Search Here
STRICKLAND: "What the—?"
Suddenly, the truck looses control on a patch of ice. It lurches toward the embankment, and CRASHES through the railing.
INT. STRICKLAND'S TRUCK - LATER
Strickland and McLane are both stunned. Slowly, they begin to stir in their seats.
MCLANE: "Damn it. What the hell just happened? You're supposed to be a crack driver."
STRICKLAND: "Look, Mr. McLane, this had nothing to do with my driving. Truth is ... we hit a stretch of black ice. Be glad you're still in one piece. I am at least responsible for that."
Strickland grabs the CB microphone.
STRICKLAND (CONT'D): "Mayday, Mayday. This is Mountain Machine in need of assistance. I repeat, this is a mayday. Does anybody copy me out there? Over."
The CB radio just CRACKLES.
STRICKLAND (CONT'D): "I repeat this a mayday. Does anybody copy my transmission? Over."
Then, from the CB, we hear a—
VOICE: "This is Eagle Eye over at the Bridgeport Reservoir Lookout. I copy your transmission, Mountain Machine. What's your situation? Over."
McLane sighs, relieved.
STRICKLAND: "Two of us are stranded about five miles past Bridgeport, off Highway Three-ninety-five, just south of Devil's Gate. We hit some ice and went off the main road. No one injured, but we need immediate assistance. Over."
EAGLE EYE: "Roger, Mountain Machine. Will contact local forest rangers for assistance. Keep this frequency clear for—"
The transmission fades. A GUST of WIND shakes the truck. A flurry of snow totally obscures visibility.
STRICKLAND (calmly): "Hello ... hello, Eagle Eye, this is Mountain Machine. Repeat your last transmission, please. Repeat your last transmission. Over."
Strickland lowers the microphone. He turns the radio up, but only STATIC INCREASES. McLane grits his teeth.
MCLANE: "Damn it, man! Get on the ball! I've got to be in Tahoe tonight! Try a different frequency! Do something, damn it!"
STRICKLAND: "Put a lid on it, McLane, you're wasting your breath. We've got to stay on the same frequency and wait."
MCLANE: "Listen, Strickland, let's get something straight. I still give the orders on this little excursion, not you! So think again about how you talk to me! Clear?"
STRICKLAND (only slightly sarcastic): "Yes, sir, loud and clear."
McLane shivers.
MCLANE: "Good."
STRICKLAND: "In the meantime, I need to find out how damaged my truck is."
Strickland reaches under his seat and pulls out a forty-five caliber handgun. McLane is slightly taken aback at the appearance of the weapon.
MCLANE: "Uhh ... what's that for?"
Strickland withdraws a full clip from the handle, examines it, and jams it back into place.
STRICKLAND: "Predators."
He grabs the portable lamp.
STRICKLAND (CONT'D): "Holler if you hear anything more on the radio."
EXT. STRICKLAND'S TRUCK - CONTINUOUS
Lamp in one hand, gun in the other, Strickland strains to see through a flurry of snow. The HOWLING WIND whips bitterly around him. To his disgust, he discovers the front end of his truck is lodged squarely in a tree. Then, from out of nowhere, there is a—
VOICE: "Lieutenant, please ... leave this place. Or someone else is going to die."
Strickland spins around.
STRICKLAND: "Who's there? Where are you?"
Suddenly, a hand grabs Strickland's shoulder from behind. He turns, only to find that no one is there. Frantically, he FIRES SEVERAL SHOTS from his gun in its general direction. The truck's front tire BLOWS OUT. McLane, in shock, rolls his window down.1
MCLANE: "What the hell are you doing?"
STRICKLAND (eyes scanning every direction): "Something strange is going on around here."
MCLANE: "Are you nuts? You could have killed me with that thing!"
STRICKLAND: "Sorry," (then looking up at McLane) "Roll up your window, will you? We need to conserve all our heat now."
Then, through the RADIO STATIC, it's—
EAGLE EYE: "Mountain Machine, do you copy? I repeat, do you copy? Over."
MCLANE: "Damn it, man, we're receiving another transmission! Get in here!"
Read a Preview
Read another Excerpt
Read the Story
