Tremors 3: Back to Perfection Page #3

on deck, Miguel.

So, I suggest you bug out A.S.A.P.,

maintain a steady speed on your truck...

and report to H.Q.

at Chang's, you copy that?

The good news is

there's only three of them.

- How do you know that?

- A few years ago,

I installed a geophone

monitoring system around the valley.

Data transmits to my laptop,

gets triangulated.

It's all based on Rhonda LeBeck's

geological research.

- I sell all her books.

- The comics were better.

- Totally.

- Shh!

They're moving slowly down from

the north, just like last time...

from Jasmer quadrangle,

straight down the valley...

- into Calypso quadrangle.

- Huh?

- I think he means Cactus Flats.

- Why can't he just say it?

So, what do we do?

Your little jungle boat ride

is over, mister.

Time to fish or cut bait.

Yeah, yeah,

so what-what do we do?

Burt, excuse me,

but we're not cut off this time.

We don't have to act like a bunch of

militia nitwits. We can call for help.

Nancy, since no one has bothered to

maintain or monitor their seismic equipment,

we have no idea how long

the graboids have been active,

and therefore no idea

when they may become shriekers.

We can't wait for the authorities

to bumble into this.

We are the authorities.

So, what do we do?

We hunt them down.

We wipe them out.

We go at dawn.

These are perfect.

- How many do you have in stock?

- Eleven.

Need to requisition

all of them.

Whoa, requisition.

That mean I'm getting reimbursed?

- Not today.

- How does this work?

Killin' them

with a toy truck?

- Graboids hunt by sensing...

- Sound. I know. I know.

A graboid hears a toy truck,

goes after it just like a cat to catnip.

- It's in the comic books.

- The second he swallows it, you detonate the explosive.

Boom! End of worm.

Explosive. Where we gonna

get the explosive?

This not being an officially

sanctioned event...

I've provided something

of my own design.

Don't worry about Burt.

He knows what he's doing.

It's like his thing.

Put these on my tab, okay?

- Let's mount up and move out.

- You don't have a tab!

Jack, I'm going with you.

No, you're not.

Yes, sir?

Good morning.

Mr. Gummer?

Morning.

Agent Frank Statler.

My cousin, he already

went back to Mexico.

- I've already filed for my business license.

- The right to bear arms...

- shall not be infringed.

- Hey, Department of the Interior.

This gentleman is

Field Agent Rusk of the B.L.M.,

and Dr. Andrew Merliss, Director

of Paleontology at the Smithsonian.

Look, we don't have time to chat.

We've got work to do.

Not if it's hunting

graboids, you don't.

- I called them, Burt.

- I've been granted authority,

to insure adherence to section 1472

of the Endangered Species Act,

which specifically guards the welfare

of large-class desert reptilians.

I'm enforcing an immediate ban on all

hunting of graboids in Perfection Valley.

- Those are my cattle out there, pendejo.

- Uh-huh.

The B.L.M. man gave me permission to kill

anything that's dangerous to my cattle.

El lobo, el coyote

and el graboid.

Well, your B.L.M. man reports to this

B.L.M. man, who now reports to me,

and I'm here to tell you there will be

no more killing of graboids, period.

So, we let them live, and we become

the endangered species.

You-You have been

instrumental...

in the eradication of the oldest,

rarest species on earth.

Not just once, but on three separate

occasions, on two continents.

Saving lives and property as a guest

of two foreign governments.

- Are you even aware of the public outcry?

- Public? Not this public.

Our mandate is quite simple:

To investigate, trap and transport...

at least one of

these creatures for study.

Trap and transport? By the time

you find out that's impossible,

we'll be up to our necks

in shriekers.

If we discover that there is

a genuine threat to public safety,

we're prepared to evacuate Perfection

Valley, seal it off indefinitely.

Wait a minute!

You'd make us leave?

That's not why I called you.

I called you here to help us.

The government's gonna offer fair

compensation for your property. That's a given.

Eminent domain.

And people

call me paranoid.

I don't think

you're paranoid.

I do, but not no more.

Son of a b*tch!

Call me Ishmael.

Now if you would kindly

lean your endangered carcass...

over my property line,

I'll just call your

untimely demise self-defense.

Damn stupid graboids.

Can't afford to get

eminent domained out.

Every cent I have is tied

to this business.

Well, at least

you got a business.

Body language says it all.

Does it say I could use

a cold beer?

- What'll it be?

- Miller Lite.

Yeah, we still don't have cell towers.

You can use the pay phone.

Outside it's C.B. s

and walkie-talkies only.

Charming.

Listen, you guys weren't serious

about making us move out, were you?

Unless we can catch one of them,

we may have no choice.

It kinda seems like

a small operation.

I mean, to catch

one whole graboid.

We don't have much of a budget. It's not

a high priority in Washington. Okay?

Yeah, but, uh,

if you did catch one,

I mean, you boys would

go home heroes, right?

Look good on a resume.

And your point would be?

Just that the one guy who knows more

about these things than anybody;

the one guy who could

actually help y'all out,

is warmin' up the bench

'cause you took him out of the game.

I didn't take him

out of the game.

May I remind you, Jack,

they are not your friends?

They are government agents.

Over.

Cut me some slack.

All I did was a little negotiating.

- You did what?

- I cut us a deal.

We help catch one live graboid, they

give you back your hunting license. Over.

Uh, copy that. Roger.

Uh, one question.

Shoot.

Is your head up your ass

for the warmth?

We thought you'd be happy. You want

to get eminent domained out of here?

Catch a live graboid? It's hard enough

to kill one without saturation bombing.

I told 'em, "Burt Gummer,

he'd come up with something. "

These bastards are smart, and the harder

you come at them, the smarter they get.

You're still here, aren't ya?

I'd say you're up to it.

So, Mr. Gummer,

what do you think?

Ahh!

Fish or cut bait.

You... say you have

some sort of tranquilizer.

Yeah, we're using

tranq darts.

We got 'em to chase us, but we couldn't

get these to penetrate the dirt.

I'm ordering titanium tips

and a more powerful launch gun.

Of course, you could squander

the taxpayers' money,

but I can get a graboid

to swallow this...

with this, for 49.95.

Then, if it goes to sleep,

you can dig it up,

take it back to Area 51...

or whatever fits

your plausible deniability.

I don't quite understand what you

just said, but do we have a deal?

We-We have a deal? Because we

wanna know what we should do.

You guys do

what you do best...

find something simple

and complicate it.

- It's good he expresses himself.

- Mm-hmm.

Repressed emotions

can be real toxic.

He needs counseling.

- Get in!

- Huh?

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