Unknown to him that question was being echoed on the other side of the lab
door, where Al was dramatically relating the events of the on-going battle.
"And the two of 'cm are taking on that monster alone, Sam - must be ten feet tall!" He raised both hands and rose up on his toes the better to illustrate the point. "It must'a already ate Zeddemore, 'cause he ain't back by now and it's not that far to the plane."
"Pulse and blood pressure?" Sam rapped, not raising his head.
Al dutifully relayed the information, finishing with, "...and they can't hold this thing much longer. How much more do you have to do on the kid?"
Sam reached for a scissors. "Finishing final sutures now," he said, plying a needle. "Rough job but I've got the metal removed and most of the bleeding stopped inside. I was right, there were no major organs affected, he was bleeding into the...."
"I don't care where," Al snapped, sticking his head through the wall to better check the battle. "Are you finished?"
There was a pause and a snip, then Sam was dropping the scissors onto a tray and reaching for a towel. "Finished," he announced, glancing at his watch. "With... two minutes to spare."
"Good." Al returned to Beckett's side, making frantic shooing motions toward the door. "Now spare your butt out of here before that monster does! Hang on, I'll let you know when the coast is clear." He again stuck his head through the door, pulling back when Sam called his name. "What?"
"I said I'm not going," Sam repeated patiently. "I can't leave a patient in this condition, What if he has trouble coming out of the anesthesia?"
"What if you have trouble coming out of ol' lizard breath's sharp teeth?" He interlaced his fingers, the very picture of snapping jaws. "Sam, you've done everything you could, now get out of here!"
Beckett ignored him, instead tip-toeing to the door and peeking out. He withdrew just microseconds ahead of the energy bolt which burned a half- inch hole in the wood next to his head. "Wow! That's some serious firepower! I wonder what kind of energy they're working with."
"The kind that isn't working against Mr. Personality out there," Al shot back. "All right, if you're not going to leave, the least you can do is barricade the door or something."
"It can walk through walls," Sam reminded him, re-opening the door. "Oh, boy!"
Alarmed by the familiar epithet, Al joined him at the door, gaping at the sight of Naggaoth, now almost completely substantial, with one great hand locked fully around Peter Venkman's arm and using it to shake the psychologist like a terrier with a rat. Peter's proton gun trailed by its connecting feed line, slapping noisily against Naggaoth's slime covered legs.
"Shoot him!" Venkman screeched, trying vainly to strike at the creature's yellow eyes. "SHOOT!"
Naggaoth paused, still holding Peter high in the air, to lift his head, nostrils flaring. "Naggaoth smellssss blood!" Dripping teeth clacked arrhythmically, the ancient Lord of Decay bent closer to Peter's throat. "Tassste yours."
The outer door slammed open and Winston Zeddemore burst upon the scene, breath coming in panting gasps. He took in the situation in a single sweep of his dark eyes, bringing up his rifle and taking aim.
Egon spun, knocking Winston's weapon down with the barrel of his own. "No, Winston!" he yelled, immediately re-aligning on the struggling duo. "You might hit Peter!"
"Then... hit me," Peter begged, his voice dropping to a croak. "Better that than...."
Sam didn't hesitate. With a hoarse shout he launched himself for Naggaoth's back, wrapping both arms and legs around the slippery body to prevent his being flung off. One arm he freed, however, to reach around Naggaoth's alligator head. He gouged at the creature's right eye, digging his thumb deeply into the socket and twisting. In his substantial form the nether- lord was as vulnerable to such physical disruption as was any living creature. Naggaoth screamed and dropped Peter to clap both hands across his eyes.
Peter rolled free of the creature's reach, coming up short against the old metal stove in the corner. He shook his head twice, his eyes unfocussed, but he reached automatically for the trailing particle rifle and brought it up. "NOW!" Egon yelled, but though both he and Winston opened up simultaneously, once more the elusive entity proved the faster. The liquefaction was almost instantaneous this time and Naggaoth was gone.
"Nuts!" Egon muttered. He tucked his thrower under his left elbow and knelt by Peter's side, slipping his good arm around the dazed psychologist, supporting his back, "Peter, are you all right?"
Venkman took a deep breath then winced and rubbed at his right shoulder, "I may have pulled a muscle- or two," he grated, letting the blond help him to his feet "Other than that-." He broke off as he spotted Sam, who was leaning shakily against the doorjamb. "Why aren't you with Ray?" he demanded, taking a menacing step forward.
Egon stopped him by firmly grasping his uninjured shoulder. "No, Peter. He saved your life."
Venkman stopped, his harsh expression moderating as memory returned. He offered Beckett/Bauer a puzzled look. "I don't know why you did it, but thanks."
"No problem," Sam replied, pulling away from the frame and bending to retrieve the towel he'd dropped.
"No problem, my Aunt Lucretia," Al grumbled, aiming a kick at Sam's backside. "That had to be the dumbest stunt..."
Lips firmly clamped together, Sam straightened and made his way to the lab table, where Ray lay covered to the waist by a clean sheet The area on which he lay, however, was bloodstained.
Winston grimaced at the sight "I see you didn't bother to wait until I got back," he accused, flashing Peter an angry look. "We never agreed to let him," he jerked his head in Sam's direction, "touch Ray."
Peter stared back defiantly. "It was my decision to make," he stated flatly. "No one else had a part in this one."
"And who made you Ray's guardian?" Winston demanded, clenching his fists again. "You're no relative and we're supposed to be a team."
"It was the right decision, ya big dope," Al rapped, pointing his comlink at Ray. "The guy's a little better already, Sam. Looks like you were in time after all."
Peter took a single pace forward, unknowingly passing through Al's chest "Any decision having to do with Ray is mine to make," he returned, his voice as hard as Winston's.
Egon stepped between them, patting Winston's tense shoulder. "This isn't the time or place to discuss this," he said in a reproving tone. "Naggaoth could attack us again any minute."
"And aren't you forgetting Ray?" Sam put in, effectively neutralizing the situation.
Three abashed men clustered around their youngest colleague, Winston laying one hand gently on Ray's sweat drenched hair. "He's so white," he whispered.
Egon delicately lifted one of Ray's wrists. "He is pale," he agreed quietly, "but his pulse is.."
"Regular," Al supplied.
"Regular?" Sam suggested, collecting a pile of towels from a shelf.
Egon shrugged. "It's so faint it's hard to tell."
"How... is he?" Peter asked, with uncharacteristic humility.
"Al?" Sam hailed under his breath.
