THE GORGE screenplay
Page 1
An FBI hunt for a serial killer, an experimental rafting expedition, and the worst storm in decades collide in the remote Appalachian wilderness—and then THEY come out from the cliffs. Original screenplay adaptation of the author’s 2007 thriller They Hunger.
THE GORGE
A Screenplay
By Scott Nicholson
Copyright ©2008 Scott Nicholson
Published by Haunted Computer Books
www.hauntedcomputer.com
Table of Contents
VIEW OTHER KINDLE BOOKS BY SCOTT NICHOLSON:
Novels
Disintegration
The Red Church
Speed Dating with the Dead
The Skull Ring
Drummer Boy
Forever Never Ends
As I Die Lying
Burial to Follow
Cursed! (with J.R. Rain)
GhostCollege (with J.R. Rain)
October Girls (as L.C. Glazebrook)
If I Were Your Monster (children's book)
Crime Beat
Transparent Lovers
Liquid Fear
Collections
Curtains
Flowers
Ashes
The First
Murdermouth: Zombie Bits
Head Cases
Gateway Drug
Screenplays
The Skull Ring: The Screenplay
Creative Spirit: The Screenplay
Omnibus editions
Ethereal Messenger
Mystery Dance
Nicholson's Ghost Stories (with Gemma Halliday, J.R. Rain, and Aiden James)
FADE IN:
EXT. APPALACHIAN MOUNTAINS. TWILIGHT.
Autumn. The forest is red and gold. Flying over the trees, gently, then a sudden swoop into open space.
Far below is the river, the forest giving way to high rock cliffs. Flutter of leathery wings. Flying faster, faster, the river roaring and churning.
Flying straight toward the sheer rock face. Just ahead is a narrow crevice, a black wedge in the rocks. Speeding, faster, the river and trees are a blur.
SKEEEK. The unearthly shriek echoes off the walls of the gorge and then all is black.
CUT TO:
EXT.FOREST. TWILIGHT.
Shadows of trees. Two men take cover, 30 feet apart, barely able to see one another in the fading daylight. They are dressed in outdoor gear, shorts, T-shirts, backpacks.
FBI agent JIM CASTLE, 40, hard-eyed, haggard, leans against a tree. He holds a Glock 9 mm in one hand, two-way radio in the other. He motions to his partner with the Glock, indicating prey ahead.
FBI agent DEREK SAMFORD, 28, dark toboggan, waves in response. Castle whispers into the radio.
CASTLE
Suspect in sight?
SAMFORD (O.S. FROM RADIO)
Campfire at a hundred yards. The woman’s with him.
CASTLE
She could be armed.
SAMFORD (O.S.)
Or a hostage.
CASTLE
Flank him left. The gorge will cut off his retreat.
Castle is about to put away his radio when it crackles again. He’s moving now, but low and slow through underbrush.
CASTLE (CONT’D)
Yeah?
SAMFORD (O.S.)
Did the brass really think the Bama Bomber was hiding in the Unegama Gorge?
CASTLE
If they did, do you think they would have sent us?
CUT TO:
EXT.FOREST CLEARING. TWILIGHT.
Low campfire, sleeping bags spread on ground. ACE GOODALL, 30s, gaunt and unkempt, sits away from the fire, putting items in his backpack—a strand of wire and C-4 explosives.
At the fire, CLARA BANNISTER, 20, modern but greasy hairstyle, heats a can of beanie weenies. She sets them on a campfire rock.
ACE
Something been bothering me about them two we saw on the trail.
CLARA
That was the first hikers we’ve seen in two days.
ACE
That’s what bothers me.
CLARA
They didn’t look like cops.
Ace joins her by the fire, squats and pokes at cinders.
ACE
I didn’t like the haircuts. And they walked funny, like their boots was too new.
CLARA
Well, if they were cops, they would have done something.
ACE
Nah. They’d figure me to be in Montana by now.
Clara tries to pick up the beanie weenies. It burns her fingers and she drops the can, spilling them into the fire. She puts her fingers in her mouth. Ace moves with surprising speed, stands over her with his fists clenched.
ACE
Damn it, we only got three cans left and we might have to hide out another week.
CLARA
Sorry, Ace. I didn’t mean to.
She picks up a stick and tries to hook the can and lift it from the flames. Ace pulls out a Colt Python from his pants waistband. Clara draws back like he’s going to shoot her.
ACE
Shit, maybe I can peg us a squirrel.
CLARA
Be careful in the dark. You don’t know what’s out there.
ACE
(taps gun against chest)
They don’t know what’s in here, either. I’m as good at gettin’ hunted as I am huntin’.
Clara has the beanie weenies now and she passes the can to Ace.
