The Terminator Page #6

Reese fishes a magazine off the dirty floor. His over-

coat is off, draped over the shotgun on the seat beside

him.

His bare arms are sinewy and scarred.

Reese flips the page of COSMOPOLITAN.

He look at the glossy photos, the glossy women.

Fantasy women. Svelte and seamless.

The ads fascinate him too: Caribbean vacations and blended

whiskeys.

His head sags against the door.

He gazes dully at the tracks of a passing CATERPILLAR as they

chew through the dirt.

The ROAD and CLATTER of treads intensifies as his eyes close.

CUT TO:

46 EXT. MELTED RUINS - NIGHT 46

TIGHT ON A GLEAMING STEEL TREAD as it grinds through debris.

The debris is ferroconcrete, girders, and jackstraw heaps of

HUMAN BONES, burned black.

There is the sound of EXPLOSIONS, distant, and an intermittent

electronic WHINE. Incredibly bright searchlights play over

the ground. PANNING with the moving treads through twisted

wreckage, F.G.

The screen WHITES OUT with a BLAST, very close. As the

debris clatters down, a helmetted head snaps up into FRAME,

EXTREME F.G.

The visor of the HIGH-TECH HELMET is shattered, presumably

by the explosion. The wearer rips it off, revealing a

younger Reese, minus his burn scar.

His face is bathed in sweat, lit by the glow from a CRT

SCOPE-SIGHT on a strange-looking rifle.

The sound of SCREAMS and HOARSE SHOUTS not far off, and a

continuous low murmuring of RADIO CHATTER, grid coordinates,

casualties, unit placements, medic requests.

Reese looks over his shoulder at his teammate, a GIRL

of about sixteen, gaunt, dirty, heavily armed like himself.

DOLLYING as they start to belly crawl through the bones

and wreckage.

Reese looks up.

Through spires of a collapsed building a terrifying

SPHINX-LIKE SHAPE moves against the sky...obscured by dust

and blinding sweeps of its searchlights.

Though we see little, this is an H-K,Hunter-Killer

mobile ground-unit.

Reese crawls, pacing the H-K, under and through, on elbows

and knees, past mounds of charred skulls. They

pass the BODY OF A CHILD, a boy of about 10, center-

punched with a smoking hole. The boy clutches a rifle.

More bodies. Some in rags, some in uniforms like theirs.

WOMEN. OLD MEN. CHILDREN. They're all dirty and gaunt,

scabrous. And still bleeding. Reese scrabbles past a

dark rat-hole and there are human rats in it. Some of them

are sobbing, or screaming.

Another EXPLOSION.

The GLARE lights the huddled few.

Human vermin with mud-caked weapons that haven't been

invented yet. Soldiers in a nightmare war.

Reese and his teammate stop behind a blasted wall, having

outflanked the massive H-K. Its flashing blue lights flick

across the walls, its searchlights sear through the

debris.

WIDER, showing the H-K more clearly...a blast-scarred

CHROME LEVIATHON, with hydraulic arms folded mantis-like

against its 'torso', and huge underslung GUN TURRETS.

Reese leaps up and straight-arms a satchel-charge into its

path. One tread rolls over the explosive.

Guns and searchlights swivel. The head turns ponderously.

Reese's partner rises, poised to throw hers.

A POWER-BOLT catches her at the top of her arc, BLOWING

HER INTO RED MIST.

Reese is knocked down by the concussion. Gets up, running,

as the charges blow.

The H-K's tread carriers are RIPPED APART.

It lurches to a stop, burning.

The following SEQUENCE is extremely FORESHORTENED.

CUT FAST. IMPRESSIONS ONLY.

Running.

Explosions light the ruins like flashbulbs.

ENERGY WEAPONS criss-cross the night like tracers.

LOW ANGLE, up past the burning H-K as its flying counter-

part, an AERIAL H-K, arcs into view with a TURBOJET WHINE.

Reese hauls two survivors of his unit into a PERSONNEL

CARRIER, a CHEVY CAMARO with steel plate welded over it and

the roof cut away to access the 50 CALIBER MACHINE GUN.

It's stripped and rusted and bullet-riddled, glassless.

The TIRES are OFF-ROAD and very gnarly.

They're driving through the ruins, up and over and through.

Reese drives like a demon. Under other circumstances it

would be considered insane. Here it is merely very good.

The machine gun CHATTERS.

A BLACK SHAPE descends, a demon with searchlights.

A BOLT OF LIGHT.

Reese's car flips like a kicked beer can, rolling and

crumpling. He's pinned in the wreck, bloody, screaming

despite his training. The only other survivor, an

emaciated BOY of twelve, is pulling for all he's worth

to drag Reese out before it burns.

CUT TO:

47 EXT. STREET/GREY SEDAN - NIGHT 47

CLOSE ON A BOY, about twelve, clean and healthy, wearing

a blue plastic DODGERS HELMET. He reaches through the

window of the sedan.

BOY:

Hey, mister...?

CUT TO:

48 INT. GREY SEDAN 48

Reese's eyes open in a split-second, and suddenly there

is a SHOTGUN MUZZLE AIMED RIGHT AT US.

Reese quivers with a curious spasm, similar to the tremors

of his arrival, and blinks at the boy.

The boy is white-faced, staring down the bore. He backs

away. We see that he is straddling a bicycle.

CUT TO:

49 EXT. GREY SEDAN - NIGHT 49

The boy's SISTER, slightly younger and also on a bicycle,

can't see the shotgun from where she's waiting.

SISTER:

(taunting)

See, I told you he wasn't

dead. You owe me Baskin

Robbins.

The boy rides past her list a shot.

BOY:

(urgently)

Come on. Just come on.

CUT TO:

50 INT. GREY SEDAN 50

Reese relaxes slowly, the voltage draining out of him.

INSERT - MACRO, Reese's finger on the trigger is white

with pressure. He slips the safety to the OFF position.

The gun can now be fired.

He sets it on the seat and reaches for the dangling ignition

wires, starting the car.

CUT TO:

51 EXT. STREET/OVERPASS - NIGHT 51

Lit by streetlights, the car moves away with it lights

off and vanishes in the shadows.

CUT TO:

52 OMITTED 52

53 INT. SARAH'S APARTMENT/BATHROOM/LIVING ROOM - NIGHT 53

Sarah and Ginger are crammed into the tiny bathroom,

becoming inextricably tangled in each other's cords as

they blow-dry, curl hair, and apply make-up. Ginger

has her headphones inverted under her chin but in place,

and is bouncing to music as she dries her hair. She is

wearing a short terry-cloth bathrobe that reveals the

greater part of her legs. Sarah is in a skirt and bra.

The phone rings and Sarah goes out into the living room

to get it.

SARAH:

(answering the

phone)

Hello?

VOICE (V.O.)

(on phone, deep

and breathy)

First I'm going to rip the

buttons off your blouse, one

by one...then run my tongue

along your neck, down to your

bare, gleaming breasts...

Sarah cups her hand over the mouthpiece and calls out

matter-of-factly:

SARAH:

Ginger! It's Matt.

She resumes listening.

MATT (V.O.)

...and then slowly pull your

jeans off inch by inch and

lick your belly in circles,

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