Calavicci was at his side in an instant. "Vitals are still weak, Sam, but stabilizing well. As long as he doesn't infect too badly, he should make it."
"Meatball surgery was about right," Sam told the Ghostbusters, reaching for a basin. "I wish we could transfuse him but he's stabilizing, at least. Barring infection... bad infection," he corrected himself after another look at the table, "he should make it with proper medical assistance."
Spengler exchanged a relieved look with Peter. "He's breathing better than before," the former said with noticeable restraint
"He should show some improvement now that I have the bleeders tied off," Sam acknowledged. He shoved the basin in Peter's direction and the towels at Winston. "Help me get him cleaned up and out of here. This is hardly the most sanitary room I've ever operated in."
Working together, Winston and Peter began to work on their friend, the tension between them temporarily abated. "The next problem," Winston said, dampening one of the towels, "is Naggaoth. There's no way to tell where he'll pop up next - no way to anticipate him."
"He's got a point, Sam," Al remarked, pacing the room. "I'm going to patrol the grounds awhile. If I see anything, I'll let you know." Sam, scrubbing vainly at dried blood under his nails, simply nodded, though his eyes flashed the older man a grateful smile.
Egon scratched his lean jaw thoughtfully. "I believe that he's going to come after Ray next," he said, watching while Peter dabbed the young man's face with another cloth. "Naggaoth said he smelled blood."
"That's right" The psychologist paused, frowning thoughtfully. "I remember one of the witnesses... or was it one of the Indian legends?"
"Legend," Egon confirmed. "Naggaoth is attracted to fresh blood and the only one of us wounded...."
"Bleeding," Peter corrected, gently working his wrenched shoulder.
Egon nodded. "As Naggaoth's not the brightest being we've ever faced, it's my guess... my psychological evaluation," he amended, sending an impish grin in Peter's direction, "that he's going to run true to pattern and follow the smell of fresh blood."
"Soon, too," Peter added. "I get the feeling he needs to eat again fast. Chances are that the next attack will be all or nothing." He turned to Sam, still in the far corner. "You fulfilled your part of the bargain, Bauer," he said, his tones neutral. "You're free to go now."
"But I suggest that you don't leave right away," Egon interrupted. "Naggaoth may still decide to go for an easy target - it's been a long time between... meals."
Sam shuddered. "I think I'll stick around then," he said, offering the man a sickly smile. "I didn't spend all those years in college to become somebody's between meal snack." He stared down, disgusted, at his blood- spattered clothing and boots. "I'd better find something else to wear; I look like a traffic accident."
While Sam hunted for shirt and trousers baggy enough to fit over his muscular frame, Winston and Peter continued their own task, and thus it wasn't long before Ray was clean, dry, and dressed in fresh pajamas from Bauer's meager collection. That was when Sam returned to the lab, valiantly striving to unfasten the sticky shirt. "Be careful how you lift him," he admonished, growling when his zipper surrendered a single inch before retangling itself in the material. "If you pull out those sutures. I'm going to have to put him under again, and I don't think his system will stand additional anesthesia."
Peter nodded shortly and slipped his arms under Ray's shoulders and thighs, intending to carry him into the other room. He gasped as his shoulder protested the strain. "Bad idea," he grunted, twisting his lips ruefully. "Winston?"
Zeddemore shook his head. "Can't do everything yourself," he said meaningfully, if without malice. He unsnapped the buckle securing his proton pack at his waist, then shrugged out of the heavy weapon, allowing it to slip to the floor. He then elbowed Peter aside and lifted Ray himself, very carefully, as though he were handling something infinitely fragile. "I'll take Ray," he said. "You keep an eye out for...."
"SAM!" Al shouted, appearing out of thin air. "I just saw...."
"Mine." There was no warning for the Ghostbusters, for Sam had no time to draw a breath before Naggaoth was upon them. "My bloood,'' the swamp spawned nether-lord boomed, taking a swipe at the nearest target, Sam. Sam reeled back, coming up short against a sideboard, then dropped to his knees. There was no maneuverability in the small, overcrowded room, no place to dodge or hide, and Naggaoth's talons missed Sam's head by scant inches.
Naggaoth cocked his head, attempting to focus his one remaining eye on the retreating team. "My blood!" he raged, turning finally on Winston.
The black Ghostbuster edged backward warily, still clutching Ray tightly in his arms. Winston gulped noisily. "A little help here, guys," he requested, taking another careful step.
Peter fired off a short, controlled burst and Naggaoth lashed out angrily, striking the heavy table with one powerful arm. It flew across the room, catching Peter flat on and smashing him into a shelf-laden wall. The table landed half atop him, only its angle to the wall preventing his chest from being crushed in. He lay stunned for several seconds unmoving, then shoved weakly against it, unable to find enough leverage to free himself from its weight.
Meanwhile, Naggaoth was again sniffing the air like a spaniel, apparently able to differentiate between human odors and his own stench. "Blood," he crooned over and over. "Pretty blood."
Winston glanced nervously down at Ray, who was still deeply unconscious, while continuing to back slowly away from those razor edged claws. "Ray's blood," he breathed hoarsely, circling the outer perimeter of the room a single step at a time.
But it was no longer Ray who was covered with the sticky fluid. Naggaoth ignored the two after no more than a cursory look, turning instead to the corner in which Sam huddled. The large nostrils flared wide. "Sssssmell blood there," he said, happily starting forward.
Al jumped in front of the terrified surgeon, waving his arms and yelling loudly. "Back off. Snake Breath! Shoo! Go away!"
That was when Egon acted. Hampered by his broken wrist, he nevertheless managed to unclip his particle thrower and fire off a burst, bracing his legs carefully against any recoil. Naggaoth turned almost casually and struck out again, catching the unprepared physicist across the chest and tossing him into the corner in which Peter lay helpless. He then resumed his steady advance on Sam's position.
Behind Al, Sam still struggled with the stubborn zipper. It came free with a ripping sound and he pulled off the stained shirt, hurling it forcefully into Naggaoth's upturned face. The nether-lord chuckled and the shirt passed harmlessly through his immaterial form. "Naggaoth sssmellss blood," he repeated,
Sam retreated again, until the wall itself pressed into his back. His escape was blocked on either side by shelves and there was no way past Naggaoth's long reach at the fore. He froze, mesmerized by the creature's flat yellow eyes. "Al?" he squeaked.
Across the room. Peter stretched out his hand, slapping Egon forcefully on the arm. "Egon!" he called as best he could with the table restricting his breathing. "Egon, get up!"
