Lordaine faded and the trap snapped shut. As quickly as that, it was over.
"He's gone," Winston said wonderingly, shutting off his pack. "He's ... gone?"
"Gone," Egon confirmed, following suit. "But how? He was winning!"
"It was the sunlight." Ray turned a pale, blood-streaked face upwards into now gold-touched light, and he would never know how much the smile he dredged up for his friends meant to them at that moment. "In primitive cultures, the sun is used to purify -- to burn away malice and evil." He shrugged and added, "I guess it worked."
"Speaking of burning...." Peter sniffed the air warily. "I think we've got a problem folks." He jerked his head toward the banister, which had graduated from smoldering embers to a full-out conflagration. The fire was rapidly spreading across the balcony, eating up the dry planking in great, hungry gulps. The first floor was already an inferno; obviously, Lordaine's circle of flame had not disappeared with the Dark Lord's capture.
"I think immediate evacuation is warranted in this circumstance," Egon said, pushing his smeared glasses back up onto his nose.
"I think you're right." Peter reached down, offering Ray a hand up, then whitened as his injury re-announced its presence -- with a vengeance. He pulled back with a gasp, cradling his burned arm to his chest. "Oh, ouch...." he hissed, biting back a cry. "I forgot...."
"Adrenaline." Egon nodded knowingly, placing his own arm around the bleary occultist and hauling him up. "Temporarily dulled the pain."
"No kidding." Peter grimaced but allowed Winston to grab his good arm and usher him toward the stairs. He stopped so abruptly that the other man nearly knocked him over. "Oh, my god...."
"What--?" Winston's voice choked off at the sight of the once-grand staircase. Most of the structure had vanished when Lordaine had collapsed the floor. What remained of the steps was little more than splinters jutting forth from the wall and resembling nothing so much as the ribs of some obscene beast. Smoke wafted upwards, borne on waves of superheated air.
Peter backpedaled. "We can't get out that way," he screeched, his voice rising with panic. "The stairs are gone!"
"We'll have to go back, then." Winston coughed harshly in the thinning air, then tightened his hold on Peter's arm as the balcony shook ominously. "This whole thing is gonna go! Follow me out!"
Several yards away, Spengler had braced Ray against the wall. He held him by both arms, steadying him until the younger man found his balance. "Are you all right, Raymond?" he asked, studying the brown eyes anxiously.
Stantz nodded, offering his friend another weak smile. "Better once we're out of here." The smile faded at the sound of a small explosion from the ground floor. "If we ever get out here."
"We'll get out," Spengler vowed fervently. He stooped to pick up the trap containing Lordaine's neutralized form, and hooked it to his belt. "I promise." Ray stared at the blond's earnestness but had no opportunity to reply as Winston and Peter approached, parting the oily smoke before them. "Link yo'selves up," the black Ghostbuster ordered, unconsciously slipping into the street slang of his youth. "Egon, you're on Ray. Pete, you bring up the rear." He released his hold on Peter's arm to take Ray's hand. "Move!" Peter drew himself into a sloppy salute before Egon's hard, sweaty hand captured his own. Now totally blind from the smoke, the three original Ghostbusters could only follow Zeddemore's lead, trusting in his battle-honed instincts to see them through.
"Floor!" came the black man's roughened command, and instantly the team crouched down, striving to reach the slightly richer air while maintaining their contact.
The human chain wound its way past several unidentifiable obstacles, Winston unerringly guiding his colleagues into a side corridor off the main hall. There, the haze lifted slightly, and Zeddemore cautiously stood.
"Fire's cut us off to the south," he panted, opening the nearest door and peering in. "We have to find an exit in this direction."
"How do you know--?" Peter began.
"I heard it," Winston cut him off abruptly. "If we don't get out this way...." He didn't finish the thought -- he didn't have to. They could all hear the dull roar which drew closer each minute.
