Quick flashes from the pilot: Troy, Amanda, River, in the
diner. The punch... then, Amanda hits Troy with the gun.
FADE IN:
EXT. DINER - NIGHT
Walkers emerge slowly from darkness. Dozens of them.
Wheezing, heavy moans. Growls swell.
The exterior light of the diner illuminates just enough to
put anyone on edge. The real terror lies beyond the nights
embrace, as...
... contours build, become more definite.
INT. DINER - NIGHT
Troy starts to move, slowly. Painfully. He picks himself up,
hand rubs the back of his head, as he moves to the entrance.
Looks out the window to see --
WALKERS,
dozens, converging on the small diner. A Sea of Dead.
He looks for a way out. All directions, there's no way out.
Nothing.
PEW! That lazer sound again. He digs into his pocket, fishing
his phone out. Scrolls through his texts.
READS: What's your location? Made it to the safe house yet?
His fingers dance -- no, have to handle something.
RESPONSE READS: Trouble?
His fingers dance -- no more than usual.
RESPONSE READS: Things are getting bad around here. Hope for
a cure though. We're close. I meet with the Chief of Staff
tomorrow.
Fingers dance -- I gotta go.
He buries the phone in his pocket. Ponders, then... walks to
the kitchen.
After a beat, he emerges with a large chef knife. Moves to
the door, composes himself.
EXT. DINER - NIGHT
He exits with the knife at the ready.
A psychotic gleam in his eye. A calmness befalls him.
Their hobbled shamble is easy for Troy to maneuver through --
slicing necks, shoulders -- anything he can -- as he pushes
past.
They're slow but many. He cuts through -- a bloody trail. But
for everyone he takes down, Five More take it's place.
THWACK -- SMACK -- PSST -- no matter how many converge, he
seems to cut them down -- one after another -- with a
butcher's intent, then...
... it becomes too much. He's swarmed, overwhelmed by the
rabid MASS of DEAD. He's knocked to the ground, but still
fights: stabbing -- slicing -- cutting. Anything he can.
He uses the dead ones to shield his body.
Hands try to penetrate the fleshy barricade. He stabs
relentlessly to keep them at bay.
PULL BACK
to reveal dozens of walkers converging from everywhere. The
small pile is the focal point.
More and more converge. Hungry. Snarling.
The rabid horde elicits a horrifying sound, carries like a
leaf in the wind.
PULL TIGHT
on the flesh. Thick, grotesque. And a protective shield.
Troy uses this precious time to gather himself. Sounds are
muffled under the weight which...
... becomes overwhelming -- what started off as a survival
strategy is taking a horrendous turn.
He's getting squashed, the air being forced out of him. Life
itself, is getting pushed out... until --
-- POP! POP! POP! Gunshots, muffled under the weight. More
POPS! Continuous... then --
-- relief. His chest expands. And a healthy intake of air.
He tries to get the bodies off him but he can't. Tries to see
what's going on, but all he sees is blood, guts, nothing
else, then --
-- something moves above. Hurried.
Troy closes his eyes for a beat, then... opens them:
accepting, but determined - he's not going quietly.
It's close, he can feel it. A few more bodies... then it's
showtime!
Almost there, until...
... the last body gets thrown off and a hand reaches down...
MALE VOICE (O.S.)
(muffled)
You alive? Hey asshole...
Then a face of the future: mechanical, long narrow eyes
protruding. But it's just night vision wear.
Troy's tired eyes...
FADE TO BLACK.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT
A nineties model jeep. But looks brand new off the lot:
pristine interior, glistening dash and controls, spotless
windows. Very well maintained.
GRIFFIN JONES, sits behind the wheel, navigating through
town. He's a well oiled specimen, clean shaven. But with a
crazed look in his eye, manufactured by war. Or something
equally horrendous.
Troy is passed out in the front seat.
They drive up on a Rite Aid. It's quiet. Too quiet. Griffin
reaches past Troy, opening the glove compartment. Takes out a
gun.
He looks at Troy. Studies him. Then, gets out of the car.
INT. RITE AID - NIGHT
Quiet. Empty. In Fact, the only sound is when the doors slide
open. Griffin notices, becomes unsettled. Takes out his gun,
then, moves cautiously around the store. Grabs a item basket.
AN AISLE
Griffin swipes several soap and shampoo products into his
basket. Moves on.
ANOTHER AISLE
The liquor aisle. He throws in some whiskey, vodka, rum and
tequila. It's getting full.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT
Troy stirs about, unsettled. Clearly, something is wrong. A
moaning whine, then --
-- he abruptly awakes. Confused.
He doesn't recognize the car. The area: where is he?
TROY
Amanda?
INT. RITE AID - NIGHT
Griffin now holds two baskets. Both pretty filled. He starts
for the back, toward the pharmacy. Nobody is back there.
He moves around when --
-- something catches his attention. An excitement permeates.
He stops, listens. He's not alone in the store. Something
else moves, clumsily. Loudly.
He looks to his right, then... to his left. Repeats the
pattern quicker the second time around.
Anticipates something...
GRIFFIN
Come out now, I won't shoot you.
Much...
He chuckles to himself, but no other laughter. Or noise for
that matter. Then --
-- something catches his attention, turns him around. It's
nothing. He settles right before --
-- TWO WALKERS spring forth from an aisle, causing him to
drop both baskets.