Spengler uttered a loud groan and complied, shaking his head dazedly. "I'm... uh... up," he grunted, adjusting his glasses with a shaky hand. "Don't yell."
A single shove was enough to shift the table, sliding it easily to the floor. Peter groaned and rolled over, rubbing his ribs. "That hurts," he complained, forcing himself to his knees. His pack's weight overbalanced him, but he staggered gamely to his feet, pulling Egon up with him. "Ready?" he asked the blond, wincing when the straps across his injured shoulders and chest tightened.
Egon nodded grimly, retrieved his trailing thrower, and took careful aim.
Naggaoth had by then reached Sam, utterly oblivious to all of Al's attempts against him. "Blood." The creature ran its claws delicately across the human's chest, leaving the lightest of scratches in their wake. "Give it to me! Now!"
Peter grinned. "How can I refuse a request like that?" he asked, firing off a burst of accelerated protons at the creature's back.
Naggaoth hissed angrily and turned, rage contorting the inhuman face. "Naggaoth feedsss, flesh thing! "
"Naggaoth eats proton!" Egon retorted from his new vantage several feet away. He, too, opened fire, showering the scaled skin with blue-white light The nether-lord raised both arms, temporarily frozen in the restraining radiation like a fly caught in amber, howling his displeasure for all the world to hear. Then he began to shrink, gathering both his substantiality... and his power.
"Winston!" Egon called, gasping when his thrower bucked itself nearly out of his hand. "We need you!"
"Why are we getting feedback?" Peter inquired, circling the now motionless Naggaoth, taking care so as to not turn his beam away for a second. He flinched when a deflected particle pulse struck the lab table a shattering blow, bombarding all present with splinters. Peter braced himself and continued to fire without let-up.
Egon stepped nearer, stopping just out of range of Peter's twisting stream. "Naggaoth's bleeding off mental energy to increase his substantiality," he explained, resting his barrel across his injured forearm. "It's setting up a psi-screen that's deflecting our fire. It won't last long, though."
A secondary wave-pulse spattered harmlessly against a shimmering bubble of energy. "Look! You can see the shield now! Why won't it last?" Peter asked, his expression proclaiming the fact that he didn't really want to know in the first place.
That didn't stop Egon, however, from answering the question. "Because in another minute he's going to be too substantial for our throwers to affect," he gasped. Test tubes resting on one of the few remaining shelves exploded suddenly, victims of the high-frequency harmonics put out by the over-loaded packs. Egon closed his eyes briefly against the flying glass, threw back his head and yelled. "WINSTON!"
Zeddemore had by then reached the doorway and Sam, now out of range of both Naggaoth and energy blasts. He shoved Ray into Sam's arms, waiting until the surgeon had braced himself, legs apart and muscles bunched, before releasing his own hold. "Get him out of here," he ordered, giving Sam a shove with one hand. "But not too far; if we can't hold Naggaoth this time...." There was no need to finish. Sam nodded his understanding and slipped through the lab door, Al bravely if futilely trying to cover his back.
Winston leaped lightly across a severed section of the table then ducked as a stray bolt passed too close to his head. "Hold him, guys!" he yelled, dropping to his knees and crawling closer to his abandoned pack.
"We're... trying!" Peter grunted when his thrower twisted itself out of his grip, striking him a nasty blow on the jaw. He went down, the unmanned thrower turning itself off automatically. Naggaoth roared and turned in Egon's direction, but Peter recovered his weapon quickly and renewed his assault, preventing Naggaoth from doing more than glaring at the alarmed blond.
Blood leaked out of the side of Peter's battered mouth, forcing him to spit it out before he could speak. "Any... time you're... ready, Winston," he mumbled, anchoring his weapon against his side.
Winston dodged gracefully through the obstacle course of both his friends' fire and the ricochets off Naggaoth's mental shield, sidled around the claws which emerged from the restraining energy web, and dived for his weapon, reaching it just as Naggaoth began to move. The reptilian took a single step forward, then another, and the dual whine of the packs rose to nearly inaudible levels as they strained to compensate for the additional feedback. Naggaoth raised one massive paw and began a lethal downswing, his target: Peter Venkman's head. Peter held his breath.
"Our turn now, sucker!" the black Ghostbuster gritted, opening up full stream.
Naggaoth's mental shield buckled under that additional power, glowing brightly before collapsing all together. The nether-lord screamed as the three-fold stream touched bare, ectoplasmic flesh, sizzling slightly where it struck.
"We got him!" Winston booted, daring to release his thrower with one hand. He reached cautiously for one of the traps on his belt, pulling it free with a yank. "Ready?"
"Go for it, big guy!" Peter cheered, baring his teeth.
A deft toss deposited the trap directly beneath Naggaoth's spread legs, and then an intense reverse pyramid exploded upwards, bathing him in pure, sun- bright radiation. "Trap open!" Zeddemore warned, shielding his eyes.
Naggaoth screamed again, becoming translucent and beginning to waver and shift. Then the tangible waned and the intangible flowed downwards, drawn inexorably into the gleaming maw of the ghost trap. Winston raised his foot and the trap snapped shut. "We got him!" Zeddemore hooted, raising his fist in a victory salute. "We got him!"
"They got him, Sam!" Al cheered, halfway through the wall. "I can't believe these nozzles did it, but they got him!"
He retreated before the three-man rush out of the lab, Egon pausing only long enough to double-check the trap. A red light blinked serenely, betraying its 'full' status, and Egon swept it up with one hand, holding it aloft like a trophy. He followed his fellows into the main room to where Sam Beckett stood trembling in the cold wind of the open outer door, poised to flee and still holding onto Ray Stantz as though for dear life.
Peter, the first in, skidded to a stop in front of the quantum physicist with less than a foot to spare and affected a casual pose. "Ghostie gone," the psychologist told him, stowing his thrower. "You can relax now."
Sam raised up on his toes to glance disbelievingly over Peter's shoulder. "You... killed him?"
"They trapped him, Sam!" Al corrected, feeling in his breast pocket for a cigar. "Sucked him right down into that dinky little contraption of theirs!" He illustrated this with both hands and sound effects, then extricated a cigar and stuck it into his jaw. "Gone! It was a beautiful job, buddy boy!"
"The... trap will hold him?" Sam persisted, eyeing the miniature containment unit doubtfully,
Peter passed behind him and kicked the door shut "No problem-o!" he confirmed, grinning happily. "Uh... you want to put Ray down now?"
Sam gazed down blankly, the tension seeping out of his body in a rush. "Down. Yes. Of course." He allowed Winston to lift the young man away, then sank into the nearest chair and rested his head in his hands. "I never want to go through that again as long as I live."