While the others climbed laboriously to their feet, Zeddemore crossed to the second door of the corridor, slamming it open with one well-placed kick. "Windows are barred," he panted, to the accompaniment of Slimer's "Heeeere, too, Winnnston," from down the hall. He tried a third. "Why ... ah." He dove through the aperture, emerging after a moment and gesturing his partners over. "Windows are clear," he reported. "We can get out this way."
Four bedraggled figures entered the sparsely furnished room, Winston shutting the door against the snaking tendrils of smoke which had followed them up. Little tongues of flame danced here and there through the thickening haze, lending the entire picture a surreal aspect -- a scene from some medieval hell. They made their way across the rotting floorboards toward the only source of hope -- a single grimy window set in the far wall. Eagerly they rushed forward, only to be stopped by Egon's shouted, "Look out!" Winston, Ray, and Peter scrambled out of the way as Egon, with a grunt of effort, seized an old straightback chair from one corner and hurled it with all his might. The window exploded outward, sending a shower of sun-sparkling shards into the morning air.
"And the Blond Bomber bats 'em in!" Peter cheered, kicking out the remaining glass and sticking his head through the resulting gap. "C'mon, group, let's.... Ulp!" This last was his only coherent response to the scene which awaited them outside for some moments. His shoulders sagged as he withdrew his head and turned to face his friends. "The house is built into a hill," he reported grimly. "There's a drop-off on this side; must be 60-70 feet."
"But this is the only way down," Ray began, dismayed. He paused, thinking furiously. "Slimer!"
A faintly glowing green mass popped through the wall instantly and began flitting around the room, wailing, "Fiiire! Fiiirel"
"We know that, Slimer." Ray's patient voice brought the little ghost to a stop just above his head, where it hung, shrinking and expanding agitatedly a few feet away. "We need your help, little buddy," Stantz went on, still speaking softly.
"Meeee?" Pleased, the little specter hovered closer, puffing itself with importance.
Ray swayed and Egon grabbed his arms, easing him to a sitting position on the floor. "Raymond?"
Stantz silenced him with a gesture, then waved the ghost lower. When he spoke, his voice was steady. "You, Slimer. You know what a rope is? Rope?" The protuberance which passed for Slimer's head bobbed. "We have a rope in Ecto. Can you fetch it for us?"
"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" The protuberance bobbed again and Slimer was gone, only a wet stain marking the spot where he flowed through the plaster.
Peter stared at his auburn-haired friend with a ludicrous mixture of pessimism and hope. "Are you telling me that my life is depending on a spud too stupid to know he's not really a Kenmore Food Processor?" Ray nodded, and Peter sagged back against the wall and sank down. "Oh, good. As long as I know where I stand."
Contrary to Venkman's expectations, food was the last thing on Slimer's primitive mind -- for once. Descending on the reconditioned Caddie like an avenging -- if sticky -~ angel, the amiable specter oozed through the car's metal wall and began its search. Assorted chests and boxes yielded nothing, as Slimer found by dematerializing his face and peeking into each one. Growing more frightened by the minute, he buzzed around the roomy interior, keening to himself all the while. "Rooope? Where? Roooope? Where?" The space beneath the back seat held nothing more interesting than an old gumdrop, which Slimer examined thoroughly and from every angle before tossing it into his cavernous mouth and crunching away.
"Rope, where?" he said, beginning the litany all over. "Rope.... There!" With a squeak, Slimer pulled back a previously unnoticed panel to reveal a compartment set into the rear sidewall. There, coiled neatly into a pile, were several lengths of assorted rope and cable. "Yeeeah! Rope!" Selecting one coil from its bed, Slimer unhooked it and pulled it loose, then, with a merry little gurgle, he swooped through the back window and was gone, floating lightly on the gentle breeze.
"... probably stopped somewhere for a sandwich," Venkman was saying when Slimer reappeared at the window, his prize held triumphantly aloft. Peter coughed. "Of course I could be wrong. Floor's hot, guys," he added by way of an afterthought.
