The Cabin in the Woods
Page 22
“What happens if you don’t pull it off?” Marty asked. He’d twigged it, but Dana knew that he’d had more of an idea than any of them. His humor was his own defense mechanism, the same as Jules used her overt sexuality, and Curt hid behind his machismo. Or used to.
“They awaken,” the Director whispered. And she looked utterly, insanely terrified.
“Who does? What’s beneath us?”
“The gods. The sleeping gods, giants that live in the earth, that used to rule it. They fought for a billion years and now they sleep. In every country, for every culture, there is a god to appease. As long as one sleeps, they all do. But the other rituals have all failed.” She shook her head, frowning. “All at once, all the failure. never like this before.”
There was another huge rumble. The floor bucked beneath them, and two of the huge slabs seemed to rock on their foundations. Dust filled the air, grit pattered down from the shadows above them. Dana wondered how high the ceiling was, then doubted there was a ceiling at all.
“The sun will rise in eight minutes,” the Director said, her voice firm once more. She turned to Marty, the Fool. “If you live to see it, the world will end.” “Right,” he said. “That’s harsh.”
“Marty—” Dana said.
“But maybe that’s the way it ought to be,” he said. “Maybe it’s time for a change.”
“We’re not talking about change,” the Director spat. “We’re talking about the agonizing death of every human soul on the planet. Including you. You can die with them, or you can die for them.”
“Gosh, they’re both so enticing...” he said, rubbing his chin, and it took a moment for him to notice what Dana had done.
Maybe this is all one final trick on their part, Dana thought. But can I really take that chance?
She aimed the gun at Marty’s face and squeezed her finger against the trigger.
•••
“Wow,” Marty said. Those guards had been blasting at him for all they were worth, but this was so much worse. This was Dana aiming a gun at him. He stared at its tiny black mouth and wondered if he’d see movement there before his eyes were ruptured, skull shattered and brain spread to the darkness. He looked past the gun to her face, disturbed to see how determined she appeared. “Marty,” she said, “the whole world.”
“Is in your hands,” The Director said to her. Right then Marty wanted to strangle the tall, pompous, self-righteous bitch.
Dana glanced at The Director, shaken, and Marty saw the weight of the world crushing down on her slender shoulders. She sure was foxy; he’d always thought so. And though he was sure she knew what he thought, he’d just never had the balls to tell her. Look at her, after all—gorgeous.
And he was the Fool.
“There is no other way,” The Director said to the girl. “You have to be strong.”
And then Marty caught movement from the corner of his eye. A shadow, crossing the small bridge onto the strangely carved platform, barely seen, but it resolved into something solid when the scent hit his nose. Wet dog, he thought, and from the smell it must have been wet with blood.
“Yeah, Dana,” Marty said. “You feeling strong?”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” he said softly
As she leveled the gun again and her face tensed with concentration, the werewolf leapt at her. The gun went spinning and the creature crushed Dana to the floor, claws slashing, teeth snapping at her face as she ducked her head left and right.
Dana kicked and bucked, and the creature shifted its weight and balance to remain pinning her to the ground. Fighting to the last, Marty thought, then he saw The Director going for the gun.
He jumped, sliding across the stone floor toward the dropped weapon.
Dana screamed, the werewolf howled. Good. If she was screaming, it meant she was still alive.
As his fingers brushed the gun’s grip, The Director landed on his back, jarring his chin against the floor and sending spikes of pain up through his jaw and into his brain. He tasted blood and the grit of a broken tooth.
The woman clawed at his back, trying to pull herself over him to the gun, but Marty punched up and back over his shoulder. His fist hit her jaw and he heard a gentle crack. She moaned. But she never stopped pulling and kicking, and in seconds she’d be at the gun that lay just beyond his reach.
One chance, he thought. The Fool has to fool her. He went completely limp, resting his face against the cold stone and letting out a deep breath. The Director paused in surprise... and Marty pushed up with all his might, spilling her from his back and flipping over so that he landed atop her. Her head thunked against the stone and breath puffed from her, and he stood and fell onto the gun.
He turned and knelt, aiming at the flailing mess, knowing that if he took too long to aim it might mean the difference between Dana living or dying. He fired three shots and the werewolf reared up on its hid legs, its chest red with blood. It turned to him and he fired again, hitting it in the face. It screeched and ran from the chamber, a howl retreating into the tunnel beyond.
Dana rolled over, eyes wide and white in the bloody mask of her face. She held her hands up, as if afraid to touch any part of herself, and her breath came in rapid, short gasps.
“Dana...” Marty breathed, and The Director tackled him from behind. He flipped up and back, the gun flying from his hand, and he struck the floor hard enough to wind him. He was aware of a terrible space, and depths that he hated to imagine, and as blood dripped from his face into the abyss he was sure he heard an excited intake of breath.
Movement in the chamber again...
The Director fell on him, fists pummeling at his face, long nails raking his skin. He punched back and raised one knee, trying to shove her aside. Then she was going for the gun again.
More movement... the rustle of clothing... but he couldn’t look...
