'Jack,' he moaned, clutching at Jack's arm. 'Jack, we oughtta get out of here, okay?'
'You'll like it, Wolf,' Jack muttered, aware of Wolf's distress but not of its depth. Wolf was, after all, always distressed to some degree. In this world, the word distress defined him. 'Try it.'
'Okay,' Wolf said, and Jack heard the agreement but not the thin waver that meant Wolf was holding on to the last thread of his control with both hands. They sat down with Wolf on the aisle, his knees accordioned up uncomfortably, the tub of popcorn (which he no longer wanted) clutched to his chest.
In front of them a match flared briefly yellow. Jack smelled the dry tang of pot, so familiar in the movies that it could be dismissed as soon as identified. Wolf smelled a forest-fire.
'Jack - !'
'Shhh, picture's starting.'
And I'm dozing off.
Jack would never know of Wolf's heroism in the next few minutes; Wolf did not really know of it himself. He only knew that he had to try to stick this nightmare out for Jack's sake. It must be all right, he thought, look, Wolf, Jack's going right to sleep, right to sleep right here and now. And you know Jack wouldn't take you to a Hurt-Place, so just stick it out . . . just wait . . . Wolf! . . . it'll be all right . . .
But Wolf was a cyclic creature, and his cycle was approaching its monthly cl**ax. His instincts had become exquisitely refined, almost undeniable. His rational mind told him that he would be all right in here, that Jack wouldn't have brought him otherwise. But that was like a man with an itchy nose telling himself not to sneeze in church because it was impolite.
He sat there smelling forest-fire in a dark, stinking cave, twitching each time a shadow passed down the aisle, waiting numbly for something to fall on him from the shadows overhead. And then a magic window opened at the front of the cave and he sat there in the acrid stink of his own terror-sweat, eyes wide, face a mask of horror, as cars crashed and overturned, as buildings burned, as one man chased another.
'Previews,' Jack mumbled. 'Told you you'd like it ' There were Voices. One said nosmoking. One said don't litter. One said groupratesavailable. One said Bargain Matinee-priceseveryweekdayuntilfourp.m.
'Wolf, we got screwed,' Jack mumbled. He started to say something else, but it turned into a snore.
A final voice said andnowourfeaturepresentation and that was when Wolf lost control. Bakshi's The Lord of the Rings was in Dolby sound, and the projectionist had orders to really crank it in the afternoons, because that's when the heads drifted in, and the heads really liked loud Dolby.
There was a screeching, discordant crash of brass. The magic window opened again and now Wolf could see the fire - shifting oranges and reds.
He howled and leaped to his feet, pulling with him a Jack who was more asleep than awake.
'Jack!' he screamed. 'Get out! Got to get out! Wolf! See the fire! Wolf! Wolf!'
'Down in front!' someone shouted.
'Shut up, hoser!' someone else yelled.
The door at the back of Cinema 6 opened. 'What's going on in here?'
'Wolf, shut up!' Jack hissed. 'For God's sake - '
'OWWWWWW-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!'
Wolf howled.
A woman got a good look at Wolf as the white light from the lobby fell on him. She screamed and began dragging her little boy out by one arm. Literally dragging him; the kid had fallen to his knees and was skidding up the popcorn-littered carpet of the center aisle. One of his sneakers had come off.
'OWWWWWWWW-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHOOOOOOHHHHOOOOOO!'
The pothead three rows down had turned around and was looking at them with bleary interest. He held a smouldering joint in one hand; a spare was cocked behind his ear. 'Far . . . out,' he pronounced. 'Fucking werewolves of London strike again, right?'
'Okay,' Jack said. 'Okay, we'll get out. No problem. Just . . . just don't do that anymore, okay? Okay?'
He started leading Wolf out. The weariness had fallen over him again.
The light of the lobby hit his eyes sharply, needling them. The woman who had dragged the little boy out of the theater was backed into a corner with her arms around the kid. When she saw Jack lead the still-howling Wolf through the double doors of Cinema 6, she swept the kid up and made a break for it.
The counterman, the ticket-girl, the projectionist, and a tall man in a sportcoat that looked as if it belonged on the back of a racetrack tout were clustered together in a tight little group. Jack supposed the guy in the checkered sportcoat and white shoes was the manager.
The doors of the other cinemas in the hive had opened partway. Faces peered out of the darkness to see what all the hooraw was. To Jack, they all looked like badgers peering out of their holes.
'Get out!' the man in the checkered sportcoat said. 'Get out, I've called the police already, they'll be here in five minutes.'