"So's the door." Winston made his way back to his friends' side, literally leaping the last several yards when one board cracked beneath his foot. "Yikes! Let me have that rope, Slimer." He snatched the coil from Slimer's partially solid fingers and stared at it bleakly. "This is that light cotton stuff," he said. "You should have brought the steel-cored nylon, ...no, it's okay, Slimer." He smiled quickly at the distressed little ghost. "You did fine." With a sigh, he began tying knots into the cord at 3-foot intervals. Thus distracted, he didn't notice Egon until the physicist lightly touched his shoulder.
"We've got a problem, Winston," he said quietly.
"Only one?"
The taller man ignored the interruption. "I don't think either Peter or Ray are going to make it down the rope. Peter's arm is burned worse than he's letting on, and I'm certain Ray is badly concussed."
Winston glanced over to where the other two were huddled together beside the window. Peter had managed to tie a rough bandage around his burned arm, but his eyes were closed, his lips thinned with pain. Leaning heavily against Peter's good shoulder, Ray sat, knees drawn up and his head resting on his crossed arms. What little could be seen of his face was ashen and blood streaked.
Winston continued tying his knots. "Then we'll have to lower them both. This cotton rope won't hold more than one of us at a time, either." He met Egon's eye, carefully expressionless. "This floor's going to go any minute." As if to punctuate this statement, an ominous creaking began midway across the room.
Winston tied his final knot, a slipknot, and secured the other end of the rope to a sturdy looking crossbeam. Then he tapped Peter on the top of the head. "Yo, cuz," he called cheerfully. "Time to go."
Peter opened his eyes cautiously, as though afraid to see what new development may have presented itself in the past few minutes. Winston dangled the noose in front of his face. "Considering the circumstances," Peter objected mildly, "wouldn't you call that overkill?"
Winston chuckled. "We're going to lower you and Ray out that window, Homeboy. "Just consider the Zeddemore Elevator Company to be at your disposal." That won him a smile.
"This should be good," Peter groused, though without his usual acid. "Ray?" He shook the other man gently, waiting until the unfocussed brown eyes had turned into his general direction before speaking again. "Time to blow this taco stand, buddy. You know, go bye-bye?"
Stantz nodded wearily and moved away from Peter's supporting shoulder. He was stopped when Egon placed a filthy hand on the back of his neck. "You first. Peter," the physicist said.
"But Ray...."
"You." Spengler offered the frowning psychologist a hand up. After a moment, it was accepted. "If Ray passes out before he gets clear of the ropes...."
"All right, all right," Venkman growled, his quick mind having run several scenarios even as he spoke. He allowed Winston to fit the rope under his armpits, then perched on the window and dangled his legs outside. He waited until both Winston and Egon had taken the rope a turn about themselves and nodded him the okay before declaring, "See you downside," and, with a flash of white teeth, he was gone.
Sixty-plus feet is a long way to fall, but Peter negotiated the drop without incident. Little over a minute later, Peter was on the ground shrugging himself free. He sent it on its way with a swift tug and a hearty cheer.
Egon reeled in the light cable, then knelt beside the bleary engineer, who was watching him silently. "It's almost over, Ray," Spengler encouraged, slipping the noose over his friend's head and under his shoulders. "I told you we'd make it."
Stantz smiled weakly. "You ... promised."
"Never break my promises, do I?" Spengler joked, as he and Winston helped the younger man to his feet. Egon kept one arm around Ray's shoulders until Winston had stabilized himself, feet apart and powerful muscles tensed for their anticipated task. "Just relax, Raymond. Winston and I will do the work." Then, bracing himself, he eased Stantz out the window, rapidly playing out the rope. Ray's feet had barely reached terra firma before Egon was beginning his own slide down the fragile strand. He was groundside even before Peter could manage to one-handedly free Ray from the knotted tine.
"Come on, Winston!" Egon bellowed, even his powerful voice almost lost in the crackling roar of the flames. He elbowed Peter gently aside to finish the task of freeing Stantz.
