Back to the Future Part II (18 page)

Peabody grinned, happy to be in on the chase. ‘Thanks, mister!’ he called to Doc as he climbed into his truck. ‘C’mon, flatfoot, let’s go! ’

The cop jumped into his cruiser, and both of them took off toward town.

Doc waited until they were out of sight before he looked behind the billboard.

Yes, the DeLorean was still there.

But what could be keeping Marty?

Strictland had disappeared. The hall inside the school was deserted. But then Marty noticed there was a light on behind one of the office doors.

He crept to the door, and opeoed it a crack. The office beyond was broken into halves by a glass partition. The half closer to Marty was where Strickland’s secretary had her desk. Strickland had gone into the far end of the room, which was his office.

Marty stepped into the outer office. silently closing the door to the hallway behind him. He could see Mr Strickland moving around behind the smoked glass. It looked like the vice-principal's back was to Marty.

Marty quickly crossed the room, and tilted his head just enough so that he could see around the partition.

Strickland threw the Almanac down on his desk, then sat down himself in his swivel chair. He opened a drawer and pulled out a whiskey bottle.

A whiskey bottle? Mr Strickland drank? In the high school?

Strickland took a drink straight from the bottle, then swivelled his chair around so that his back was to Marty.

But how could Marty get his hands on the Almanac? He couldn’t very well just march in there and say, ‘Excuse me. Mr Strickland,' - could he?

Then he saw that Strickland’s desk had an open space in the middle - the place where Strickland would stick his knees - that went all the way through. If Marty could get in there - and it was only a couple of feet away - without Strickland seeing him, maybe he could grab the sports book while the vice-principal’s back was still turned, and get out of here!

It was worth a try. He crouched down and ran into the room, dropping down on the opposite side of the desk from Strickland. He crawled into the knee-hole, and saw that the disciplinarian had turned his head toward the door. Had the vice-principal heard Marty? But then Strickland shrugged and took another swig from the bottle. He looked back out of the window.

Marty crawled through the space under the desk, until he was right by Strickland's swivel chair. He reached his hand up to feel the top of the desk. The Almanac had to be up there somewhere. There! His fingers brushed it. If he could just -

Strickland’s chair creaked as he turned. His knee crushed Marty’s hand against the desk. Somehow, Marty managed to pull his hand free. Somehow, he also managed not to yell. The vice-principal turned back to the desk, sticking his knees right in Marty’s face!

But then Strickland leaned back in his chair to stare out of the window one more time. Marty knew right where the book was now. It might be a little riskier with Strickland this much closer, but all Marty needed was one good grab. He leaned forward —

And Strickland turned back to the desk. Marty pushed himself back as he heard the vice-principal stick the bottle back in the drawer and then push the drawer shut.

Strickland stood. He looked like he was ready to leave. And, as he walked away, Marty saw the vice-principal’s hands were empty. He wasn’t taking the book with him. Maybe Marty could get hold of the Sports Almanac at last. The vice-principal took a step away, then looked back, and picked up the book!

Oh, no! Marty didn’t want to start this all over again!

Strickland walked to the door - and threw the book into the wastebasket at the corner of the desk!

Marty started breathing again. At last! He waited for Strickland to leave the office, then scrambled from his hiding place to grab the book from the trash. Here it was, with its red and silver dust jacket: Grey's Sports Almanac.

The book fell open as Marty grabbed it. His mouth fell open, too, when he saw the pages, full of photos of scantily clad women! Marty pulled off the dust cover. Underneath was Ooh-La-La!, one of Biffs girlie magazines!

‘Shit!’ Marty yelled. He couldn’t believe this!

He pulled his walkie-talkie out of his pocket.

‘Doc!’ he said as he pressed the ‘talk’ button. ‘Trouble. I blew it.’ He quickly described what had happened to him.

'Where's the book?’ Doc’s voice answered him.

Marty hadn’t even thought about that. ‘Biff must still have it on him!’

‘Where’s Biff?’ Doc asked.

‘I don’t know!’ Marty exclaimed, his voice close to despair.

He looked out the window of Strickland’s office. He could see out to the parking lot. There was George McFiy. hiking up his pants, getting ready to go over to the Packard. If only, Marty thought, everything they had to do had stayed as simple as that.

‘Don’t you have any idea where he is?’ Doc demanded.

‘No, Doc,* Marty replied grimly. ‘He could be anywhere by now. For all I know he could have hopped a Greyhound and left town! ’

‘Great Scott!’ Doc exclaimed. ‘This is serious shit!’

‘Tell me about it!’ Marty answered, ready to descend into misery.

‘Think, Marty, think!’ Doc insisted. ‘Where would Biff have gone?’

Marty shook his head. ‘Doc, if I knew that, I’d go after him.’

But Doc just wouldn’t let it go. ‘Marty, the entire future depends on your finding Biff and getting that book back!’

