Disclaimer: I have yet to assimilate anyone who owns The Thing, therefore I don't own it yet.
If you're Norwegian, The Thing is about a heroic alien hunter who gets tragically shot down by the people he was trying to protect. - Cracked
Chapter 1: Outpost 31
Lars peered forlornly through his binoculars. Somehow the creature that was impersonating his dog had escaped his view in the mountains. The survival of millions of people depended on him finding a dog in 14,000,000 square kilometres. His head throbbed from recent events and colour spots kept appearing before his eyes but he fought to remain focused. Matias was unaware of the thing's existence and almost certainly wouldn't carry on the chase without him.
The Norwegian struggled to remember his search and rescue training. The best way to find someone was to think what you would do in their circumstances. He pondered this. The thing would need shelter and fresh victims or it would freeze again. Logically, it could head back to its ship but it was running in the wrong direction.
"Matias." He said. "What's the nearest base?"
"Well... that would be the American camp. Just north-west."
"Then fly there, quickly!"
By some strange bit of luck, they found the dog again, barely a mile from the camp. At Lars's instruction, the pilot made several more strafing runs, but this was quickly given up as futile. Though he hit the creature a few times, it would always repair the damage before Matias could bring the vehicle round for him to drop the thermite charges. Instead, he ordered him to land at the camp, and cut it off at the pass.
Matias, unfamiliar with Outpost 31's layout, was forced to circle the camp twice before he found the helipad. He'd wanted to radio ahead, but he'd needed both hands to manoeuvre with and so was forced to land by eye with no guidance from the Americans. Next to him, his friend was looking increasingly frustrated that they weren't down already and so he forced himself to rush the landing, feeling the chopper bounce and skip as he did so. His instructor in Trondheim would have been thrown him out if he'd seen that.
Stepping from the cab, Lars snatched a thermite charge from the box and pulled the pin, however, as he drew his hand back to throw, the charge slipped through his damp fingers and landed in the snow by the helicopter.
"Get away!" He shouted. Any soldier knows that trying to throw a grenade back is the fastest way to get yourself blown up. Sadly, Matias wasn't a soldier and knew no such thing. The pilot charged forward in a foolhardy attempt to save the helicopter. The charge promptly ignited, vaporising the man and taking the chopper with it.
Having woken to find his camp in ruins and everyone gone, Matias's death had little effect on Lars's mind, particularly when he had to warn the five or so confused-looking Americans about the shape-shifting alien that was running up and licking one of their faces.
"Get away from that!" He shouted. "It's not a dog, it's some sort of... thing! It's impersonating a dog!" The Americans just looked at him blankly. "It's not real!" He screamed. But still they showed a frustrating inability to understand Norwegian. "Idiots!" He screamed, shouldering his rifle and resuming firing. Sadly, the dog-thing ducked at the last second and the bullet struck one of the men in the leg. The rest scrambled for cover.
Lars marched past them and went after the dog-thing as it made its way into the camp. He wasn't sure what he planned to do next, but giving up certainly wasn't the answer.
Smashing through the third and last pane of glass protecting the rec room, Garry took careful aim out the window, he hoped the intruder would come a bit closer so he could aim for a non-vital spot, from this range he couldn't be selective. Sadly, if the man brought his gun to bear again, he would be forced to just shoot and hope.
The commander abruptly lowered his gun as he spotted MacReady tailing the man. Garry had long been of the opinion that the pilot had a subconscious death wish. Fortunately, their visitor was so absorbed in whatever he was doing that he failed to notice, until Mac smacked him across the back of the head with his bottle of J and B. The Norwegian dropped like a stone.
Mac had spilled some of the drink in his attack "What a waste." He muttered, watching it seep into the snow.
The base's medical centre had never seen so much activity. In the corner, Norris was patching up Benning's leg. Copper, meanwhile, was tending to their visitor.
"Mac didn't actually hit him that hard." Said the doctor. "But I don't think it's the only time he's been knocked out recently." He pointed to a second lump hidden by the man's hair.
"Suppose that's what drove him crazy?" Said Bennings.
"Or he was crazy anyway and someone at the Norwegian camp tried to subdue him." Copper shrugged.
Garry was leafing through the pockets in the man's coat. Finding some tools, a dog whip, some bullets (but no gun) and, most helpfully, a small wallet with some ID. "Lars Jans Bolen, Norwegian." He read aloud. "By the looks of things, he was the dog's keeper."
"Seems he wasn't doing a very good job." Said Clark.
"Suppose it was a disease carrier of some kind?" Fuchs suggested.
"Already checked." Said Clark. "No rabies or anything I could find. It seems to be healthy."
Copper, meanwhile was filling a syringe with something.
"What's that for?" Said Garry.
"Getting knocked out's more dangerous than it looks in films." The doctor explained. "If he wakes up now it could kill him. I'll have to sedate him for a little while."
"I need to talk to him." Said Garry.
"You can talk to him in 5 hours or so. Don't know how much sense you'll get out of him. In the meantime, I'd like to check out his camp, see if anyone else is hurt."
"In this whether?" Said Childs.
"Winds are gonna let up a tad in the next few hours." Said Bennings. "Can't condone it much myself, but it is a short hop. an hour there and an hour back."
