WITH THE SOLDIER,perched in a gnarled tree... THIRTY FEET
OFF THE GROUND. He shifts in his “nest.” Brings to bear
an M24 sniper rifle.
Meet LIEUTENANT QUINN McKENNA, 30s.
On the BACK of his hand... a faded (yet prominent)
CRESCENT SCAR. Souvenir of another fight.
SUPER: CAYO MUERTO, CUBA
WE HEAR a TALKIE SQUELCH -- then a tinny voice from
his Bluetooth headset:
HAINES’ TALKIE
VOICE (filtered)
Piggy One, copy.
(beat)
Piggy One, this is Piggy Two,
do you copy?
MCKENNA (into
headset mike) I was peeing. Do you mind..?
ANOTHER RADIO VOICE joins the conversation, filtered:
DUPREE’S TALKIE
VOICE Piggy Three. I have a
question, over.
MCKENNA
Cut the chatter.
He cracks his neck, then adjusts his scope.
DUPREE’S TALKIE VOICE
Seriously. If you’re the one
that went to market, right? That
means Haines and me, we get to
choose between the roast beef
and the staying home. Right?
MCKENNA
Dupree, I swear to God --
McKenna presses his eye to the rifle sight.
HIS POV - THROUGH HIS SCOPE
A MANSION. Neoclassical. Built in the 1850s, but painted
hot Havana aquamarine. Surrounded by high walls and
roaming SENTRIES. You guessed it: A DRUG LORD’S COMPOUND.
DUPREE’S TALKIE VOICE
I just wanna be the stay home
piggy, that’s all I’m saying.
HAINES’ TALKIE VOICE
McKenna. We got a problem.
McKenna tenses.
MCKENNA
What is it?
HAINES’ TALKIE VOICE
You can’t be the one who went
to market. You already went wee
wee wee.
McKenna shakes his head; he’s so over these assholes.
He wipes away sweat, SWIVELS the rifle, SEEING:
A SMALL CONVOY, NOW
On the DIRT ROAD leading into the compound. BLACK SUVs.
MCKENNA
(all business)
Eyes north.
HAINES’ TALKIE VOICE
I see it.
MCKENNA
Stay sharp. Ranging now.
He presses his eye to the scope, PANNING WITH:
THE SUVs
As they stop, dust rising. DRUG SOLDIERS besiege the
vehicles -- roughly PULLING OUT several HOSTAGES with
pillow cases over their heads.
A MAN in a silk shirt appears. The DRUG LORD faces the
sagging hostages,contemptuous. His men raise their weapons.
MCKENNA
(CONT’D) (into com)
Target in the reticle, no cross wind. I’m not waiting, 10-50 out.
TIGHT CLOSE-UP ON HIS THUMB
As he slowly, silently, FLICKS the safety catch. He centers
the Drug Lord’s head in thecrosshairs. Stops breathing.
All in all, a pretty crappy time for an EARTHQUAKE.
A deep bass RUMBLE, coming from... where? Above? As,
utterly without warning --
THE TOP OF THE DRUG LORD’S MANSION -- SHEARED OFF BEFORE
OUR EYES. A TSUNAMI of debris, blown loose. EXPELLED --
Whatever caused it, it’s headed right AT MCKENNA.
He DROPS the rifle; GRABS his combat knife to CUT HIMSELF
LOOSE -- TUMBLES, as the canopy of green ERUPTS--!
CUT TO BLACK.
TIME CUT: MCKENNA, ON THE GROUND
Amid sudden SILENCE. On his side now, face in the dirt...
SLANTED POV
Showing that the UFO just effectively PUNCHED A TUNNEL in
the jungle, strewn with smoking debris and pulped branches.
He blinks. No telling how long he was out. A minute? An
hour? He looks up, keys his headset:
MCKENNA (CONT’D)
Piggy Team, do you copy?
In his ear, only STATIC.
MCKENNA (CONT’D)
Goddammit, COPY!
Still: nothing butSTATIC. McKenna stumbles to his feet.
Feeling exposed. Trees, aflame. Smoke everywhere.
Exhales raggedly, all too aware he’s squarely in
THE DEBRIS FIELD
left by the spacecraft. Only now, he’s SEEING:
THE PREDATOR EJECTION POD
It lies hissing, spitting. Swamped in plant matter. He
eases to a halt. Wary. Sights through
HIS SCOPE
And we notice, first off -- the HATCH. It’s open, steam
curling from inside. He stalks forward, past the muddy,
smoking IMPACT CRATER. Looks down. Frowns:
DROPLETS OF FLUORESCENT FLUID
On the ground. Lying amidst them, something we recognize:
A Predator WRIST GAUNTLET. Discarded? Jarred loose?
Beside it, he notices something else: a tiny metal
DEVICE that resembles a trilobite. A CLOAKING BALL.
McKenna stoops -- palms the alien-looking device...
HEARS VOICES.
He DIVES behind a fallen LOG. Snaps the rifle to
his shoulder, sights downrange. 300 yards --
People are swarming out of the drug mansion. Fuck.
He nervously juggles the metal BALL.... absently depresses
a SWITCH (an electronic HUM) --
He looks left -- all clear. Glances over his shoulder.
Looks to his RIGHT -- ohmyfuckingGod.
Jumps a foot. A FUCKING PREDATOR.
Two feet away -- and it wasn’t there a SECOND AGO.
He scrambles backward, blinks:
The PREDATOR, stock still. No reaction. Simply lies
there, all eight feet of it. Its MASK askew. We realize:
He’s been there ALL ALONG. McKenna merely DE-CLOAKED him.
He holds his breath, cautious not to wake the sleeping
beast. That said, he can’t resist.
Licks his lips, reaches... cautiouslyLIFTS the dislodged
BATTLE MASK worn by the Predator. Looks down, blanching--
At the insectile craziness this thing calls a FACE.
MCKENNA (CONT’D)
Fuck me.
He dry-washes his face with his hand. Scans the alien tech
-- mask, gauntlet. Evidence. With quick, practiced moves,
STASHES them in his pack --
MCKENNA (CONT’D)
Sorry, bud. Without these, no one’s gonna believe me.
He starts to go, STOPS. Looks back, says softly:
MCKENNA (CONT’D)
Welcome to earth, brother. Just so you know..?
(lights up)
It only gets worse from here.
He turns. RUNS... As he leaves frame, CAMERA settles on
the hulking, sprawled PREDATOR --
Its EYES SNAP OPEN.