‘I know, Doc. I just don’t know where to -’

Marty stopped. Somebody was yelling outside. It was Lorraine.

‘Stop it, Biff!’ she screamed. ‘You’ll break his arm!’

Lorraine? George? Biff?

Biff was still out there! Even though Biff had gotten the Sports Almanac, and Marty had come back here to try to get it back, nothing had really changed about that night at the ‘Enchantment Under the Sea’ dance. Biff and George were still going to have their confrontation! And Marty could still get the book!

‘Of course!’ Marty shouted into the walkie-talkie. ‘I got one more chance! I’ll call you back!'

‘Roger, ten-four,' Doc replied with relief. ‘Message acknowledged. Standing by.’

Marty ran to the office door, unlocked the deadbolt, and took off. He’d have to time this just right, but it could work. It had to!

It was happening all over again. Except, Marty reminded himself, it was really happening for the first time. It was him that was repeating.

He had stopped at the edge of the parking lot, half hidden by the other cars. There, in front of him, were the events that would lead to his mother and father marrying and having a family - Marty included!

Biff and George were facing off.

‘Leave him alone!’ Lorraine cried. She tried to stop Biff, but the burly teenager knocked her down and out of the way. Biff laughed.

And George got pissed! His fingers closed into a fist, his teeth clenched, and he let Biff have it, right in the kisser!

Biff crumpled. He was out cold!

‘Way to go, George!’ Marty whispered to himself. But there was the other Marty, running onto the scene! The later version ducked behind the car.

He knew what happened next, anyway. He should

- he was there.

"Talk about déjà vu ...’ Marty whispered.

Now, George and Lorraine would walk off together, arm in arm, the beginning of a beautiful romance. A crowd would gather around the unconscious Biff. And Marty, the other, earlier Marty, would check that photo - the one where he and his brother and sister were all disappearing, because he had changed the past.

Then the earlier Marty would run off again, too. And that was the here-and-now Marty’s chance!

Marty peeked up over the car. Yep, there was his earlier self, leaving right on schedule.

Now it was time for the new Marty to take over. He ran down to the crowd and pushed his way into Biff.

‘Let me through,’ Marty called. ‘I know CPR!’

A scrawny kid looked up at him with a frown. ‘CPR?’ he asked. ‘What’s CPR?’

What was the scrawny kid’s problem? Everybody knew what CPR was, didn’t they? Oh, that’s right, Marty realised. They probably didn’t, back in 1955.

Marty bent down over Biff.

‘Everybody, move back,’ he shouted to the crowd. ‘Give him some air.’

The crowd obliged, stepping back enough to give Marty some breathing room.

Biff groaned. He was coming to. He blinked as his eyes focused on Marty.

‘Hey!’ Biff shouted angrily. ‘What the - YOU!’

There was only one thing to do. Marty slugged him all over again - smack in the jaw. Biff obligingly passed out. Marty just hoped not too many people in the crowd noticed that little maneouvre.

He quickly rolled the other teenager over, and lifted up his jacket. There was the Sports Almanac, still stuck into the waistband of Biffs pants. Marty pulled it free, rapidly flipping through the pages full of row after row of sports scores - just to make sure.

This was the real thing at last.

Marty sighed. It was good to have that over with. He stood up and turned to the crowd.

‘It’s OK, everybody,’ he said in a loud, calm, clear voice. ‘He’s gonna be fine.

The scrawny kid stared at Marty in suspicion.

‘Hey,’ he whined, ‘did you just take his wallet?’

Marty shook his head and pushed his way through the crowd. It was time to get out of here before anything else happened. He walked quickly back toward the school
.

He stepped back into the shadows and pulled out his walkie-talkie.

‘Yo, Doc!’ he called, holding up the Sports Almanac as if Doc Brown might be able to see it. ‘Success! I’ve got it!’

Doc’s voice replied:

‘Thank goodness! I’ll be on my way as soon as I reload Mr Fusion. I’ll pick you up on the roof of the gym!’

‘The roof of the gym!’ Marty replied. ‘Ten-four!’

He shoved the walkie-talkie in one jacket pocket, the Almanac in another. Now, to get to the top of the gym, and get this whole thing over with for good. Marty had to admit it; he’d be glad when all this was history.

He heard the song ‘Earth Angel' coming from the gym as he climbed the stairs. He remembered the dance band ~ the Starlighters. It had been fun to play with them that time - the last time he was here.

Marty realised there were three pairs of legs, male legs, coming down the stairs toward him.

He looked up, and saw Match, 3-D. and Skinhead coming his way.

Marty turned around and went the other way.

‘Hey!’ Skinhead yelled as Marty went from a walk to a run. ‘That was him! In disguise! He got out!’

‘The Calvin Klein creep?’ 3-D added. ‘How’d he change his clothes?'

