Twilight Zone The Movie Read Free

had grabbed his wallet; now he was rifling its plastic pockets and examining their contents. He peered down at Bill’s Master Charge card.
    “Qu’ est-ce que c’est que ça?” he snapped.
    Bill frowned in bewilderment, then recoiled as the second man slapped his face again.
    “Antworten Sie!” the Nazi shouted. “Was meint das?”
    Bill forced his voice. “It’s a credit card for goodness sake!”
    “Sind Sie Englischer?” the second officer demanded. “Was tun Sie hier?”
    Bill groped for an answer. What was he doing here? And just where was he? He stared past his two interrogators, stared at the signs identifying the storefront across the street. The signs were in French, but these men were German. Vaguely he remembered his history lessons when he was still a kid in school. The Nazis had occupied France during World War Two. But that was in 1940, a lifetime ago. How could they be here now?
    The first officer held up Bill’s driver’s license. “Vous êtes American? Répondez-moi!”
    “Was tun sie hier?” the second officer repeated. Stepping behind Bill, he grabbed his arms, holding him fast.
    “Let go of me!” Bill shouted.
    The first officer shook his head. “Venez avec nous!” He closed the wallet and stuffed it into his pocket, then turned and started across the walk to the waiting car. His companion began to propel Bill forward. As they reached the open car door, Bill yanked himself free and turned quickly, lunging at his captor and pushing him back against the other officer.
    The two men collided forcefully, and for a moment they stumbled off-balance. Bill turned and ran down the street.
    Shouts rose behind him: “Halt!” “Arrêtez!”
    Bill did not look back. He ran forward blindly with a speed born of panic.
    Again the shouts sounded: “Halt! Ich werde schie Ben!”
    Bill opened his eyes just in time to see the entrance to an alleyway yawning to his left. As he swerved into it, he heard the echo of two shots from behind. He raced up the alley, weaving his way amidst a litter of garbage and broken pieces of furniture. In the darkness he stumbled and fell.
    For a moment he lay there, trying to catch his breath. Panting, he raised his head and glanced back just in time to see his pursuers appear at the end of the alleyway behind him. Both men were holding pistols now, and as their eyes scanned the darkness they raised the weapons, firing blindly.
    Pain lanced Bill’s left arm just below the shoulder. He glanced down, shocked at the sight of the bleeding wound. From the darkness beyond came the sound of running feet pounding against the cobblestones.
    Glancing around frantically, Bill saw a pile of rubble projecting from the wall directly beside him. Soundlessly, he slid behind it and crouched down, breathing a silent prayer that his hiding place was secure.
    Afraid to lift his head, he could only lie silently as the sound and tempo of running feet increased, then diminished in darkness beyond. Only then did he dare to lift his head and peer forward to the other end of the alley. In the light from the street beyond, he saw that the officers had halted, glancing about in confusion.
    For a moment Bill felt safe—but only for a moment. Now the air resounded with a shrill shriek of a whistle, summoning aid.
    Bill’s throbbing arm was warm with blood, his forehead cold with sweat. Peering out from behind the rubble, he saw a wooden door set in the brick wall of the alley directly across from him. Gasping, he rose and dashed toward it. He tugged at the door handle, hoping against hope that he’d find it unlocked. To his relief, the door gave way, opening inward.
    He entered, closing the door behind him. Slowly his eyes penetrated the gloom. Directly before him loomed a flight of stairs. He moved toward it quietly, then began to climb.
    Halfway between the foot of the stairs and the landing above him he paused, startled by a sudden sound of footsteps overhead.
    Again, the cold sweat broke out on