The Terminator Page #14

from the brink.

(pause)

His name is Connor. John Connor...

your son, Sarah. Your unborn son.

Sarah stared at him.

CUT TO:

137 EXT. PARKING LOT - NIGHT 137

The brown Buick is F.G. as the nose of Terminator's cruiser

appears behind it, moving slowly.

C.U. - TERMINATOR, scanning.

LOW ANGLE, past the back of the Buick, as Terminator

cruises by. The tailpipe, F.G., puffs quietly.

Terminator's head snaps around.

His eyes lock on Reese's car.

He reaches for his shotgun.

CUT TO:

138 INT. BUICK - NIGHT138

Reese's head jerks up, looking in the mirror.

CUT TO:

139 EXT. PARKING LOT - NIGHT 139

Reese's car launches forward from its space, tires

spinning as Terminator fires from the window of the

cruiser.

CUT TO:

140 INT. BUICK - NIGHT140

The rear window explodes and Reese ducks, then cranks

the wheel.

CUT TO:

141 EXT. PARKING LOT - NIGHT 141

Reese and Terminator race along opposite sides of a

row of cars, approaching the exit.

The cruiser pulls ahead and closes diagonally as they

clear the last car.

Reese sees the other's shotgun leveled.

He ducks, steering blind, keeps it floored.

The windshield and side window EXPLODES INWARD.

The Buick slams into the black-and-white, spinning it into

a parked truck. TIRES SCREAM as the two cars slew around

heading for the exit.

SEVERAL ANGLES, as the police react.

The chopper banks tight and dives across the tops of

the parked cars. Cruisers race to converge.

CUT TO:

143 EXT. STREET - NIGHT 143

LOW WIDE ANGLE, PRECEDING REESE'S BUICK as it hits the

street, accelerating. Terminator's cruiser slides out

behind it, fishtails, races forward.

Engines roar as the cars go flat out. Buildings lining

the street become a blur.

The chopper arcs in behind them.

Legitimate police, lights blazing, enter the pursuit

one by one.

LOW ANGLE, MOVING WITH TERMINATOR'S CAR as Reese dodges

across all lanes ahead of it.

Terminator gaining.

They run an intersection at a hundred plus.

CUT TO:

144 INT. BUICK - NIGHT144

Reese is feeding his last two shells into the riot gun.

REESE:

(yelling)

Steer!

Holding the gun is both hands he leans out the window,

still keeping the throttle mashed down.

Sarah grabs the wheel, fighting to control the car.

CUT TO:

145 EXT. STREET/BUICK - NIGHT 145

MOVING WITH THE BUICK, looking back, as Reese aims the

shotgun, buffeted by the windstream.

Terminator's car, B.G., overtakes rapidly.

SARAH:

(shouting)

Reese!

CUT TO:

146 INT. BUICK - NIGHT146

OVER SARAH'S SHOULDER as they approach an intersection...

red light their way and an ALPHA BETA TRUCK entering cross

wise.

CUT TO:

147 EXT. STREET/CARS - NIGHT 147

Past Terminator, F.G., his shotgun aimed as he comes along

side...at Reese.

They are staring down each other's barrels.

CUT TO:

148 INT. BUICK - NIGHT148

Sarah grabs the shift lever.

DETAIL - SHIFTER, as she slams it into reverse.

CUT TO:

149 EXT. STREET/CARS - NIGHT 149

MOVING WITH BOTH CARS as the Buick skids with rear tires

locked. Reese and Terminator FIRE simultaneously.

TIGHT ON REESE as the doorpost next to his shoulder is

torn out by the other's blast.

ON TERMINATOR, leaning to see around his shattered wind-

shield. Too late.

He hurtles into the intersection, past the skidding Buick.

Clips the back of the semi.

Spins radically.

Vaults the curb in a screeching front-end roll.

WHIP-PANNING WITH THE CRUISER as it crashes upside-down

through the counter area of an A & W.

LOW ANGLE as Reese and Sarah slide to a stop in a cloud

of tire smoke.

Transmission fluid pours out of the car like blood.

An instant later they are surrounded by an assortment of

LAPD, SHERIFF'S DEPT., and CHP CARS.

The helicopter hovers overhead.

MEDIUM ON SARAH AND REESE, he raises his hands, through

the side window, in plain sight. A phalanx of cops, guns

drawn, approaches the car warily.

Sarah looks at Reese. Then at the cops. She opens the door

and runs, staggering, toward them. Vukovich steps forward

and pulls her away to safety.

C.U. - REESE watching her go as a cop eases his door open.

CUT TO:

150 EXT. A & W - NIGHT150

Two cops approach the overturned squad car jammed into the

wreckage of the small building.

They shine their flashlights inside.

It is empty.

The cyborg has VANISHED.

A sign which reads 'DRIVE IN' detaches from an awning and

crashed down across the crushed auto.

CUT TO:

151 INT. VUKOVICH'S OFFICE - NIGHT 151

Sarah, huddles in a blanket, is siting on a bench opposite

Vukovich's desk. Motionless. Her eyes are fixed on the

middle distance. She's been crying. Now she's emptied out.

The door opens.

At the sound of the latch Sarah jerks as if struck, and cringes

involuntarily. Vukovich enters with Traxler and DR. PETER

SILBERMAN, a criminal psychologist. Silberman is smooth

of skin and manner, young, ambitious and...fat. He is

enthusiastic about the workings of the human psyche, as

emotionally involved as someone pulling the wings off a fly.

Vukovich sits beside Sarah and hands her a cup of coffee.

He puts a paternal arm around her shoulders.

VUKOVICH:

Here, drink some of this...

SARAH:

(voice flat,

desperate)

Lieutenant, are you sure it's

them? Maybe I should see the

...bodies.

VUKOVICH:

They've already been identi-

fied. There's no doubt.

Sarah begins to cry again, slowly and very quickly.

SARAH:

(to herself)

Of, God...Ginger...kiddo,

I'm so sorry.

Vukovich takes the coffee cup from her as her arms sag and

it starts to spill.

VUKOVICH:

(gently)

Sarah.

(pause)

Sarah, this is Dr. Silber-

man. I'd like you to tell

him everything Reese said

to you. Do you feel up to it?

SARAH:

(almost in-

audible)

I guess so.

(to Silberman)

You're a doctor?

SILBERMAN:

A criminal psychologist.

SARAH:

Is Reese crazy?

SILBERMAN:

That's what we're going to

find out.

CUT TO:

152 INT. HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT 152

The room costs five dollars a night and that's steep, but

the FIRE ESCAPE outside the window adds an element of

strategic value.

A silhouette slips in through the window and click on the

single BARE LIGHT BULB.

It's Terminator, and he's a mess.

A bloody scarecrow with bullet wounds in stomach, chest,

shoulder and right wrist.

MEDIUM ON TERMINATOR as he sits at a ratty folding table

under the light.

His eyebrows are singed off.

Hair a charred stubble.

Left eyes glistening with imbedded glass shards.

Before him on the table is an array of SMALL TOOLS.

He removes the charred remains of his jacket and props.

one elbow on the table.

ANGLE PAST HIS NON-FUNCTIONAL RIGHT ARM, F.G., as he exam-

ines it. He picks up an X-ACTO KNIFE and cuts deeply into

Rate this script:5.0 / 1 vote