http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/80261/King_-_The_Stand.html
Stephen King
The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition
Chapter 26
Viewers in the WBZ-TV broadcast area saw Bob Palmer stop his newscast in the middle of a sentence, and heard him say, “Okay, right now!” There were scuffling sounds off-camera. When it was over, thousands of bemused viewers saw that Bob Palmer was now holding a snub-nosed pistol in his hand.
A hoarse, off-mike voice yelled jubilantly: “We got em, Bob! We got the bastards! We got em all!”
“Okay, that’s good work,” Palmer said. He then faced into the camera again. “Fellow citizens of Boston, and Americans in our broadcast area. Something both grave and terribly important has just happened in this studio, and I am very glad it has happened here first, in Boston, the cradle of American independence. For the last seven days, this broadcast facility has been under guard by men purporting to be National Guardsmen. Men in army khaki, armed with guns, have been standing beside our cameramen, in our control rooms, beside our teletypes. Has the news been managed? I am sorry to say that this is the case. I have been given copy and forced to read it, almost literally with gun to my head. The copy I have been reading has to do with the so-called ‘superflu epidemic,’ and all of it is patently false.”
Lights began to flicker on the switchboard. Within fifteen seconds every light was on.
“Our cameramen have taken film that has either been confiscated or deliberately exposed. Our reporters’ stories have disappeared. Yet we do have film, ladies and gentlemen, and we have correspondents right here in the studio-professional reporters, but eyewitnesses to what may be the greatest disaster this country has ever faced… and I do not use those words lightly. We are going to run some of this film for you now. All of it was taken clandestinely, and some of it is of poor quality. Yet we here, who have just liberated our own television station, think you may see enough. More, indeed, than you might have wished.”
DSC03425.JPG
1994 United States television miniseries "The Stand" DVD video:
01:38:38 Disc 1
Larry Underwood: You know something? Ha! I've seen this guy before. In Times Square, just before everything went to hell. Screaming about monsters. Now, he said they were coming.
Nadine Cross: He was right.
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Google Maps
599 W Spokane Falls Blvd, Spokane, Washington, United States
Address is approximate
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0066769/quotes
IMDb
The Andromeda Strain (1971)
Quotes
Dr. Mark Hall: Most of them died instantly, but a few had time to go quietly nuts.
1984 film "Night of the Comet" DVD video:
Samantha: You're not going to blame me because the phone went dead. I'm not the phone company. Nobody is the phone company anymore. What? Cops? Where were you guys earlier?
http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/80261/King_-_The_Stand.html
Stephen King
The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition
Chapter 35
On a more personal level, he supposed she was troubled by what they had found when they walked down to the park yesterday. She had been laughing and chatty and gay when they started out, but coming back she had begun to be old.
The monster-shouter had been lying on one of the paths in a huge pool of his own blood. His glasses lay with both lenses shattered beside his stiff and outstretched left hand. Some monster had been abroad after all, apparently. The man had been stabbed repeatedly. To Larry’s sickened eyes he looked like a human pincushion.
She had screamed and screamed, and when her hysteria had finally quieted, she insisted that they bury him. So they had. And going back to the apartment, she had been the woman he had found this morning.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Just a little scald. The skin’s hardly red.”
“I’ll get the Unguentine. There’s some in the medicine cabinet.”
She started away, and he grabbed her firmly by the shoulders and made her sit down. She looked up at him from darkly circled eyes.
“What you’re going to do is eat,” he said. “Scrambled eggs, toast, coffee. Then we’re going to get some maps and see what’s the best way to get off Manhattan. We’ll have to walk, you know.”
“Yes… I suppose we will.”
He went into the kitchenette, not wanting to look at the mute need in her eyes anymore, and got the last two eggs from the refrigerator. He cracked them into a bowl, tossed the eggshells into the disposal, and began to beat them.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked.
“What? I don’t…”
“Which way?” he said with a touch of impatience. He added milk to the eggs and put the skillet back on the stove. “North? New England’s that way. South? I don’t really see the point in that. We could go—”
A strangled sob. He turned and saw her looking at him, her hands warring with each other in her lap, her eyes shiny. She was trying to control herself and having no luck.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, going to her. “What is it?”
“I don’t think I can eat,” she sobbed. “I know you want me to… I’ll try… but the smell …”
He crossed the living room, trundled the glass doors closed along their stainless steel tracks, then latched them firmly.
“There,” he said lightly, hoping the annoyance he felt with her didn’t show.
“Better?”
“Yes,” she said eagerly. “That’s a lot better. I can eat now.”
He went back to the kitchenette and stirred the eggs, which had begun to bubble. There was a grater in the utensil drawer and he ran a block of American cheese along it, making a small pile that he sprinkled into the eggs. Behind him she moved and a moment later Debussy filled the apartment, too light and pretty for Larry’s taste. He didn’t care for light classical music. If you were going to have classical shit, you ought to go whole hog and have your Beethoven or your Wagner or someone like that. Why fuck around?
