The snow was falling harder than ever by the time Winston Zeddemore began
his trip. Flakes swirled and eddied, catching in his short curly hair and
hanging there, the temperature of his body causing them to melt and run
down his face in little rivulets. He scowled and surveyed his surroundings.
"Don't recall whose idea these thermal uniforms were," he told himself aloud, "but I sure owe somebody a beer when we get back."
The landscape shone brightly under the dying sun, the snow-laden boughs and ground reflecting back the dim light a thousandfold. Winston whistled softly at the sheer beauty of the scene, and then plunged into the forest, his Army trained sense of direction pointing him unerringly toward the downed plane. "Beats Viet Nam any day," was his thought as the forest closed around him.
Zeddemore moved quickly, his ground-eating lope covering the distance back to the plane in approximately half the time it'd taken to make the initial trip. The trees broke open into the well-remembered clearing and Winston paused, still hidden by the forest, to conduct a rapid visual recon of the area. Save for the light accumulation of snow which now overlay the gleaming metal skin, the plane lay unchanged from when he'd last seen it, though it was only now that he realized just how much damage the vehicle had sustained in the crash. The front end was badly crumpled, the whole nose pushed in on itself from where it had initially struck the ground, and the starboard wing was practically torn away. The smell of jet fuel was strong, stronger than it had been before, and Winston heaved a thankful sigh that the plane hadn't been turned into a fireball on impact.
He negotiated the distance around the tail, his boots making crunching noises in the snowcrusted earth. The torn aperture of the port fuselage gaped blackly against that sea of white, and Zeddemore lost no time in making for it. He used the wing as a stepboard, much as Sam had done earlier, and poked his head through the hatch, thrower primed to fire and accelerator humming its readiness on his back. It was a safe sound, one of leashed nuclear power, and Winston drew comfort from the security its presence offered against the very real threat of revenge by the Lord of Decay.
The interior was dim, little of the dazzling light without making its way through the small windows. Winston blinked twice, only then realizing that he could see - the emergency lights continued to glow red, shedding enough illumination for him to navigate the cabin without stumbling.
He climbed inside, thrower leveled, senses alert for any clue that Naggaoth had followed him from the cabin. He paused, listening intently, the hairs on his neck prickling with the sure knowledge that he was right in his caution - Naggaoth was here... waiting.
Winston shivered. "Looks like it's show time," he muttered, cautiously making his way back to the passenger compartment. From one side Ann McDonneFs legs projected pathetically from beneath the rough curtain leading to the cockpit He paused, head bowed, by her body, his lips moving in a brief, silent prayer. Then his head came up, his face hardening back into the combat mask he'd worn since leaving the cabin. His senses were now jangling a full alarm, and he examined every shadow carefully for Naggaoth's loathsome form.
"You might as well show yourself now, Naggaoth!" Winston called insolently, stamping his feet. He stepped carefully around the woman's legs and made his way to the rear of the plane. "I know you're here; you want'a have things out now?"
There was no answer from Naggaoth, the only sounds being the hollow thumps of Winston's boots, eerie when backdropped against the rising wind outside his meager shelter.
"Naggaoth?" Still nothing. Egon's grip still lay where it had been flung by the crash, and Winston dropped to his knees beside it, opening the zipper with one hand. "Ecto-visors, two fresh traps, auxiliary PKE meter.." He ticked off its contents item by item, then rezipped the bag and made to rise.
"Bad idea. Zed," he stopped himself, reopening the grip. "I'm gonna need both hands free if... when Naggaoth hits." He hurriedly attached the two fully charged traps to hooks on the back of his pack, slipped the ecto- visors and PKE meter into his pocket and rose again, gripping his thrower tightly in both hands.
"Still no sign of Naggaoth. Maybe I'm going to make it back in one piece after all." So cheered by this possibility, he retraced his route through the plane. "Maybe Naggaoth isn't interested in me at...." That thought died away, replaced by the vivid mental image of the creature's earlier assault, of the vengeance-lust in Naggaoth's hard eyes when he looked at Ray, pale and bleeding, backed up against the plane's steel wall, of the creature's vow to taste his blood -- either before or after that of all the other Ghostbusters.
Winston felt his face drain as the most probable explanation for Naggaoth's absence dawned on him. "He might be attacking the guys right now," he breathed, more horrified than before. "He might not be interested in me at all if they...."
"Oh," an eerie rumbling voice answered from directly overhead, "but I am interessssted in you, ssssingle humannn. Verry much ssso."
Winston ducked an instant ahead of the green, multi-taloned arm which would have split his head neatly in two. He dropped the rest of the way to the deck, then rolled to his feet and brought up his particle rifle, all in one coordinated motion. The hand, unfortunately, had already withdrawn through the ceiling.