Up above, Winston was having problems of his own. No sooner had Egon begun his descent, then the floor had groaned and given way, leaving Winston suddenly without support. Using the momentum of one powerful leap, he launched himself for the window, diving through only seconds before the now unobstructed conflagration would have barbecued him well-done.
"This is gettin' to be a habit," he grunted, twisting nimbly to snare the rope in one callused hand. He yelped as it bit into his palm, but maintained his grip and commenced his own rapid descent. Dispensing with the traditional hand-over-hand method, Winston bit his lip and slid, ignoring the pain of rope and knots burning into his flesh. It would take but seconds for the thin cotton line to be incinerated by the intense heat. He was within fifteen feet of the ground when the rope broke. "YEEE- OOOOW!" he screeched, landing in a less-than-graceful heap. Egon and Peter rushed to the sprawled figure and, each taking one leg, dragged him away from the crumbling walls only seconds before they collapsed.
"That was a nasty fall," Ray said from his position propped up against one of Ecto's tires.
Peter chuckled his relief when Winston opened his eyes and gazed blankly up at his friends. "Oh, I don't know about that," he quipped. "You came down kind of ... interestingly. Like a big duck."
Egon checked the black man over for breakage, then sat back on his heels. "Are you okay, Winston?"
Zeddemore blinked twice and raised his head very slowly. "Ah think so," he pronounced cautiously, as Egon helped him to sit. "Bruised but unbroken. That cheap cotton thread lasted just long enough...." He broke off, gazing at the shell-shocked faces around him with a happy, sloppy grin. "We made it!" he crowed, relief making him giddy. "WE -- MADE -- IT!"
"It would seem so," Egon replied mildly, regaining some of his own aplomb.
"Seem, heck!" The black Ghostbuster swatted one of Egon's blue-clad legs. "We won!" His enthusiasm temporarily banished the aches and pains caused by his fall. "Let's go hunt up Ronnie and Marv and...."
"I'm so very glad you're in such a good mood." Peter's caustic remark cut through the relief-induced hysteria like a knife. "But in case you haven't noticed, neither Ray nor I are really in the mood to frolic right about now. Dig?"
Winston's mood sobered instantly. "Gee, Pete, I'm sorry," he offered, abashed. "Let me take a look at that arm. If it gets infected...."
"Quite frankly, Winston, old man," Venkman interrupted, "I'd feel a whole lot better conducting this conversation -- and examination -- some place else." He gestured wearily to the blazing pile of rubble which had once been a stately edifice. "I don't like it here."
"There's nothing left, Peter." Egon pulled a spare PKE meter from the wagon and pointed it in all directions, studying its gloaming face. "No sign of any spectral activity," he said at last. "However, I agree with your sentiments. I, too, would feel more comfortable in any location besides our present one." He waited until they had climbed painfully into the old Cadillac and Winston had started the engine before adding, "By the way, does anyone know what our present location actually is?"
Winston and Ray exchanged a puzzled look. "Not me," the occultist declared, just ahead of Winston's "Me, either."
"What do you mean you don't know where we are?" Peter sputtered. "You were the ones who drove us here!"
"I didn't drive us here -- Ronnie did," Winston retorted, offended. "Or Marv. ..whoever. What about you two? Didn't you see anything from the back seat?"
"Are you kidding?" Peter gave vent to an inelegant snort. "The way you two were babbling on and on about 'the good old days' put Egon and me right to sleep." Then everyone got into it, all talking at once. "How about we go...?" "Naw, the sun is...." "We could...." "Not enough gas...."
"Quiet" Egon's thunderous bass silenced the clamor instantly. The others turned to gape at him for all the world like three landed fish. "Slimer, you see what you can find out aloft. Winston, I distinctly recall crossing the George Washington Bridge. That suggests an easterly direction to start." Having no fault to find with this logic, Winston put the big Caddie into gear and was relieved to find civilization waiting but one hillcrest away.