But Match had a simple solution to all of this:

‘Let’s get him!’

Marty’s heart sank as he heard three pairs of shoes clumping heavily down the stairs after him.

Wouldn’t this be over - ever?

Marty ran into the gym again. He headed immediately for the shadows behind the refreshment table. The fewer people who saw him, the better!

He looked over at the stage and saw his other self, introducing ‘Johnny B. Goode’. Wow! He’d never seen himself perform before. He didn’t look bad, in the coat and tie and all, up there on stage. Now, if Marty could just get rid of Biff’s gang somehow, he could actually stand here for a minute and enjoy his act!

Biff’s boys came through the same door Marty had used. Marty ducked down behind the refreshment table. It was pretty dark, here in the comer. Maybe he could get rid of them, after all.

‘Look!’ 3-D said to the others. ‘How’d he get on stage?’

‘Yeah!’ Match added. ‘And he changed clothes again!’

‘I don’t know,’ Skinhead growled back. ‘But when he gets down, we’ll be waitin’ for him! C’mon!’

Oh, no! Marty had lost them all right, but only because he’d led them right to the earlier version of Marty! He moved down to the end of the refreshment table, only to see the three gang members now standing off in the right-hand wings backstage, waiting until they could get their hands on the other Marty!

What could Marty - either of the Martys - do?

The one with the Walkie-talkie decided he'd better call Doc.

Doc Brown wandered around the future home of Lyon Estates, looking for dead leaves, old beer cans, and any other trash he might be able to use in his Mr Fusion drive.

The walkie-talkie crackled to life in his pocket. Doc pulled it out as Marty started to speak.

‘Doc! Biff’s guys chased me into the gym and now they’re laying for me!’

Marty seemed to be getting a little upset by all this. But that was one of the reasons Doc was here, after all, as a calming influence.

‘Then go out another door,’ he suggested reasonably.

‘No,’ Marty explained frantically, ‘they’re laying for the 
other
 me: the one that’s on stage, playing “JohnnyB. Goode!” ’

‘Great Scott!’ Doc replied. This 
was
 serious. Even the ramifications of something like this had ramifications! 

‘If they succeed,’ he explained to Marty, ‘you’ll miss the lightning bolt at the clock tower, you won’t get back to the future - and we’ll have a major paradox.’

‘A paradox?’ Marty asked. ‘You mean one of those things that could destroy the universe?’

Doc couldn’t have said it better himself.

‘Precisely!’

‘This is heavy! ’ Marty agreed.

Doc thought for a second. They had been so close to success - and now this! There had to be some way out of this, didn’t there?

‘Marty,’ he said back into the Walkie-talkie. ‘You have to stop those guys at all costs - but without being seen by your other self, or your parents!’

There - that pretty much summed up exactly what Marty had to do, or else.

So why didn’t Doc feel any better about this?

'Ten-four,’ Marty replied, putting away the walkie-talkie. So all he had to do was stop these guys without letting the other Marty, or just about anybody else, see him, right? Hey, piece of cake - if only he could figure out how.

One thing was certain - he wasn’t going to get anything done standing behind the refreshment table. He should probably get up on that stage himself - maybe in the wings opposite where the gang was standing. He walked behind the refreshment table one more time, keeping to the edges of the gym, circumnavigating the dance. No one stopped him - no one even much noticed him - and both the guitar-playing Marty and Biff’s boys were busy doing their own things. It was easy to make it to the steps leading up to the stage - but now what?

But Marty knew what happened next, since, after all, he’d done it before himself. It was time for the guitar-playing Marty to go into his solo, and - once he did that - he’d be oblivious to the world! Yep! Here came those first fractured chords!

Marty shot up the stairs and into the wings, stage left.

So far, so good, Marty thought. But, not to repeat himself - now what?

He didn’t have any ideas until he looked overhead. There were some awfully heavy sandbags over this stage.

Marty found a catwalk ladder and started to climb.

The Mr Fusion was filled at last. Doc climbed into the DeLorean and set the destination display for good old 1985. Better to do it now, he figured. Heaven knew how fast he would have to get Marty out of whatever he’d gotten himself into at the high school.

He started the DeLorean up and lifted it smoothly from the ground. He had cleared the billboard in a matter of seconds.

But somebody was coming down the road, on the other side! It was a pickup truck. The truck screeched to a halt as soon as the driver spotted the flying car.

Doc decided it was time to get out of here. He started to perform the sort of thing they always called ‘evasive manoeuvres' as Peabody aimed and fired.

Doc threw the DeLorean into a mini-nosedive, so it swooped almost to the ground, and then began climbing again, right into the real estate pennants hanging from the Lyons Gate sign! He heard cloth rip as the pennants got caught on the underside of the DeLorean. Oh, well, Doc thought, it wasn’t the end of the world if he dragged a few cloth flags along with him. Just so long as he got out of here as quickly as possible! He blasted toward town, streaming a row of multi-coloured pennants behind him.

