The Fugitive Page #5

KIMBLE:

Just where the hell are we?

The Old Guard feels it too. He gets down on his knees and

looks out one of the shattered, barred windows.

OLD GUARD:

Oh, sh*t...

EXT. RAILROAD TRACKS - NIGHT

The bus lies across railroad tracks. A not-too-distant bend

grows bright by the light of an approaching train.

INT. BUS - NIGHT

Kimble sees:
Old Guard fights the cage door. Kimble lunges

to his side.

KIMBLE:

It's locked. Where're your keys?

EXT. RAILROAD TRACKS - NIGHT

Downtrack, one Cyclops light appears.

INT. BUS - NIGHT

Kimble spots keys. Pitches them to Old Guard. Drags Young

Guard to the front for a quick exit. But Old Guard fumbles

the key-ring, his hands shaking as much as the bus.

The train light spider-webs across cracked windows. Kimble

snatches the keys away from the Guard's trembling hands.

KIMBLE:

Which one? This? This one?!

Old Guard gulps a nod. Kimble jams a key in the lock. Throws

the door open. Grabs Young Guard.

KIMBLE:

Help me get him -

But Old Guard climbs right over Kimble's back and climbs out

the shattered windshield.

ANGLE ON REAR OF BUS

Copeland escapes through the hole in the back...

EXT. BUS - NIGHT

... and hits the ground running the other way. The

locomotive's headlight reveals the toppled bus.

INT. BUS - NIGHT

Train light grows. A nanosecond of uncertainty: Should

Kimble leave the wounded man? Kimble and the Young Guard

hold a look.

EXT. FREIGHT TRAIN - NIGHT

As the WHEELS BRAKE and LOCK.

EXT. RAILROAD TRACKS - NIGHT

Kimble struggles out of the bus - pulling the Young Guard

behind him. He slings the man clear.

SCREECHING death, the TRAIN SKIDS closer.

For one heartbeat, Kimble remains perched atop the bus.

The train light X-rays him.

Kimble leaps. Lands. Rolls. Gains his feet. Tries to sprint

away but can't:
His feet are still chained. He gets off a

dozen mincing steps before...

IMPACT:
A hundred tons of STEEL SLAMS into the bus,

splitting it open.

Shrapnel rips through Kimble's thigh, but he stays on his

feet, still running feverish half-steps.

An EXPLOSION envelops the train. Flames stream down its

flanks.

The train burns past the wounded Guard.

Kimble looks back, expecting to see the catastrophe behind

him. But he gets the shock of his life - of any man's life:

Still on its wheels, the locomotive is derailing - and coming

after him. It's the stuff of nightmares: One little man being

chased by a fire-breathing locomotive.

The train burrows to a stop.

Kimble is suddenly five feet taller, standing on an upheaval

of earth, staring eyeball-to-eyeball with the train that

nearly devoured him. He pants. Coughs on smoke. Then notices

something in his hand.

It's the key-ring.

EXT. WOODS - NIGHT

Kimble sits and searches the key-ring for manacle key.

Suddenly a hand reaches down and snatches the key-ring away.

COPELAND (O.S.)

Give me that.

Kimble watches as Copeland quickly unlocks both sets of his

own chains.

COPELAND:

You listen to me. I don't give a

damn which way you go, just don't

follow me.

Kimble takes the key as Copeland wraps his chains around his

arm and runs. Kimble unlocks his leg irons and runs in the

other direction - crossing a hilltop in the moonlight.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. CRASH SITE (SOUTHERN ILLINOIS) - NIGHT

News and sheriff's department choppers circle billowing

smoke. TILT DOWN to reveal the derailed train. Fire engines

hose down the blackened locomotive. Rescue workers work

feverishly with jaws-of-life to get into the mangled

wreckage. Illuminated by spotlights, transportation

investigators in blue coveralls pick through the twisted

remains of the bus. State troopers restrain spectators.

Two American-made rental cars pull up. Four deputy U.S.

marshals emerge:

BIGGS. Swaggering Midwestern carnivore. Built like a brick

shithouse.

RENFRO. Bantam-rooster of a man, no more than 140 pounds

fully-equipped.

POOLE. Black woman. Nobody minds having her around during

nut-cuttin' time.

NEWMAN, a scrub-faced G-5.

From the second car steps GERARD. He takes in the media

spectacle.

GERARD:

Good lord...

REFRO:

What is this... a circus?

As a group they begin moving along the service road above

the crash site. Derailed train cars are accortianed below

them. They take in the elements of the crash and as they

walk each begins to reveal their U.S. Marshal's credentials.

Biggs spots something...

BIGGS:

Point of impact.

... and branches off.

GERARD:

Biggs, your turn to babysit Newman.

BIGGS:

Sh*t.

(to Newman)

Come on.

They drop down to the crash site. Poole ant Renfro remain

with Gerard.

A state TROOPER steps into their path, but falls away when he

sees Gerard's Marshall star.

GERARD:

How ya doing? Who's in charge?

TROOPER:

Sheriff Rollins. Just follow the

lights -

Gerard follows his point to where TV lights illuminate the

scene. He shakes his head - it doesn't please him.

Renfro and Poole share a look, they seem to know what's

about to happen.

ANGLE - OLD GUARD

Seated near a tree. A space blanket draped over his

shoulders. He is surrounded by EMT personnel, and a YOUNG

SHERIFF, clearly basking in the event. Television remote

news crews are kept only slight back. Gerard appears in the

b.g., listening.

OLD GUARD:

... train was bearin' down on us,

fast. I don't know how - it's still

kind of hazy - but I grabbed him

and pushed him out of the bus.

SHERIFF:

You coulda both been killed.

OLD GUARD:

I know, but hell, he's my partner.

Woulda done the same for me.

The young Sheriff in charge nods, buying the story. Gerard

eases forward, displays his badge, interrupts.

GERARD:

Excuse me, Sheriff Rollins? Deputy

U.S. Marshal Samuel Gerard.

SHERIFF:

(annoyed)

I'll be with you in a minute.

The television lights widen to illuminate Gerard. He shields

his eyes. The Sheriff opens a file and produces fax-photos

of all four prisoners.

SHERIFF:

(to Old Guard)

For the record. These three dead.

And this one...

He switches to a photo of Kimble.

OLD GUARD:

Well, everything happened so fast...

(bites lip, decides)

Huh-uh. Don't think he made it.

Sheriff eyes the wreckage that could entomb a hundred

prisoners, then files Kimble's fax-photo with the others.

SHERIFF:

You get some rest.

He pats the Guard on the shoulder and approaches Gerard.

SHERIFF:

Looks like you came a long way for

nothing. My men've already done a

thorough search from point of

impact and found nothing.

INTERCUT WITH:

ANGLE - CULVERT

Biggs and Newman stop by the muddy culvert. Biggs sees

something. He orders Newman into the muck after it.

GERARD:

Aware of media, proceeds patiently with the young Sheriff.

GERARD:

With all due respect, may I suggest

check-points starting at a 15-mile

radius on I-57, I-24, Route 13 east

of -

SHERIFF:

Whoa, whoa, whoa... For what?

Prisoners are all dead. The only

thing check-points will do is get a

lot of good people out here frantic

and flood my office with calls.

Gerard finally touches eyeballs with the young Sheriff and

we get our first taste of Gerard at close range.

GERARD:

(beat)

Well, sh*t, Sheriff, I'd hate for

that to happen... So, I'll be

taking over the investigation.

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