Predator Page #4

Suddenly he stops, letting the water drip to the ground. He quietly

releases the vine and brings his M-203 shotgun to bear, listening

intently. Something seems wrong. He brings his eyes upward and stares,

hard into the treeline of the opposing hillside.

As his eyes strain to penetrate the dense, intertwined canopy, he is

engulfed by the rising SOUNDS of the JUNGLE, a cacophony of BUZZING and

CLICKING, amplified in the sweltering heat of the day. Unable to locate

a source to account for his anxiety, he relaxes, moving on, resuming

the track.

BILLY (MINUTES LATER)

Examines the ground as he moves, growing confused and puzzled by what

he sees before him. He stops, scrutinizing the jungle, probing the

world around him with his keen senses.

HEARING a faint RUSTLING SOUND he looks up, SEEING a curtain of MOSS

several feet away. He takes a cautious step forward, extending his

weapon. He reaches forward with his free hand, touching the moss.

Behind the curtain a slight shifting of DARK FORMS occurs. He pauses

and then with a sudden movement, sweeps the moss aside...

A BLACK EXPLOSION of FLUTTERING WINGS as carrion-eating BIRDS rush past

Billy's body.

Billy's face seizes into a mask of horror, his expression descending

into a state of complete, primitive shock, his eyes staring transfixed,

inches away from the leering death-grin of a HUMAN FACE, upside down,

completely stripped of skin.

Reeling, his body numbed by the sight before him, he stumbles backwards

and stops.

Vines threaded through their achilles tendons, the BODIES OF THREE MEN,

skinned and gutted, hang suspended in the think, suffocating air,

BUZZING with insects.

Billy turns away, revulsed as Ramirez moves quietly INTO VIEW, Schaefer

directly behind him. Ramirez stares at the bodies, now seen to be in

the first stages of deterioration, strips of flesh torn away by the

birds and other scavengers. In an almost childlike manner, he crosses

himself.

RAMIREZ:

(hoarse whisper)

Holy Mother...

Schaefer moves into the clearing, kneeling beside a bloody pile of

CLOTHING and ENTRAILS. He examines the clothing and then rises, holding

a DOG TAG on a broken chain. He reads the tag, his face growing

hardened and bitter as he stares down at the tag, recognizing the name.

SCHAEFER:

(to himself)

J.S. Davis, Captain, U.S. Army...

Schaefer's eyes move from the bloody dog tag to the bodies.

SCHAEFER:

(coldly)

Mac. Cut them down.

Mac moves forward, withdrawing his COMBAT KNIFE. The blade flashes,

cutting the vine as the first body THUDS to the ground. He bends over,

picking up other DOG TAGS.

Schaefer turns to Dillon.

SCHAEFER:

I knew this man. Green Berets, out of Fort Bragg. What the hell were

they doing in here? You got any answers for this, Dillon?

DILLON:

(stunned)

Jesus... this is inhuman.

(to Schaefer)

Uh... I wasn't told of any operations in this area. They shouldn't have

been here.

SCHAEFER:

(angry)

Well somebody sent them.

Schaefer walks off. Mac steps out of the clearing, sheathing his knife

with a violent gesture, passing Ramirez.

RAMIREZ:

(seething)

Must have run into the guerrillas... F***ing animals.

Mac moves alongside Blain.

MAC:

(spits)

Ain't no way for a soldier to die.

(looks at Blain)

Time to let 'ol 'painless' out of the bag.

Grimly, Blain RIPS apart the velcro closures of the CANVAS BUNDLE slung

across his shoulder, REVEALING a truly awesome weapon, a SIX-BARRELED

MINI-GUN adapted for field combat.

EXT. BILLY - DAY

Kneels at the side of the original trail examining the ground. He

rises, holding a spent CARTRIDGE. Schaefer approaches, kneeling beside

him.

SCHAEFER:

What happened here, Billy?

Billy looks at him, puzzled.

BILLY:

Strange, Major. There was a firefight. Shooting in all directions.

SCHAEFER:

I can't believe Jim Hopper walked into an ambush.

BILLY:

I don't believe he did, Sir. I couldn't find a single track. Just

doesn't make sense.

SCHAEFER:

What about the rest of Hopper's men?

Billy shakes his head.

BILLY:

(uncomfortably)

No sign. They never left here Major.

(pause)

It's like they just disappeared.

Schaefer ponders a moment. Then, to Billy:

SCHAEFER:

Stick with the guerilla trail.

(to team)

Let's get it over with. We move. Five meter spread. No sound. Nothing.

CUT TO:

EXT. BLAIN - DAY

Blain feeds the magazine of BELTED-SHELLS into the weapon, cocking it.

He looks up at Mac, his eyes cold, his face taut with anger.

BLAIN:

Payback time.

Blain hefts the Mini-gun to his hip as Mac draws back slightly on the

breech bolt of the M-60, letting it snap.

They move on, Billy pausing to look at the jungle before disappearing

into the foliage.

EXT. ALTERED POV - DAY

Carefully watching this exchange from high in the treetop canopy. The

Observer watches as Schaefer turns and leaves the clearing, cautiously

moving into the jungle.

EXT. JUNGLE HILLSIDE - DAY

Mac appears suddenly, materializing out of the undergrowth, pausing

cautiously, his senses alert, intense, almost nervous. He moves on, his

huge body barely making a sound as he weaves through the heavy

undergrowth.

Dillon appears. As he moves on, he crosses over a fallen TREE. Stepping

down, his foot breaks through a rotten portion, a CHUCK of the log

breaking free and rolling down the hill.

Dillon at once goes into a defensive position, listening. The jungle is

SILENT. He stands and starts to move forward. Suddenly Mac appears

within inches of Dillon's face. Mac's face is menacing, angry.

MAC:

(hissing; barely audible)

You're ghostin' on me, motherfokaaa!... I don't care who you are back

in the world... You give away our position again and I'll bleed you

quiet and leave your f***in' ass right here.

(hisses; spits)

Got it?

Dillon's eyes are wide and fixed, staring back in cold hatred at Mac,

controlling his rage... he knows the rules.

Not waiting for a response, Mac turns and vanished into the jungle.

Seething with anger Dillon focuses on a still moving LEAF and STEM,

indicating Mac's exit point. He moves on.

EXT. BLAIN - DAY

Crouches under heavy foliage, waiting. He is joined by Mac. They glance

briefly at each other, scanning in opposite directions for movement and

sounds. They speak in whispers.

BLAIN:

Say, Bull. What's goin' down? We got movement?

MAC:

No. Shithead with his trenchcoat and dee-coda-da ring was makin' enough

noise to get us all waxed. I don't like that guy. Don't like him at my

back. I ain't winding up like those bastards back there.

Mac, sweating heavily, wipes the moisture from his brow with his

finger.

Blain pats the mini-gun affectionately.

BLAIN:

I know what you mean, Bull, but don't sweat it, me and 'ol 'painless'

here are watchin' the front door.

MAC:

As always, bro...

They do a gentle fist dap and smile warmly at each other. Two men who

have seen it all, through a dozen no-win situations, and have lived to

tell about it.

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