But then the DeLorean - even carefully flown at under eighty-eight miles per hour - was gone.

* * *

Biff groaned. He was coming around. Lester was glad he waited. When Biff woke up, Lester would tell him all about that other guy and what he did. Yeah, Lester would!

Biff opened his eyes and rubbed his jaw. He sat up, and blinked like he was having trouble remembering where he was.

He reached back to hike up his pants, then frowned and felt along his back.

‘What the hell?’ Biff muttered. He looked down at the lawn, like he was missing something.

Lester knew it. He just knew it!

‘He stole your wallet, didn’t he?’ Lester asked, trying not to spit despite his excitement.

‘Huh?’ Biff replied.

‘That kid took something off you while you were laying there!’ Lester exclaimed, almost clapping his hands that he might actually be right for a change. ‘I knew it was your wallet!’

Biff scowled at Lester.

‘What kid?’ Biff demanded. ‘Who?’

‘A little guy in a leather jacket,’ Lester replied. ‘I don’t know his name.’ He backed up a little, despite himself. Biff wouldn’t hurt him, would he? Lester was helping him!

‘Where did he go?’ Biff asked darkly.

Oh, good. Biff wasn’t going to beat up Lester. He was going to beat up the other guy. He pointed at the back door of the gym. ‘That way.’

Biff pushed Lester out of the way, and lumbered toward the gym. Lester grinned. He had done a good thing. Now maybe Biff and his boys wouldn’t beat him up again for two weeks, maybe three!

Biff growled as he flung the fire door aside. Boy, Lester thought, he wouldn’t want Biff beating him up when he was angry.

That could get really serious!

This plan had made a lot more sense when he had been on the ground.

Marty looked at the catwalk in front of him. Actually, you couldn’t even call it a catwalk. It was really only a pair of long bars that they had hung the lights from - two bars that stretched high across the stage. And those bars were covered with a thick layer of dust. They looked like they hadn’t been touched in years!

But there wasn't time for another plan. The other Marty was half-way through his guitar solo! He had to get over to the other side of the stage, before his other self got demolished by Biffs gang!

The bars swung sickeningly back and forth as Marty grabbed them. No time for another plan, he told himself again, and quickly hoisted himself onto the bars, so that he had a hand and foot on each of them. Now, he reasoned, all he had to do was crawl across.

The right bar swung away from him. Marty felt his right foot slip free and fall through space, straight toward his guitar-playing double! He twisted wildly back toward his left and, somehow, managed to regain his balance without losing his grip.

He crawled across the rest of the twin bars slowly, carefully, reaching out one hand, then one foot, then the other hand and foot, until he finally made it to the other side of the stage, where he could get a firm grip on an iron support pole. But he’d made it to the sa ndbags, too - fifteen or twenty of them, all tied together in one. big bundle. And there, almost directly underneath him. were the three hoods.

He pulled the ropes.

The sandbags fell.

They wiped out all three of the hoods.

Marty grabbed one of the free ropes and swung down to the very back of the backstage. There was a set of stairs over here, that led to the same alcove he had come in through!

Marty pulled out his walkie-talkie as he took the steps, two at a time.

‘Success. Doc! Everything’s cool!’

‘Good!’ Doc’s voice replied after the usual burst of static. ‘I’ll be landing at the school roof in about one minute!’

Marty pushed the fire door open. He had to get back around the building to the outside fire stairs and the top of the gym.

‘I’ll be there, Doc!' He shut off the walkie-talkie and thrust it back in his pocket.

He glanced back in the window of the fire door. There, in the alcove he had just left, was Lorraine, talking to the other Marty!

‘I had a feeling about you two,’ the other Marty was saying.

‘I have a feeling, too,’ Lorraine replied with the sweetest smile.

Marty ducked down as he hurried past the window glad that everything had worked out, again. Just like they learned in English class: All’s well that ends well.

‘Hey,’ a voice yelled behind him, ‘butthead!’

Marty spun around. Biff stood next to the fire door, rubbing at a raw spot where he'd cut his lip. Biff grinned and waved for Marty to come closer.

‘C’mon, let’s have it out!’ he demanded. ‘You and me!’

Oh, no, Marty thought. Not when he was so close to being out of here. He grinned back at Biff.

‘No, thanks,’ he replied brightly as he turned to leave.

Biff took a step towards him.

‘What’s the matter?’ he called after the retreating Marty. ‘Chicken?’ 

Marty stopped dead. 

‘Too chicken to take me on,’ Biff jeered, ‘one on one?’

Marty turned around, his hands clenched into fists.

There was only one thing he couldn’t stand.

Nobody calls me chicken,’ he replied.