Arctic Blue Page #3

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(CONTINUED)

20 CONTINUED:

SPORTSMAN #2

I were you, I'd drive right on

outta here again. Now.

CORBETT:

(calmly)

This was my roaming land, 'til

the government took it over.

Only Innuit can hunt here now,

and tourists, like you.

Corbett swings the rucksack of carcasses onto the hood of

the Land Rover. Pissed, Sportsmen #1 and #2 step closer to

him.

CORBETT:

(continuing)

According to tribal law, hunters

passing through the land of

another tribe can only take game

to survive. They can eat the

meat, but have to surrender the

hides.

LeMalle pulls a hunting knife and holds up one of the

ermine.

LEMALLE:

Want the meat?

SPORTSMAN #1

F*** you, dirtball.

Corbett chuckles and Mitchell spits.

WIDER:

LeMalle digs through the camping goodies in the back of the

Land Rover, many still in their packages. He helps himself

to some sandwiches and a 12-pack of beer.

LEMALLE:

I say shoot 'em, bury 'em with

their shiny new car.

MITCHELL:

(to LeMalle)

If you're gonna take something,

take it and let's go.

Corbett looks down to fasten the top of the rucksack.

(CONTINUED)

20 CONTINUED:
(2)

NEW ANGLE:

Suddenly, Sportsman #3 reaches inside his parka and pulls

the pistol. He swings it toward LeMalle.

LeMalle looks up when he hears the HAMMER cock.

There is a deafeningly loud SHOT.

Sportsman #3 falls down dead at LeMalle's feet.

Off to one side, Corbett holds a huge, smoking .44 magnum

six-shooter in his hand.

Shotgun in hand, Sportsman #1 gauges his chances of blasting

Corbett. Nil. When Corbett turns to him, he lies the

weapon down. Sportsman #2 rushes to his friend.

Looking bleak, Mitchell spits again. Corbett crosses to

LeMalle and knocks from his hands the things he wanted to

steal. Chastised, LeMalle smolders. After a moment:

CORBETT:

(to Sportsmen)

Put him in your truck. Smell of

blood will attract the bears.

(to trappers)

Let's go.

As Corbett walks to the jeep, he's too angry to notice that

he's stepped in a patch of mud under the Land Rover.

Near the jeep, LeMalle stops and pulls them into a huddle.

LEMALLE:

I don't believe in leavin'

witnesses behind, Ben.

MITCHELL:

It was self defense. Leave it at

that.

LEMALLE:

You think those fucks will tell

it that way?

CORBETT:

(ending the argument)

We'll get a head start before

they go crying to the law.

Corbett turns and FIRES two rounds from his .44 into the

engine of the Land Rover. The Sportsmen stare and sputter.

(CONTINUED)

20 CONTINUED:
(3)

CORBETT:

(continuing; to Sportsmen)

You can pack out of here -- two,

three days' hike along this river

at most. Weather should hold

this early in the season.

Corbett and Mitchell get in their jeep.

LEMALLE:

isn't yet satisfied. He walks back over to the Sportsmen,

kneeling beside their fallen friend, and crouches right

beside them. Intimidated, Sportsman #2 looks away, but

LeMalle grabs his chin and turns his face back toward him.

LEMALLE:

Think I'm pretty? You better

forget how we look, 'cause next

time they won't keep me from

killing you. This land ain't

quite civilized, you know...

He unsheathes his buck knife. BELOW FRAME, he slices across

the forehead of the dead Sportsman, peels back his scalp and

cuts it loose, Indian-style. The Sportsmen are stunned and

sickened.

ANGLE ON TRAPPERS' JEEP

Corbett looks at Mitchell and wearily shakes his head.

MITCHELL:

At least he scalped the dead one.

21 EXT. DEVIL'S CAULDRON - DUSK

Devil's Cauldron Hot Springs is a cluster of twenty tiny

dwellings connected by an unpainted boardwalk. The town

squats, ugly and temporary-looking, in a dirt clearing fifty

miles north of the Arctic Circle. Thirty miles east of the

Pipeline, it's almost dead center of interior Alaska.

At the edge of town is a gravel airstrip. Mixed with the

prospector-era sod-roof cabins are a few prefabricated

houses. The boon brought by men building the pipeline is

long gone. Now only a few itinerant loggers, natives and

bush dwellers remain to fight boredom, each other and the

depression of the oncoming winter.

Enough steam escapes from the hot springs to perpetually

blanket the valley with fog. The spa is log-walled and

horseshoe- shaped, with partitioned baths inside. Facing it

(CONTINUED)

21 CONTINUED:

are a mud-walled fire bath, a wooden steam bath called a

Maqi, six one-room cabins for let, and an unused dance hall.

LEO MEYERLING opens the tailgate of a Dodge truck with the

Northland Petroleum logo and "District Supervisor" on the

door. Meyerling is short and bald with a completely

disreputable face. He staples a poster on a wall. It has a

picture of him on it, and:

LEO MEYERLING:

for

State Legislature

VOTE FOR THE PEOPLE'S FRIEND!

22 EXT. KENAI'S GENERAL STORE

Corbett and the other trappers drive past Meyerling and park

their jeep as the sun disappears behind the foothills.

23 INT. KENAI'S GENERAL STORE

A handwritten public notice next to a schedule of church

meetings reads:
"Live each day so you can look every damn

man in the eye and tell him to go to hell." There is a post

office in the corner with some combination boxes and a

wicketless window.

The trappers come in. Corbett sits in a chair and pulls his

boots off. One of his wool socks is wet. He nods to the

man sitting in the other chair, SAM WILDER. Wilder is short

and tough, with a full head of crewcut grey hair and

weather- ravaged face that makes him look older than his

sixty years.

CORBETT:

Hullo, Sam. Slow day?

WILDER:

(wary)

Ben...boys. Yeah, real slow, and

I'd like to keep it that way.

CORBETT:

(conciliatory)

Just passing through.

A chubby Inupiat (interior Eskimo), wearing thick glasses,

several heavy sweaters and battery-heated socks, fusses

behind the counter. He's EARL KENAI, owner of the hot

springs spa and the general store.

LeMalle chews on a handful of bear jerky. Kenai stares at

LeMalle until he begrudgingly pays for the jerky. Corbett

pulls on some sneakers and hands his boots to Kenai.

(CONTINUED)

23 CONTINUED:

CORBETT:

(continuing; re boot)

Needs patching.

KENAI:

Twenty-five dollar.

CORBETT:

(smiles)

Sure have learned to worship the

white man's god.

Kenai nods agreeably and holds his hand out. Corbett pays

him. Meyerling comes in and posts some fliers on the

corkboard.

MEYERLING:

I hope I can count on you

gentlemen to vote for The

People's Friend this November.

CORBETT:

Share some of that oil company

money in your pocket and you can.

Meyerling smiles like a toad, then slaps another poster on

the wall. LeMalle throws his knife and it STICKS in the

poster between Meyerling's spread fingers. Meyerling jumps

back and the trappers laugh. Meyerling looks to Wilder for

support.

WILDER:

(to Meyerling)

One flier comes loose and I shoot

you for littering.

MEYERLING:

(exiting; grudgeless)

Have your fun... just remember

The People's Friend come election

day.

WILDER:

(shakes his head)

Oil Company candidate running on

that slogan makes about as much

sense as a rat f***ing a

grapefruit.

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