"You missed!" Winston taunted, making a dash for the open hatch. "You want to try again, slimehead?"
He dove through the opening, seeking the increased maneuvering room of the open air. He hit the ground, dropping to his knees, then immediately springing to his feet. "Can't let him catch me," he breathed, starting for the woods. "I have to keep ahead of him... no matter what." A sprint of a dozen yards took him to the tree line. He dove through them, swatting away the pine needles that scratched shallow furrows in his skin. Behind him the crash of a heavy body betrayed Naggaoth's continuing interest in the black Ghostbuster. Obviously disdaining his abilities to become insubstantial, the nether-lord forced his way through the foliage through sheer brute strength, his angry snarl muffled not at all by the soft blanket of snow which covered everything.
The chase continued for some time. Winston dodged trees and logs, ducked snow laden boughs and jumped ditches already freezing over from the winter cold. And still Naggaoth came, his own pace slowed not at all by the rough terrain the human was traversing only with difficulty.
Many minutes passed. "Got to lose him," Winston gasped finally, growing winded by the extended run. "I...." He tilted his head in a listening attitude, not slowing his headlong rush at all, but the woods to Winston's rear were utterly silent. "He's... not behind me...?" he began, glancing over his shoulder. A mistake as he learned when two slime-covered arms closed around him from the front. Winston yelped.
"At lasssf." A breath of fetid air wafted into Winston's face, the stench of rotting bodies and decomposing flesh. "Ar lasst, onnne of my tormenntersss iss mine." Winston gagged, the bile rising to choke him at the proximity of the Lord of Decay. "Let... go," he managed, kicking wildly. His booted feet connected, but Naggaoth only hefted him higher, seemingly unaffected by the blows. "Let go!"
Eyes yellow and flat like a snake's gleamed with an inner light as the swamp spawn leaned closer, the better to examine his catch. "Pretty, pretty flesh,'' Naggaoth crooned, dripping saliva onto Winston's shoulder. "Sssso tassty. So warm."
Zeddemore's mind whirled, analyzing his situation in a flash. Naggaoth's arms were wrapped once around his chest, Winston's particle thrower trapped between their two bodies, the barrel pointed upward at an angle. The grip was steel -- even semi-corporeal, Naggaoth was by far the most substantial entity they'd faced in some time, and, consequently, one of the most physically powerful. Winston had no hope of breaking that grip by strength of arm alone.
The human's advantage, however, lay in the viscous slime which covered every square inch of the nether lord's body. Realizing this, the oldest Ghostbuster began to squirm, earning himself another blast of Naggaoth's foul laughter. "Fight me, pretty, tasty, beautiffful human," the creature said, bobbing its head. "Tasste better .fight."
But Winston had achieved the position he wanted. He froze and waited, sneering as best he could while trying his best not to inhale Naggaoth's stench. "Pond scum like you don*t deserve to be fought."
"Talk, not fight, flesh food?" Naggaoth retorted, managing to sound angry, disappointed and gleeful all at once. "Ohhh, sooo" The reptilian head shook once, then slowly began to descend, its target: the flesh of Winston's shoulder. "Taaastyyy"
Winston waited until the dripping teeth were positioned six inches from his skin, then he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger of his weapon, craning as far away from the resulting lightning bolt as he could. It struck Naggaoth squarely beneath the jaw, jolting the great head backwards. Naggaoth howled, dropping Zeddemore unceremoniously to the ground before vanishing.
"How about some more?!" Winston reopened his challenge, gritting his teeth against his own pain. He pulled himself to his feet, thrower at ready, but there was no answer from Naggaoth, and gradually Winston allowed himself to slump back to the ground, his hand going to the left side of his face.
"Oh, man that hurts," he groaned, lightly touching the swelling skin which adorned his cheek and neck, the result of the energy discharge. "Much closer and I wouldn't 'a' had a face left at all."
He opened his eyes and blinked, relieved when his vision immediately cleared. "Well, what do you know?" he said in a pleased voice. "It worked!" He allowed himself the indulgence of a single moment to celebrate his triumph, then he was on his feet, alarm erasing his newborn smile.
"Ray," he gasped. "Peter! Naggaoth will go for them next!"
"Not nexxxt," a hated voice answered from beyond the trees. "Now!"
"No!" Winston's face hardened into lines and planes far removed from his usual amiable features. "Touch them, Naggaoth," he swore, clenching his fist, "and I won't just stop with trapping you; I'll destroy you - permanently!"
"You sssshall live a long time befffore you die..." was Naggaoth's only reply, and that swallowed up in the muting blanket of falling snow.
"They won't have a chance," Zeddemore panted, breaking off an icicle and clapping it to his cheek. "Two of them hurt and they don't have any traps!'* He started off at a dead run, heedless of the treacherous slush beneath his feet. "Hang on, guys," he prayed, increasing his speed to a full run. "0l' Winston Zeddemore is on his way."