"At least you're gonna live, Sam," Al said, consulting his computer link. "The kid's chances of surviving are holding at 88 per cent; he's going to spend some time in the hospital fighting off a nasty infection though."
"Told you so." Sam muttered under his breath.
"But the world's chances are up to 92 per cent." Calavicci grinned over Sam's bent head. "If I were a gambling man, I'd bet my house on odds like that," he quipped. "Especially since we're warned."
"Warned?" Sam asked softly, not raising his head.
Al shrugged. "I've got a feeling the Ghostbusters are about to receive a government research grant. It'll last.. oh, say two years?"
Egon and Peter exchanged a look at this one-sided conversation, then Peter shook his head. He made to speak then froze, mouth still opened, at the sound of propellers coming from almost directly over head. "Helicopter!" he yelled, diving for the door.
A searchlight swept the snow in a steady arc, paused, then returned to spotlight Peter's frantically waving form. "HEY!" the psychologist screamed, jumping up and down. "DOWN HERE!"
The helicopter waggled back and forth once, then an electronically amplified voice announced, "WE SEE YOU. AM SETTING DOWN IN CLEARING NEXT TO PLANE. SHALL CONTACT YOU ROUGHLY FIFTEEN MINUTES." The vehicle waggled once more and then disappeared behind the trees in the direction of the crash.
"We made it!" Peter cheered, throwing himself into Winston's arms and bugging him soundly. "Rescue! Hot food!"
"Hospitals," Egon sighed, easing his broken wrist back into the sling.
"And... police?" That was Winston, the suggestion thrown out delicately.
Peter shook his head. "He saved Ray's life," he stated firmly, leading the way back into the cabin. "If nothing else, we owe him a chance to get away."
"...and they don't owe that nozzle nothing," Al was telling Sam at that very moment. "Listen, Sam, whatever it takes, you'd better make sure this old buzzard doesn't get turned loose on the public again. Drugs are super bad news; if you let this creep go he'll just start producing this stuff again somewhere else. And besides...."
"Besides what?" Sam asked.
Al shrugged. "I can't stand the old SOB. He needs to be locked up."
They both looked up when the three Ghostbusters re-entered the cabin. Peter carefully shutting the door behind them. "You'd better get going," he told the still dazed Beckett stiffly. "You did your part, now we'll do ours."
"We'll tell them we found the cabin empty," Egon added, his expression puckered with distaste. "You should have ample time to escape."
"But I don't want to get away!" Sam blurted unexpectedly. Everyone stared. Sam licked his lips and tried again. "I want to be arrested," he explained, gathering every bit of acting ability he'd never boasted and laying it on thick. "I hate the terrible things I've done. I need to pay for them. I need to be arrested!"
This last was delivered so dramatically that Al actually winced. "At least Don Quixote got to sing," Al groaned, rolling his eyes.
Peter rubbed his arm, stretching the muscles carefully. "Definitely MPD," he said as an aside to Egon. "The internal conflict must be more than the poor jerk can stand."
"We'll be doing him a favor by getting him professional help," Winston agreed, confusion warring with reluctant sympathy in his craggy features.
"You'd better tie me up," Sam added gleefully, holding out his crossed wrists. "I might try to escape." He watched with twinkling eyes while Winston recovered the abandoned rope and secured him to the straight-backed chair.
"I always knew you were a ham at heart," Al chortled, lighting up his cigar. "And remember," Sam finished, delivering the coup de grace, "no matter what I say, don't let me go. I'm tricky, you know."
Peter and Egon left the amused Sam Beckett to Winston's tender mercies, to check on Ray, now lying quietly on the cot. The younger man's breathing was less labored than before, and if there was still very little color in his face, at least there was no less. Peter settled himself gingerly on the edge of the bed, smiling when Ray's eyes opened.
"'bout time you woke up," he teased, patting the man's arm. "You slept through all the action; thought you were going to sleep through the rescue, too."
Ray blinked, obviously registering very little of the speech. "Who...?"
Peter made a face, then grimaced when the action irritated his bloody lip. "Who? Geez, Ray, I'd think by now you could recognize my gorgeous mug without a nametag. You've only known me ten years, after all."
Ray shut his eyes again, then reopened them when Egon called his name. "How are you feeling, Raymond?" the blond asked, bending over Peter's shoulder. "Are you in much pain?" He laid a hand on Ray's forehead. "You're running a fever."
"Egon," Ray whispered, drifting off again.
"He'll be groggy for awhile," Sam called over, "but that should wear off quickly. Wish we had something to give him for pain, but that's going to have to wait. When you get to the hospital, make sure they start him on full- spectrum antibiotics right away." He winced when Winston gave the rope a final tug. "Well, I'll never get out of that," he approved, flexing his fingers."
Zeddemore straightened. "Are you sure about this? You can still get away if you hurry."
Sam shook his head. "No. This is the way it's supposed to be. I hope," he added under his breath.
"Ziggy agrees, Sam." Al Calavicci stooped briefly to examine the knots binding Sam's hands, then circled the chair until Sam could see him. "Boy, those ropes are tight. Do they hurt?"
"Of course they hurt," Sam snapped, forcing a smile when Winston turned to stare at him. "But I like it." Winston shrugged, his attention immediately claimed by a sharp rap on the front door. He opened it to admit two men clad in heavy parkas, one of them carrying a first aid kit, the other a radio.
"We found them," the latter reported into a mike. "One of them is wounded; will airlift him at once. Send another chopper for four men."
"And a policeman," Sam interjected practically.
Al grinned. "Shouldn't be much longer. According to Ziggy, you should be out of here any time n-" Unseen by either Ghostbusters or rescue team, the reality envelope breached, opening to admit Sam Beckett into the ordered chaos men call time/space. A brilliant flash of blue non-light and they were both gone.
Finding himself not only back in his own cabin but also bound and facing two sheriffs deputies, Harry Bauer let loose a stream of curses that drew the attention of everyone there, even Ray, who turned his head to stare blankly at the aged prisoner. "How did I get here?" Bauer demanded, glaring furiously from one stunned face to the next. "Who are you? Why...?"
Peter tapped his temple meaningfully. "I'll explain him later," he said, then patted Ray's arm. "Can we go home now?"
"Sooner the better," Winston agreed. "We've got a full schedule lined up for next week and I for one want a chance to recover first." He winked at Ray, who smiled weakly back. "Big world out there, kid, and ol' Winston wants to see more of it than the inside of one old cabin."
