Blade Page #15

---

WHOOSH! The child takes off like a blue streak, sending test tubes

and medical equipment CRASHING to the floor. It zips past Karen --

WHISTLER:

Get it!!!

Karen snatches up the flashlight, chasing after it as Whistler

struggles to his feet --

Karen sweeps the flashlight around, catching only fleeting glimpses

of the child as it darts through the workshop. She reaches a shelving

unit where Whistler's weapons are stored, grabs one of the modified

pistols --

Karen tries to draw a bead on the creature. She FIRES, misses, FIRES

again -- she's getting more unnerved as the seconds tick by and the

creature is moving closer and --

-- suddenly it's right in front of her, flying through the air, fangs

bared!

The child knocks Karen back against the wall. It's at her throat,

sinking its claws into her neck. Karen chokes, forcing Whistler's

pistol under the monstrosity's chin --

-- but then the creature morphs again, transforming into a beatific

little cherubim of a child -- and Karen hesitates, because the child

seems so goddamned human now and its eyes are luminous, pulsing and

hypnotic and --

-- suddenly Whistler reaches in from behind, YANKING the vampire

child's head back, FIRING a pistol into its skull. The creature

slumps --

Karen cries out, disgusted, flinging the corpse away from her. As it

continues to writhe --

THUNK! Whistler swings his cane-rapier down on the creature, brutally

decapitating it. Finishing the job. Then he looks to Karen, winded.

WHISTLER:

Understand this -- they are monsters.

Hesitate for even a moment, and you've

lost.

FROST (O.S.)

Words to live by, Whistler.

Whistler spins, eyes wide. He knows that voice.

DEACON FROST:

steps into the pool of illumination thrown off by the flashlight,

followed by Mercury and Quinn.

FROST:

It's been a long time, hasn't it, "old

friend"?

EXT. LANDFILL GHETTO - MIRACIA'S CABIN - NIGHT

Blade is led to a plywood cabin crowded with candle-lit altars --

garish pictures of Saints and demons abound, alongside bottles of

roots and herbs steeped in alcohol, human bones, voodoo dolls.

MIRACIA:

sits on a sagging couch outside, clutching a deck of well-thumbed

Bicycle playing cards. She's ancient, with a mouthful of gold-capped

teeth and cataract-clouded eyes. Blind.

MIRACIA:

Is something wrong, my friend?

BLADE:

You're blind --

MIRACIA:

There are other ways to see. Sit.

Blade approaches, uneasy. Miracia deals out the playing cards on a

rickety table, setting them in nine piles which take on a cross

formation.

MIRACIA:

Perhaps you have brought me something

-- an offering for the orishas?

Blade tosses a handful of bills on the table. Miracia nods, then

flips over the first card in the center pile -- a one-eyed Jack. She

sighs, grave --

MIRACIA:

Hold out your hands.

BLADE:

I didn't come here to get my palms

read. I need something translated.

MIRACIA:

Show me.

Blade removes parchment fragment from his jacket and sets it on the

table. Miracia traces her fingers over the ancient paper, touching

her fingertips to her lips.

MIRACIA:

Sangre. Written in blood.

She runs her hands over each line as if it were written in Braille.

Some of the candles gutter, then extinguish themselves as the wind

around them rises.

MIRACIA:

This is an old tongue, from an old

world. It concerns LaMagra.

BLADE:

Who is LaMagra?

MIRACIA:

The vampire God. This speaks of His

return.

Miracia's fingers search the parchment again.

MIRACIA:

"-- there will come a Day Walker."

(reading)

"His blood will call the Sleeper from

beyond the Veil of Tears."

Blade stares at Miracia, shaken.

BLADE:

His blood -- ?

The old woman nods, reaching for a smoldering cigarette.

MIRACIA:

The Day Walker's blood is a disparador

-- a trigger, you see? For LaMagra's

return. One need only consume it and

the spirit of his ancestors will

settle upon him.

(reading)

"And the Sleeper will rise from the

shadows anew, cleansing the world in a

Tide of Blood."

BLADE:

(recalling the phrase)

"The Blood Tide".

MIRACIA:

(nodding)

Yes. The vampire apocalypse. It is

said that all who feel its taint will

succumb to the Thirst.

BLADE:

How do I stop it?

Miracia shrugs, spreading her hands.

MIRACIA:

The Great Wheel turns, my friend. The

Dark is rising. How would you fight a

shadow?

Miracia sits back, slumping into her chair. The candles have burnt

themselves down to nothing.

MIRACIA:

I am tired. Dawn is coming.

BLADE:

But I just got here --

MIRACIA:

You've been here longer than you

think.

Blade rises, looking to the horizon. Incredibly, dawn is coming. As

he stands there, mystified, the wind picks up, sweeping the parchment

fragment out of his hand. He tries to snatch it back, but the

fragment is quickly borne away. He watches it disappear into the sky,

then turns back --

Miracia is gone. Blade glances around him, but she's nowhere to be

found.

CAMERA PULLS BACK,

isolating Blade amidst the ghostly squalor. From our vantage point,

he looks like any other homeless phantom.

INT. WHISTLER'S WORKSHOP - DAWN

Blade steps out from the elevator into the workshop --

The place has been trashed. It looks like a tornado touched down in

his absence. Blade pulls out one of his .454s, cautious --

BLADE:

WHISTLER?!

-- and then he stops dead in his tracks.

WHISTLER:

has been strung up by his arms against the far wall, tortured and

left for dead. In response to Blade's voice, a MOAN escapes the dying

man's lips.

Blade rushes to the wall, cutting Whistler down with his sword,

gently lowering him to the floor. As he cradles the old man in his

arms, Blade sees the primary wound -- two ragged puncture marks along

Whistler's throat.

BLADE:

Jesus, Whistler, what did they do to

you?

Whistler opens his eyes, struggling to speak --

WHISTLER:

Frost took her --

Whistler spasms and coughs, wincing from the pain.

BLADE:

Don't try to talk --

WHISTLER:

Listen. You have to -- finish me off.

You don't want me coming back.

BLADE:

No, we can treat the wounds --

But Whistler is shaking his hand.

WHISTLER:

Too far gone, you know that.

Blade's at a complete loss.

BLADE:

Whistler, I can't.

Whistler clutches at Blade's arm, his eyes burning with conviction.

WHISTLER:

Yes you can. Now get on with it.

As much as he'd like to deny it, Blade knows that Whistler is right.

He pulls a stake from his bandoleer, hesitates.

BLADE:

Whistler, I --

WHISTLER:

(cutting him off, more gentle now)

I know.

(forcing a smile)

Just be quick about it, will you? Do

it right.

Blade fights back tears. With a wretched moan, he turns his head and

drives the stake into Whistler's chest. Whistler GASPS. Blade wraps

his arms around the older man, holding him tight as the life runs out

of him, rocking back and forth --

After a while, the rocking stops and Blade lays Whistler on the

floor. Then something catches his eye --

A SHARP VIEW-CAMCORDER

resting nearby, labeled, "PLAY ME". Blade reaches for the camcorder,

cues the tape -- Frost's face appears on the tiny built-in screen.

Rate this script:3.7 / 3 votes