Klondike Page #7

BILL:

Ep.

Epstein looks up. Sees what Bill sees. In the tribesmen’s

hands...weapons.

EPSTEIN:

Sonofabitch. Why didn’t I buy a

rifle?

BILL:

Just wave.

(doing so)

Make nice.

Both men wave. Smile. But the Tlingit, reaching a crop of

boulders that impede their movement, stop, just stand there,

watching with their dark, impassive expressions.

Then the raft’s around the bend and they’re gone from view.

But the feeling they’ve left in the pit of the men’s stomach

remains.

For a long time, Bill & Epstein say nothing.

EXT. RIVER / RAPIDS - DAY

Class 4 rapids fill frame. A nasty, deadly white water roller

coaster. Camera rises to find, upstream: Bill & Epstein’s

boat approaching. “July 1, 1897.”

ON BILL--spotting the rapids ahead. Coming on fast. Over the

roar of rushing water:

BILL:

We gotta portage!

(beat)

Portage! Get to the side--!

They scramble like hell, rowing madly, trying to get out of

the current-

--but they’re too late.

The churn claims them. They fight to keep the boat balanced-

--but there’s a stomach-turning drop--the boat clips a rock,

spins, lurching from the water at 45 degrees-

31.

--dumping Bill into the icy water.

ON BILL--struggling against the churn beneath the surface-it’s

like being inside of a washing machine on ‘spin’-

ON EPSTEIN--the boat miraculously slamming back down,

rightside up, with him still aboard. He tries to arrest its

progress as it races out of the chute, at the same time

trying to spy Bill in the frothy water-

He accomplishes neither. Before he knows it he’s 100 yards

downriver, hopeless in the intense flow, yelling back:

EPSTEIN:

Bill! BILL!

His POV--that wicked churn, diminishing upriver by the second-

the water’s surface there belying no sign of his friend...

CUT TO:

--BILL, gasping, pushing through the surface, slamming into

rocks, reaching for anything, any purchase-

--his fingers barely seize hold of a heavy boulder. He pulls

himself into the shallows. Look downriver in vain for

Epstein. Nothing visible-

BILL:

Ep! EP!

Nothing. Just him, the river, and the stream of blood that

runs from a gash over his eye.

He spots something then, eddying briefly before him before

cascading away downstream. One of the $10 bills he’d pocketed

earlier. A couple more are visible quickly coursing away.

Bill quickly turns out his pockets. Empty.

Their money’s gone. All of it. Lost to the river.

He takes stock then, considers the foreboding wilderness

around him. He may have far more immediate concerns...

EXT. RIVER BANK - LATER

ON BILL--shaken, trying to negotiate his way downriver along

the banks. But the shoreline’s an impassible tangle of rocks

and foliage. No choice but to go inland and around...

As he pushes through the dense greenery, rain starts to fall.

This is the first time we’ve seen Bill alone on the land,

without human company or equipment. It’s a sobering thing.

He thinks Tlingit thoughts. Discomfiting. He presses on, the

rain blending with the blood coursing from his head wound...

CUT TO:

32.

...Bill, pressing ever onward. Exhausted. Shivering in the

falling rain. The sound of the river has diminished here. He

tries to push back toward it, but it’s difficult.

He stops. Listens for the river. The falling rain’s not

helping on this account. Everything is hissing whispers and

susurrations. An auditory maze.

And night is starting to fall.

CUT TO:

Bill, moving ever onward. Listening...

Sounds distinguish themselves from the falling rain.

It’s not the river, though. It’s something else. At first he

thinks it’s the Tlingit...but soon realizes it’s something

bestial.

Bill stops. Sees, barely--through the darkness and downpour

and foliage--the rain-slickened form of a GRIZZLY, sniffing

the air...

An icy wall of fear slams into Bill. He tries to move away.

The Grizzly looks up, aware...olfactory nerves locking in...

ON BILL--the forest labyrinthine around him in the darkness.

He’s reduced to feeling his way through. He can’t see the

bear anymore. Is instead reduced to listening to the darkness

behind him...

THE GRIZZLY--though it’s not yet lain eyes on Bill--seems to

know unfailingly where he’s going. Sniffing the air.

Smelling...the blood?

And it goes on this way, a game of blind man’s

bluff...neither using sight...but the bear grows ever

nearer...

Bill can hear him now. The snorts. The heavy footfalls. Those

claws on the rain-slickened rocks...

Bill breaks out into a flat, panicked run...pushing

everything out of his way-

--the bear hears this of course-

--and a few beats later, Bill wends through the forest, and

sloshes down into a summer-thawed marsh. Swamp’s a more apt

description. All mud and standing water.

The mud locks up around him. He struggles. Can move no more

than a few inches at a time-

He turns. Behind him, the Grizzly comes into view. For the

first time laying a direct sightline on Bill.

33.

It’s not the roar that you’d expect that comes out of the

Grizzly’s mouth, but instead a gnashing of teeth. Hungry.

Feral. Razor sharp.

Bill struggles. The Grizzly comes down into the marshwater.

Begins trudging powerfully and inexorably toward Bill.

Bill yells at him. A primal bit of nonsense that does nothing

but unsettle himself all the more.

The bear, 10 feet away...8 feet away...

Bill yells again. Tries to get ‘big’. Which only incenses the

bear. 6 feet. 5 feet...

A shot rings out in the night, filling the surrounding

terrain like thunder. The bear roars, hit.

Bill spins. Sees a darkened shooter in the trees. Another

muzzle flash-

--another bullet slams into the bear.

But the bear keeps coming for Bill. Bill tries to back up.

Good God, what does it take to stop one of these things?!

A third shot strikes home. The bear keeps coming. Scant feet

from Bill now, a blood thing delirious with pain and fury.

Then a fourth shot rings out, and the bear goes down for

good. Splashing in the mud right before Bill.

Bill looks up, shocked...

The shooter circles around the edge of the marsh. Holding a

hooded lantern up. In the radiance, we see Father Judge,

rifle in hand.

Judge extends Bill a branch. Bill reaches it...pulls himself

up out of the swamp.

Off Bill--collapsing with muddy, shocked gratitude at the

priest’s feet-

END ACT TWO:

34.

ACT THREE:

EXT. FOREST - NIGHT

Judge guides the shaken, bloody Bill back through the trees.

FATHER JUDGE:

Heard a boat’d gone over.

(beat)

Lucky I was able to get through to

you.

Bill:
still collecting himself.

FATHER JUDGE (CONT’D)

What’s the matter, boy? That bear

take your tongue?

BILL:

Just...don’t know if I’m more

shocked to be alive...or seeing a

man of the cloth with a gun...

We get our best look at Judge yet. The priest: definitely no

mountain man. Patrician, wire-rim glasses, a slight build.

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