***+
"He's gone," Winston said wonderingly, shutting off his pack. "He's ... gone?"
"Gone," Egon confirmed, following suit. "But how? He was winning!"
"It was the sunlight." Ray turned a pale, blood-streaked face upwards into now gold-touched light, and he would never know how much the smile he dredged up for his friends meant to them at that moment. "In primitive cultures, the sun is used to purify -- to burn away malice and evil." He shrugged and added, "I guess it worked."
"Speaking of burning...." Peter sniffed the air warily. "I think we've got a problem folks." He jerked his head toward the banister, which had graduated from smoldering embers to a full-out conflagration. The fire was rapidly spreading across the balcony, eating up the dry planking in great, hungry gulps. The first floor was already an inferno; obviously, Lordaine's circle of flame had not disappeared with the Dark Lord's capture.
"I think immediate evacuation is warranted in this circumstance," Egon said, pushing his smeared glasses back up onto his nose.
"I think you're right." Peter reached down, offering Ray a hand up, then whitened as his injury re-announced its presence -- with a vengeance. He pulled back with a gasp, cradling his burned arm to his chest. "Oh, ouch...." he hissed, biting back a cry. "I forgot...."
"Adrenaline." Egon nodded knowingly, placing his own arm around the bleary occultist and hauling him up. "Temporarily dulled the pain."
"No kidding." Peter grimaced but allowed Winston to grab his good arm and usher him toward the stairs. He stopped so abruptly that the other man nearly knocked him over. "Oh, my god...."
"What--?" Winston's voice choked off at the sight of the once-grand staircase. Most of the structure had vanished when Lordaine had collapsed the floor. What remained of the steps was little more than splinters jutting forth from the wall and resembling nothing so much as the ribs of some obscene beast. Smoke wafted upwards, borne on waves of superheated air.
Peter backpedaled. "We can't get out that way," he screeched, his voice rising with panic. "The stairs are gone!"
"We'll have to go back, then." Winston coughed harshly in the thinning air, then tightened his hold on Peter's arm as the balcony shook ominously. "This whole thing is gonna go! Follow me out!"
Several yards away, Spengler had braced Ray against the wall. He held him by both arms, steadying him until the younger man found his balance. "Are you all right, Raymond?" he asked, studying the brown eyes anxiously.
Stantz nodded, offering his friend another weak smile. "Better once we're out of here." The smile faded at the sound of a small explosion from the ground floor. "If we ever get out here."
"We'll get out," Spengler vowed fervently. He stooped to pick up the trap containing Lordaine's neutralized form, and hooked it to his belt. "I promise." Ray stared at the blond's earnestness but had no opportunity to reply as Winston and Peter approached, parting the oily smoke before them. "Link yo'selves up," the black Ghostbuster ordered, unconsciously slipping into the street slang of his youth. "Egon, you're on Ray. Pete, you bring up the rear." He released his hold on Peter's arm to take Ray's hand. "Move!" Peter drew himself into a sloppy salute before Egon's hard, sweaty hand captured his own. Now totally blind from the smoke, the three original Ghostbusters could only follow Zeddemore's lead, trusting in his battle-honed instincts to see them through.
"Floor!" came the black man's roughened command, and instantly the team crouched down, striving to reach the slightly richer air while maintaining their contact.
The human chain wound its way past several unidentifiable obstacles, Winston unerringly guiding his colleagues into a side corridor off the main hall. There, the haze lifted slightly, and Zeddemore cautiously stood.
"Fire's cut us off to the south," he panted, opening the nearest door and peering in. "We have to find an exit in this direction."
"How do you know--?" Peter began.
"I heard it," Winston cut him off abruptly. "If we don't get out this way...." He didn't finish the thought -- he didn't have to. They could all hear the dull roar which drew closer each minute.