CLARA
I thought you said they weren’t cops.
ACE
I got a surprise rigged for them just in case. Now say blessing.
CUT TO:
EXT.FOREST. TWILIGHT.
AgentCastle is working his way along the edge of the cliff, around boulders and scrub, the river roaring below. The radio on his belt crackles. Castle answers.
CASTLE
Okay, Rook, last call.
CUT TO:
EXT.FOREST ALONG GORGE. TWILIGHT.
Agent Samford moves through the trees, silent. Campfire bobs in the distance.
SAMFORD
(into radio)
He could be packing explosives.
CUT TO:
EXT.FOREST. TWILIGHT.
Castle crouches, breathing hard, wipes sweat.
CASTLE
(into radio)
This is the woods, not an abortion clinic.
CUT TO:
EXT.FOREST ALONG GORGE. TWILIGHT.
Samford backs against a tree, gun pointed up in the air.
SAMFORD
(into radio)
The book on the Bama Bomber says religious delusions. Unpredictable, with no fear of consequences. He thinks he’s doing holy work.
CUT TO:
EXT.FOREST. TWILIGHT.
Castle speaks into radio. Peers around boulder, sees Ace’s and Clara’s silhouettes by the fire.
CASTLE
Well, let’s get him to a federal court first, then he can worry about St. Peter’s court.
SAMFORD (O.S.)
(from radio)
He’ll never go down alive.
CASTLE
(glances at cliff edge)
None of us do. Over and out.
CUT TO:
EXT.FOREST CLEARING. NIGHT.
Ace eats the beanie weenies with a pocket knife. Clara opens the Holy Bible and reads by firelight.
ACE
(mouth full)
I can save you the trouble. It comes down to “Thou shalt not kill.”
CLARA
I haven’t killed anybody.
ACE
Your time will come. God brought us together for a reason.
CLARA
I’ve never met anybody famous bef
ore.
ACE
I’m just a humble servant of the Lord.
Ace pauses, sniffs the air like an animal sensing danger. He grins.
CLARA
What?
ACE
I’d eat some dirt if I was you. He gave me a sign.
Ace tosses the can into the fire and eases flat onto his belly, pistol at the ready.
CUT TO:
EXT. GORGE LEDGE. TWILIGHT.
Castle is closer now, the campfire is clearly visible, 30 feet away. Castle scans the camp perimeter, gets up, takes two steps. His boot hits a trip wire—
KA-WHOOM. Explosions rip the sky.
CUT TO:
EXT.FOREST. TWILIGHT.
Samford ducks at the sound of the explosion, a nearby tree falls.
SAMFORD
Shit!
(into radio)
Jim? You okay?
CUT TO:
EXT.FOREST CLEARING. TWILIGHT.
Ace rolls up from the ground, retrieves the backpack, debris falls through the surrounding leaves. A shaken Clara sits up. Her bible has fallen in the campfire. Ace tosses her the backpack.
ACE
(points)
Get down the trail. I’ll catch up at the river.
Clara reaches for the bible.
ACE (CONT’D)
Let it go. It’s a sign.
Clara hurries off.
CUT TO:
EXT.FOREST ALONG GORGE. TWILIGHT.
Samford rushes along rocks amid shattered trees.
SAMFORD
(shouts)
Jim?
Groan. Samford comes to a place where part of the ledge has given way, exposing an opening and lots of jagged rocks. Jim clings to narrow crevices, dangling over the edge of the gorge.
SAMFORD
You hurt?
CASTLE
(shouts over river sound)
Trip wire. Fell for it like a fucking rookie.
Samford hurries to help him, careful as rocks give way and bounce into the darkness below.
CASTLE (CONT’D)
On your toes. Bomber might close in for the kill.
Jim shoves his gun in his belt, gets on his belly, and reaches down.
SAMFORD
Profile says he’s a coward. Kills from a distance.
CUT TO:
EXT.FOREST. TWILIGHT.
Ace watches Jim from the trees, smirks, holds his Python at ready.
CUT TO:
EXT. GORGE LEDGE. TWILIGHT.
While Castle struggles up to the ledge—FLICKER—a large shape emerges from the crevice near his legs, brushing him and nearly making him lose his grip.
CASTLE
What the fuck?
The shape flits rapidly away, merging with the darkness with a suggestion of wings. Oblivious, Samford eases closer to the ledge, even though it’s threatening to give way.
SAMFORD
Reach up.
CASTLE
I’ll make it, just watch your back.
Ace steps from the trees and levels his revolver at Samford.
ACE
You heard the man. Watch your back.
Just as Samford turns, a blur of movement and SKEEEK—a wail as the creature swoops in from darkness and slams into Samford. The creature moves too fast to get a clear image. It’s nothing but red eyes, leathery skin and wings, and quick claws.
