Arctic Blue Page #12

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CORBETT:

Better get into those trees

before that squall blows down.

Then, Corbett pauses as a walloping sound ECHOES across the

foothills.

Just ahead, two enormous bull moose are fighting. They ram

each other with six-foot-wide antlers.

Corbett stares, transfixed, admiring.

CORBETT:

You talk about ecology -- there

it is.

(CONTINUED)

107 CONTINUED:

Eric turns, surprised at Corbett's unabashed awe.

Catching the men's smell the moose bound away, and the spell

is broken.

108 EXT. MINING SETTLEMENT - EVENING

Viking Bob, Mitchell and LeMalle head somberly back to

Cache. They drive along a hydraulic gold mining sluice on a

nearby river and come into town.

As the trappers park their jeep, some MINERS greet them,

shouting over the ROAR of the water.

MINER #1

Where's Ben at?

MITCHELL:

You'll want to hear about it with

a drink in your mitt.

CUT TO:

109 INT. BEAR SIGN INN - CACHE - EVENING

Outside, a STORM rages. LeMalle is drunk, but still able to

stuff himself with a thick steak. Mitchell drums his

fingers and listens to everyone talk. With them at the bar

are the Miners, LOGGERS, CAT SKINNERS (bulldozer drivers)

and some leathery WOMEN.

MINER #1

...Figures, Corbett getting

hauled off by a Federal marshal.

God almighty, how I hate the U.S.

government.

LOGGER:

We should pass a hat. Send

Corbett a few bucks. We owe him.

Someone's hat comes off. It quickly gets filled with bills.

MINER #1

Government and business. They

ruined this state.

(re Meyerling poster)

Like that little weasel, for

instance.

WOMAN CAT DRIVER

'People's Friend,' my lily-white

-more-

(CONTINUED)

109 CONTINUED:

WOMAN CAT DRIVER (Cont'd)

butt. I heard Northland got a

conservation program, up along

the pipeline.

LOGGER:

Hold it. Meyerling told me that

stuff's nothing but P.R. for the

TV and papers down in Juneau.

LEMALLE:

He's full of sh*t. We got run

out of there by some fuckhead

driving a Northland truck.

NEW ANGLE:

Viking Bob hurries in and whispers something in Mitchell's

ear. Mitchell shoots LeMalle a look and gets up. The

threesome hastily exit, leaving behind the hat full of

money.

110 INT. BEAR SIGN INN

Viking Bob, Mitchell and LeMalle stand in a quiet corner

near the front door.

VIKING BOB:

I called the cops in Fairbanks,

see when Ben is standing trial.

They don't know sh*t about Ben or

Wilder!

LEMALLE:

Get the f*** out of here.

VIKING BOB:

It's a three-hour flight. They

shoulda got there yesterday.

LEMALLE:

Maybe they went back to Devil's

Cauldron.

MITCHELL:

Naah, Wilder knows we got friends

in town.

VIKING BOB:

That plane might've been to throw

us off the track. Remember the

bait-and-switch Wilder pulled

with the Eskimo and his truck?

(CONTINUED)

110 CONTINUED:

LEMALLE:

Wilder still woulda made

Fairbanks by now. F*** a duck!

Ben musta got loose.

VIKING BOB:

Okay, let's backtrack, try to

pick up his trail. You know the

kid out on the pipeline that

Wilder's buddies with?

MITCHELL:

(smiles)

We were just talking about him.

111 EXT. FOREST - CAMPSITE PREPARATION MONTAGE - EVENING

The STORM brings gusting winds and below-zero temperatures.

Eric and Corbett move through the storm in slow motion.

Both recognize the need for a truce in the face of a common

enemy. The snow and wind cut through their clothing like

razors. They poke around for dead wood with which to make a

fire. The trees are small and healthy; little is found.

CORBETT:

(shouts over WIND)

Just gather birch. It'll smoke

like hell, but it'll burn green.

Awestruck by the intensity of the storm, Eric tears branches

from birch trees and piles them in Corbett's handcuffed

arms.

They hurry back to the nylon tarp, strung between two tree

trunks, FLAPPING violently in the storm. Hunching against

the wind, Eric pulls off his gloves and reaches in his

pocket for some precious matches. His fingers are so cold

he can't hold them, and he drops several in the wet snow.

Angry, he shoots a look at Corbett. Corbett is holding his

hands inside his coat. He pulls them out and quickly takes

the remaining matches from Eric.

Crouching down, back to the wind, Corbett grasps a match

between his numb fingers and awkwardly strikes it. He holds

the flame next to the kindling. It doesn't catch fire

immediately. Corbett lets the match burn out against his

fingers. He tries another match. This time, a flame takes

hold but could succumb to the wind at any moment.

On his knees and elbows, Corbett nurses along the tiny fire.

Eric can't control his shivering. He gets on his knees next

to Corbett and holds his coat open to further baffle the

wind. Corbett keeps his hands cupped around the flame, not

(CONTINUED)

111 CONTINUED:

caring that it's burning his skin. Finally the fire begins

to grow. Relieved, Eric and Corbett look at each other with

a glimmer of a grudging mutual respect.

The fire, now unattended, is smoky as Corbett predicted, but

burns along nicely.

END MONTAGE:

112 EXT. / INT. NYLON SHELTER - NIGHT

Corbett and Eric sit under the nylon shelter. The STORM

rages outside. Eric empties his pockets of Eskimo potato,

reindeer lichens, bistsort sorrel and other plants for his

dinner.

Corbett has fashioned a snare from his boot laces and a tree

branch, and placed some crushed roots as aromatic bait next

to a small animal burrow outside the shelter. A squirrel

sticks his nose out of the burrow to investigate.

Corbett sits catlike, ready to pounce. Eric grimaces as

Corbett yanks on the snare and the squirrel's SQUEALS (OS)

abruptly cease.

113 INT. NYLON SHELTER

Corbett pulls his dead dinner inside.

CORBETT:

I need your pocket knife.

(Eric hesitates)

I have to eat, too.

After a beat, Eric pulls open the small blade on his Swiss

Army knife and pushes it with his foot to Corbett. Smiling,

Corbett admires the fancy knife. Then, BELOW FRAME, he

skins and guts his catch.

CORBETT:

(continuing)

Damn lucky this storm didn't blow

down when we were on those

baldheaded mountains. It

continues, we better stay put.

ERIC:

It could blow over tomorrow, too.

CORBETT:

I'm still figuring: You're either

real brave or real dumb.

(CONTINUED)

113 CONTINUED:

ERIC:

I just want this over with.

CORBETT:

(laughs)

Where in hell Meyerling dig you

up?

ERIC:

You know Meyerling?

CORBETT:

Sure. The People's Friend. Kiss

your ass with precision if

there's a vote in it.

Corbett eats the squirrel Eskimo-style. Raw. He uses the

knife like a native, too, holding the meat in his teeth,

then expertly cutting off a mouthful with a quick slice.

Eric stares, disgusted. Off his look:

CORBETT:

(continuing)

Always eat your meat raw when the

weather's cold. Does you more

good, long as the entrails look

clean.

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