"Just keep Lars somewhere comfortable while I'm gone." Said Copper.
"Right." Said Garry. "Someone help me move him to a spare room. Childs, move all the sharp objects out and put a bolt on the door. I don't want him wandering round camp when we're not paying attention."
As the camp sat idle, waiting for Macready and Copper to return, Clark was wandering down to fetch something from his room. Walking past the room they'd dumped Lars in, he found the Norwegian dog pawing at the door. He smiled. It was both sweet and sad that the dog would still want to get back to its owner, even if he had spent the day trying to shoot it.
"Come on boy." Clark said, gently taking the creature by its collar. "I don't think you want to be going in there right now." The dog seemed to resist for a moment, before yielding to his guide and following him away.
With Macready and Copper's expedition to the Norwegian camp having found more questions than answers, Garry had every reason to feel frustrated. He was further annoyed when he stepped into the radio room and found Windows snoozing in his chair. He twisted some dials, sending a high pitched squeal through his headphones.
"Did you reach anybody yet?" He growled.
"Reach anybody? We're a thousand miles from no-where man. And it's gonna get a hell of a lot worse before it gets any better!" Windows groaned.
"Well, never mind. Have you been listening to those tapes?"
"Tapes?"
"Teach Yourself Norwegian." He'd had the tapes ordered in soon after the Norwegians had started constructing their camp. Since they were the only other people within easy travelling distance, it had seemed sensible for his radio operator to learn some of their language in case of emergencies.
"Er... yeah." Said Windows. Though he had listened to them, it had all seemed like red tape. Most Norwegians spoke English, and the few times he'd had to contact the Thule Station, he'd spoken to some British guy anyway.
"Well our visitor's waking up. I may need a translator."
Windows suddenly regretted not being more honest.
Lars was woken by the sensation of someone sponging his forehead. He opened his eyes to find a handful of strangers gathered by his bedside, the rest of the camp was gathered in the hallway, listening in.
The middle aged man asked him something in English. Lars simply shook his head. The man looked to a man in sunglasses stood behind him.
"Good morning. I is Windows." Said the man. "That is Garry. Boss. That is Copper. Doctor. That is Nauls. Baker. He owns food for yours."
The cook offered Lars something in a bowl. It occurred to him how hungry he was, but he had trouble trusting the food. "Open your mouth." He mumbled.
"What?" Said Nauls.
"Open your mouth." He repeated. He pointed to his own, opening it wide.
"I... think he wants you to open your mouth." Said Windows.
Nauls complied and Lars peered in. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him and he began spooning stew into his mouth. Looking around, he supposed that wasn't the best way to make an impression.
The Americans were looking to Windows now. The radio man gulped and said "We... would like... to have... why you... er..." He didn't know the Norwegian for "shot at" so he pretended to fire an invisible rifle. "us."
Lars thought for a long time. He remembered how everyone had responded when Kate had first told them about the creature. And she'd been able to speak their language. He tried to think of a way of explaining it that wouldn't sound crazy. "We found an animal, under the ice..."
"Slow!" Said Windows, looking through his Norwegian phrasebook. "Don't know "ice"?"
Lars simply pointed to the snow outside the window. Most of them seemed to know what he'd meant.
"There was some disease, alive in it..."
"Disease?" Windows interrupted again.
Lars groaned in frustration. Somehow, humanity was about to be doomed by one man who'd failed to study foreign languages properly. He took a deep breath, knowing that he had a lot of misunderstanding to make up for at this point and couldn't lose his temper. "Sickness. Illness. Infection." He mimed coughing and spluttering to illustrate his point. "It affects people's minds."
"Minds?"
"Brain." He tapped his skull. It occurred to him that, if these people thought he was crazy, all these mimes weren't going to help. "The dog was carrying it."
"Don't know "dog"?"
Lars's patience finally snapped and he tried to snatch the book off Windows, shouting furiously as he did so. At this point, Gary pulled out his Magnum again and Lars, sensibly, sat down.
Without anyone having to say anything, it became apparent that the interview was over. The crew filed out and locked the door behind them.
"Did you catch any of what he was saying at the end?" Said Gary.
"He was talking too fast." Said Windows. "He kept talking about a thing..."
"You need to be more specific."
"No. That's exactly what he said. He said the thing killed them. The thing's in the... hund." At this point, he finally found the right point in the dictionary. "Hey, that means dog!"
"I thought you'd agreed to try to learn their language!" Said Blair.
"Yey! I don't see any of you guys translating!" Windows snapped.
"So what we got?" Said Macready.
"Either his friends went mad and killed each other and that drove him mad, he went crazy and killed them, or... he's telling the truth and they got attacked by some brain parasite." Copper shrugged. "Either way, we'll probably never find out. We can only lock him up 'till we can move him out."
"In the meantime," said Macready, "Clark, you should probably quarantine the dog, just to be safe."
"Yeah, ok." Clark shrugged. "There's a crate I can put him in, just across from the main kennel."
"Then do that."
Lars, meanwhile was looking round the room, in search of some means of getting out. The Americans were clearly never going to believe him. If he was to stop this creature, he was going to have to do it himself.
Author's notes: I doubt anyone at the base spoke Norwegian, but I need a translator for the purposes of the story and Windows does seem like the most likely.
