Twilight Zone The Movie Read Free Page B

projection with both hands, not daring to look down at the street below. For a moment he hung swaying, his feet moving pendulum-like in empty air; then he raised himself over the cornice and onto the rooftop. Now a faint babble arose from the street; but Bill didn’t look down. Panting for breath, he rose and ran across the roof, continuing his route across the roof of the building beyond it.
    From behind and below, a voice shouted in German. “Er ist am Dach! Ich will schnell eine Licht.”
    Glancing down, Bill saw a soldier climbing out of the window of the room he had just vacated.
    Dizzy with exertion, he turned and stared across the alley where another rooftop rose. This one was slanted and tiled. Bill glanced at it dubiously but the sound of voices from below firmed his resolution. In a minute they’d be up here and he had no choice, nowhere else to go.
    Breathing deeply, he moved to the edge of the roof, forcing himself to look down just long enough to estimate the distance between this building and the next.
    Eight feet—maybe nine. He could make it. What was he talking about? He had to make it!
    He stepped back, taking another deep breath, then ran forward and leaped from the parapet, landing on the slanted surface opposite with a thump that squeezed the air from his lungs. His fingers found a purchase on the tiles, but even when he exerted all his strength, he was unable to pull himself upward. The darkness had deceived him; the angle of the roof was too steep for him to climb with nothing but tiles to cling to.
    Suddenly a beam of light flared across the surface of the roof directly beside him.
    Bill glanced down over his left shoulder for a glimpse of the alleyway below. His eyes watered as he stared into the blinding ray of an upturned searchlight resting in the back of an open jeep. As the light swept on, its path was followed by a hail of rifle shots. The soldiers were firing up, guided by the beam.
    Frantically, Bill made another effort to edge his way up along the steep slant of the rooftop, favoring his right hand.
    There was a sudden splintering sound and Bill glanced up along his arm to its source: the tile he clung to had cracked and broken loose.
    “Oh no!” he gasped.
    Scrabbling, his fingers clawed nothing but empty air, and he felt himself starting to slide back toward the edge of the roof behind him. And now the beam of the searchlight swooped, then halted directly upon him, pinning him in its harsh glare.
    Bill closed his eyes. In a moment now, the shots would come.
    Suddenly, from below, a voice sounded in command. “Halt Feurer!”
    There were no shots, and no need for them, because they could see what was happening. They could see him sliding down the slant toward the edge of the roof.
    Bill clawed out again, gripping another tile to halt his descent, then groaned in dismay as he felt it tear loose from beneath his frantic fingers.
    A sudden blast of cold air welled up from below and he realized to his horror that his legs were now dangling over the edge. Then he began to slide faster.
    Tiles scraped against his body and tore at the side of his cheek as he slipped backward. As he went over the edge, his right arm rose to grab the drainage gutter; now his fingers closed around it and for a moment he hung swaying over the alleyway below.
    Then he fell.
    Bill hit the ground with an impact that drove the breath from his body.
    Ground. He was lying on the ground.
    And that meant he was still alive, still conscious. It was a miracle, that’s what it was—a miracle. That rooftop was at least three stories above the cobblestones of the alleyway.
    Cobblestones—
    Bill was lying facedown, his left cheek pressed against the ground. And it was ground; not cold, hard stone, but soft, warm grass.
    Something was wrong here—very wrong.
    Bill started to open his eyes, but before he could do so, hands gripped his shoulders roughly, turning him over and slamming him down on his back.
    Now his eyes were