***
"Don't recall whose idea these thermal uniforms were," he told himself aloud, "but I sure owe somebody a beer when we get back."
The landscape shone brightly under the dying sun, the snow-laden boughs and ground reflecting back the dim light a thousandfold. Winston whistled softly at the sheer beauty of the scene, and then plunged into the forest, his Army trained sense of direction pointing him unerringly toward the downed plane. "Beats Viet Nam any day," was his thought as the forest closed around him.
Zeddemore moved quickly, his ground-eating lope covering the distance back to the plane in approximately half the time it'd taken to make the initial trip. The trees broke open into the well-remembered clearing and Winston paused, still hidden by the forest, to conduct a rapid visual recon of the area. Save for the light accumulation of snow which now overlay the gleaming metal skin, the plane lay unchanged from when he'd last seen it, though it was only now that he realized just how much damage the vehicle had sustained in the crash. The front end was badly crumpled, the whole nose pushed in on itself from where it had initially struck the ground, and the starboard wing was practically torn away. The smell of jet fuel was strong, stronger than it had been before, and Winston heaved a thankful sigh that the plane hadn't been turned into a fireball on impact.
He negotiated the distance around the tail, his boots making crunching noises in the snowcrusted earth. The torn aperture of the port fuselage gaped blackly against that sea of white, and Zeddemore lost no time in making for it. He used the wing as a stepboard, much as Sam had done earlier, and poked his head through the hatch, thrower primed to fire and accelerator humming its readiness on his back. It was a safe sound, one of leashed nuclear power, and Winston drew comfort from the security its presence offered against the very real threat of revenge by the Lord of Decay.
The interior was dim, little of the dazzling light without making its way through the small windows. Winston blinked twice, only then realizing that he could see - the emergency lights continued to glow red, shedding enough illumination for him to navigate the cabin without stumbling.
He climbed inside, thrower leveled, senses alert for any clue that Naggaoth had followed him from the cabin. He paused, listening intently, the hairs on his neck prickling with the sure knowledge that he was right in his caution - Naggaoth was here... waiting.
Winston shivered. "Looks like it's show time," he muttered, cautiously making his way back to the passenger compartment. From one side Ann McDonneFs legs projected pathetically from beneath the rough curtain leading to the cockpit He paused, head bowed, by her body, his lips moving in a brief, silent prayer. Then his head came up, his face hardening back into the combat mask he'd worn since leaving the cabin. His senses were now jangling a full alarm, and he examined every shadow carefully for Naggaoth's loathsome form.
"You might as well show yourself now, Naggaoth!" Winston called insolently, stamping his feet. He stepped carefully around the woman's legs and made his way to the rear of the plane. "I know you're here; you want'a have things out now?"
There was no answer from Naggaoth, the only sounds being the hollow thumps of Winston's boots, eerie when backdropped against the rising wind outside his meager shelter.
"Naggaoth?" Still nothing. Egon's grip still lay where it had been flung by the crash, and Winston dropped to his knees beside it, opening the zipper with one hand. "Ecto-visors, two fresh traps, auxiliary PKE meter.." He ticked off its contents item by item, then rezipped the bag and made to rise.
"Bad idea. Zed," he stopped himself, reopening the grip. "I'm gonna need both hands free if... when Naggaoth hits." He hurriedly attached the two fully charged traps to hooks on the back of his pack, slipped the ecto- visors and PKE meter into his pocket and rose again, gripping his thrower tightly in both hands.
"Still no sign of Naggaoth. Maybe I'm going to make it back in one piece after all." So cheered by this possibility, he retraced his route through the plane. "Maybe Naggaoth isn't interested in me at...." That thought died away, replaced by the vivid mental image of the creature's earlier assault, of the vengeance-lust in Naggaoth's hard eyes when he looked at Ray, pale and bleeding, backed up against the plane's steel wall, of the creature's vow to taste his blood -- either before or after that of all the other Ghostbusters.
Winston felt his face drain as the most probable explanation for Naggaoth's absence dawned on him. "He might be attacking the guys right now," he breathed, more horrified than before. "He might not be interested in me at all if they...."
"Oh," an eerie rumbling voice answered from directly overhead, "but I am interessssted in you, ssssingle humannn. Verry much ssso."
Winston ducked an instant ahead of the green, multi-taloned arm which would have split his head neatly in two. He dropped the rest of the way to the deck, then rolled to his feet and brought up his particle rifle, all in one coordinated motion. The hand, unfortunately, had already withdrawn through the ceiling.
"You missed!" Winston taunted, making a dash for the open hatch. "You want to try again, slimehead?"
