Tremors: A Cold Day in Hell Page #2

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unlike any other life form cataloged

in Earth's genetic or fossil record.

When fully grown,

a Graboid can reach up

to 10 meters in length

and weigh up to 20 tons.

Their semi-rigid internal structure

is covered by a leathery carapace.

They're daytime hunters

and have no eyes,

but what's most fascinating

to me about their predatory acuity

is that it's based on vibration.

Go on. I'm listening.

They have a massive black armored beak

and two hooked mandibles,

one on either side of their jaw.

The species is Precambrian and have long

and powerful snake-like tentacles,

which can reach three meters

to ensnare their prey.

If you'd like,

I can give you the 411

On the morphological

subspecies

known as the Ass Blaster

a.k.a. Mexicana Combustus.

You're a treasure-trove of

Graboidology, Miss, but I...

You've hunted and killed them

on two different continents, Mr. Gummer.

That's why I insisted

that we call.

But why are you so sure

this is a Graboid attack?

The kill site

has all the telltale signs.

Except for location.

I don't know.

Call it a gut feeling, intuition.

We need your help, Mr. Gummer,

and we need it ASAP!

Think of the adventure,

Graboids in the Arctic.

This could be

a whole new ballgame.

Batter up!

(CHUCKLES) Yes.

You never asked

if she was hot!

(ROOSTER CROWS)

- Where are you going?

- Round two! I'm coming with.

Request denied.

What? Come on, here,

stop being Burt for a minute,

and logic this thing out

with me.

This is our chance to revive

Burt Gummer's Bull's-Eye Brand,

get you free

of the taxman, dude!

Let's be honest. You've got

a lot of red in your ledger.

My financial status

is none of your damn beeswax.

And you'll just be in the way.

Oh, like I was

in South Africa? Huh?

That was a one-off!

Nothing more.

You're looking at this through the wrong

end of the telescope here, friend.

What about your legacy, huh?

What about it?

Do you know of any other

Graboid hunters out there?

Uh, I don't.

I know, you know,

Bigfoot hunters... No!

You're Burt Gummer.

You're a one-off!

Come on, man, teach me!

Pay it forward.

Oh, I'm not dead yet.

I know, and I'm not interested in

talking about your mortality, either,

but think about it.

Who's gonna fill your shoes

when you can no longer outrun

or outgun these beasts, huh?

I've got to

tell you something.

Burt Gummer's got

some big-ass shoes to fill.

Size 12s.

I've seen you

in the locker room.

And you're my heir apparent.

Is that it?

You already led me through

one Graboid gauntlet.

- There's a lot you still don't know.

- Exactly my point.

Learning can be fun!

Rosetta Stone me, dawg.

It was a decent enough

combat primer.

Hell, yeah, it was!

I was your wingman.

Wingman?

More like wingnut!

Come on, that's...

That's a little harsh,

I think.

(SIGHS)

Damn it!

Are you willing to follow orders?

I mean, sometimes, I don't...

Look, the most important

six inches on the battlefield

are between your ears.

You got that?

I'd like to think I have more.

I think I'm 6.5.

Don't crack wise with me.

Sir, yes, sir!

And have you filled out

the requisite non-resident

special exemption RCMP-5590 form?

Sir...

- What?

- The RCMP-5590 form!

For that firearm you're

planning on bringing into Canada.

No.

Well, then you better download

one and fill it out pronto.

Grab your arctic gear.

Man!

(UPBEAT MUSIC PLAYING)

Welcome to

the Great White North, eh!

Otherwise known

as Nowheresville.

You're about 1,000 miles

north of there.

You're somewhere

between, uh,

Ain't-Never-Been

and Don't-Wanna-Go.

TRAVIS:
Where are

all the glaciers?

Melting. Sled dog unemployment's

at an all-time high.

How much longer

till we're there?

Not far.

Just around the bend.

Where's your GPS?

You're in the Arctic Circle.

Satellites up here

are more miss than hit.

But don't worry.

It's all up here.

That's reassuring.

How is it back there,

Mr. Gummer?

My seismic vibration monitor

is completely useless.

Yeah, well, you can log in to the

inter-Web when we get you on station.

- Peachy.

- Hey, I'm a big fan of your series.

I loved that episode on dried meats

and insects as proteins.

I see you're smuggling home-brew

grain alcohol into dry territory.

Well, the local tribal authority

are a bit blue-nosed,

so I'm forced to bring it

in under the radar.

Don't ask, don't tell, right?

BURT:
Yeah.

(SCREECHING)

Travis!

I see it.

- It can't be.

- It is.

- It is what?

- We got a hostile aerial incursion.

What's your altitude?

1,400 feet.

I suggest you take evasive

action and put this plane on the ground.

Ass Blasters in the Arctic?

(SCREECHING)

They're keying in

on your engine!

- Yeah, they're heat seekers.

- Who's they?

BOTH:
Ass Blasters!

(CREATURE SCREECHING)

- Bird strike.

- We've lost the engine.

(ENGINE SPUTTERING)

No sh*t, Sherlock!

Get this down! Now!

Stand by for some chop!

Does that mean crash?

(LAUGHS)

Gravity never loses!

The best we can hope for

is a draw!

- Brace for impact!

- Impact? What impact?

(ALL GRUNTING)

(PANTS) And we're here!

Whoa. We're so

out of here!

(GRUNTS)

Oh, no.

Here they come,

the men in black.

Well, well, well!

What do we have here?

Tom and Jerry?

Frick and Frank?

No, more like

Butch and Sundance.

Starsky and Hutch.

Do I smell alcohol?

My bird runs on bio-fuel.

And you're bootlegging moonshine

into a First Nations territory?

That is a big time no-no!

You don't mind if we help

ourselves now, do you?

Well, there's a matter

of payment, eh?

Put it on my tab.

BURT:
And who might

you be?

I'm your next-door neighbor

while you're up here

on your little worm hunt.

But there's no welcome mat

on my doorstep, so tread lightly.

A piece of advice, Mr. Gummer.

You stay out of my way

and pay your taxes.

Consider yourself

properly warned.

Do I know you?

I don't know. Do you?

Since we're neighbors,

here's some neighborly advice.

Beat a retreat until I get

this area cleared out.

Retreat? Hell, no. We're just

getting started up here.

Then find a safe place

to hunker down.

Consider yourself

properly warned.

You know that skid mark?

What can you tell me

about him?

MAC:
Well, rumor has it

he's up here working

on some Area 51 stuff.

Some joint US-Canadian

turd factory

being developed by Harpo...

Darpo...

You mean DARPA?

That's the one! Know them?

Yeah, they're the acronym

for evil.

(GRUNTS)

You must be Valerie?

At your service. And thanks

for answering our SOS.

Yeah, my call sign,

these days.

This is Aklark.

He's our resident local boy.

Hey, Mac. I saw you came in

a bit hectic there, huh?

Yeah, just a little bit.

Did you guys just come

from Burning Man, or...

How's it, Mr. Burt?

Wow! They even know you

in Canada!

You failed to tell me

about the AB infestation.

- We have Ass Blasters?

- Yeah.

It ain't a polar bear, girl.

Mom and Dad aren't

gonna believe it.

"Mom and Dad"?

Here's a blast from the past,

Mr. Gummer.

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