Peter grinned despite his swollen lip. "Big world," he agreed. "And where would it be without us?"
FINISH
"And the two of 'cm are taking on that monster alone, Sam - must be ten feet tall!" He raised both hands and rose up on his toes the better to illustrate the point. "It must'a already ate Zeddemore, 'cause he ain't back by now and it's not that far to the plane."
"Pulse and blood pressure?" Sam rapped, not raising his head.
Al dutifully relayed the information, finishing with, "...and they can't hold this thing much longer. How much more do you have to do on the kid?"
Sam reached for a scissors. "Finishing final sutures now," he said, plying a needle. "Rough job but I've got the metal removed and most of the bleeding stopped inside. I was right, there were no major organs affected, he was bleeding into the...."
"I don't care where," Al snapped, sticking his head through the wall to better check the battle. "Are you finished?"
There was a pause and a snip, then Sam was dropping the scissors onto a tray and reaching for a towel. "Finished," he announced, glancing at his watch. "With... two minutes to spare."
"Good." Al returned to Beckett's side, making frantic shooing motions toward the door. "Now spare your butt out of here before that monster does! Hang on, I'll let you know when the coast is clear." He again stuck his head through the door, pulling back when Sam called his name. "What?"
"I said I'm not going," Sam repeated patiently. "I can't leave a patient in this condition, What if he has trouble coming out of the anesthesia?"
"What if you have trouble coming out of ol' lizard breath's sharp teeth?" He interlaced his fingers, the very picture of snapping jaws. "Sam, you've done everything you could, now get out of here!"
Beckett ignored him, instead tip-toeing to the door and peeking out. He withdrew just microseconds ahead of the energy bolt which burned a half- inch hole in the wood next to his head. "Wow! That's some serious firepower! I wonder what kind of energy they're working with."
"The kind that isn't working against Mr. Personality out there," Al shot back. "All right, if you're not going to leave, the least you can do is barricade the door or something."
"It can walk through walls," Sam reminded him, re-opening the door. "Oh, boy!"
Alarmed by the familiar epithet, Al joined him at the door, gaping at the sight of Naggaoth, now almost completely substantial, with one great hand locked fully around Peter Venkman's arm and using it to shake the psychologist like a terrier with a rat. Peter's proton gun trailed by its connecting feed line, slapping noisily against Naggaoth's slime covered legs.
"Shoot him!" Venkman screeched, trying vainly to strike at the creature's yellow eyes. "SHOOT!"
Naggaoth paused, still holding Peter high in the air, to lift his head, nostrils flaring. "Naggaoth smellssss blood!" Dripping teeth clacked arrhythmically, the ancient Lord of Decay bent closer to Peter's throat. "Tassste yours."
The outer door slammed open and Winston Zeddemore burst upon the scene, breath coming in panting gasps. He took in the situation in a single sweep of his dark eyes, bringing up his rifle and taking aim.
Egon spun, knocking Winston's weapon down with the barrel of his own. "No, Winston!" he yelled, immediately re-aligning on the struggling duo. "You might hit Peter!"
"Then... hit me," Peter begged, his voice dropping to a croak. "Better that than...."
Sam didn't hesitate. With a hoarse shout he launched himself for Naggaoth's back, wrapping both arms and legs around the slippery body to prevent his being flung off. One arm he freed, however, to reach around Naggaoth's alligator head. He gouged at the creature's right eye, digging his thumb deeply into the socket and twisting. In his substantial form the nether- lord was as vulnerable to such physical disruption as was any living creature. Naggaoth screamed and dropped Peter to clap both hands across his eyes.
Peter rolled free of the creature's reach, coming up short against the old metal stove in the corner. He shook his head twice, his eyes unfocussed, but he reached automatically for the trailing particle rifle and brought it up. "NOW!" Egon yelled, but though both he and Winston opened up simultaneously, once more the elusive entity proved the faster. The liquefaction was almost instantaneous this time and Naggaoth was gone.
"Nuts!" Egon muttered. He tucked his thrower under his left elbow and knelt by Peter's side, slipping his good arm around the dazed psychologist, supporting his back, "Peter, are you all right?"
Venkman took a deep breath then winced and rubbed at his right shoulder, "I may have pulled a muscle- or two," he grated, letting the blond help him to his feet "Other than that-." He broke off as he spotted Sam, who was leaning shakily against the doorjamb. "Why aren't you with Ray?" he demanded, taking a menacing step forward.
Egon stopped him by firmly grasping his uninjured shoulder. "No, Peter. He saved your life."
Venkman stopped, his harsh expression moderating as memory returned. He offered Beckett/Bauer a puzzled look. "I don't know why you did it, but thanks."
"No problem," Sam replied, pulling away from the frame and bending to retrieve the towel he'd dropped.
"No problem, my Aunt Lucretia," Al grumbled, aiming a kick at Sam's backside. "That had to be the dumbest stunt..."
Lips firmly clamped together, Sam straightened and made his way to the lab table, where Ray lay covered to the waist by a clean sheet The area on which he lay, however, was bloodstained.
Winston grimaced at the sight "I see you didn't bother to wait until I got back," he accused, flashing Peter an angry look. "We never agreed to let him," he jerked his head in Sam's direction, "touch Ray."
Peter stared back defiantly. "It was my decision to make," he stated flatly. "No one else had a part in this one."
"And who made you Ray's guardian?" Winston demanded, clenching his fists again. "You're no relative and we're supposed to be a team."
"It was the right decision, ya big dope," Al rapped, pointing his comlink at Ray. "The guy's a little better already, Sam. Looks like you were in time after all."
Peter took a single pace forward, unknowingly passing through Al's chest "Any decision having to do with Ray is mine to make," he returned, his voice as hard as Winston's.
Egon stepped between them, patting Winston's tense shoulder. "This isn't the time or place to discuss this," he said in a reproving tone. "Naggaoth could attack us again any minute."
"And aren't you forgetting Ray?" Sam put in, effectively neutralizing the situation.
Three abashed men clustered around their youngest colleague, Winston laying one hand gently on Ray's sweat drenched hair. "He's so white," he whispered.
Egon delicately lifted one of Ray's wrists. "He is pale," he agreed quietly, "but his pulse is.."
"Regular," Al supplied.
"Regular?" Sam suggested, collecting a pile of towels from a shelf.
Egon shrugged. "It's so faint it's hard to tell."
"How... is he?" Peter asked, with uncharacteristic humility.
"Al?" Sam hailed under his breath.
Calavicci was at his side in an instant. "Vitals are still weak, Sam, but stabilizing well. As long as he doesn't infect too badly, he should make it."
