Alien vs. Predator Page #7

broken.

YORK looks at the data-stick again.

YORK:

Yeah, it's fine.

ACKLAND:

God, I hope that thing didn't bring down

a virus.

YORK:

I told you we...what's that?

Their torch beams PAN ACROSS a three-foot high ovular shape.

ACKLAND:

Looks like a spore. Fungus of some kind,

maybe?

YORK:

Bloody big if it is. Top's open.

ACKLAND steps cautiously forward to shine his torch inside.

YORK (CONT'D)

Careful...

There's nothing inside. ACKLAND looks disappointed.

ACKLAND:

It's hollow. Think our rhino must've ate

something that didn't agree with him.

A heavy gust of air blows unexpectedly across the clearing with a BANSHEE

HOWL, ruffling their hair.

YORK:

Let's get back and call this in.

ACKLAND:

Wait a minute.

YORK reluctantly follows ACKLAND as he thrashes through the thinning foliage,

coming out at the rim of the impact crater. It's beginning to partially

collapse, water seeping in. YORK runs his beam over something at the bottom

of the shallow pit.

YORK:

What is that...is that metal fragments?

ACKLAND's maybe getting a little nervous now.

ACKLAND:

This is very f***ing weird.

He sees the churned earth, and the muddy trail leading off into the broken

foliage.

ACKLAND (CONT'D)

It's like something came out of the

crater and went that way...

There's a TINY CLICK, and ACKLAND looks over to see YORK taking the safety

off his rifle. ACKLAND wordlessly unshoulders his too. They step around the

crater and warily follow the ragged path to...

YORK:

Another one?

ACKLAND prods this SECOND EGG with his gun.

ACKLAND:

Yeah. This's closed.

There's a CRACKLING NOISE, and the top of the EGG peels neatly open in four

sections. The two men jump back in alarm, and YORK LAUGHS nervously.

Something organic is pulsing inside. ACKLAND cranes his neck forward for a

better look...

There's an EXPLOSION of MOVEMENT. A spindly shape with a long segmented tail

launches itself jack-in-a-box-style at ACKLAND. It's a FACEHUGGER. ACKLAND

trips backwards, caught off-balance. His finger involuntarily squeezes the

trigger of his rifle as he falls. A volley of shots describe and arc and

light up the night with a PERCUSSIVE BOOM, and we...

CUT TO:

...A SHORT DISTANCE ACROSS THE CLEARING. SOMETHING is watching them from the

trees; something with a heat-vision P.O.V. A PREDATOR. We see the flare of

ACKLAND's gunshots, then SNAP IN to see the multi-colored from of his body

toppling over, trailing a purplish FACEHUGGER, before we...

CUT BACK TO:

...One of ACKLAND's bullets taking a meaty chunk out of YORK's thigh as he

races forward to help his friend. The HUGGER's tail is already around

ACKLAND's throat, it's fingers scrabbling for purchase. YORK pulls at one

set of digits, and manages to raise them for just an instant. What we see is

horrific; the look of terror on ACKLAND's face, and the questing tendril on

the HUGGER's underside trying to force it's way between ACKLAND's lips. In

a second, it's all over; the FACEHUGGER struggles free of YORK's grasp, and

clamps itself firmly on ACKLAND's face with a faint SUCKING SOUND. YORK

shivers, then uses his good leg to propel himself a few feet away. He

watches the hapless Teamster go rigid, then stop moving altogether.

YORK:

Oh, God; oh, sh*t; oh, God.

The FACEHUGGER's tail slithers tighter around ACKLAND's neck; and as YORK

quickly retrieves his rifle, we...

CUT TO:

A PREDATOR-VISION SHOT, watching the color-bloom of YORK dragging ACKLAND's

body away from the crater. It CLOSES IN on the FACEHUGGER, giving us a muted

X-ray-type VIEW of circulatory fluid pumping around the HUGGER and into

ACKLAND.

YORK's limping badly, a dark stain blossoming on his baggy fatigue trousers.

ACKLAND's not a small man, and the physical effort of hauling him through the

reeds makes him sweat profusely. There's movement on the ground, and YORK

sees why; one of the LEMURS has fallen victim to another FACEHUGGER, which

dwarfs it's small furry body. The HUGGER's fingers all ripple simultaneously

as it strengthens it's hold; the movement akin to somebody drumming their

fingers on a table-top.

EXT. LINSON'S RANGE - RIVER BANK - NIGHT

As YORK hauls ACKLAND onto one of the bikes, he hears a TICKING SOUND from

the trees, like an engine cooling on a warm summer's day. YORK clutches his

rifle and stares upward. There seems to be a VAGUE SHIMMERING FORM in the

bough of a tree. Although it might be a trick of the light, he isn't

sticking around to find out. YORK guns the bike to life and ROARS off above

the swamp.

EXT. LINSON'S RANGE - IMPACT SITE - NIGHT

PREDATOR-VISION. We're looking at the site in colours: the cold blue of

empty ALIEN EGGS, and the warm reds of just-breathing ANIMALS rendered inert

the FACEHUGGER parasites.

A group of PREDATORS appear in three-dimensional solidity, their camouflage

cloaks deactivated. The LEAD PREDATOR SPLASHES across to the exposed roots

of a tree and kneels down to examine an ANIMAL CORPSE curled up there. Most

of it has been madly mutilated by something erupting from _inside_ it's body.

The PREDATOR looks up and scans the swamp, ignoring the swarm of FLIES

buzzing in the air.

PREDATOR-VISION. This time, an oscillating line appears to the left of our

view, and a band sweeps quickly ACROSS the screen synchronous to us hearing

different levels of SOUND STATIC. This abruptly stops as the oscillating line

begins to moves in peaks and valleys. The PREDATOR is picking up radio

waves. A HUMAN VOICE; albeit grossly-distorted.

EXT. LINSON'S RANGE - ENCAMPMENT - NIGHT

We hear a RAPID BEEPING; movement-sensors set up on tripods to warn against

intruding animals. The sound brings BEAUVAIS out of her tent, bleary-eyed

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