Twilight Zone The Movie Read Online Free PDF Page A

murmur drifted faintly across the water. Bill recognized the voices of the patrol.
    “Hear anything?”
    “Not me, man. We must’ve got him.”
    Bill hesitated, fighting an impulse to call out once again. No use—those trigger-happy guys would only start shooting again. Now all he could do was keep moving, try to get across the river. Maybe it would be safer on the other side.
    He began to swim again; moving slowly, with cautious strokes in an effort to avoid disturbing the water in his progress. Don’t make waves.
    A sudden sound emerged from somewhere along the bank behind him. He halted his effort, floating on the surface as he turned his head toward shore.
    The deeper voice murmured again. “What’s wrong with your ears? He’s still swimming around out there—I heard him!”
    “Nothin’s wrong with my ears, man. Only thing I hear out there is frogs.”
    A third voice rose excitedly. “Hey, look! There’s his head sticking out of the water! He’s trying to make it to the other side!”
    Bill ducked under quickly, his arms flailing. No use worrying about the noise now. They’d spotted him, and all he could do was pray that he could stay beneath the surface long enough to reach the safety of the opposite shore. Another burst of machine-gun fire shattered the surface above his submerged head; the sound sped him on his way.
    He swam on, swam until his eyes blurred, his arms ached, his lungs burned. Then, just as he reached the point of no return, his thrashing feet touched bottom.
    Unable to endure another airless moment, Bill sought the surface, his head rising just far enough to clear the water. Inhaling deeply, he stared at the sheltering shore directly before him.
    He’d made it!
    And the gunfire from the other side of the river had ceased; now the only sounds he heard were the gasps accompanying his own intake of breath. Relieved, he drew himself up and waded through the shallows, then started up the sloping bank to head for the trees beyond.
    As he did so, a shout echoed across the waters behind him.
    “There he is!”
    Bill turned, crouching against the side of the bank, staring back across the river. He could see the shadows of the men moving on the other side, see them all too clearly.
    For the first time he realized that the river itself was not all that wide; once they started shooting again, he was done for. He crouched lower, hands digging deep into the mud as he waited for them to fire.
    But no shots came. Instead, as he glanced back across the swampy stream, he saw one of the shadows raise an arm, drawing it back like a pitcher preparing to throw a ball.
    Something came hurtling down from above and landed in the mud with a dull plop, about a dozen yards to Bill’s left. He turned, staring down at the object half imbedded in the soft mud of the riverbank.
    This was no baseball—the size and shape were wrong. As he blinked at the reflection of its shiny surface in the moonlight, Bill heard the hissing.
    Baseball? This was a grenade—
    He rose, running forward.
    Behind him the grenade exploded in a blinding burst of light, its blast shattering the silence. The impact of the explosion sent Bill flying, lifting him into the air to crash headfirst against the barrier of tree trunks directly before him.
    He must have blacked out then; maybe for a minute, perhaps for hours. There was no way of knowing, but slowly consciousness returned.
    Bill realized that he was still alive, alive and aware, lying on his back against warm grass, arms and legs outstretched. Cautiously he moved his fingers, wriggled his toes. Dull pain shot through his limbs and he felt a throbbing ache in his shoulders, but the muscles responded. He hadn’t been hit after all.
    Opening his eyes, he stared up past the encircling treetops toward the night sky overhead. The air above him was moist and heavy with heat. The clothing that clung to him was wet and sticky.
    Nothing had changed. He was still in the jungle, still