He heaved her up and to the side, turning with her and using the momentum to sit astride her, his arm pressing down hard on her throat. Her eyes swelled and her tongue protruded, and she tried shaking her head. She’s pleading! he thought. And for just a second he considered everything this woman had said, and what Dana had been prepared to do.
Footsteps... slow, methodical, soft...
He eased back slightly.
“Marty!” Dana said. He turned to look at his dying friend, but instead he saw Anne Patience Buckner standing right behind him. Her little girl’s rotting face held no emotion, and as she swung the hatchet instinct took over. He fell to the side and brought The Director up on top of him again, and the hatchet struck the back of her skull.
Bone broke. Metal scraped. Her eyes went wide, mouth hanging open, and a line of blood ran across her lowered face.
The ground shook again, thudding as if echoing with the memories of huge impacts far below. Anna Patience was trying to tug the hatchet from The Director’s head, making the woman seem to nod up and down as if in response to some internal dialogue.
Marty heaved backward and kicked The Director out over the gap. The zombie girl, unwilling to let go of her precious hatchet, went with her, and Marty rolled onto his stomach to watch them fall. The torchlight lit them for a couple of seconds as they spun together, bouncing from the rough wall and falling quickly, soundlessly into the darkness.
He watched for a moment more, listening for the sound of them hitting bottom. But nothing came. Perhaps the noise was swallowed by the receding grumble of the latest tremor. Or maybe they were still falling.
Then he stood unsteadily and limped over to where Dana lay bleeding. He sat by her side, brushing bloody tears from her cheek. She smiled. Her chest and stomach had been shredded by the werewolf, and there was a bite mark on her throat that must have been one move away from ripping it open. But she was still alert, and she grabbed onto his hand.
“Hey,” he said.
“You know... I don’t think... Curt even has a cousin.”
“Huh. How are you?”
“Goi
ng away... ” she said softly, but her grip never lessened.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m so sorry I almost shot you... I probably wouldn’t have...”
“Hey,” he whispered, “shh, no... I totally get it.” With one hand he felt around in his shirt pocket and brought out three ready-rolled joints. He chose the least damaged one and put it in his mouth. Then he found a book of matches from another pocket and lit one, inhaling. It had never tasted so sweet. Perhaps if he smoked enough if would make all this go away. But somehow he doubted that.
“I’m sorry I let you get attacked by a werewolf and then ended the world,” he said. He took another long smoke and held the joint out to Dana. She took it with a shaking, blood-spattered hand.
“Nahh, you were right,” she said. “Humanity...?” She blew out the smoke in a cynical puff, waving the joint at the air in a single dismissal of all they had known. “It’s time to give someone else a chance.”
“Giant evil gods.”
“Wish I coulda seen ’em.” And she actually managed a smile, even as the light in her eyes—the sparkling light, the joy of life that for Marty had set her above all the rest—started to fade.
“I know!” he said, trying to hold back his tears. The last thing he wanted her to see was him crying. “That would be a fun weekend.” He took the joint before she dropped it and lay down beside her.
The chamber shook, the stone slabs cracked, dust filled the air from above, and then something else crashed down and exploded across the slab: a battered suitcase, its innards consisting of old 8 mm film reels. They rolled in ever-decreasing circles and then came to a stop.
“Oh,” Marty said.
And something was rising. Thumps came from far below, distant at first, and then closer and closer, and to Marty they sounded for all the world like something climbing the walls of that bottomless hole.
Taking another drag on his joint he turned away from Dana, because he didn’t want to see her die.
They still held onto each other, and always would. They waited for the end.
•••
No human eye bore witness to the cabin exploding apart, nor the giant, gnarled hand that emerged from its splintered heart, nor the arm that powered it a hundred feet into the air, fingers flexing and scratching at the night.
But that would change soon enough.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TIM LEBBON is a New York Times bestselling writer from South Wales. He’s had over twenty novels published to date, as well as dozens of novellas and hundreds of short stories. Recent books include The Secret Journeys of Jack London: The Wild (co-authored with Christopher Golden), Echo City, The Island, The Map of Moments (with Christopher Golden), and Bar None. He has won four British Fantasy Awards, a Bram Stoker Award, and a Scribe Award, and has been a finalist for International Horror Guild, Shirley Jackson, and World Fantasy Awards. Fox 2000 recently acquired film rights to The Secret Journeys of Jack London, and Tim and Christopher Golden have delivered the screenplay. Several more of his novels and novellas are currently in development, and he is also working on TV and movie proposals, solo and in collaboration. Find out more about Tim at his website: www.timlebbon.net
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THE CABIN IN THE WOODS
The Official Visual Companion
Now, finally, all can be revealed in the full-color Official Visual Companion, featuring:
An in-depth interview with Joss Whedon and Drew Goddard about the making of the film
The full, uncut screenplay
Interviews with the cast
Behind the scenes secrets
Stunning production art
Hundreds of eye-popping photos
Foreword by Drew Goddard
Afterword by Joss Whedon
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Table of Contents
Cover
The Official Movie Novelization
Also Available from Titan Books
Title Page
Copyright
Contents
The Official Movie Novelization
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
About the Author
Also Available from Titan Books
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS: