Tremors 5: Bloodlines Page #3

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pumpkin spice latte,

but instead of pumpkin,

it's African spice.

Okay, well,

sounds delicious.

Thank you.

You must be Travis.

At ease, Mr. Welker.

Mr. Gummer,

welcome.

Um... I've arranged some refreshments

for you back at the lodge.

With all due respect, Doctor...

It's Nandi.

Nandi, I think we should

get right to the hunt.

Let's rest up, Mr. Gummer. Start

fresh in the morning, yes?

I'm not here on

a safari weekend.

If you've got Graboids,

no one is safe.

Travis, did you

eat the worm?

Well, hello.

We did it.

You did it.

Yeah. I hate to go

back to the real world

and lecture at

stoned-out students.

Be nice to stay out here

in the bush, with you.

I wish this moment would

last the rest of my life.

That's where Basson died.

Coordinates?

What?

Longitude and latitude?

I don't do

coordinates.

Everything is in my head.

What about field

communications?

What the hell was that?

A monkey's wedding.

Local lingo. Sun shower.

We get them every day,

at this time of the year,

at the exact same hour.

You can set

your watch to it.

1500 hours.

Exactly.

Mother Nature

keeps to her rhythms.

Dr. Montabu. Nandi?

Yes?

I think you guys

might wanna come and see this.

BU RT; Why?

There's been another attack.

An Ass Blaster definitely

didn't do this, Mr. Van Wyk.

Hey, Gums.

You may wanna

check this out.

If you're dumb, you bleed.

Your problem is bigger than

I thought, Mr. Van Wyk.

How so?

This Graboid

is much larger

than the North

American variety.

It's Africa.

Everything's bigger.

Everything

except my munitions.

Knowing your enemy's

strength is Intel 101.

What other surprises

do you have in store for me?

I'm learning as I go,

Mr. Gummer.

This one's leaner, too.

Much leaner.

And more dangerous.

We're gonna need

a big-ass cage.

Jeez, Gummy-drops,

we get it.

You like to get

cozy with your guns.

Not just cozy,

Mr. Welker. Conjoined.

This is a hot zone.

Hey, what was that ministry van

Wyk said he was affiliated with?

South African

Wildlife Federation. Why?

Just curious.

Hey!

You want a ride?

No, I'll see you

over there.

See her where?

Oh, she invited me to

some tribal dance thing.

We move out at 2200 hours.

I suggest you grab some chow

and get some rack time.

Wait. Are you

giving me a curfew?

I don't do curfews, Pops.

Okay? I'm an adult.

But here's what

I suggest you do.

I think you should

go inside, right?

Check out

the mini-bar situation.

See how your

401 is doing.

And I'll download the intel from the

smokin' hot South African chick.

And I am gonna

dance with the natives.

Hey!

Come here!

Hey!

You made it.

Wow.

This is quite the rager.

Yeah.

You guys got a keg?

Yeah.

Try this.

What's this?

Courage.

And?

It tastes like

cow piss.

You want more? Try again.

No, I really don't.

So, what is this?

This is a warrior dance.

Our ancestors hunting the

lnkanyamba and the impundulu.

What's that?

Impundulu. It's what

you call the Ass Blaster.

Ass Blaster.

Yes.

Yes.

Hey, you know, you make

Ass Blaster sound good.

You know, Thaba, I'm

really not sure about these guys.

Especially this

Travis guy. I mean...

I don't like the way

he's looking at my Nandi.

ls she your Nandi, now?

Yeah, well,

she could be.

Good luck with that, bro.

A guy can

dream, right?

Dream us up a couple

of cold ones, would you?

Hundreds, boet.

Ah...

To dreams.

Jesus Christ!

Okay.

What you call

the Ass Blaster,

in our language, the word

means "lightning bird."

The impundulu are

nocturnal hunters.

They have bio-sensors

on their foreheads

and their hunt is

based on heat signatures.

If they hunt

during the day,

their targeting

might be confused.

So, those freaks

come out at night,

so they can hunt their

prey in cooler temps?

Yes, they're

like vampires.

No,no,no!

It just took off

with Thaba.

It was attracted

to the engine heat.

The engine was cold.

We gotta get Thaba.

I'll get my gear.

Whoa, boet.

ls that Thaba?

Kill the engine.

HPF 250.

Heat-blocking gear.

You got one of those

ball gowns for me, princess?

Turn on the AC, if you wanna

hide your heat signature.

Yeah, tough guy

Thaba.

HEY-

Thaba.

I have better things to do than

babysit Americans in Africa.

Thaba!

Hold on, I got you.

Damn. I'm out.

C'mon, boet- Come on, you

old fart, let's get moving.

Help me, boet! Get this thing

off me, boet! Help me, boet!

I stuffed his blazing butt.

You're like

freakin' Rambo.

Let's boogie.

Hey, what happened?

The question is

where were you?

He was with me.

Really?

Well, here's some

intel for you, Doc.

Those fart-flaming sons of

b*tches have crossed your DMZ.

You need to evacuate

everyone, ASAP.

Thank God you're

here, Mr. Gummer.

All right, load every gun.

We're going after them.

We leave in 10. I'll

hitch the lion cage.

I don't think so, Yankee.

My cage, my hitch.

Hey, Gummy Bears,

wait up.

Don't call me that.

Wait up.

Number one, don't ever

touch me like that again.

Number two, don't ever

touch me like that again.

You copy?

Yeah, I copy.

I don't have the time

to posture for your camera!

This was a mistake,

havin' you along.

Just another pimple

on the ass of progress.

You need to chill out.

Don't tell me to chill.

You were AWOL.

Now, we've got another K.I.A. and a

full-scale A.B. incursion to deal with.

You want to make

yourself useful?

Go help with the evac.

Then, feel free to join in.

Think you can manage that?

Mr. Gummer. I think

you'll find this useful.

There is a God.

R5.

Full banana clip.

I zeroed the scope myself.

Where'd you get this?

You don't want to know.

I like your style.

A-frickin'-men.

What's a veterinarian

doing with a machine gun?

They must've flown

in north of the river.

Ass Blasters

don't fly, they glide.

They mix several volatile

gastrointestinal chemicals

that actually ignite, allowing

them to achieve blast off.

They fart to take off?

That's funny.

Shh. Listen.

You hear that?

Black-backed jackals.

Scavengers.

All right. Take it ahead and kill

the engine. We'll have a look.

You sure do come

prepared, Mr. Gummer.

Basson was killed

on that koppie,

just underneath

that cliff face.

I think we have

our Ass Blaster colony.

What about the bait?

Don't we need to make it hot

so these bastards

can see it?

For sports injuries.

Forget the meat.

We need heat.

Happiness.

Okay, unhook the cage.

Gotcha.

Is that it?

Sure as hell

ain't Mickey Mouse.

Stand behind me so he can't

read your heat signature.

Remember,

Mr. Gummer, capture, not kill.

Easy. Take your damn shot.

Say hello to my

dart, b*tch.

Don't panic.

Hold your position!

Easy.

Screw that,

I'm out of here!

No,

stay with me, stay!

That's right.

Fly right into

my crosshairs,

you fire-farting

son of a b*tch.

You can't kill me.

I'm African.

Ass-Blast flamb.

What did you do?

Why'd you kill it?

And Dreyer, too?

- Nandi, Amahle!

- Yeah?

I think you left

this in my truck.

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