“We’ll have to find another way.” She tucked the pipe in her back pocket and grabbed his hand again. “Come on.”
For a moment he thought she would lead him back to the conveyor belt, to another pass by the eye machine. But—for now—she led him along the other side of the belt, by the machines that made the Good Guy dolls.
He saw them.
Trapped.
Great.
He stepped closer to the conveyor belt.
A Good Guy, flat on its back, sailed past him. Chucky stepped onto the conveyor belt and kicked the doll off, onto the ground.
Enrique Vasquez—Bud, to his American friends—was sipping his cold coffee, thumbing through Car and Driver.
My next car, he told himself, will be something with some cojones. Something that will—what do they say here?—eat the road.
He flipped past a few pages of next year’s Z cars. Nice. He nodded to himself. Very nice. I’ll get one in black, with black leather upholstery . . . There’s nothing like leather. Women love leather. The smell, the feel of it. And—
The buzzer sounded.
He hadn’t been watching the screens. Nothing ever happened there. And he was sick of looking at dolls being made. Nothing ever happened.
The alarm was loud. He reached out and hit a button silencing it. And he checked the screen to see what could be the problem. There never was a problem.
But then he saw it—on screen three. The finished dolls, the little red-haired gringos in boxes, were not coming into the warehouse. And there, on screen two, he saw them hunching up and falling off the side of the belt. As if something was stopping them. As if the gate was closed between the factory and the attached warehouse.
“Shit,” he said. Nothing ever happens, and now this.
He got up and left his small office.
He didn’t notice the badly made doll rolling by on screen seven.
They were back near the head-making machine and the big vat of plastic.
Andy was beginning to think Kyle didn’t know what to do. She stopped, and Andy stepped closer to the belt, fascinated with the headless dolls and, out the other side, the dolls with eyeless heads.
He moved a bit farther along the side, closer to the big vat. Then he leaned over and looked into a small puddle, a dry, crusty swirl of plastic.
He heard Kyle yell.
“Watch it!”
He turned and looked up.
He was right near the spout. And a great glop of plastic was falling down.
He was leaning over into the small tub, and the plastic was ready to splat onto his head, but Kyle grabbed him and pulled him back. They fell to the ground. He heard the plastic splatter onto the floor, and then hiss. A small plume of smoke rose up near his feet.
“Damn it, Andy. Watch it. That could have hit you. It would have cooked your brains.”
He nodded. She was worried about him, he knew. She was talking about danger. But that’s what’s supposed to happen, he thought. This is a quest, an adventure. We’re supposed to be in danger.
And nothing bad can really happen to us.
He told himself that again.
Nothing bad can happen.
But he knew that that was just in fairy tales.
Bud Vasquez scratched his head and looked up at the line of Good Guys banging against the gate, piling up, and then tumbling to the ground.
I’m in deep trouble here, he thought. It’s my shift, my responsibility. The Play Pals people had been real good to him. Nice salary, good benefits. He just had to keep the wheels oiled, the machine running.
He knew he would have to go up and open the gate.
And he was just about to do that when something rolled to his feet. Something blue . . . something like a marble.
“Eh?” he said. He reached down.
It was one of the glass eyes used in the dolls. And then, as he was bent over, another one rolled toward him. It stopped a few feet away, and he walked over to it, over to the corner.
Another came rolling from around the corner, and Bud said, “What the hell?”
He walked around the corner and saw a barrel filled with the blue eyes. He walked up to the barrel and looked down. He dug through the barrel. The marbles made a tremendous clicking sound, rolling together, almost insectlike.
He shook his head. This is strange, he thought, very—
Something jabbed his leg, right into his meaty thigh.
He groaned and spun around.
He saw a doll, with a knife for a hand.
“No,” he said. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening. But the doll jabbed his other leg with the knife, sticking it into his thigh and then twisting it, pulling the wound open wider.