"Meatball surgery was about right," Sam told the Ghostbusters, reaching for a basin. "I wish we could transfuse him but he's stabilizing, at least. Barring infection... bad infection," he corrected himself after another look at the table, "he should make it with proper medical assistance."
Spengler exchanged a relieved look with Peter. "He's breathing better than before," the former said with noticeable restraint
"He should show some improvement now that I have the bleeders tied off," Sam acknowledged. He shoved the basin in Peter's direction and the towels at Winston. "Help me get him cleaned up and out of here. This is hardly the most sanitary room I've ever operated in."
Working together, Winston and Peter began to work on their friend, the tension between them temporarily abated. "The next problem," Winston said, dampening one of the towels, "is Naggaoth. There's no way to tell where he'll pop up next - no way to anticipate him."
"He's got a point, Sam," Al remarked, pacing the room. "I'm going to patrol the grounds awhile. If I see anything, I'll let you know." Sam, scrubbing vainly at dried blood under his nails, simply nodded, though his eyes flashed the older man a grateful smile.
Egon scratched his lean jaw thoughtfully. "I believe that he's going to come after Ray next," he said, watching while Peter dabbed the young man's face with another cloth. "Naggaoth said he smelled blood."
"That's right" The psychologist paused, frowning thoughtfully. "I remember one of the witnesses... or was it one of the Indian legends?"
"Legend," Egon confirmed. "Naggaoth is attracted to fresh blood and the only one of us wounded...."
"Bleeding," Peter corrected, gently working his wrenched shoulder.
Egon nodded. "As Naggaoth's not the brightest being we've ever faced, it's my guess... my psychological evaluation," he amended, sending an impish grin in Peter's direction, "that he's going to run true to pattern and follow the smell of fresh blood."
"Soon, too," Peter added. "I get the feeling he needs to eat again fast. Chances are that the next attack will be all or nothing." He turned to Sam, still in the far corner. "You fulfilled your part of the bargain, Bauer," he said, his tones neutral. "You're free to go now."
"But I suggest that you don't leave right away," Egon interrupted. "Naggaoth may still decide to go for an easy target - it's been a long time between... meals."
Sam shuddered. "I think I'll stick around then," he said, offering the man a sickly smile. "I didn't spend all those years in college to become somebody's between meal snack." He stared down, disgusted, at his blood- spattered clothing and boots. "I'd better find something else to wear; I look like a traffic accident."
While Sam hunted for shirt and trousers baggy enough to fit over his muscular frame, Winston and Peter continued their own task, and thus it wasn't long before Ray was clean, dry, and dressed in fresh pajamas from Bauer's meager collection. That was when Sam returned to the lab, valiantly striving to unfasten the sticky shirt. "Be careful how you lift him," he admonished, growling when his zipper surrendered a single inch before retangling itself in the material. "If you pull out those sutures. I'm going to have to put him under again, and I don't think his system will stand additional anesthesia."
Peter nodded shortly and slipped his arms under Ray's shoulders and thighs, intending to carry him into the other room. He gasped as his shoulder protested the strain. "Bad idea," he grunted, twisting his lips ruefully. "Winston?"
Zeddemore shook his head. "Can't do everything yourself," he said meaningfully, if without malice. He unsnapped the buckle securing his proton pack at his waist, then shrugged out of the heavy weapon, allowing it to slip to the floor. He then elbowed Peter aside and lifted Ray himself, very carefully, as though he were handling something infinitely fragile. "I'll take Ray," he said. "You keep an eye out for...."
"SAM!" Al shouted, appearing out of thin air. "I just saw...."
"Mine." There was no warning for the Ghostbusters, for Sam had no time to draw a breath before Naggaoth was upon them. "My bloood,'' the swamp spawned nether-lord boomed, taking a swipe at the nearest target, Sam. Sam reeled back, coming up short against a sideboard, then dropped to his knees. There was no maneuverability in the small, overcrowded room, no place to dodge or hide, and Naggaoth's talons missed Sam's head by scant inches.
Naggaoth cocked his head, attempting to focus his one remaining eye on the retreating team. "My blood!" he raged, turning finally on Winston.
The black Ghostbuster edged backward warily, still clutching Ray tightly in his arms. Winston gulped noisily. "A little help here, guys," he requested, taking another careful step.
Peter fired off a short, controlled burst and Naggaoth lashed out angrily, striking the heavy table with one powerful arm. It flew across the room, catching Peter flat on and smashing him into a shelf-laden wall. The table landed half atop him, only its angle to the wall preventing his chest from being crushed in. He lay stunned for several seconds unmoving, then shoved weakly against it, unable to find enough leverage to free himself from its weight.
Meanwhile, Naggaoth was again sniffing the air like a spaniel, apparently able to differentiate between human odors and his own stench. "Blood," he crooned over and over. "Pretty blood."
Winston glanced nervously down at Ray, who was still deeply unconscious, while continuing to back slowly away from those razor edged claws. "Ray's blood," he breathed hoarsely, circling the outer perimeter of the room a single step at a time.
But it was no longer Ray who was covered with the sticky fluid. Naggaoth ignored the two after no more than a cursory look, turning instead to the corner in which Sam huddled. The large nostrils flared wide. "Sssssmell blood there," he said, happily starting forward.
Al jumped in front of the terrified surgeon, waving his arms and yelling loudly. "Back off. Snake Breath! Shoo! Go away!"
That was when Egon acted. Hampered by his broken wrist, he nevertheless managed to unclip his particle thrower and fire off a burst, bracing his legs carefully against any recoil. Naggaoth turned almost casually and struck out again, catching the unprepared physicist across the chest and tossing him into the corner in which Peter lay helpless. He then resumed his steady advance on Sam's position.
Behind Al, Sam still struggled with the stubborn zipper. It came free with a ripping sound and he pulled off the stained shirt, hurling it forcefully into Naggaoth's upturned face. The nether-lord chuckled and the shirt passed harmlessly through his immaterial form. "Naggaoth sssmellss blood," he repeated,
Sam retreated again, until the wall itself pressed into his back. His escape was blocked on either side by shelves and there was no way past Naggaoth's long reach at the fore. He froze, mesmerized by the creature's flat yellow eyes. "Al?" he squeaked.
Across the room. Peter stretched out his hand, slapping Egon forcefully on the arm. "Egon!" he called as best he could with the table restricting his breathing. "Egon, get up!"
Spengler uttered a loud groan and complied, shaking his head dazedly. "I'm... uh... up," he grunted, adjusting his glasses with a shaky hand. "Don't yell."