She had asked him in a casual manner what he did for a living… the casual manner, he reflected with some resentment, of a person for whom anything so simple as “a living” had never been a problem. I was a rock and roll singer, he told her, slightly amazed at how painless that past tense was. Sing with this band for a while, then that one. Sometimes a studio gig. She had nodded and that was the end of it. He had no urge to tell her about “Baby, Can You Dig Your Man?”—that was the past now. The gap between that life and this was so large he hadn’t really comprehended it yet. In that life he had been running away from a cocaine dealer
http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/80261/King_-_The_Stand.html
Stephen King
The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition
Chapter 28
Since her father had died at half past eight the night before, her ability to focus mentally seemed to have gotten fragmented. She would forget things she had been doing, her mind would go off on some dreamy tangent, or she would simply sit, not thinking of anything at all, no more aware of the world than a head of cabbage.
After her father died she had sat beside his bed for a long time. At last she had gone downstairs and turned on the TV. No particular reason; like the man said, it just seemed like a good idea at the time. The only station broadcasting had been the NBC affiliate in Portland, WCSH, and they seemed to be broadcasting some sort of crazy trial show. A black man, who looked like a Ku Klux Klansman’s worst nightmare of headhunting Africans, had been pretending to execute white men with a pistol while other men in the audience applauded. It had to be pretend, of course—they didn’t show things like that on TV if they were real—but it hadn’t looked like pretend. It reminded her crazily of Alice in Wonderland, only it wasn’t the Red Queen yelling “Off with their heads!” in this case, but… what? Who? The Black Prince, she had supposed. Not that the beef in the loincloth had looked much like Prince.
Later in the program (how much later she could not have said), some other men broke into the studio and there was a fire-fight which was even more realistically staged than the executions had been. She saw men, nearly decapitated by heavy-caliber bullets, thrown backward with blood bursting from their shredded necks in gaudy arterial pumps. She remembered thinking in her disorganized way that they should have put one of those signs on the screen from time to time, the ones that warned parents to put the kiddies to bed or change the channel. She also remembered thinking that WCSH might get their license to broadcast lifted all the same; it really was an awfully bloody program.
http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/80261/King_-_The_Stand.html
Stephen King
The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition
Chapter 11
“The worst part, Larry, is that you mean well. Sometimes I think it would almost be a mercy if you were broke worse. As it is, you seem to know what’s wrong but not how to fix it. And I don’t know how, either. I tried every way I knew when you were small. Writing that word on your forehead, that was only one of them… and by then I was getting desperate, or I never would have done such a mean thing to you. You’re a taker, that’s all. You came home to me because you knew that I have to give. Not to everybody, but to you.”
“I’ll move out,” he said, and every word was like spitting out a dry ball of lint. “This afternoon.”
Then it came to him that he probably couldn’t afford to move out, at least not until Wayne sent him his next royalty check—or whatever was left of it after he finished feeding the hungriest of the L.A. hounds—on to him. As for current out-of-pocket expenses, there was the rent on the parking slot for the Datsun Z, and a hefty payment he would have to send out by Friday, unless he wanted the friendly neighborhood repo man looking for him, and he didn’t. And after last night’s revel, which had begun so innocently with Buddy and his fiancée and this oral hygienist the fiancée knew, a nice girl from the Bronx, Larry, you’ll love her, great sense of humor, he was pretty low on cash. No. If you wanted to be accurate, he was busted to his heels. The thought made him panicky. If he left his mother’s now, where would he go? A hotel? The doorman at any hotel better than a fleabag would laugh his ass off and tell him to get lost. He was wearing good threads, but they knew. Somehow those bastards knew. They could smell an empty wallet.
“Don’t go,” she said softly. “I wish you wouldn’t, Larry. I bought some food special. Maybe you saw it. And I was hoping maybe we could play some gin rummy tonight.”
“Ma, you can’t play gin,” he said, smiling a little.
“For a penny a point, I can beat the tailgate off a kid like you.”
“Maybe if I gave you four hundred points—”
“Listen to the kid,” she jeered softly. “Maybe if I gave you four hundred. Stick around, Larry. What do you say?”
“All right,” he said. For the first time that day he felt good, really good. A small voice inside whispered he was taking again, same old Larry, riding for free, but he refused to listen. This was his mother, after all, and she had asked him. It was true that she had said some pretty hard things on the way to asking, but asking was asking, true or false? “Tell you what. I’ll pay for our tickets to the game on July fourth.
- posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 8:34 PM Pacific Time somewhere near Spokane Washington USA Friday 04 July 2014
