The Abyss Page #12

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A steel helium tank slams against his fingers, crushing them, and he falls

back. More tanks bounce over the lip of the pool, hammering Wilhite down

into the foaming water.

He doesn't surface.

EXT. DEEPCORE 115

The rig is sliding to the edge of the cliff. Beyond it... the bottomless

pit of the Cayman Trough. It slams, crushing and twisting, into a rock

outcropping and stops, hanging over the precipice.

INT. TRIMODULE A/QUARTERS 116

Perry is trapped as the trimodule floods with stunning swiftness. He makes

it through an emergency hatch between floors but can't get it closed. The

inrushing tide blasts it open. He scramble upward to the next hatch. Spins

the wheel. No time. He is slammed against the ceiling by the force of the

water.

OMITTEDA116

INT. DRILL ROOM B116

Lew Finler, Tommy Ray Dietz, and Lupton McWhirter fight their way toward the

door as the drill room floods rapidly. Ahead, the big automated watertight

door is closing like a motorized bank-vault. They reach it just as it is

closing, but can't prevail against the strength of the motors. FROM THE FAR

SIDE, we can see them screaming soundlessly at the tiny pressure window in

the door. We can hear the dull THUNK of their pounding.

INT. TRIMODULE C/LADDERWELL AND COMPRESSOR ROOM117

Coffey and Schoenick, in emergency breathing masks, are fighting the fire with

a seawater hose and fire extinguishers. Smoke and steam choke the dark

chambers.

Nearby, Lindsey grabs Hippy's arm as he is running past and drags him into the

blazing compressor room. Hands him her seawater hose. Wide-eyes, he starts

blasting everything in sight with water.

LINDSEY:

No! Hold it on me!

She rushed into the teeth of the fire as Hippy blasts her with a spray of

water, following her into the intense heat. She grabs Monk, who is

semiconscious, and drags him out of the blazing room... Hippy dancing back

with the hose, tripping, blasting her in the face.

But it works. They get Monk clear.

INT. DRILL ROOM CORRIDOR 118

Bud comes pounding down the flooding corridor in time to see the water in the

drill room swirl above the pressure window, obscuring the faces of the

trapped men. He claws futility at the door. The motors and the fail-safe

latching mechanism are on the opposite side. Through the pressure window he

watches helplessly as they drown. We don't see what he sees, but we know

what he sees. Suddenly the bulkhead next to him gives way and a freezing

torrent thunders in. Bud is blown off his feet a hurled along the corridor.

He scramble up somehow, splashing waist deep toward the opposite end of the

corridor where another of the hydraulic doors is closing inexorably. He's

not going to make it. He reaches it a moment too late to squeeze through.

Grabs the edge of the door and desperately tries to stop it from closing with

the strength of this arms. It doesn't work. The steel door closes on the

fingers of his left hand, pinning them in the doorframe.

But something amazing happens. His wedding ring lodges between the door and

frame, preventing his fingers from being crushed and the door from

sealing and locking.

It resists tons of pressure, denting but not collapsing.

The freezing sea pours in until only his head is clear.

BUD:

Heeyy!! HHHEEEYYY!!

ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR, Catfish and Sonny come pounding up. They see

his face at the tiny window and his hand jammed in the door. Sonny wedges

a crowbar in the narrow opening and starts to pry. Catfish whips open his

jackknife and slashes the hydraulic hoses on the door actuator. He is

sprayed with red hydraulic fluid, machine blood.

Together they force open the door. Bud is blown through in a torture of

water. Sonny is thrown back into some pipes. Breaks his arm.

Together they somehow heave the door shut manually, cutting off the flow.

Catfish hammers the fail-safe latch home with the crowbar.

Bud lies gasping and shivering... staring at the tiny band of metal that

saved him.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. DEEPCORE/ONE HOUR LATER A118

LOOKING DOWN THE WALL of the canyon as Big Geek moves beneath us, tilting up

to show Deepcore perched at the very edge of the abyss. The rig is twisted

and dented, covered with loops of umbilical, trimodule-A a mass of wreckage.

The ROV passes across the front of the control module. Through the front

port, two figures can be seen in the light of a single emergency lamp.

SONNY (V.O. static)

Mayday, mayday. This is Deepcore Two calling

Benthic Explorer. Do you read, over?

INT. CONTROL MODULE B118

Sonny flips some switches on the UQC acoustic transceiver. Tries again.

SONNY:

Benthic Explorer, Benthic Explorer. Do you read,

over? This is Deepcore--

BUD:

Forget it, Sonny. They're gone.

INT. TRIMODULE C 119

Bud walks down the corridor from control, slowly... as if carrying a great

weight. The air is still thick with smoke. The power off... everything

lit by emergency lights. Makeshift quarters have been set up in the mess

hall, with blankets laid out on the tables, and with folding cots in the

storage room across the hall. Jammer is still unconscious. Coffey and

Schoenick bring Monk in on a stretcher, and set him up on a table. He is

conscious but dazed with painkillers, his led splinted.

BUD:

Did you find Wilhite?

COFFEY:

No.

He and Bud lock eyes. Bud bites back on his recriminations, but his gaze

blames Coffey. He turns away.

COFFEY:

Brigman.

(Bud turns)

I was under orders. I had no choice.

Coffey's manner is subdued, contrite. A marked contrast to his previous

brusque arrogance. He's wrestling with his own loss, a sever blow to the

tight brotherhood of a SEAL unit. Bud's anger is not dispelled. But he

can't address it now. He moves on.

PAST THE INFIRMARY, where Sonny Dawson is rigging a sling over his own broken

arm. He cries out in pain, cursing at himself. LOOKING DOWN THE CENTRAL WELL

as Bud crosses. Down through the grill decking we can see the bottom level

of the module is flooded. Catfish is down there welding, sending shivering

reflections through the chamber.

INT. MACHINE ROOM120

Lindsey is working, up to her knees in water. She is covered with grease,

tools scattered around. Bud puts his hand on her shoulder. She looks up,

blows some hair out of her eyes.

BUD:

What's the scoop, ace?

LINDSEY:

I can get power to this module and sub-bay if

I remote these busses. I've gotta get past the

mains, which are a total melt-down.

Rather than trigger anger and invective, the disaster seems to have affected

her in a different way. She's accepted the situation, now that's it's done,

and is immersing herself in technical tasks, which are for her therapeutic.

BUD:

Need some help?

LINDSEY:

Thanks. No, I can handle it. Bud... there

won't be enough to run the heaters. In a couple

hours this place is going to be as cold as a

meat locker.

BUD:

What about O-2?

LINDSEY:

Brace yourself. We've got about 12 hours worth

if we close off the sections we're not using.

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