A single shove was enough to shift the table, sliding it easily to the floor. Peter groaned and rolled over, rubbing his ribs. "That hurts," he complained, forcing himself to his knees. His pack's weight overbalanced him, but he staggered gamely to his feet, pulling Egon up with him. "Ready?" he asked the blond, wincing when the straps across his injured shoulders and chest tightened.
Egon nodded grimly, retrieved his trailing thrower, and took careful aim.
Naggaoth had by then reached Sam, utterly oblivious to all of Al's attempts against him. "Blood." The creature ran its claws delicately across the human's chest, leaving the lightest of scratches in their wake. "Give it to me! Now!"
Peter grinned. "How can I refuse a request like that?" he asked, firing off a burst of accelerated protons at the creature's back.
Naggaoth hissed angrily and turned, rage contorting the inhuman face. "Naggaoth feedsss, flesh thing! "
"Naggaoth eats proton!" Egon retorted from his new vantage several feet away. He, too, opened fire, showering the scaled skin with blue-white light The nether-lord raised both arms, temporarily frozen in the restraining radiation like a fly caught in amber, howling his displeasure for all the world to hear. Then he began to shrink, gathering both his substantiality... and his power.
"Winston!" Egon called, gasping when his thrower bucked itself nearly out of his hand. "We need you!"
"Why are we getting feedback?" Peter inquired, circling the now motionless Naggaoth, taking care so as to not turn his beam away for a second. He flinched when a deflected particle pulse struck the lab table a shattering blow, bombarding all present with splinters. Peter braced himself and continued to fire without let-up.
Egon stepped nearer, stopping just out of range of Peter's twisting stream. "Naggaoth's bleeding off mental energy to increase his substantiality," he explained, resting his barrel across his injured forearm. "It's setting up a psi-screen that's deflecting our fire. It won't last long, though."
A secondary wave-pulse spattered harmlessly against a shimmering bubble of energy. "Look! You can see the shield now! Why won't it last?" Peter asked, his expression proclaiming the fact that he didn't really want to know in the first place.
That didn't stop Egon, however, from answering the question. "Because in another minute he's going to be too substantial for our throwers to affect," he gasped. Test tubes resting on one of the few remaining shelves exploded suddenly, victims of the high-frequency harmonics put out by the over-loaded packs. Egon closed his eyes briefly against the flying glass, threw back his head and yelled. "WINSTON!"
Zeddemore had by then reached the doorway and Sam, now out of range of both Naggaoth and energy blasts. He shoved Ray into Sam's arms, waiting until the surgeon had braced himself, legs apart and muscles bunched, before releasing his own hold. "Get him out of here," he ordered, giving Sam a shove with one hand. "But not too far; if we can't hold Naggaoth this time...." There was no need to finish. Sam nodded his understanding and slipped through the lab door, Al bravely if futilely trying to cover his back.
Winston leaped lightly across a severed section of the table then ducked as a stray bolt passed too close to his head. "Hold him, guys!" he yelled, dropping to his knees and crawling closer to his abandoned pack.
"We're... trying!" Peter grunted when his thrower twisted itself out of his grip, striking him a nasty blow on the jaw. He went down, the unmanned thrower turning itself off automatically. Naggaoth roared and turned in Egon's direction, but Peter recovered his weapon quickly and renewed his assault, preventing Naggaoth from doing more than glaring at the alarmed blond.
Blood leaked out of the side of Peter's battered mouth, forcing him to spit it out before he could speak. "Any... time you're... ready, Winston," he mumbled, anchoring his weapon against his side.
Winston dodged gracefully through the obstacle course of both his friends' fire and the ricochets off Naggaoth's mental shield, sidled around the claws which emerged from the restraining energy web, and dived for his weapon, reaching it just as Naggaoth began to move. The reptilian took a single step forward, then another, and the dual whine of the packs rose to nearly inaudible levels as they strained to compensate for the additional feedback. Naggaoth raised one massive paw and began a lethal downswing, his target: Peter Venkman's head. Peter held his breath.
"Our turn now, sucker!" the black Ghostbuster gritted, opening up full stream.
Naggaoth's mental shield buckled under that additional power, glowing brightly before collapsing all together. The nether-lord screamed as the three-fold stream touched bare, ectoplasmic flesh, sizzling slightly where it struck.
"We got him!" Winston booted, daring to release his thrower with one hand. He reached cautiously for one of the traps on his belt, pulling it free with a yank. "Ready?"
"Go for it, big guy!" Peter cheered, baring his teeth.
A deft toss deposited the trap directly beneath Naggaoth's spread legs, and then an intense reverse pyramid exploded upwards, bathing him in pure, sun- bright radiation. "Trap open!" Zeddemore warned, shielding his eyes.
Naggaoth screamed again, becoming translucent and beginning to waver and shift. Then the tangible waned and the intangible flowed downwards, drawn inexorably into the gleaming maw of the ghost trap. Winston raised his foot and the trap snapped shut. "We got him!" Zeddemore hooted, raising his fist in a victory salute. "We got him!"
"They got him, Sam!" Al cheered, halfway through the wall. "I can't believe these nozzles did it, but they got him!"
He retreated before the three-man rush out of the lab, Egon pausing only long enough to double-check the trap. A red light blinked serenely, betraying its 'full' status, and Egon swept it up with one hand, holding it aloft like a trophy. He followed his fellows into the main room to where Sam Beckett stood trembling in the cold wind of the open outer door, poised to flee and still holding onto Ray Stantz as though for dear life.
Peter, the first in, skidded to a stop in front of the quantum physicist with less than a foot to spare and affected a casual pose. "Ghostie gone," the psychologist told him, stowing his thrower. "You can relax now."
Sam raised up on his toes to glance disbelievingly over Peter's shoulder. "You... killed him?"
"They trapped him, Sam!" Al corrected, feeling in his breast pocket for a cigar. "Sucked him right down into that dinky little contraption of theirs!" He illustrated this with both hands and sound effects, then extricated a cigar and stuck it into his jaw. "Gone! It was a beautiful job, buddy boy!"
"The... trap will hold him?" Sam persisted, eyeing the miniature containment unit doubtfully,
Peter passed behind him and kicked the door shut "No problem-o!" he confirmed, grinning happily. "Uh... you want to put Ray down now?"
Sam gazed down blankly, the tension seeping out of his body in a rush. "Down. Yes. Of course." He allowed Winston to lift the young man away, then sank into the nearest chair and rested his head in his hands. "I never want to go through that again as long as I live."
