I have just begun a new script about something that has always been a fascination of mine: ZOMBIES.Here's an early scene from the new script.
EXT. LONELY ROAD - MICHIGAN/INDIANA BORDER - DAWN
The sun rises, pushing through the deep gray smog.
A military-style Hummer sits parked on the gravel off of the northbound side of I-94. The freeway is silent and deserted except for a dozen or so abandoned automobile’s scattered on and around the roadway.
In the fully reclined driver’s seat of the Hummer lays a sleeping John Garrett. Thick necked and strong. 32 but looks early 40’s. Shaggy unkempt hair. He wears all black light winter military gear. Two huge silenced pistols are strapped to his thighs. A large silenced rifle with a scope lays across his lap.
Sleeping in the passenger seat are two American Bulldogs. They sleep peacefully almost on top of each other.
Slowly, the dogs eyes open. Their ears perk up. One and then the other raises their heads. They look to John.
He is already awake with the rifle pointed over their heads, eye pressed against the sight.
JOHN
Pinch, Roll. You boys keep quiet.
They do. With his left hand he finds the button and the passenger side window slowly lowers half way.
He follows the target.
John speaks to himself in a low, gravelly tone. An imitation of the voice-over from a movie preview.
JOHN (CONT'D)
John Garrett’s prowess with a rifle was made all the more impressive by the fact that he had no formal military training.
Through the scope: A few hundred yards away, his target disappears behind a small group of trees. He follows at pace to pick it up again on the other side.
JOHN (CONT'D)
It was said that Garrett’s natural ability with the iron would make Annie Oakley poop twice with jealousy.
Through the scope: The target reappears.
It’s a ZOMBIE!
A naked male that’s missing most of an arm and it’s skin is a mottled green. It stumbles along very slowly.
JOHN (CONT'D)
Oooohhh. You’re handsome.
John whistles quickly and quietly.
The zombie slowly turns, raises it’s arm and a half and moans.
John smirks and presses the trigger.
The rifle softly kicks with a metallic sounding PFFFT.
Through the scope: The zombie’s head disintegrates. It’s body falls sideways.
John sets the rifle back across his lap.
JOHN (CONT'D)
Green mist.
He returns his seat to an upright position and stretches.
He looks at the dogs.
JOHN (CONT'D)
You dick’s hungry?
They bark.
JOHN (CONT'D)
Me too.
He reaches in the back and pulls out a box of Triscuits. He puts a couple in his mouth and dumps the rest on the passenger side floor. The dogs scramble down and eat.
JOHN (CONT'D)
Ham and Eggs for the kids...
He grabs a baggie of white powder from the console.
JOHN (CONT'D)
...and a cup of coffee for the Dad.
He uses his pinkie fingernail to snort a bump into each nostril. He puts the coke back, sniffs and shakes his head.
He looks in the rearview mirror where a two zombie’s slowly approach.
Another crawls out of the brush fifty yards in front of him and starts toward the Hummer.
He lights a smoke and rubs his eyes.
JOHN (CONT'D)
Up!
The dogs pop up and jump into the backseat.
He starts the truck and rev’s the engine loudly.
He turns up the radio and slips on sunglasses.
He slams on the gas and SMASHES the crawling zombie into a thousand pieces.
As he races away, the sign above the freeway reads ‘I-94 East to DETROIT.’
BLACKOUT.