While the others climbed laboriously to their feet, Zeddemore crossed to the second door of the corridor, slamming it open with one well-placed kick. "Windows are barred," he panted, to the accompaniment of Slimer's "Heeeere, too, Winnnston," from down the hall. He tried a third. "Why ... ah." He dove through the aperture, emerging after a moment and gesturing his partners over. "Windows are clear," he reported. "We can get out this way."
Four bedraggled figures entered the sparsely furnished room, Winston shutting the door against the snaking tendrils of smoke which had followed them up. Little tongues of flame danced here and there through the thickening haze, lending the entire picture a surreal aspect -- a scene from some medieval hell. They made their way across the rotting floorboards toward the only source of hope -- a single grimy window set in the far wall. Eagerly they rushed forward, only to be stopped by Egon's shouted, "Look out!" Winston, Ray, and Peter scrambled out of the way as Egon, with a grunt of effort, seized an old straightback chair from one corner and hurled it with all his might. The window exploded outward, sending a shower of sun-sparkling shards into the morning air.
"And the Blond Bomber bats 'em in!" Peter cheered, kicking out the remaining glass and sticking his head through the resulting gap. "C'mon, group, let's.... Ulp!" This last was his only coherent response to the scene which awaited them outside for some moments. His shoulders sagged as he withdrew his head and turned to face his friends. "The house is built into a hill," he reported grimly. "There's a drop-off on this side; must be 60-70 feet."
"But this is the only way down," Ray began, dismayed. He paused, thinking furiously. "Slimer!"
A faintly glowing green mass popped through the wall instantly and began flitting around the room, wailing, "Fiiire! Fiiirel"
"We know that, Slimer." Ray's patient voice brought the little ghost to a stop just above his head, where it hung, shrinking and expanding agitatedly a few feet away. "We need your help, little buddy," Stantz went on, still speaking softly.
"Meeee?" Pleased, the little specter hovered closer, puffing itself with importance.
Ray swayed and Egon grabbed his arms, easing him to a sitting position on the floor. "Raymond?"
Stantz silenced him with a gesture, then waved the ghost lower. When he spoke, his voice was steady. "You, Slimer. You know what a rope is? Rope?" The protuberance which passed for Slimer's head bobbed. "We have a rope in Ecto. Can you fetch it for us?"
"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" The protuberance bobbed again and Slimer was gone, only a wet stain marking the spot where he flowed through the plaster.
Peter stared at his auburn-haired friend with a ludicrous mixture of pessimism and hope. "Are you telling me that my life is depending on a spud too stupid to know he's not really a Kenmore Food Processor?" Ray nodded, and Peter sagged back against the wall and sank down. "Oh, good. As long as I know where I stand."
Contrary to Venkman's expectations, food was the last thing on Slimer's primitive mind -- for once. Descending on the reconditioned Caddie like an avenging -- if sticky -~ angel, the amiable specter oozed through the car's metal wall and began its search. Assorted chests and boxes yielded nothing, as Slimer found by dematerializing his face and peeking into each one. Growing more frightened by the minute, he buzzed around the roomy interior, keening to himself all the while. "Rooope? Where? Roooope? Where?" The space beneath the back seat held nothing more interesting than an old gumdrop, which Slimer examined thoroughly and from every angle before tossing it into his cavernous mouth and crunching away.
"Rope, where?" he said, beginning the litany all over. "Rope.... There!" With a squeak, Slimer pulled back a previously unnoticed panel to reveal a compartment set into the rear sidewall. There, coiled neatly into a pile, were several lengths of assorted rope and cable. "Yeeeah! Rope!" Selecting one coil from its bed, Slimer unhooked it and pulled it loose, then, with a merry little gurgle, he swooped through the back window and was gone, floating lightly on the gentle breeze.
"... probably stopped somewhere for a sandwich," Venkman was saying when Slimer reappeared at the window, his prize held triumphantly aloft. Peter coughed. "Of course I could be wrong. Floor's hot, guys," he added by way of an afterthought.