The doll pulled out the blade. And Bud staggered backward . . . toward the conveyor. He fell, and then—just to get off his legs, because he couldn’t stand anymore—he let himself fall onto the belt. It moved him along, climbing upward.
He tried to sit up, to move, to get off the belt now. But his legs wouldn’t move.
I’m losing too much blood.
He heard a thudding sound. A deep spitting noise.
He tried to think what it could be. He knew all the sounds inside the factory. All the noises. All the machines.
He looked ahead. And he saw the two prongs of the eye machine. They seemed to be watching him, holding two glass eyes.
He knew they were for him. He was the next doll in the line.
“No . . . ,” he screamed. “God . . . ,” he whispered.
The machine leaped at him.
Right at his head, right at his eyes. Not caring that he already had eyes.
It was only agony—total agony—for a second.
Kyle grabbed his arm. “What was that?” she said.
Andy heard it. He heard the sound and knew what it was. He had heard sounds like that before. His mother had sounded like that. So had the policeman. He knew what that sound was.
It was screaming.
Then it was over.
“Probably just one of the machines,” Kyle said. But Andy knew that she knew what the sound was too.
They were at the arm-and-leg machine. Andy watched the Good Guys move up to the X-shaped machine. He watched it snap closed around them, do secret things to them, and then quickly spring open.
Kyle pulled him along, hurrying him. But then she stopped. There didn’t seem to be any place to go. Not really.
He watched her turn around and then back into the wall. “I don’t know . . . ,” she started to say.
Andy heard a click. She must have leaned into a button, he thought. The conveyor stopped. An alarm, a blaring horn sound, filled the factory. It was hooting on and off, on and off. And then the conveyor started running the other way.
“What?” Kyle said. She turned and looked at the wall. Andy saw the button—and read the words below it. Conveyor Belt. Forward/Reverse. Caution: Conveyor Must Be Clear Before Using Reverse.
Andy turned to watch the belt. A doll that had just gotten its legs and arms moved back into the X-shaped machine. It closed on the doll again. But this time the Good Guy didn’t fit. The machine couldn’t tell that the doll didn’t need any more arms and legs. It chomped on it, and bits of the doll were left hanging out. Now there was steam and a grinding noise that made Andy cover his ears. When the X-shaped machine opened, the doll was an ugly mess.
It didn’t look like a Good Guy anymore.
Kyle hit the switch again, and the conveyor started moving forward again. The alarm stopped.
Chucky heard the alarm, booming from a far corner of the factory.
Just over there, he thought.
That’s where my little babies are playing. Screwing around with the machinery.
But now I know where they are.
And it’s time to end this game of hide and seek.
29
“There has to be another way out of here,” Kyle said. They ran alongside the conveyor belt, following its snaky curves
back and forth. And Andy kept looking over the line of dolls that streamed by. They all look like Chucky; they all look the same.
Kyle stopped—trying to see a way out. Andy turned away from the conveyor belt to see what she was looking at.
“Ahhh!” The scream came from behind him . . . from the belt. Andy turned just in time to see one of the dolls stand up. One just like the others.
Only different.
This one had a knife for a hand.
Chucky sliced at Andy and the air whistled.
“Duck!” Kyle screamed. Andy fell to the floor as the knife came close enough that he felt a breeze. Andy looked up to see Kyle take the pipe out of her back pocket.
Chucky wasn’t watching. He was pulling his small arm back for another swing at Andy.
Kyle swung the pipe at Chucky like a baseball bat. She hit the doll on the side and Andy heard the sick thud. The smack knocked Chucky right off the conveyor belt, and he crashed to the floor.
Andy got up off the ground, but Chucky bounced up quickly, as if the pipe hadn’t hurt him at all. Because it didn’t, Andy knew. He’s too strong.
But Kyle pushed past Andy. She ran up to Chucky and gave him another swing while the doll-man was still dazed.
Chucky’s mouth went open in surprise.
Good, Andy thought. I like that.
