess I'll be learning.

MacReady grins and hands the bottle to Childs. Childs

smiles back and takes a healthy swig.

EXT. COMPOUND - NIGHT

The fires smolder on. Bright embers dance in the

blackness -- pushed by the soughing wind.

FADE OUT.

THE END:

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