Alien: Resurrection Page #11

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Here is the fetal Ripley, the fetal alien visible through its

translucent chest.

In a jar.

Here is a prematurely old, diseased Ripley, withered blue skin cling to

Collapsed bones.

Here is an attempt to separate the alien and grow it without the host -

- boneless, bubbling tissue, weak and useless mouth rigored in midmew.

Each one more horrifying than the last, and the last the worst of all.

Ripley approaches, and stares at number seven.

A complete mixture of alien and human DNA.

A tortured, disgusting hybrid, half Ripley, half nightmare.

Hooked up wires and machines, it lies on the tilted-table, its head

nearly level with

Ripley's as she finally approaches it.

When it opens its eyes, they are hers.

it tuns its head ever so slightly to look at her. Recognises her.

Ripley cannot even speak. She begins to shake slightly looking at

number seven.

NUMBER SEVEN:

Kill ... us ...

Ripley's eyes go saucered as it speaks speaks out of nothing resembling

a mouth.

Ripley staggers back a step, shaking now. This is too much to bear...

CALL:

Ripley!

Ripley turns, slowly, still in a fever dream.

Call c*cks the grenade launcher with a loud CRACK. Her eyes meet

Ripley's.

Call tosses it to Ripley as the crew steps back and even a catches it

Ripley FIRES, a grenade chugging to the end of room and BURSTING in

fire and noise, she FIRES another, tissue and steel exploding into

flame, she turns to number seven, hand shakes momentarily...And she

FIRES, the poor creature dissolving in a cloud of flame.

Freezing gas jets fill the room, extinguishing potential spread, but

the heart of the firestorm continues to rage in the chamber.

She backs out, the crew waiting for her outside.

The launcher falls loudly to the ground. Ripley turns to Wren, her

face rigid with pain.

Wren backs up a step, looking around him for protection that the others

have no thought of providing.

CALL:

Ripley... Don't do it.

Ripley stops. weariness suffusing her expression.

RIPLEY:

Don't do what?

The tension pases. Wren breathes a little sigh of relief.

Call PUNCHES him across the jaw, his head whipping around as collapses

to the ground.

Call starts down the hall, not even looking at him.

CALL:

Don't do that.

Feeling his jaw, Wren actually smiles at the absurdity of all this.

It's kind of winning.

Christie helps him up.

CHRISTIE:

Had it coming, Doc.

Johner looks in at the burning lab.

JOHNER:

What's the big deal? F***ing waste of ammo.

ST JUST:

Let's move before anything comes to check out the noise.

JOHNER:

Chicks, man....

DISTEPHANO:

We go down from here.

CHRISTIE (to Vriess)

We got to lose the chair. Vriess.

VRIESS:

I know.

CHRISTIE:

Kawlang maneuver, all right?

Vriess is pulling a coil of cords from the chair.

VRIESS:

Just like old times...

CUT TO:
INT. ROOM - LATER

A hatch opens. Ripley drops down, surveys the scene. Quiet dark,

empty.

Ripley comes up, Call behind her. Ripley sniffs, listens. Closes her

eyes. After a beat she starts further in and Call motions for others to

follow.

Slowly, they make their way down the corridor. Ripley, Cal ,Hillard ,

guns drawn.

Bringing up the rear is Christie, toting a shotgun.. He turn slowly,

alert, and we see that Vriess is strapped to his back facing the other

way, also with a shotgun.

CALL (to Ripley)

That lab... 1 can't imagine how that must feel.

RIPLEY:

No. You can't.

Ripley looks down. The floor here is covered with a foot or so of dark

water.

Ripley steps into it, moves up a few paces. The others gingerly follow.

Vriess is facing the back. He looks up.

VRIESS:

The cooling tanks. They must have blown during the trouble.

ANGLE:
THE COOLING TANKS

We see the round underbelly of two huge tanks. There are gaping,

twisted holes in them.

JOHNER:

The nasties couldn't have done it, could they?

HILLARD:

What for...?

WREN:

Down here. He is at the front with Ripley and-Call, where the water is

waste deep.

He looks down at a stairwell, just the top of the railing visible above

the murky water.

RIPLEY:

There's no other way?

WREN:

We're at the bottom of the ship. Some of the worst damage is down

here.

Most of the sections are sealed off.

RIPLEY:

You're sure?

WREN:

There's the noncom's entrance back there, but it's flooded too, and

it's a longer run.

CALL:

He's right. We're gonna have to do it this way.

WREN:

It's just through the kitchen, then up, maybe seventy feet.

RIPLEY:

I don't like it.

ST JUST:

What's to like?

CHRISTIE (to vriess)

You ready to get wet, partner?

VRIESS:

Oh yeah.

HILLARD:

You sure about the distance?

WREN:

Yes.

CALL:

No locked doors?

WREN:

It's an open hall. Just keep left when you hit the bottom of the

staircase.

JOHNER:

This sucks.

ANGLE:
DI STEPHANO

He flips caps over the barrel of the gun, slides a panel over the

digital readout.

The burner is ready to go, watertight.

DISTEPHMO (to St Just)

You should secure'your weapons.

St Just holds up his two guns.

ST JUST:

These are disposables. They can take it.

DISTEPHANO:

Disposables. I heard about those. How many rounds?

ST JUST:

Twenty. Split points, give you a good hole even at the smaller caliber.

DISTEPHANO:

Cool.

ST JUST:

They're big with hitters. 'Cause you throw em away after the job.

Nobody likes throwing away a weapon they're attached to. You know?

He smiles at Di Stephano, who looks a little uneasy about the turn the

conversation has taken.

He joins the others who are getting ready to dive..

CALL:

Do I have to tell everyone to take a deep breath?

A couple of the guys smile.

VRIESS:

Christie, do me a favor. When we hit the surface on the other side...

no backstroke. Okay?

CHRISTIE (laughing)

You'll be forever blowing bubbles. On three...

He counts down, the two suck in enormous breaths -- and dive right

behind Call and Ripley.

One by one the entire crew slips down into the black water.

CUT TO:
INT. STAIRWELL\KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS

It's all underwater. Visiblity is poor. The crew move swiftly and

gracefully down the stairs and into the kitchen.

In here it's a tad labyrinthian, and the size of the room it darker.

Wren heads straight for the other end.

They swim. Safety is a good fifty feet away.

They are tense, concentrated. Swimming past dark spaces. Anything

could be hiding here.

Johner looks about him, very nervous. Dark spaces. He looks behind.

Three aliens are right behind him.

Panic blows half the air out of his mouth as he swings around and FIRES

at them, tags one as the other two swim off into shadows with horrible

ease.

Ripley, all the way to the stairs, sees. She hurries the others past

her.

They swim frantically for safety, Hillard Wren, Christie and Vriess.

Rane is coming along and alien hands grab at him from the darkness,

pull him into it.

Hillard FIRES in that direction, Johner bringing up the rear still

firing at the third one, wounding it but not scoring killshot.

Call is swimming up ther staircase, the growing light above indicating

the surface.

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