Samford is yanked into the air, his Glock falling free to bounce on the ground. Ace steps back but otherwise merely watches, rapt.
FX: AceVision: the scene shifts into a brief dramatic effect, from Ace’s viewpoint, the sky tinged red and yellow like hellfire, the creature taking on a soft golden glow as if carries Samford airborne.
ACE
(under breath)
God sent an angel.
Castle has struggled higher up the gorge wall, now is just a few feet from safety. Ace steps to the edge and peers down. He’s calm, untroubled by the creature’s attack.
CASTLE
Samford? What was that?
ACE
Howdy, Haircut. How’s it hangin’?
Castle freezes, without a gun, knowing his partner is dead or worse, knowing he’s next. He’s scared but he hides it.
CASTLE
Fuck you, Ace.
ACE
Homosexuality is a sin.
Ace unzips his pants and fishes around in his fly.
CASTLE
So is murder.
ACE
Yeah. That’s why God told me to stop them baby killers.
Castle reaches for a handhold, struggling up. SPLASH on his shoulder. Ace is pissing on him.
CASTLE
(ducking but defiant)
Just shoot me, you sick fuck, and get it over with.
ACE
Nah. I think the Good Lord’s got other plans for you. Look in the sky.
Castle squints against the last drops of piss and gazes into the sky, which is darker now, veiled with mist and suffused by a fat red moon.
Above, in silhouette against the moon, the flying creature hovers, dangling an upside-down Samford below. The creature’s wings appear atrophied and crippled and they flap like a broken umbrella. Two downstrokes and the creature disappears with its prey.
As Ace steps away from the ledge, sending a shower of pebbles down, Castle’s roar echoes across the gorge—
CUT TO:
EXT. RIVERSIDE. NIGHT.
Roar of waterfall. Muted flicker of campfire. VIC FARRENGALLI, 28, dark Italian stud, stands at the river’s edge, hands cupped like a megaphone, bellowing into the churning boom of the UnegamaRiver.
FARRENGALLI
It’s only fuckin’ naturaaaaal!
CUT TO:
EXT. CAMP BY RIVER. NIGHT.
Members of the ProVentures rafting expedition are gathered around the campfire. Six individual pup tents are scattered around the sandy clearing. The air is misty.
BOWIE WHITLOCK, 35, is the leader, rugged, wounded, cold. He sits a little apart on a fallen log and appears to be dozing or meditating.
DOVE KRUEGER, 30, tan and gorgeous, a tank top and shorts showing off her shape. She’s checking out a camera that dangles by a strap from her neck.
TRAVIS LANE
, 40, pale, restless, chews a granola bar bearing the label “ProVentures” and a slanted green P for a logo.
C.A. McKAY, 25, California good looks, wears a snug biking outfit. He sits close to Dove, putting climbing ropes, pitons and belaying rings into a backpack.
DOVE
At least Farrengalli has the company slogan down.
TRAVIS
He’d better. ProVentures is paying plenty for this trip.
C.A.
Glad they sent you along to keep reminding us.
TRAVIS
(to C.A.)
You could use the publicity. So much for being the next Lance Armstrong.
C.A. visibly tenses, his mouth twitching.
C.A.
I made the last cover of Cycling News. ProVentures is getting plenty for its money.
TRAVIS
We only sponsor winners, so get on the winning team for a change.
DOVE
Cool it, Travis.
Dove points the camera at C.A. as if she’s going to take his picture.
DOVE (CONT’D)
(flirting)
I’ll make him look good.
C.A. gives a sexy smirk and relaxes. Farrengalli steps from the darkness into the campfire’s glow.
FARRENGALLI
Hey, Sweet Cheeks, don’t waste film on that two-wheel cowboy.
(flexes like bodybuilder)
Save it for the Italian sausage.
DOVE
You’re all meat. Especially your head.
FARRENGALLI
You just been hanging out with these soft boys too long.
(to Travis)
Hey, dude, got any more of those nutty bars?
(TV commercial voice)
TRAVIS.
We have Raintree signed up for the next three years, but have your agent give us a call.
He tosses Farrengalli one of the bars. Farrengalli rips it open and shoves the whole thing in his mouth. He looks around.
FARRENGALLI
(mouth full)
Where is the redskin, anyway? Hunting buffalo?
DOVE
Don’t be a prick.
C.A.
You are what you eat.
FARRENGALLI
Watch it, sissy boy. I’m not the one going around pumping my ass on a teeny leather seat.
Farrengalli tosses the wrapper on the ground. Bowie at last comes alive. He addresses Farrengalli in a firm, even voice.