The Abyss Page #20

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She arcs back toward the rig. Flatbed slams her again, for the side. She

fights for control.

INT./EXT. CAB ONE186

Bud is tossed around, ricocheting off the walls. Lindsey flies with her

jaw set. Fighting hard for control. The A-frame of the rig looms before her.

She shoots through at full throttle.

EXT. DEEPCORE AND OCEAN TERRAIN 187

Now the fight is really on. The two subs are dodging between the cylindrical

modules at full throttle, slamming into each other and the steel pressure

hulls.

Coffey sideswipes the smaller sub, jamming it sideways. It screeches along

the flank of one of the trimodules.

They head out over empty terrain in a flat-out speed run.

Lindsey is jinking and dodging as Flatbed, roars along behind her, tearing

up the bottom with its powerful backwash. Lindsey carves hard around a rock

pinnacle, finding herself running parallel to the edge of the abyssal canyon.

Coffey is ramming, hammering from behind, then from side to side.

Lindsey snarls. He's pissing her off. He shouldn't do that.

Ahead, out of the blackness, another outcropping.

Lindsey rises, cuts right.

Smashes down into Coffey's craft. Timing it just right. He skids catch in

the rocks.

Flatbed slews violently, nosing down. Crushing into the rocky bottom.

Pressing the advantage, Lindsey hammers into Flatbed from behind.

It smashes full force into a second spire, spinning out of control.

Tangles together, the subs slide down an embankment toward the edge of the

wall. With her one remaining thruster she jerks clear of Flatbed and grounds

her crippled sub. Flatbed tumbles over the edge.

ANGLE DOWN THE WALL as it falls, trailing a cloud of sediment like a comet's

tail, down into the unfathomable blackness below.

INT. FLATBED188

Inside the machine, Coffey is fighting for control.

He has no buoyancy or motors and the craft continues its mad plunge. As the

pressure intensifies the hull begins to groan, and steel fitting scream with

the enormous load.

A tiny silver fracture shoots partway across the front bubble. Grows.

Coffey gives up fighting. Just stares, wide eyed, at his death. A damned

soul dropping into the bottomless pit.

The fracture line arcs rapidly across the dome port.

Suddenly, a scythe-like curtain of seawater, under tons of pressure, slashes

into him. A moment later the bubble implodes, and Coffey disappears in a

bloody froth of churning water, air and glass shards.

EXT. CANYON WALL 189

Flatbed looks like a toy, tumbling away down the wall.

Soon its lights vanish.

INT. CAB ONE190

They're both going to have a lot of bruises...

Lindsey is surveying the damage. Water is spraying down on them like a

shower, and lights are flickering.

LINDSEY:

You did okay, back there. I was fairly

impressed.

BUD:

Not good enough. We still gotta catch Big Geek.

LINDSEY:

Not in this thing.

Lindsey is flipping switches. Nothing works.

BUD:

You totaled it, huh?

LINDSEY:

Yeah. So sue me.

Bud looks down. There's already about a foot of water sloshing around the

floor at their feet.

BUD:

It's flooding like a son of the b*tch.

LINDSEY:

You noticed.

She picks up and hand-mike of the underwater telephone.

LINDSEY:

Deepcore, Deepcore, this is Cab One, over.

She waits. No response.

BUD:

Try again.

LINDSEY:

Deepcore, this is Cab One. We need assistance,

over. Deepcore, this--

With a SEARING CRACKLE or arc-light, a power panel shorts out and everything

goes black.

LINDSEY:

Well, that's that.

BUD:

Wonderful.

(looking around)

There's some light from somewhere...

A faint illumination, dimmer than moonlight, washes in through the front port.

Lindsey scrunches up against the acrylic and scans the darkness.

LINDSEY:

Over there. It's the rig.

A glow, beyond a rock promontory... like the lights of a town just over the

hill in the desert.

BUD:

Good hundred yards, I'd say.

LINDSEY:

They'll come out after us.

BUD:

Yeah, but it's gonna take them a while to find

us. We better get this flooding stopped.

He picks up his helmet and clicks on the light. Using the thing like a bulky

flashlight. The water is really pouring in, spraying them like a shower...

almost two feet deep already.

LINDSEY:

You see where it's coming in?

BUD:

Somewhere behind this panel. Hold this.

She takes the light and he tries to reach the burst weld, which is blocked by

a steel switch panel and a bunch of conduit.

BUD:

Can't get to it. Have to pull this panel off.

You go any tools?

LINDSEY:

I don't know, look around.

Bud scans the cramped interior, feels around under the water. It's past his

knees.

BUD:

Nothing. Son of a b*tch. All I need's a goddamn

crescent wrench.

He grabs the panel in both hands and starts torquing on it, trying to wrench

it off the wall. Heaves on it repeatedly. Finally stops, panting. He's

breathing hard now, and it's not just effort.

BUD:

Son of a b*tch!

LINDSEY:

Calm down, Bud.

A nervous edge in her voice now. Bud's turning all around, looking around

for anything, trying to think fast. Water up to their waists. The sea

closing in.

BUD:

Okay... okay. We gotta get you out of here.

LINDSEY:

How?

BUD:

I don't know how!

LINDSEY:

We've only got one suit.

BUD:

I know! I know! But we better come up with

something.

LINDSEY:

Aaargh!! I'm freezing!

She climbs up on the pilots seat, scrunching right up against the ceiling,

keeping as much of herself as possible out of the frigid water. She's

shaking all over with the cold, and getting drenched from above by water

pouring in.

LINDSEY:

Okay, look, you swim to the rig and come back

with another suit.

BUD:

Seven, eight minute swim each way... not enough

time. Look at this...

(the rate of flooding)

Time I get back you'll be--

That stops the conversation for a second. About two feet of airspace left.

Bud can't believe what this is coming down to. They both stare at each other

for a long moment.

He makes a decision. Starts pulling off his backpack.

BUD:

Alright, put this on.

LINDSEY:

What, you growing gills all of a sudden? You

got it on, keep it on.

BUD:

Don't argue, goddamnit, just--

LINDSEY:

No way! Forget it. Not an option.

Bud has his pack off uncoupling it. She keeps fighting his hands, stopping

him, hooking it back up. The desperation of the situation fuel the struggle.

BUD:

Lindsey, just put the thing on and shut up--

LINDSEY:

NO!! Now be logical, Bud, you're--

BUD:

F*** LOGIC!!

They're both right up against the ceiling, water up to their chests.

Lindsey's lips are blue and trembling from the cold.

LINDSEY:

Listen... will you listen to me for a second!?

You're for the suit on and you're a better

swimmer than me. Right? So I got a plan...

BUD:

What's the plan?

LINDSEY:

I drown, you tow me back to the rig--

BUD:

WHAT KIND OF PLAN IS THAT!??

Lindsey's gut-scared... shaking violently, her eyes wide. But she's keeping

it together. Thinking it out. Bud see the bottomless pit opening to take her

and he can barely think.

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