"At least you're gonna live, Sam," Al said, consulting his computer link. "The kid's chances of surviving are holding at 88 per cent; he's going to spend some time in the hospital fighting off a nasty infection though."
"Told you so." Sam muttered under his breath.
"But the world's chances are up to 92 per cent." Calavicci grinned over Sam's bent head. "If I were a gambling man, I'd bet my house on odds like that," he quipped. "Especially since we're warned."
"Warned?" Sam asked softly, not raising his head.
Al shrugged. "I've got a feeling the Ghostbusters are about to receive a government research grant. It'll last.. oh, say two years?"
Egon and Peter exchanged a look at this one-sided conversation, then Peter shook his head. He made to speak then froze, mouth still opened, at the sound of propellers coming from almost directly over head. "Helicopter!" he yelled, diving for the door.
A searchlight swept the snow in a steady arc, paused, then returned to spotlight Peter's frantically waving form. "HEY!" the psychologist screamed, jumping up and down. "DOWN HERE!"
The helicopter waggled back and forth once, then an electronically amplified voice announced, "WE SEE YOU. AM SETTING DOWN IN CLEARING NEXT TO PLANE. SHALL CONTACT YOU ROUGHLY FIFTEEN MINUTES." The vehicle waggled once more and then disappeared behind the trees in the direction of the crash.
"We made it!" Peter cheered, throwing himself into Winston's arms and bugging him soundly. "Rescue! Hot food!"
"Hospitals," Egon sighed, easing his broken wrist back into the sling.
"And... police?" That was Winston, the suggestion thrown out delicately.
Peter shook his head. "He saved Ray's life," he stated firmly, leading the way back into the cabin. "If nothing else, we owe him a chance to get away."
"...and they don't owe that nozzle nothing," Al was telling Sam at that very moment. "Listen, Sam, whatever it takes, you'd better make sure this old buzzard doesn't get turned loose on the public again. Drugs are super bad news; if you let this creep go he'll just start producing this stuff again somewhere else. And besides...."
"Besides what?" Sam asked.
Al shrugged. "I can't stand the old SOB. He needs to be locked up."
They both looked up when the three Ghostbusters re-entered the cabin. Peter carefully shutting the door behind them. "You'd better get going," he told the still dazed Beckett stiffly. "You did your part, now we'll do ours."
"We'll tell them we found the cabin empty," Egon added, his expression puckered with distaste. "You should have ample time to escape."
"But I don't want to get away!" Sam blurted unexpectedly. Everyone stared. Sam licked his lips and tried again. "I want to be arrested," he explained, gathering every bit of acting ability he'd never boasted and laying it on thick. "I hate the terrible things I've done. I need to pay for them. I need to be arrested!"
This last was delivered so dramatically that Al actually winced. "At least Don Quixote got to sing," Al groaned, rolling his eyes.
Peter rubbed his arm, stretching the muscles carefully. "Definitely MPD," he said as an aside to Egon. "The internal conflict must be more than the poor jerk can stand."
"We'll be doing him a favor by getting him professional help," Winston agreed, confusion warring with reluctant sympathy in his craggy features.
"You'd better tie me up," Sam added gleefully, holding out his crossed wrists. "I might try to escape." He watched with twinkling eyes while Winston recovered the abandoned rope and secured him to the straight-backed chair.
"I always knew you were a ham at heart," Al chortled, lighting up his cigar. "And remember," Sam finished, delivering the coup de grace, "no matter what I say, don't let me go. I'm tricky, you know."
Peter and Egon left the amused Sam Beckett to Winston's tender mercies, to check on Ray, now lying quietly on the cot. The younger man's breathing was less labored than before, and if there was still very little color in his face, at least there was no less. Peter settled himself gingerly on the edge of the bed, smiling when Ray's eyes opened.
"'bout time you woke up," he teased, patting the man's arm. "You slept through all the action; thought you were going to sleep through the rescue, too."
Ray blinked, obviously registering very little of the speech. "Who...?"
Peter made a face, then grimaced when the action irritated his bloody lip. "Who? Geez, Ray, I'd think by now you could recognize my gorgeous mug without a nametag. You've only known me ten years, after all."
Ray shut his eyes again, then reopened them when Egon called his name. "How are you feeling, Raymond?" the blond asked, bending over Peter's shoulder. "Are you in much pain?" He laid a hand on Ray's forehead. "You're running a fever."
"Egon," Ray whispered, drifting off again.
"He'll be groggy for awhile," Sam called over, "but that should wear off quickly. Wish we had something to give him for pain, but that's going to have to wait. When you get to the hospital, make sure they start him on full- spectrum antibiotics right away." He winced when Winston gave the rope a final tug. "Well, I'll never get out of that," he approved, flexing his fingers."
Zeddemore straightened. "Are you sure about this? You can still get away if you hurry."
Sam shook his head. "No. This is the way it's supposed to be. I hope," he added under his breath.
"Ziggy agrees, Sam." Al Calavicci stooped briefly to examine the knots binding Sam's hands, then circled the chair until Sam could see him. "Boy, those ropes are tight. Do they hurt?"
"Of course they hurt," Sam snapped, forcing a smile when Winston turned to stare at him. "But I like it." Winston shrugged, his attention immediately claimed by a sharp rap on the front door. He opened it to admit two men clad in heavy parkas, one of them carrying a first aid kit, the other a radio.
"We found them," the latter reported into a mike. "One of them is wounded; will airlift him at once. Send another chopper for four men."
"And a policeman," Sam interjected practically.
Al grinned. "Shouldn't be much longer. According to Ziggy, you should be out of here any time n-" Unseen by either Ghostbusters or rescue team, the reality envelope breached, opening to admit Sam Beckett into the ordered chaos men call time/space. A brilliant flash of blue non-light and they were both gone.
Finding himself not only back in his own cabin but also bound and facing two sheriffs deputies, Harry Bauer let loose a stream of curses that drew the attention of everyone there, even Ray, who turned his head to stare blankly at the aged prisoner. "How did I get here?" Bauer demanded, glaring furiously from one stunned face to the next. "Who are you? Why...?"
Peter tapped his temple meaningfully. "I'll explain him later," he said, then patted Ray's arm. "Can we go home now?"
"Sooner the better," Winston agreed. "We've got a full schedule lined up for next week and I for one want a chance to recover first." He winked at Ray, who smiled weakly back. "Big world out there, kid, and ol' Winston wants to see more of it than the inside of one old cabin."
Peter grinned despite his swollen lip. "Big world," he agreed. "And where would it be without us?"
FINISH