He dove through the opening, seeking the increased maneuvering room of the open air. He hit the ground, dropping to his knees, then immediately springing to his feet. "Can't let him catch me," he breathed, starting for the woods. "I have to keep ahead of him... no matter what." A sprint of a dozen yards took him to the tree line. He dove through them, swatting away the pine needles that scratched shallow furrows in his skin. Behind him the crash of a heavy body betrayed Naggaoth's continuing interest in the black Ghostbuster. Obviously disdaining his abilities to become insubstantial, the nether-lord forced his way through the foliage through sheer brute strength, his angry snarl muffled not at all by the soft blanket of snow which covered everything.
The chase continued for some time. Winston dodged trees and logs, ducked snow laden boughs and jumped ditches already freezing over from the winter cold. And still Naggaoth came, his own pace slowed not at all by the rough terrain the human was traversing only with difficulty.
Many minutes passed. "Got to lose him," Winston gasped finally, growing winded by the extended run. "I...." He tilted his head in a listening attitude, not slowing his headlong rush at all, but the woods to Winston's rear were utterly silent. "He's... not behind me...?" he began, glancing over his shoulder. A mistake as he learned when two slime-covered arms closed around him from the front. Winston yelped.
"At lasssf." A breath of fetid air wafted into Winston's face, the stench of rotting bodies and decomposing flesh. "Ar lasst, onnne of my tormenntersss iss mine." Winston gagged, the bile rising to choke him at the proximity of the Lord of Decay. "Let... go," he managed, kicking wildly. His booted feet connected, but Naggaoth only hefted him higher, seemingly unaffected by the blows. "Let go!"
Eyes yellow and flat like a snake's gleamed with an inner light as the swamp spawn leaned closer, the better to examine his catch. "Pretty, pretty flesh,'' Naggaoth crooned, dripping saliva onto Winston's shoulder. "Sssso tassty. So warm."
Zeddemore's mind whirled, analyzing his situation in a flash. Naggaoth's arms were wrapped once around his chest, Winston's particle thrower trapped between their two bodies, the barrel pointed upward at an angle. The grip was steel -- even semi-corporeal, Naggaoth was by far the most substantial entity they'd faced in some time, and, consequently, one of the most physically powerful. Winston had no hope of breaking that grip by strength of arm alone.
The human's advantage, however, lay in the viscous slime which covered every square inch of the nether lord's body. Realizing this, the oldest Ghostbuster began to squirm, earning himself another blast of Naggaoth's foul laughter. "Fight me, pretty, tasty, beautiffful human," the creature said, bobbing its head. "Tasste better .fight."
But Winston had achieved the position he wanted. He froze and waited, sneering as best he could while trying his best not to inhale Naggaoth's stench. "Pond scum like you don*t deserve to be fought."
"Talk, not fight, flesh food?" Naggaoth retorted, managing to sound angry, disappointed and gleeful all at once. "Ohhh, sooo" The reptilian head shook once, then slowly began to descend, its target: the flesh of Winston's shoulder. "Taaastyyy"
Winston waited until the dripping teeth were positioned six inches from his skin, then he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger of his weapon, craning as far away from the resulting lightning bolt as he could. It struck Naggaoth squarely beneath the jaw, jolting the great head backwards. Naggaoth howled, dropping Zeddemore unceremoniously to the ground before vanishing.
"How about some more?!" Winston reopened his challenge, gritting his teeth against his own pain. He pulled himself to his feet, thrower at ready, but there was no answer from Naggaoth, and gradually Winston allowed himself to slump back to the ground, his hand going to the left side of his face.
"Oh, man that hurts," he groaned, lightly touching the swelling skin which adorned his cheek and neck, the result of the energy discharge. "Much closer and I wouldn't 'a' had a face left at all."
He opened his eyes and blinked, relieved when his vision immediately cleared. "Well, what do you know?" he said in a pleased voice. "It worked!" He allowed himself the indulgence of a single moment to celebrate his triumph, then he was on his feet, alarm erasing his newborn smile.
"Ray," he gasped. "Peter! Naggaoth will go for them next!"
"Not nexxxt," a hated voice answered from beyond the trees. "Now!"
"No!" Winston's face hardened into lines and planes far removed from his usual amiable features. "Touch them, Naggaoth," he swore, clenching his fist, "and I won't just stop with trapping you; I'll destroy you - permanently!"
"You sssshall live a long time befffore you die..." was Naggaoth's only reply, and that swallowed up in the muting blanket of falling snow.
"They won't have a chance," Zeddemore panted, breaking off an icicle and clapping it to his cheek. "Two of them hurt and they don't have any traps!'* He started off at a dead run, heedless of the treacherous slush beneath his feet. "Hang on, guys," he prayed, increasing his speed to a full run. "0l' Winston Zeddemore is on his way."
***