Chucky went sailing again, flying over to another loop of the conveyor belt. He plopped down, landing on the belt.
Just in front of the stapling machine.
He doesn’t see it, Andy thought. Chucky doesn’t know where he’s headed. He’s facing the wrong way and he doesn’t know what’s going to happen . . .
Andy watched Chucky grin and then start to get up. But when he saw Andy’s face, looked right at it, he saw that Andy was looking at something else . . . just behind him. So Chucky turned to see—
Just when the stapler machine came down.
Andy smiled. The machine landed in Chucky’s crotch. Andy watched. Wincing. It stapled Chucky’s crotch to the conveyor belt.
Chucky screamed. He spit at the air. His eyes bugged, looking at Andy.
Gosh, thought Andy, he’s even madder now.
Andy turned and looked at the wall behind Kyle. He saw the button she had hit before. The forward/reverse button. Kyle saw him looking.
“Do it,” she said. “Do it, Andy!”
And Andy ran over to the button and pressed it. The alarm sounded, the loud horn that made Andy hold his ears shut tight. Then the alarm stopped and the conveyor belt made a funny noise, but it started running in the other direction.
Past the stapler machine, down toward the other neat machine. The one shaped like an X. The one that put arms and legs on the dolls. Or crushed the ones that already had arms and legs.
Chucky kept kicking at the belt, trying to get off. He dug at his crotch—as if he was itchy or something—trying to get away.
But, Andy saw, he wasn’t going anywhere.
Chucky kept looking at the X-shaped machine and then back at Andy. Chucky tried to smile. But it didn’t look good. His eyes looked sad. Chucky opened his mouth, and Andy could still see those ugly little plastic teeth.
“Andy, please!” he cried. “I was only playing! Come on, Andy.”
The conveyor belt kept moving. Andy went a bit closer. It was safe now. But he felt Kyle’s hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
“Get real,” Andy said to Chucky.
Chucky floated up to the X-shaped machine. He sneered, his face turned ugly again.
Madder and madder, thought Andy.
He was almost there. Just another foot. The machine opened, and for a second Andy thought Chucky would miss it.
But—Andy smiled—that didn’t happen.
Chucky went bug-eyed as the arm-and-leg machine snapped closed around him.
Kyle hugged Andy tight. The machine hissed. Bits of Chucky’s body were squeezed through it.
No, Andy saw, they kind of oozed out the edges.
The machine seemed to chew at the doll, grinding and and whining, and then it popped open.
And what was there—all red and slimy plastic covered by bits of Good Guy overalls!—wasn’t Chucky anymore.
It was still stapled to the belt, but it didn’t move now. Kyle took a breath, and then she looked down at Andy and smiled at him. “I can see why the neighborhood kids don’t like playing with you.”
Andy grinned at her.
“Come on,” Kyle said. “Let’s get out of here.”
They walked now, slowly, not worrying about anything. It was all over. They could take their time finding a safe way out of the warehouse.
They passed the head-molder—still squirting heads onto the belt, right next to the bubbling vat of plastic goo. Andy made sure to keep well away from the overflow spout.
“You okay?” Kyle asked.
Andy nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for coming after me.”
“You owe me one, squirt. I . . .”
Then this shadow blocked the light. Andy looked up. And this thing—it was a body, a man’s body—swung down from cables. It crashed into Kyle, knocking her backward, right onto the conveyor belt.
Andy looked at the body, swinging back and forth, and saw that the man had glass eyes, surrounded by dried, crusty blood. The body swung one more time and then landed right next to Kyle. Both of them, together, moving on the conveyor belt.
“Kyle!” Andy screamed.
She was gliding up. He saw Kyle’s face. Her eyes were shut tight and she was sprawled on the belt.
Close by, right at her feet, he saw the man with Good Guy eyes staring off into space, his mouth wide open. They were both moving toward the arm-and-leg machine.
Andy heard the machine closing . . . and opening. Kyle kept moving toward it.
