Windows in terror, runs at top speed through the narrow corridors. The others are in pursuit.
He reaches a small armory. A glass case set into the wall. A half dozen rarely used guns are inside. He tries to open it. Locked. He hears the clamor of feet as the others are nearing. He breaks the glass and grabs a shotgun. Then a box of shells.
The others arrive at the end of the hallway. Garry pulls his handgun and points.
GARRY: Put that down!
WINDOWS (trembling): No.
GARRY: I'll put this right through your head.
No one doubts Garry's sincerity.
WINDOWS: You guys going to listen to Garry? You going to let him give the orders? I mean he could be one of those Things!
The other regard Garry tensely. No one oblivious to the fact, that Windows just might be right.
MACREADY (calm): Windows . . . wait a minute, just take it easy. Put the gun down. Put it down. Garry, you don't want to hurt anybody.
GARRY: Right. . . . on the floor
Still trembling, Windows slowly lowers the gun to the floor.
MACREADY: It's on the floor.
Garry turns, now aiming the gun at the others. They are taken aback.
GARRY: I don't know about Copper, but I give you my word I did not go near that blood.
Garry lays his gun down on a nearby box.
GARRY: But I guess you'll all feel a little easier if somebody else was in charge. Norris, I can't see anyone objecting to you.
NORRIS: I'm sorry fellas, but I'm not up to it.
Childs goes for the gun.
CHILDS: I'll take it . . .
With his knife pulled, Clark intervenes, MacReady grabs Garry's gun.
CLARK: Like hell you will.
MACREADY: It should be somebody a little more even-tempered, Childs.
Childs scoffs. MacReady eyes Clark with an unspoken request. Clark understands and gives up the knife.
Roving eyes pass about the hallway. Nobody is sure who to trust. MacReady seems as good as any.
MACREADY: Allright.
EXT. COMPOUND - NIGHT: A small scatter of lights of the compound surrounded by the black of the night.
The men have gathered the blood bags to burn them.
MacReady ignites the flamethrower and torches the bags.
MACREADY: I know I'm human . . . and if you all were these Things, you would just attack me right now. So some of you are still human.
MACREADY: This Thing doesn't want to show itself. It wants to hide in an imitation. It will fight if it has to, but it's vulnerable out in the open. If it takes us over, then it has no more enemies. Nobody left to kill it, and then it's one. . . There's a storm hitting us in six hours. We're going to find out who's who. . . . . Allright, Doc, Garry, and Clark, move over there away from the others.
Clarke steps forward, pauses, as if to challenge MacReady, then moves on.
MACREADY: Norris, you and Childs, shoot them up with morphine.
FUCHS: I need Doc's help.
COPPER: Yea, you don't want to drug me. . . Mac, I'm not a prisoner!
MacReady ignores Copper's plea, keepin his flamethrower aimed at him. Copper eyes his accuser solemnly then backs down.
INT. REC ROOM: Copper, Clark and Garry sit moodily together on a couch. Norris awkwardly prepares to give them their injections. He is new at this. Childs stands guard with his torch. Dr. Copper offers to help.
COPPER: Here, let me do it. You're going to break the needle in my arm.
CHILDS: No, Doc. He's doing a real fine job.
MacReady drinking his Scotch, inspecting shredded long johns, and talking into a tape recorder.
MACREADY: I'm going to hide this tape when I'm finished. If none of us make it, at least there will be some kind of record. Storm's been hitting us hard now for 48 hours. We still have nothing to go on. . . . . . One other thing, I think it rips through your clothes when it takes you over. Windows found some shredded long johns, but the name tag was missing. They could be anybody's. Nobody trusts anybody now . . . and we're all very tired. Nothing else I can do . . . just wait. R.J. MacReady, Helicopter Pilot, U.S. Outpost 31.
INT. LAB Fuchs is pouring over a book. Several others lie open on his desk. MacReady pokes his head in the lab. Fuchs is startled and alarmed at first, then relaxes.
MACREADY: You come up with anything yet?
FUCHS: One or two ideas. But MacReady, I've been thinking... If a small particle of this thing is enough to take over an entire organism, then everyone should prepare their own meals and I suggest we only eat out of cans.
MACREADY: Allright.
MacReady leaves, Fuchs returns to his notes. As he is reading, his desk lamp dims to darkness. Fuchs pulls out a candle from the desk drawer and lights it. He slowly makes his way to room's doorway.
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