Twilight Zone The Movie Read Online Free PDF Page B

below, flecking its murkiness with glints of gold.
    Bill stood silent, focusing eyes and ears intently. But nothing moved beneath the light on the other side and no sound broke the stillness. Even the frogs were silent here.
    Slowly, he started down the sloping bank to the water’s edge, glancing left and right as he did so. In the jungle growth behind him the mosquitoes’ hum was faintly audible. That was all he heard. Before him the river stretched soundless, its surface serene.
    Bill made his way to the water’s edge, staring into the lighted semicircle of huts once again.
    Again his eyes searched for a hint of movement, and again he hesitated.
    Had the villagers seen him? Were they hiding from him in fear or had they retreated into the huts to surprise him with an ambush?
    There was no way of telling, no way of knowing if he faced friend or foe. Only the lights held promise, beckoning him forward, out of the darkness. No matter what might be lurking across the river, it was better than what lay behind him.
    Bill waded into the water and when it rose to waist-level he started to swim, ignoring his body’s aching protest. No matter how tired he was, he had to keep going.
    To his surprise, as he swam he felt the tension in his muscles ebbing, but the realization was purely physical; his mind was not affected.
    Or was it? Once again the events of the past few hours flashed before him and again the question came: Had it only been hours? Suddenly it seemed to him that he’d been on the run forever—running from the Nazis, the Klansmen, then those G.I.s in the jungle. Had it really happened or was he going crazy?
    The full ache in his limbs returned and now he greeted it gratefully; at least this gave him part of the answer. There was no way he could be so beat unless what had happened was real.
    It wasn’t his imagination and he wasn’t crazy. It was the others who’d freaked out; the Nazis who mistook him for a Jew, the Klansmen who thought he was black, the G.I.s who figured him for an oriental.
    What was the matter with them, didn’t they have eyes? Couldn’t they see that he was an American all along? If they’d only looked, only listened, they should have known.
    Crazy, that’s what they were. But it didn’t matter now; the important thing was that he’d escaped and if he could find someone here in the village across the river, if they were friendly, then maybe they’d help him to get away. Away from the jungle and the crazies, help him to get back home again.
    Reaching the shallows, Bill rose to his feet and made his way to shore. Ahead of him the hanging lights still burned, but nothing stirred in the shadows beyond.
    Again the thought came and with it rose the fear: Was it an ambush?
    There was only one way to find out, and now that he was here he had to take the chance. Slowly he forced himself forward up the bank and stepped into the semicircular clearing before the thatched huts arranged by the cliffside. Above him he could hear the buzz and drone of the insects fluttering around the burning bulbs. There was no other sound except his own harsh breathing and the muffled thudding of his heartbeat.
    Outlined against the light, Bill glanced across the compound. What were they waiting for? If they had weapons, now was the time to use them; standing here he made a perfect target. And if they didn’t shoot, if they were friendly, then why were they afraid to show themselves?
    Bill swallowed quickly, then took a deep breath. “Anybody here?” he shouted.
    The only answer was the echo of his own voice.
    Bill frowned. Maybe they couldn’t understand what he was saying, but at least they had heard him call out and they could see he was unarmed. Why didn’t they show themselves?
    Still no sound, still no movement, except for that of insects buzzing and fluttering around the bare bulbs overhead.
    Bill turned and crossed to the hut on the far end at his left. He moved along the side to the open doorway, halting