"So's the door." Winston made his way back to his friends' side, literally leaping the last several yards when one board cracked beneath his foot. "Yikes! Let me have that rope, Slimer." He snatched the coil from Slimer's partially solid fingers and stared at it bleakly. "This is that light cotton stuff," he said. "You should have brought the steel-cored nylon, ...no, it's okay, Slimer." He smiled quickly at the distressed little ghost. "You did fine." With a sigh, he began tying knots into the cord at 3-foot intervals. Thus distracted, he didn't notice Egon until the physicist lightly touched his shoulder.
"We've got a problem, Winston," he said quietly.
"Only one?"
The taller man ignored the interruption. "I don't think either Peter or Ray are going to make it down the rope. Peter's arm is burned worse than he's letting on, and I'm certain Ray is badly concussed."
Winston glanced over to where the other two were huddled together beside the window. Peter had managed to tie a rough bandage around his burned arm, but his eyes were closed, his lips thinned with pain. Leaning heavily against Peter's good shoulder, Ray sat, knees drawn up and his head resting on his crossed arms. What little could be seen of his face was ashen and blood streaked.
Winston continued tying his knots. "Then we'll have to lower them both. This cotton rope won't hold more than one of us at a time, either." He met Egon's eye, carefully expressionless. "This floor's going to go any minute." As if to punctuate this statement, an ominous creaking began midway across the room.
Winston tied his final knot, a slipknot, and secured the other end of the rope to a sturdy looking crossbeam. Then he tapped Peter on the top of the head. "Yo, cuz," he called cheerfully. "Time to go."
Peter opened his eyes cautiously, as though afraid to see what new development may have presented itself in the past few minutes. Winston dangled the noose in front of his face. "Considering the circumstances," Peter objected mildly, "wouldn't you call that overkill?"
Winston chuckled. "We're going to lower you and Ray out that window, Homeboy. "Just consider the Zeddemore Elevator Company to be at your disposal." That won him a smile.
"This should be good," Peter groused, though without his usual acid. "Ray?" He shook the other man gently, waiting until the unfocussed brown eyes had turned into his general direction before speaking again. "Time to blow this taco stand, buddy. You know, go bye-bye?"
Stantz nodded wearily and moved away from Peter's supporting shoulder. He was stopped when Egon placed a filthy hand on the back of his neck. "You first. Peter," the physicist said.
"But Ray...."
"You." Spengler offered the frowning psychologist a hand up. After a moment, it was accepted. "If Ray passes out before he gets clear of the ropes...."
"All right, all right," Venkman growled, his quick mind having run several scenarios even as he spoke. He allowed Winston to fit the rope under his armpits, then perched on the window and dangled his legs outside. He waited until both Winston and Egon had taken the rope a turn about themselves and nodded him the okay before declaring, "See you downside," and, with a flash of white teeth, he was gone.
Sixty-plus feet is a long way to fall, but Peter negotiated the drop without incident. Little over a minute later, Peter was on the ground shrugging himself free. He sent it on its way with a swift tug and a hearty cheer.
Egon reeled in the light cable, then knelt beside the bleary engineer, who was watching him silently. "It's almost over, Ray," Spengler encouraged, slipping the noose over his friend's head and under his shoulders. "I told you we'd make it."
Stantz smiled weakly. "You ... promised."
"Never break my promises, do I?" Spengler joked, as he and Winston helped the younger man to his feet. Egon kept one arm around Ray's shoulders until Winston had stabilized himself, feet apart and powerful muscles tensed for their anticipated task. "Just relax, Raymond. Winston and I will do the work." Then, bracing himself, he eased Stantz out the window, rapidly playing out the rope. Ray's feet had barely reached terra firma before Egon was beginning his own slide down the fragile strand. He was groundside even before Peter could manage to one-handedly free Ray from the knotted tine.
"Come on, Winston!" Egon bellowed, even his powerful voice almost lost in the crackling roar of the flames. He elbowed Peter gently aside to finish the task of freeing Stantz.