He smacks one back with his gun. The other, he kicks into a
shelf full of chips. Shoots that walker in the head.
Now the other walker. Shoots it.
Settles for a beat. Then --
-- a commotion behind him, turns him around. Without
thinking, he pulls the trigger.
He's horrified to realize that it was the pharmacist,
emerging from a hiding spot.
GRIFFIN
Shit.
He moves to the pharmacy, hops over the counter. Grabs a bag,
starts to fill it.
He grabs antibiotics, cold remedies, fever pills, some first
aid equipment.
As he plunders, he notices the pharmacist. He can't face it.
Looks away.
LATER
He finishes up with the pharmacy. Jumps over the counter and
moves toward the entrance, where he's met by --
-- Troy. Griffin is caught off guard, shoots Troy in the
chest. Troy takes it like a man, not leaving his feet.
Troy kneels down. Struggles.
Griffin mouths "shit".
Griffin does well to juggle everything. He re-works some
grips, helping get Troy off the ground. Troy wants no part of
it.
EXT. RITE AID - NIGHT
Griffin drags Troy out of the store toward the front of the
jeep.
He opens the door, puts him in. Then, he moves to the
driver's side.
And when he opens it... sirens sound. He scrambles, just as --
-- a cop car appears, blocks the jeeps exit.
INT. POLICE CRUISER - NIGHT
The DRIVER has Sergeant stripes on his uniform. His partners
hand is already on the scanner. They've been partners for a
long time. They know the routine.
OFFICER BELKIN
Dispatch. This is Belkin. We got a
situation. We may need back-up.
A storm of static.
SGT. HEILCREST
Trudy... hell'a time for break.
The officers share a look
INT. GRIFFIN'S JEEP - NIGHT
He's determined. Knows what he needs to do. He glances at
Troy, who's bleeds badly.
Griffin stomps down on the gas pedal, engine ROARS, wheels
skid.
They are off, quickly. Steers around the stationary cop car,
squeals down the road.
EXT. PARKING LOT - NIGHT
Cop car scrambles, backing up quickly. Bowls through trash
cans, then... regroups. Speeds after the jeep.
ANOTHER STREET - NIGHT
The cop car has caught up. Surprising. But true.
The intercom --
OFFICER BELKIN (V.O.)
(filtered)
Pull over now! Pull over!
Jeep doesn't. Continues to rip through the streets. It's
getting dangerous. Overwhelming.
Both vehicles jockey for position: the jeep, to get away; the
cop car, to get a good angle and ram the jeep.
INT. COP CAR - NIGHT
Angry. Annoyed.
Sgt. Heilcrest cranks the wheel toward the jeep. A crash,
both cars spin. But the cop car flips. Horrific.
Loose items bounce, ping-pong around. The Sgt's head smacks
the side window, bad. Blood sprays.
Officer Belkin accordions forward. Face smashes against the
dashboard.
Car continues to flip.
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
The jeep's dented but stops spinning. No movement. Then...
... the door forced open. Griffin slinks out, hand rubbing
his neck. Rotating.
He looks at the other car. Approaches slowly, cautious. He
stops. Tilts his head to listen. Something's wrong.
Growling! Snarling! A struggle. Then --
-- gnawing and biting. Sounds of skin being ripped apart. He
sees something that we can't.
Griffin backs up, slowly at first, then turns, a quick trot.
Gets in the car and speeds off.
Screams are loud. Prominent. Then, they get muffled out by
the snarls, ferocious chewing.
The car moves back and forth, violently.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT
We only get quick glimpses, no chance to get any feel for
where we are.
The jeep approaches... a small cabin: enough for a room, if
that. The jeep creeps up and parks.
Griffin exits. But we stay with Troy: dazed, like he is.
Can't make it out, but it looks like Griffin holds something
large. He goes into the cabin.
After a beat, Griffin comes back. He grabs Troy, heads for
the cabin.
SOMEWHERE UNKNOWN
Troy's POV: The ground opening up, something emerges. Then --
-- denscension. Slowly. Confined. Then --
-- lights. A long corridor. Then --
-- stairs. Cold metal, solid. Then --
FADE TO BLACK.
FADE IN:
INT. LARGE ROOM - UNKNOWN
... as Troy wakes up. His eyes flicker, try to adjust. The
light is harsh, then... settles.
PULL BACK
just enough to see Troy. He moves his head, slightly. Scans
his surroundings: some basic home appliances from the
nineties, canned food, generators, string lights, a plethora
of water.
Troy emerges from cover slightly, sits up, reveals he's
shirtless. His bullet wound is bandaged. He winces, but keeps
the bulk of his pain internalized. He's a machine.
His face is strained.
GRIFFIN (O.S.)
Good, glad to see I didn't kill
you.
Troy turns, tracks the voice to Griffin. Sizes him up.
Griffin notices, smirks.
GRIFFIN (CONT'D)
I also saved you so I'd wipe that
look off your face. There's some
crazy shit happening out there.
Troy sits straight. Rubs his shoulder. Griffin continues --
GRIFFIN (CONT'D)
Knew it would be bad but, damn...
people eating each other. Didn't
expect cops or stores, doesn't
really make sense.
Troy noticing --
TROY
You're a survivalist?