Andy took a step.
He heard something from behind him. A clicking sound. Then a squeaking noise. The sound his roller skates made after the winter . . . when they need oil.
He turned around. Thinking, I’ve got to get to Kyle. I’ve got to get her off of there.
He turned to the sound and looked.
It was Chucky.
Sort of.
There was a head. And one eye. But only half his body. He had no legs anymore. And all this stuff dangled from his waist. Wires and tubes, all covered in shimmering red.
He was on a wood cart. And he dug out with his twisted arm—still with the knife-hand—pulling at the ground. And now the mouth opened—all crooked and twisted, the voice stranger than ever.
I’ve seen someone like this! Andy thought. It was Christmas and we were shopping and this man came up. He was on a cart. He sold things. The man had scared Andy.
But not as much as this.
“Look,” the voice croaked. He sounded like an animal trying to talk. “Look what you’ve done to me, boy. Look what you’ve done to me!”
Chucky dug at the ground with his knife. It clicked. The wheels squeaked.
While behind him Andy heard the sound of the conveyor belt—and beyond.
The machine closing . . . and opening . . . and closing again.
30
Chucky wheeled closer, his knife clicking on the ground like a crab’s claw.
“I’ve got you now, Andy. And you know what I’m going to do to you? I’m going to cut off your legs too!”
Andy backed up, bumping into something hot. He spun around.
It was the big vat of plastic. He heard it bubbling above him.
Chucky’s blade clicked on the ground.
“No legs, Andy. Maybe no arms either. How does that sound? How does . . .”
Andy turned and looked at the conveyor belt. Please, he thought. Please, Kyle . . . get up. Please.
But she was still lying on the belt with her eyes shut tight. And the dead man in front of her was almost at the arm-and-leg machine.
Andy turned to face Chucky, who wheeled up to him and, laughing his terrible witch laugh, slashed at Andy.
Andy
rolled to the side, spinning around, away from Chucky but still watching the conveyor belt.
The man was almost there. The X-shaped jaw opened.
Another slash, and Andy yelped, following the curve of the vat. Chucky’s knife was coming right toward him.
But it hooked a rubber wire that ran up the side of the vat. Chucky’s knife hooked it and then sliced right through it.
Steam whooshed through the tube, causing it to dance around, shooting steam up and down, everywhere.
A glop of hot plastic fell at Andy’s feet, splattering on the ground, hissing.
Andy’s head bumped against something.
It was a faucet. He read the metal plate next to it. Overflow Release.
Chucky slid closer.
Andy looked above Chucky. He’s right under the spigot, Andy realized. He reached up and turned the faucet.
It didn’t move.
Chucky stabbed at him.
Andy moved his legs apart, and Chucky’s blade went into the metal vat. And stuck there.
“No,” Chucky yelled. He tugged on the blade, while Andy kept trying to turn the faucet.
Andy looked at the belt. The man was at the X-shaped machine.
Andy grabbed the faucet with two hands and hung from it, grunting, twisting his hands.
Chucky worked at his knife, pulling at it.
The knife popped free.
The faucet moved.
And then all this pink-colored plastic—skin-colored goo—gushed down on Chucky. Andy saw the doll-man look up at it just before it covered him. It looked like a scene out of a Three Stooges show. “You knucklehead,” Moe always called Curly. “You knucklehead. Look what you’ve done now!”
Chucky screamed, “Noooooo!”
His face melted under the plastic, and his body melted right off its cart.
I can still see an eye, Andy told himself. I can still see his eye!
The doll gurgled. Big rubbery bubbles grew on the wet mess. Andy stood there for just a second. It didn’t move anymore. It looks like throw-up, Andy thought as he turned and ran to the conveyor belt.
The machine closed on the man. Andy heard it shut and start making grinding sounds as if it were chewing on him. Blood dripped from the side—just like his mom’s pancake maker, Andy thought, when it overflowed.
Child’s Play 2 Page 20