Silver Bullet Page #14

MARTY pushes in the wire, looking concerned now, and tries

again. This time, after the engine has cranked over a few

times, it starts.

MARTY (softly)

All right!

He puts it in gear and starts off.

EXT. THE ROAD, WITH MARTY, EXTREMELY LONG

What we see is a tiny boy in a tiny wheelchair moving along

a dark, empty ribbon of road under a vast dome of stars.

DISTANT SOUND:
The Bullet's engine.

EXT. A ROADSIDE TURNOUT NIGHT

SOUND:
Fast-rushing water.

The turnout is packed dirt. There's a grove of trees with

picnic tables spotted among them at the back. The sign in

the extreme f.g. reads ROADSIDE REST AREA at the top; AUGER

FALLS in the middle; TOWNSHIP OF TARKER'S MILLS at the

bottom.

SOUND:
The Silver Bullet approaching.

MARTY turns in and rolls to the back of the rest area. He

stops by one of the picnic tables and dumps the bag of

fireworks out onto the picnic table and takes his time

selecting the first- he's like a wine fancier with a whole

cellar of rare bottles to choose from. At last he chooses a

twizzer. He takes matches from the pocket of his pajama top

and lights the fuse.

When it starts to fizz, MARTY tosses it high into the air.

MARTY (soft)

Here's one for the good guys!

EXT. THE TWIZZER

It flies in an arc over the drop.

EXT. THE TWIZZER, FROM THE BOTTOM OF THE CUT

THE CAMERA TRACKS ITS FALL onto some rocks at the edge of

the waterfall's catch pool.

SOUND:
Growling.

EXT. THE CREEK, WITH THE WEREWOLF

It has been drinking from the creek. It looks more than half

human now- we would be able to recognize it for sure, but

its face is in shadow.

It turns from the creek and gets up on its hind legs.

EXT. THE TWIZZER, ON THE ROCKS

It's guttering out. A hand-paw touches it and draws back

quickly.

SOUND:
Hurt, angry growl.

EXT. MARTY, IN THE REST AREA

He's getting ready to light one of the fountains. He pauses

and looks toward the cut. He's heard something- but the

waterfall muffles it. He lights the fountain's fuse, sets it

on the ground, and rolls the Bullet back a few feet.

The fountain bursts into a shower of light.

MARTY (delighted)

All right!

EXT. THE SLOPE OF THE CUT, MEDIUM LONG

The waterfall is in the b.g.

The WEREWOLF is climbing the rocky slope.

EXT. THE FOUNTAIN, CU

It goes out.

EXT. MARTY

He rolls over to the picnic table and gets a Roman candle.

He plants the stick in the ground and lights the fuse. The

Roman candle shoots into the sky.

EXT. THE ROMAN CANDLE

Bursts into colored light.

EXT. THE WEREWOLF, NEAR THE TOP OF THE CUT, MEDIUM LONG

It GROWLS... and shakes its fists at the fading light in the

sky.

EXT. MARTY

He's holding another fountain in one hand and his matches in

the other. He's looking toward the cut and the waterfall.

MARTY:

Is someone there?

EXT. THE WEREWOLF, NEAR THE TOP OF THE CUT

It freezes, GROWLING FAINTLY.

EXT. MARTY

With a little shrug, he lights the fuse on the fountain and

sets it on the ground, as before.

EXT. THE BACK OF THE GROVE, AT THE TOP OF THE CUT

Claw-hands settle over the top.

EXT. THE FOUNTAIN, CU

It throws off fiery swirls of sparks, then begins to die

down.

EXT. MARTY

He's checking out the stuff on the table for his next choice

when he hears a clear SOUND: A SNAPPING, SPLINTERING BRANCH.

EXT. THE GROVE, WITH THE WEREWOLF

It's run into a low-hanging branch. Instead of pushing it

aside or ducking under it, it simply rips it off the tree.

Although the branch is pretty big, the WEREWOLF does this as

easily as a hungry man might rip a drumstick off a

Thanksgiving turkey. It throws the branch aside and

advances, hunched over on two legs.

EXT. MARTY

MARTY (terrified)

Who's there?

EXT. THE GROVE AT THE BACK OF THE REST AREA, MARTY'S POV

The grove is a darkened shadowland.

EXT. MARTY

He punches the Bullet's starter. The motor cranks and

cranks. No go, though. MARTY pulls out the choke wire,

alternating terrified stares at the grove of trees with

terrified stares at his rudimentary dashboard.

EXT. THE GROVE, MARTY'S POV

Here it comes, out of the shadows, closing in.

EXT. MARTY

Working that starter for all it's worth... but the motor

only cranks. Still no start.

EXT. CLAWED, FURRY FEET

EXT. MARTY

He gives up on the motor. He looks toward the picnic table

where the fireworks are. He grabs up the tracer. He gets the

matches out of the breast pocket of his p.j.'s and promptly

drops them in his lap. He scrabbles for them.

EXT. THE WEREWOLF, MARTY'S POV

We can't see its face in the dark, but it's closer... much

closer.

EXT. MARTY

He tries to hold the tracer and strike a match at the same

time.

He can't; to do that he'd need at least one more hand. He

puts the tube of the tracer between his teeth and tries

again.

EXT. THE MATCHBOOK AND MARTY'S HANDS

He strikes the match... too hard! It bends, the neck broken.

MARTY (voice; moaning)

Oh, please...

EXT. WEREWOLF CLAWS, OPENING AND CLOSING

EXT. MARTY

He is in an extremity of terror.

EXT. THE MATCHBOOK AND MARTY'S HANDS, CU

He pulls a fresh match from the book and strikes it. It

lights.

EXT. THE WEREWOLF

It recoils- we still can't see its face except for a vague

shadow.

(NOTE:
I keep emphasizing the shadowed face, because this is

not a full-moon period. I've been going on the assumption

that the guy kind of works his way up to full wolfiness,

toothiness, hairiness, etc., starting with a partial change

at about the second quarter. It's a process like the tide

coming in. Thus, if we saw MARTY'S attacker clearly at this

point, I think we would recognize him.)

EXT. MARTY, IN THE SILVER BULLET

He takes the tracer from his mouth and applies the match to

the fuse. It splutters alight.

EXT. MARTY AND THE WEREWOLF, A WIDER SHOT

The WEREWOLF is less than twenty feet away. The tracer

flares alight and shoots out of MARTY'S hand, leaving a

pink-orange trail of smoke behind it. The missile flies at

the WEREWOLF's head.

EXT. THE WEREWOLF

The tracer strikes it in the face, and we see a flash of

fire. The WEREWOLF screams and blunders away.

EXT. MARTY, IN THE SILVER BULLET

He punches the starter again. The motor cranks.

EXT. THE MOTOR OF THE SILVER BULLET

The motor coughs and fires; a big blue flame jumps from the

fancy carb... and the engine starts to run.

EXT. THE WEREWOLF

It's staggering away, ROARING and HOWLING. The tube of the

tracer is sticking out of its face- from its left eye, in

fact- like an Indian's arrow. The WEREWOLF smashes branches

out of its way.

EXT. MARTY IN THE SILVER BULLET

He wheels the Bullet around and heads for the road, gasping

and weeping with fear.

EXT. THE WEREWOLF, IN THE GROVE

It's blundering through the trees. It pulls the tube from

its face with an ANIMAL SCREAM and drops it.

EXT. THE TRACER, CU

It lies smoldering on the ground. The end is slick with

blood.

EXT. THE ROAD, WITH MARTY

The Bullet is really wheeling. MARTY is panting, out of

breath, still deeply frightened.

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