GRIFFIN
I am. Doesn't seem stupid now, does
it?
Griffin's agitated. Troy notices.
TROY
You got facilities in here?
Griffin nods. Points to the end of the room. Troy rises,
painfully. Lumbers past.
Griffin sits down, a calm psychosis lingers.
INT. BATHROOM - UNKNOWN
Small, crammed. Everything's on top of itself, like a plane's
bathroom. Just enough to do some business.
Troy looks into the mirror as he washes his hands. His eyes:
scanning, measuring, assimilating. He's cooking something up.
MAIN ROOM - KITCHEN
Griffin plays around with various ingredients; a mash up. He
throws in some re-fried beans, some sun dried tomatoes. It
looks inedible: like a "your brains on drugs" commercial.
Troy exits the bathroom, eyes ping-pong around, noticing.
Covertly.
He peers over Griffin's shoulders at the mash-up, sneers.
Griffin catches it.
GRIFFIN
Can tell you never been in a fox
hole for a week.
TROY
Interesting.
GRIFFIN
It's survival now. You don't get to
pick and choose, this shit ain't
burger king. I suggest you sack up
and fuel up.
Troy smirks. Processes the exchange. Then, scans the rest of
the bunker. Griffin notices.
GRIFFIN (CONT'D)
Impressive huh?
TROY
(pandering)
Yea, amazing.
GRIFFIN
You bet it is. People laughed when
I started to make this little gem.
TROY
That was...
GRIFFIN
Early ninety-eight.
Troy tries to remember. It comes to him --
TROY
Y2K...?
GRIFFIN
Just got done with a stint in South
America. Heavy bush, ya know?
(Troy nods)
Humpin' the jungle with my K-Bar,
on several high profile cartel
snatch and grabs.
Troy understands the jargon, tenses up. Griffin notices.
GRIFFIN (CONT'D)
You 'right?
TROY
Fine.
GRIFFIN
Anyway... heard an intelligence
report on the glitch in computers
and self washed out. Spent the next
several months building this.
TROY
So you been in here for almost
eleven years?
That number shocks Griffin. A silence, then... he continues
to cook.
INT. DINNING AREA - UNKNOWN
Small table. Mixed with kitchen and living area. Griffin and
Troy finish up the meal. Troy's sluggish, but aware.
It's quiet. Tense. All we hear is: just Griffin's boarish
chewing. And the buzz of the overhead string lights.
Troy uses the time to study, observe.
GRIFFIN
(finishing chewing)
How'd you survive the shit?
(looks him over)
You look like scrap and bones.
Troy smiles.
GRIFFIN (CONT'D)
Shit, am I missing a joke?
Something funny?
TROY
No, not funny. Just wondering how
you survived the shit?
Griffin stops chewing, puts down the spoon.
TROY (CONT'D)
(calm, meticulous)
Oh, I'm sorry, did I offend?
(before Griffin can
respond)
For a frogman, you seem unaware of
your surroundings. Time. How long
you've been here.
Griffin looks surprised.
TROY (CONT'D)
Yea, I know what you are.
Griffin is irked.
TROY (CONT'D)
I see you have some skill,
surviving for so long. Creating
this place. Impressive.
GRIFFIN
Yea, who are you?
Troy ponders. Takes a beat, then --
TROY
I am nobody. I don't exist.
Griffin gets uncomfortable.
TROY (CONT'D)
However. I do know you.
GRIFFIN
Have we met friend?
TROY
Of sorts.
Griffin conjures a poker face. Continues to eat. While
chewing, he notices Troy has barely touched his food.
GRIFFIN
Not hungry?
TROY
I've had awful food before. And
keep in mind I've been to
England...
(that gets a chuckle out
of Griffin)
... but this has gotta be the worst
thing I've ever tasted.
The smile disappears.
He gets up and peers down at Troy. Snatches Troy's plate,
along with his own, brings both to his makeshift sink.
He rinses the plates off.
Griffin looks to his left, where a gun rack sits. Holds his
gaze for a beat, then... moves back to the table. Sits.
GRIFFIN
I do have to admit, you handled
yourself real good with those
things out there. Real good with
that knife.
Troy stays silent. Observes.
Griffin produces a knife, stabs it aggressively into the
table. Makes it stick.
GRIFFIN (CONT'D)
You know what this is?
Troy looks at it. Studies it. Then --
TROY
It's not your k-bar. More like a
hunting knife.
Griffin does well not to show that he's rattled.
GRIFFIN
Hunt many things with my k-bar,
many things. Snake eaters,
contractors, the cartel. Heads of
state...
(Troy smiles)
... interesting though,. never had
the pleasure to take down a spook.
They stare daggers into each other. Then, Griffin stands,
unsticks the knife.
GRIFFIN
Just foolin'. I need'a piss.
He walks toward the bathroom, slowly.
Troy scans the area, noticing: the gun rack, kitchen knives,
a lone gun on dresser, the size of the room; dimensions.
INT. BATHROOM - UNKNOWN
Griffin stares into the mirror, stoic. Then, he bends down
and opens a cupboard. Reaches in, grabs a small gun.
DINNING AREA
Troy waits patiently. No urgency. Pure indifference. Then...
Griffin exits with the gun trained at Troy.
GRIFFIN
Don't move. Put one between your
eyes.
Troy looks down at his chest, amusingly.
TROY
Seems you already did that.
GRIFFIN
But I need answers first.
Troy indicates for Griffin to take a seat. Griffin's
cautious, but reluctantly does.
TROY
Shoot.
(off Griffin's facetious
grin)
I mean, go ahead.
Griffin rests his hand on the table, gun trained on Troy.
GRIFFIN
This isn't by accident. Who are
you?
TROY
Really? I walked into a pile of
dead... just so I could get close
to you? You've been here too long.
Ate that shit.
GRIFFIN
Yea, something you did.
(off Troy's silence)
How many countries went dark?
(beat)
Yea, that's right. That's why
there's still infrastructure here.
It was a virus, against the Chinese
huh... then what, things went bad
didn't they. Without the world's
economy, people are starving, even
here. That's why they're... eating--
He can't finish the sentence.
TROY
You're delusional.
Griffin cocks the gun.
TROY (CONT'D)
Think. How do you want the next few
seconds to go? Just lemme go.
GRIFFIN
There's no going anywhere.
Systems sealed. If it unlocks
before the timer goes off, the
integrity will fail.
TROY
Don't do this. On a delusion... Y2K
didn't happen. Everything was fine.
GRIFFIN
I'm not blind. I saw what's out
there. Those things. No... I'm
sorry, I know you're doing your
job... but. I'm sorry. I just
wanted to be left alone.
TROY
What's happening now. That's
recent. Come with me, I--
GRIFFIN
No. I'll stay here.
(raises gun)
You will die.
With impossible speed, Troy deflects the gun away --
wrenching Griffin's wrist -- but Griffin counters and points
it back.
Troy falls under the table -- kicking Griffin's chair out
from under him. He spills back -- releasing the gun to the
floor behind him.
A scramble ensues: Troy lunges for it -- getting there first.
But before he can roll over and take aim -- Griffin's on top
of him.
Griffin strikes several times -- but Troy blocks them -- uses
his hip to throw him off. They both get to their feet fast.
Troy's wound bleeds through his bandaging. He favors it.
Both men look to the ground where the gun is. Then, Griffin
noticing: the gun on the dresser is closer.
A scramble for it. Just before Griffin can grab it, Troy
grabs hold of him and spins him around.
They both get in fighting stances. A stare down, then... it's
on. Both throw disciplined, clinical strikes -- exchanging
blow for blow, not giving an inch. Strikes -- counter-strikes
-- the whole arsenal.
Griffin distracts Troy -- sucker punches him in the nose --
goes for the gun.
Troy recovers just as Griffin reaches for the gun -- turns --
just as Troy, with his quickness -- dislodges the barrel from
the rest of the gun, then --
-- in one quick, fluid motion -- spins away from an attack -
the stabs the barrel into Griffin's neck.
They both fall to the ground: Troy exhausted, while Griffin
bleeds out!
INT. BUNKER - LATER
Troy is bloodied, bruised. His wound has opened up, flooding
his bandaging.
Heavy breathing. Overwhelming. Then...
... he starts to catch his breath. He regains his composure.
He takes in controlled, steadied breaths.
He picks himself off the floor, moves slowly through the
bunker.
BACK OF BUNKER
He comes to a slit in the wall, running from the floor to
ceiling. It's off putting. Draws Troy's focus.
He starts to reach for it. But, he's wobbly, losing balance.
His eyes flutter. Leg buckles.
The wall acts as a brace, as he bumps into it. He looks down
at his --
BANDAGING,
as it's soaked. A mixture of coagulated brown, and fresh red.
A sloppy mess.
PULL BACK
to see Troy figure out it's a door. Opens it, revealing...
medical supplies.
He grabs a bunch of items, carries them over to the dining
table.
He spreads everything out: gauze, needle, thread, rubbing
alcohol, hydroperoxide, etc...
BUNKER - LATER
The bleeding's stopped. A needle and thread is being used to
sew up the wound. The stitches are tight, compact. He's
obviously done this before. Feels natural.
BUNKER - LATER
Between the two men, the floor's bathed in blood. Extra
towels and gauze, soaked, laying on the table.
Troy's still unstable, wobbles. He makes his way to the cot,
stumbles, bangs his head on the metal frame. He's out!
BUNKER - LATER
He starts to wake. Groggy. He sits up, head droops a bit
trying to scan the room. He doesn't have his strength yet.
But, he'll be damned if that will stop him, so he...
... starts to rise. Reaches out for anything to help him
along his way.
BATHROOM DOOR
Troy comes up on the bathroom. Noticing: the dimensions are
off, space is hiding in tricky architecture. An illusion.
Troy's impressed, studies it for a beat.
He slowly reaches out, opens it. It's a small supply closet.
He closes the door. Looks discouraged. Continues on to the
kitchen area. Opens the small fridge, gets some eggs out.
Milk, then some cheese... a little orange juice.
KITCHEN - LATER
Troy fries up some eggs, sausage, and cheese. A glass half
filled with orange juice sits to the side. He takes nips off
it every once in awhile.
DINNING AREA - LATER
Bloody gauze still atop the table. Troy doesn't mind as he
eats his meal. Focused. Determined. He knows his mission,
what he has to do.
In the middle of enjoying his juice, something stirs. He's
focused, strains to listen. Nothing... then --
-- Griffin's body convulses. He starts to growl, wheeze.
Troy makes a move toward the gun rack but gets tripped up by
Griffin -- his eyes bloodshot, have jaundice clusters.
Griffin claws, scratches at Troy, who evades. Squirms about.
He boots Griffin in the face, scratching some skin off.
It hangs, grotesquely. Drips, chunks of red.
Undeterred by the harsh face lift, it lumbers on, focused.
Hungry. Determined.
It manages to get on top of Troy, growling, drooling.
Salivates. Troy holds his ground... until his arms wobble,
shake... then he notices it: the gun.
He lets the walker attack, brushes him to the side, locking
him up with one hand, reaching for the gun with the other.
It's just out of reach...
... trying so hard. Almost there... it's getting tough
holding down this ravaging beast. Something has to give, and
most likely, it's going to be Troy... then --
-- he lets go of the walker, gets a little extra reach. He
gets the gun and fires a round into it's skull, just as it's
about to chomp down on his shoulder.
The deafening PING of the shot disorients him. His eyes
widen, face cringes.
He lies under the weight of the walker. Exhausted. A hearty
intake of breath, before he... passes out.
INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT
Barely larger than the bed itself, enclosed by cracked stone
walls. Passionate moans, giggles permeate the air.
OFF TO THE SIDE
two silhouetted bodies roll around, entangled in the sheets.
Moist skin slapping against each other. Boisterous moans.
LATER
Post Coital as the two lay snuggled, satisfied.
PULL TIGHT
on their faces, elated. It's Troy with ADENA, a beautiful
Middle Eastern woman.
Troy is content, almost subdued by his love for this woman:
the intensity we've come to recognize in Troy, seems to be
gone; or at least dormant. Then --
diner. The punch... then, Amanda hits Troy with the gun.
FADE IN:
EXT. DINER - NIGHT
Walkers emerge slowly from darkness. Dozens of them.
Wheezing, heavy moans. Growls swell.
The exterior light of the diner illuminates just enough to
put anyone on edge. The real terror lies beyond the nights
embrace, as...
... contours build, become more definite.
INT. DINER - NIGHT
Troy starts to move, slowly. Painfully. He picks himself up,
hand rubs the back of his head, as he moves to the entrance.
Looks out the window to see --
WALKERS,
dozens, converging on the small diner. A Sea of Dead.
He looks for a way out. All directions, there's no way out.
Nothing.
PEW! That lazer sound again. He digs into his pocket, fishing
his phone out. Scrolls through his texts.
READS: What's your location? Made it to the safe house yet?
His fingers dance -- no, have to handle something.
RESPONSE READS: Trouble?
His fingers dance -- no more than usual.
RESPONSE READS: Things are getting bad around here. Hope for
a cure though. We're close. I meet with the Chief of Staff
tomorrow.
Fingers dance -- I gotta go.
He buries the phone in his pocket. Ponders, then... walks to
the kitchen.
After a beat, he emerges with a large chef knife. Moves to
the door, composes himself.
EXT. DINER - NIGHT
He exits with the knife at the ready.
A psychotic gleam in his eye. A calmness befalls him.
Their hobbled shamble is easy for Troy to maneuver through --
slicing necks, shoulders -- anything he can -- as he pushes
past.
They're slow but many. He cuts through -- a bloody trail. But
for everyone he takes down, Five More take it's place.
THWACK -- SMACK -- PSST -- no matter how many converge, he
seems to cut them down -- one after another -- with a
butcher's intent, then...
... it becomes too much. He's swarmed, overwhelmed by the
rabid MASS of DEAD. He's knocked to the ground, but still
fights: stabbing -- slicing -- cutting. Anything he can.
He uses the dead ones to shield his body.
Hands try to penetrate the fleshy barricade. He stabs
relentlessly to keep them at bay.
PULL BACK
to reveal dozens of walkers converging from everywhere. The
small pile is the focal point.
More and more converge. Hungry. Snarling.
The rabid horde elicits a horrifying sound, carries like a
leaf in the wind.
PULL TIGHT
on the flesh. Thick, grotesque. And a protective shield.
Troy uses this precious time to gather himself. Sounds are
muffled under the weight which...
... becomes overwhelming -- what started off as a survival
strategy is taking a horrendous turn.
He's getting squashed, the air being forced out of him. Life
itself, is getting pushed out... until --
-- POP! POP! POP! Gunshots, muffled under the weight. More
POPS! Continuous... then --
-- relief. His chest expands. And a healthy intake of air.
He tries to get the bodies off him but he can't. Tries to see
what's going on, but all he sees is blood, guts, nothing
else, then --
-- something moves above. Hurried.
Troy closes his eyes for a beat, then... opens them:
accepting, but determined - he's not going quietly.
It's close, he can feel it. A few more bodies... then it's
showtime!
Almost there, until...
... the last body gets thrown off and a hand reaches down...
MALE VOICE (O.S.)
(muffled)
You alive? Hey asshole...
Then a face of the future: mechanical, long narrow eyes
protruding. But it's just night vision wear.
Troy's tired eyes...
FADE TO BLACK.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT
A nineties model jeep. But looks brand new off the lot:
pristine interior, glistening dash and controls, spotless
windows. Very well maintained.
GRIFFIN JONES, sits behind the wheel, navigating through
town. He's a well oiled specimen, clean shaven. But with a
crazed look in his eye, manufactured by war. Or something
equally horrendous.
Troy is passed out in the front seat.
They drive up on a Rite Aid. It's quiet. Too quiet. Griffin
reaches past Troy, opening the glove compartment. Takes out a
gun.
He looks at Troy. Studies him. Then, gets out of the car.
INT. RITE AID - NIGHT
Quiet. Empty. In Fact, the only sound is when the doors slide
open. Griffin notices, becomes unsettled. Takes out his gun,
then, moves cautiously around the store. Grabs a item basket.
AN AISLE
Griffin swipes several soap and shampoo products into his
basket. Moves on.
ANOTHER AISLE
The liquor aisle. He throws in some whiskey, vodka, rum and
tequila. It's getting full.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT
Troy stirs about, unsettled. Clearly, something is wrong. A
moaning whine, then --
-- he abruptly awakes. Confused.
He doesn't recognize the car. The area: where is he?
TROY
Amanda?
INT. RITE AID - NIGHT
Griffin now holds two baskets. Both pretty filled. He starts
for the back, toward the pharmacy. Nobody is back there.
He moves around when --
-- something catches his attention. An excitement permeates.
He stops, listens. He's not alone in the store. Something
else moves, clumsily. Loudly.
He looks to his right, then... to his left. Repeats the
pattern quicker the second time around.
Anticipates something...
GRIFFIN
Come out now, I won't shoot you.
Much...
He chuckles to himself, but no other laughter. Or noise for
that matter. Then --
-- something catches his attention, turns him around. It's
nothing. He settles right before --
-- TWO WALKERS spring forth from an aisle, causing him to
drop both baskets.
He smacks one back with his gun. The other, he kicks into a
shelf full of chips. Shoots that walker in the head.
Now the other walker. Shoots it.
Settles for a beat. Then --
-- a commotion behind him, turns him around. Without
thinking, he pulls the trigger.
He's horrified to realize that it was the pharmacist,
emerging from a hiding spot.
GRIFFIN
Shit.
He moves to the pharmacy, hops over the counter. Grabs a bag,
starts to fill it.
He grabs antibiotics, cold remedies, fever pills, some first
aid equipment.
As he plunders, he notices the pharmacist. He can't face it.
Looks away.
LATER
He finishes up with the pharmacy. Jumps over the counter and
moves toward the entrance, where he's met by --
-- Troy. Griffin is caught off guard, shoots Troy in the
chest. Troy takes it like a man, not leaving his feet.
Troy kneels down. Struggles.
Griffin mouths "shit".
Griffin does well to juggle everything. He re-works some
grips, helping get Troy off the ground. Troy wants no part of
it.
EXT. RITE AID - NIGHT
Griffin drags Troy out of the store toward the front of the
jeep.
He opens the door, puts him in. Then, he moves to the
driver's side.
And when he opens it... sirens sound. He scrambles, just as --
-- a cop car appears, blocks the jeeps exit.
INT. POLICE CRUISER - NIGHT
The DRIVER has Sergeant stripes on his uniform. His partners
hand is already on the scanner. They've been partners for a
long time. They know the routine.
OFFICER BELKIN
Dispatch. This is Belkin. We got a
situation. We may need back-up.
A storm of static.
SGT. HEILCREST
Trudy... hell'a time for break.
The officers share a look
INT. GRIFFIN'S JEEP - NIGHT
He's determined. Knows what he needs to do. He glances at
Troy, who's bleeds badly.
Griffin stomps down on the gas pedal, engine ROARS, wheels
skid.
They are off, quickly. Steers around the stationary cop car,
squeals down the road.
EXT. PARKING LOT - NIGHT
Cop car scrambles, backing up quickly. Bowls through trash
cans, then... regroups. Speeds after the jeep.
ANOTHER STREET - NIGHT
The cop car has caught up. Surprising. But true.
The intercom --
OFFICER BELKIN (V.O.)
(filtered)
Pull over now! Pull over!
Jeep doesn't. Continues to rip through the streets. It's
getting dangerous. Overwhelming.
Both vehicles jockey for position: the jeep, to get away; the
cop car, to get a good angle and ram the jeep.
INT. COP CAR - NIGHT
Angry. Annoyed.
Sgt. Heilcrest cranks the wheel toward the jeep. A crash,
both cars spin. But the cop car flips. Horrific.
Loose items bounce, ping-pong around. The Sgt's head smacks
the side window, bad. Blood sprays.
Officer Belkin accordions forward. Face smashes against the
dashboard.
Car continues to flip.
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
The jeep's dented but stops spinning. No movement. Then...
... the door forced open. Griffin slinks out, hand rubbing
his neck. Rotating.
He looks at the other car. Approaches slowly, cautious. He
stops. Tilts his head to listen. Something's wrong.
Growling! Snarling! A struggle. Then --
-- gnawing and biting. Sounds of skin being ripped apart. He
sees something that we can't.
Griffin backs up, slowly at first, then turns, a quick trot.
Gets in the car and speeds off.
Screams are loud. Prominent. Then, they get muffled out by
the snarls, ferocious chewing.
The car moves back and forth, violently.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT
We only get quick glimpses, no chance to get any feel for
where we are.
The jeep approaches... a small cabin: enough for a room, if
that. The jeep creeps up and parks.
Griffin exits. But we stay with Troy: dazed, like he is.
Can't make it out, but it looks like Griffin holds something
large. He goes into the cabin.
After a beat, Griffin comes back. He grabs Troy, heads for
the cabin.
SOMEWHERE UNKNOWN
Troy's POV: The ground opening up, something emerges. Then --
-- denscension. Slowly. Confined. Then --
-- lights. A long corridor. Then --
-- stairs. Cold metal, solid. Then --
FADE TO BLACK.
FADE IN:
INT. LARGE ROOM - UNKNOWN
... as Troy wakes up. His eyes flicker, try to adjust. The
light is harsh, then... settles.
PULL BACK
just enough to see Troy. He moves his head, slightly. Scans
his surroundings: some basic home appliances from the
nineties, canned food, generators, string lights, a plethora
of water.
Troy emerges from cover slightly, sits up, reveals he's
shirtless. His bullet wound is bandaged. He winces, but keeps
the bulk of his pain internalized. He's a machine.
His face is strained.
GRIFFIN (O.S.)
Good, glad to see I didn't kill
you.
Troy turns, tracks the voice to Griffin. Sizes him up.
Griffin notices, smirks.
GRIFFIN (CONT'D)
I also saved you so I'd wipe that
look off your face. There's some
crazy shit happening out there.
Troy sits straight. Rubs his shoulder. Griffin continues --
GRIFFIN (CONT'D)
Knew it would be bad but, damn...
people eating each other. Didn't
expect cops or stores, doesn't
really make sense.
Troy noticing --
TROY
You're a survivalist?
GRIFFIN
I am. Doesn't seem stupid now, does
it?
Griffin's agitated. Troy notices.
TROY
You got facilities in here?
Griffin nods. Points to the end of the room. Troy rises,
painfully. Lumbers past.
Griffin sits down, a calm psychosis lingers.
INT. BATHROOM - UNKNOWN
Small, crammed. Everything's on top of itself, like a plane's
bathroom. Just enough to do some business.
Troy looks into the mirror as he washes his hands. His eyes:
scanning, measuring, assimilating. He's cooking something up.
MAIN ROOM - KITCHEN
Griffin plays around with various ingredients; a mash up. He
throws in some re-fried beans, some sun dried tomatoes. It
looks inedible: like a "your brains on drugs" commercial.
Troy exits the bathroom, eyes ping-pong around, noticing.
Covertly.
He peers over Griffin's shoulders at the mash-up, sneers.
Griffin catches it.
GRIFFIN
Can tell you never been in a fox
hole for a week.
TROY
Interesting.
GRIFFIN
It's survival now. You don't get to
pick and choose, this shit ain't
burger king. I suggest you sack up
and fuel up.
Troy smirks. Processes the exchange. Then, scans the rest of
the bunker. Griffin notices.
GRIFFIN (CONT'D)
Impressive huh?
TROY
(pandering)
Yea, amazing.
GRIFFIN
You bet it is. People laughed when
I started to make this little gem.
TROY
That was...
GRIFFIN
Early ninety-eight.
Troy tries to remember. It comes to him --
TROY
Y2K...?
GRIFFIN
Just got done with a stint in South
America. Heavy bush, ya know?
(Troy nods)
Humpin' the jungle with my K-Bar,
on several high profile cartel
snatch and grabs.
Troy understands the jargon, tenses up. Griffin notices.
GRIFFIN (CONT'D)
You 'right?
TROY
Fine.
GRIFFIN
Anyway... heard an intelligence
report on the glitch in computers
and self washed out. Spent the next
several months building this.
TROY
So you been in here for almost
eleven years?
That number shocks Griffin. A silence, then... he continues
to cook.
INT. DINNING AREA - UNKNOWN
Small table. Mixed with kitchen and living area. Griffin and
Troy finish up the meal. Troy's sluggish, but aware.
It's quiet. Tense. All we hear is: just Griffin's boarish
chewing. And the buzz of the overhead string lights.
Troy uses the time to study, observe.
GRIFFIN
(finishing chewing)
How'd you survive the shit?
(looks him over)
You look like scrap and bones.
Troy smiles.
GRIFFIN (CONT'D)
Shit, am I missing a joke?
Something funny?
TROY
No, not funny. Just wondering how
you survived the shit?
Griffin stops chewing, puts down the spoon.
TROY (CONT'D)
(calm, meticulous)
Oh, I'm sorry, did I offend?
(before Griffin can
respond)
For a frogman, you seem unaware of
your surroundings. Time. How long
you've been here.
Griffin looks surprised.
TROY (CONT'D)
Yea, I know what you are.
Griffin is irked.
TROY (CONT'D)
I see you have some skill,
surviving for so long. Creating
this place. Impressive.
GRIFFIN
Yea, who are you?
Troy ponders. Takes a beat, then --
TROY
I am nobody. I don't exist.
Griffin gets uncomfortable.
TROY (CONT'D)
However. I do know you.
GRIFFIN
Have we met friend?
TROY
Of sorts.
Griffin conjures a poker face. Continues to eat. While
chewing, he notices Troy has barely touched his food.
GRIFFIN
Not hungry?
TROY
I've had awful food before. And
keep in mind I've been to
England...