Up above, Winston was having problems of his own. No sooner had Egon begun his descent, then the floor had groaned and given way, leaving Winston suddenly without support. Using the momentum of one powerful leap, he launched himself for the window, diving through only seconds before the now unobstructed conflagration would have barbecued him well-done.
"This is gettin' to be a habit," he grunted, twisting nimbly to snare the rope in one callused hand. He yelped as it bit into his palm, but maintained his grip and commenced his own rapid descent. Dispensing with the traditional hand-over-hand method, Winston bit his lip and slid, ignoring the pain of rope and knots burning into his flesh. It would take but seconds for the thin cotton line to be incinerated by the intense heat. He was within fifteen feet of the ground when the rope broke. "YEEE- OOOOW!" he screeched, landing in a less-than-graceful heap. Egon and Peter rushed to the sprawled figure and, each taking one leg, dragged him away from the crumbling walls only seconds before they collapsed.
"That was a nasty fall," Ray said from his position propped up against one of Ecto's tires.
Peter chuckled his relief when Winston opened his eyes and gazed blankly up at his friends. "Oh, I don't know about that," he quipped. "You came down kind of ... interestingly. Like a big duck."
Egon checked the black man over for breakage, then sat back on his heels. "Are you okay, Winston?"
Zeddemore blinked twice and raised his head very slowly. "Ah think so," he pronounced cautiously, as Egon helped him to sit. "Bruised but unbroken. That cheap cotton thread lasted just long enough...." He broke off, gazing at the shell-shocked faces around him with a happy, sloppy grin. "We made it!" he crowed, relief making him giddy. "WE -- MADE -- IT!"
"It would seem so," Egon replied mildly, regaining some of his own aplomb.
"Seem, heck!" The black Ghostbuster swatted one of Egon's blue-clad legs. "We won!" His enthusiasm temporarily banished the aches and pains caused by his fall. "Let's go hunt up Ronnie and Marv and...."
"I'm so very glad you're in such a good mood." Peter's caustic remark cut through the relief-induced hysteria like a knife. "But in case you haven't noticed, neither Ray nor I are really in the mood to frolic right about now. Dig?"
Winston's mood sobered instantly. "Gee, Pete, I'm sorry," he offered, abashed. "Let me take a look at that arm. If it gets infected...."
"Quite frankly, Winston, old man," Venkman interrupted, "I'd feel a whole lot better conducting this conversation -- and examination -- some place else." He gestured wearily to the blazing pile of rubble which had once been a stately edifice. "I don't like it here."
"There's nothing left, Peter." Egon pulled a spare PKE meter from the wagon and pointed it in all directions, studying its gloaming face. "No sign of any spectral activity," he said at last. "However, I agree with your sentiments. I, too, would feel more comfortable in any location besides our present one." He waited until they had climbed painfully into the old Cadillac and Winston had started the engine before adding, "By the way, does anyone know what our present location actually is?"
Winston and Ray exchanged a puzzled look. "Not me," the occultist declared, just ahead of Winston's "Me, either."
"What do you mean you don't know where we are?" Peter sputtered. "You were the ones who drove us here!"
"I didn't drive us here -- Ronnie did," Winston retorted, offended. "Or Marv. ..whoever. What about you two? Didn't you see anything from the back seat?"
"Are you kidding?" Peter gave vent to an inelegant snort. "The way you two were babbling on and on about 'the good old days' put Egon and me right to sleep." Then everyone got into it, all talking at once. "How about we go...?" "Naw, the sun is...." "We could...." "Not enough gas...."
"Quiet" Egon's thunderous bass silenced the clamor instantly. The others turned to gape at him for all the world like three landed fish. "Slimer, you see what you can find out aloft. Winston, I distinctly recall crossing the George Washington Bridge. That suggests an easterly direction to start." Having no fault to find with this logic, Winston put the big Caddie into gear and was relieved to find civilization waiting but one hillcrest away.
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