The Terminator Page #12

tightly lines with parked cars.

The ROAR of an engine builds.

The sedan, like a night-demon, hurtles out of the shadows

with its lights off, doing ninety plus.

CUT TO:

112 INT. GREY SEDAN - NIGHT 112

Sarah is in a daze.

Paralyzed. Face bloodless.

She is shivering silently, uncontrollably.

Her eyes are wide, and it seems likely that she doesn't

quite comprehend the roaring blur outside her window.

REESE:

(calmly)

Hold on.

CUT TO:

113 EXT. CITY STREETS - NIGHT 113

WIDE ANGLE, CLOSE TO SEDAN, and following it as it hurtles

around a corner in an expertly controlled slide.

Then a high speed sprint down the cross-street.

Reese squirrels the vehicle between a slow-moving car

ahead and oncoming traffic.

A dive into another dark side street.

CUT TO:

114 INT. GRAY SEDAN - NIGHT 114

Reese drives with total, nerveless absorption. His eyes

flick to the mirror, to the road, over his shoulder, back

...and the world spins outside.

With occasional glances to Sarah, he speaks to her in a

clipped, military voice.

REESE:

Are you injured? Are you

shot?

No response.

He reaches over and runs his hands over her arms, legs,

chest. Sarah flinches.

She feels the BLIND PANIC BOILING UP WITHIN HER.

She pushes his hand away and opens the door.

Reese slams her back in the seat and slaps her. Hard.

REESE:

(continuing)

Do exactly what I say.

Exactly. Don't move un-

less I say. Don't make a

sound unless I say. Do

you understand?

As he speaks he is locking the door and fastening Sarah's

seatbelt over her, cinching it very tightly, like you would

for a child. She doesn't answer.

REESE:

(continuing/

shouting)

Do you understand?

SARAH:

(a whisper)

Yes. Don't hurt me.

REESE:

I'm here to help you. Reese,

Sergeant/Tech-Com, DN38416...

Sarah stares numbly at his outstretched hand. With zero

strength she automatically returns his handshake.

REESE:

(continuing)

Assigned to protect you.

You've been targetted for

termination.

CUT TO:

115 EXT. SIDE STREET/ALLEY - NIGHT 115

The walls of a narrow alley, inky black, frame a police

cruiser parked on the street beyond. Firelight from the

back of Stoker's lights the street garishly.

A young cop stands beside the car talking via radio with

the mike cord pulled through the side window. He speaks

with a distinctive twang--a displaced southerner.

COP:

...I don't know, it looks

like it might spread to this

furniture warehouse across

the alley, the paint on the

wall's starting to blister

up...

The sweeping headlights of a turning car momentarily illuminate

the face of Terminator, motionless in the dark right in

front of us.

Eyes open. Listening.

COP:

(continuing)

Better get another truck

round to this side.

Terminator's silhouette emerges from the blackness and

strides purposefully toward the cop, CAMERA following.

The officer whirls and reaches for his gun but Terminator

flings him brutally into the side of the car, steps over

him and opens the door.

Before getting in he notes the unit number on the roof: 143.

Then he slides behind the wheel, slips the squad car into

gear, and pulls out.

CAMERA PRECEDING CAR, HIDE WIDE ANGLE, as it accelerates

rapidly, until the lines across the street are flashing

under it in a staccato rhythm.

CUT TO:

116 INT. GREY SEDAN - NIGHT 116

Sarah is slumped way down in the seat, turned away from the

window, trying not to see the landscape reeling outside.

SARAH:

(hoarse whisper)

This is a mistake. I haven't

done anything.

REESE:

No. But you will. It's

very important that you

live.

Sarah closes her eyes, as if to shut it all out.

SARAH:

I can't believe this is happen-

ing. How could than man get up

after you...

Reese's tone is equal parts hatred and respect as he replies.

REESE:

Not a man. A Terminator.

Cyber Dynamics Model 101.

CUT TO:

117 INT. SQUAD CAR - NIGHT 117

Terminator drives expressionlessly, monitoring the babble

from Central Dispatch. He hears his number.

DISPATCHER (V.O.)

(filtered)

...Suspect vehicle sighted on

Motor at Pico, southbound.

Units Two-Zero-Six and Five-

Seven, attempt intercept.

Unit One-Four-Three, come in.

Terminator picks up the mike. He speaks in a

simulation of the young cop's southern twang.

TERMINATOR:

This is One-Four-Three. West-

bound on Olympic, approaching

Overland.

CUT TO:

118 EXT. SANTA MONICA FREEWAY - NIGHT 118

The grey sedan moves through traffic like a hell-bent

wraith. Reese has the hammer down. He handles the

car with nerves of steel.

CUT TO:

119 EXT. POLICE HELICOPTER - NIGHT 119

Below, Reese's sedan snakes along at 110 plus. The

chopper, F.G., drops toward it.

PILOT (V.O.)

(filtered)

Air-unit Two. We're on him.

Westbound Santa Monica at 405.

CUT TO:

120 INT. GREY SEDAN - NIGHT 120

SARAH:

A machine? You mean, like

a robot?

REESE:

Not a robot. Cyborg.

Cybernetic Organism.

They have to yell over the roar of air through the broken

windshield.

SARAH:

But...he was bleeding.

At that moment a blinding light sears down on them from

above. Reese looks over his left shoulder and sees a

CHP cruiser coming alongside.

REESE:

Just a second. Keep your

head down.

CUT TO:

121 EXT. FREEWAY - NIGHT 121

The helicopter is right above the, its spotlight burning

on Reese. The cruiser flanks them, closing. Reese peels

off to the right, inches in front of a tractor-trailer rig,

brakes hard and slides into a four-wheel drift through a

curving off-ramp.

The helicopter banks, following.

The cruiser swaps ends trying to maneuver and slams broad-

side into the guardrail. Out of action.

CUT TO:

122 EXT. OFF RAMP/INTERSECTION - NIGHT 122

The sedan roars across the street without slowing

and vanishes down a tree-lined side street.

CUT TO:

123 EXT. POLICE HELICOPTER - NIGHT 123

DOWN ANGLE - AERIAL past the chopper, F.G., as its searchlight

sweeps over the close-knit treetops.

CUT TO:

124 EXT. SIDE STREET/INTERSECTION - NIGHT 124

The sedan skids around a corner, F.G., as the searchlight

filters in shafts through the trees further down the street,

sweeping futility back and forth.

CUT TO:

125 EXT. POLICE HELICOPTER - NIGHT 125

It hovers indecisively, then banks off.

PILOT (V.O.)

(filtered)

Lost him.

CUT TO:

126 INT. GREY SEDAN - NIGHT 126

Reese is ultra-alert, craning to look up, back, forward.

REESE:

Good cover.

(pause)

Alright. Listen.

The Terminator's an infil-

tration unit. Part man, part

machine. Underneath, it's a

hyperalloy combat chassis,

mircoprocessor-controlled,

fully armored. Very tough...

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