(that gets a chuckle out
of Griffin)
... but this has gotta be the worst
thing I've ever tasted.
The smile disappears.
He gets up and peers down at Troy. Snatches Troy's plate,
along with his own, brings both to his makeshift sink.
He rinses the plates off.
Griffin looks to his left, where a gun rack sits. Holds his
gaze for a beat, then... moves back to the table. Sits.
GRIFFIN
I do have to admit, you handled
yourself real good with those
things out there. Real good with
that knife.
Troy stays silent. Observes.
Griffin produces a knife, stabs it aggressively into the
table. Makes it stick.
GRIFFIN (CONT'D)
You know what this is?
Troy looks at it. Studies it. Then --
TROY
It's not your k-bar. More like a
hunting knife.
Griffin does well not to show that he's rattled.
GRIFFIN
Hunt many things with my k-bar,
many things. Snake eaters,
contractors, the cartel. Heads of
state...
(Troy smiles)
... interesting though,. never had
the pleasure to take down a spook.
They stare daggers into each other. Then, Griffin stands,
unsticks the knife.
GRIFFIN
Just foolin'. I need'a piss.
He walks toward the bathroom, slowly.
Troy scans the area, noticing: the gun rack, kitchen knives,
a lone gun on dresser, the size of the room; dimensions.
INT. BATHROOM - UNKNOWN
Griffin stares into the mirror, stoic. Then, he bends down
and opens a cupboard. Reaches in, grabs a small gun.
DINNING AREA
Troy waits patiently. No urgency. Pure indifference. Then...
Griffin exits with the gun trained at Troy.
GRIFFIN
Don't move. Put one between your
eyes.
Troy looks down at his chest, amusingly.
TROY
Seems you already did that.
GRIFFIN
But I need answers first.
Troy indicates for Griffin to take a seat. Griffin's
cautious, but reluctantly does.
TROY
Shoot.
(off Griffin's facetious
grin)
I mean, go ahead.
Griffin rests his hand on the table, gun trained on Troy.
GRIFFIN
This isn't by accident. Who are
you?
TROY
Really? I walked into a pile of
dead... just so I could get close
to you? You've been here too long.
Ate that shit.
GRIFFIN
Yea, something you did.
(off Troy's silence)
How many countries went dark?
(beat)
Yea, that's right. That's why
there's still infrastructure here.
It was a virus, against the Chinese
huh... then what, things went bad
didn't they. Without the world's
economy, people are starving, even
here. That's why they're... eating--
He can't finish the sentence.
TROY
You're delusional.
Griffin cocks the gun.
TROY (CONT'D)
Think. How do you want the next few
seconds to go? Just lemme go.
GRIFFIN
There's no going anywhere.
Systems sealed. If it unlocks
before the timer goes off, the
integrity will fail.
TROY
Don't do this. On a delusion... Y2K
didn't happen. Everything was fine.
GRIFFIN
I'm not blind. I saw what's out
there. Those things. No... I'm
sorry, I know you're doing your
job... but. I'm sorry. I just
wanted to be left alone.
TROY
What's happening now. That's
recent. Come with me, I--
GRIFFIN
No. I'll stay here.
(raises gun)
You will die.
With impossible speed, Troy deflects the gun away --
wrenching Griffin's wrist -- but Griffin counters and points
it back.
Troy falls under the table -- kicking Griffin's chair out
from under him. He spills back -- releasing the gun to the
floor behind him.
A scramble ensues: Troy lunges for it -- getting there first.
But before he can roll over and take aim -- Griffin's on top
of him.
Griffin strikes several times -- but Troy blocks them -- uses
his hip to throw him off. They both get to their feet fast.
Troy's wound bleeds through his bandaging. He favors it.
Both men look to the ground where the gun is. Then, Griffin
noticing: the gun on the dresser is closer.
A scramble for it. Just before Griffin can grab it, Troy
grabs hold of him and spins him around.
They both get in fighting stances. A stare down, then... it's
on. Both throw disciplined, clinical strikes -- exchanging
blow for blow, not giving an inch. Strikes -- counter-strikes
-- the whole arsenal.
Griffin distracts Troy -- sucker punches him in the nose --
goes for the gun.
Troy recovers just as Griffin reaches for the gun -- turns --
just as Troy, with his quickness -- dislodges the barrel from
the rest of the gun, then --
-- in one quick, fluid motion -- spins away from an attack -
the stabs the barrel into Griffin's neck.
They both fall to the ground: Troy exhausted, while Griffin
bleeds out!
INT. BUNKER - LATER
Troy is bloodied, bruised. His wound has opened up, flooding
his bandaging.
Heavy breathing. Overwhelming. Then...
... he starts to catch his breath. He regains his composure.
He takes in controlled, steadied breaths.
He picks himself off the floor, moves slowly through the
bunker.
BACK OF BUNKER
He comes to a slit in the wall, running from the floor to
ceiling. It's off putting. Draws Troy's focus.
He starts to reach for it. But, he's wobbly, losing balance.
His eyes flutter. Leg buckles.
The wall acts as a brace, as he bumps into it. He looks down
at his --
BANDAGING,
as it's soaked. A mixture of coagulated brown, and fresh red.
A sloppy mess.
PULL BACK
to see Troy figure out it's a door. Opens it, revealing...
medical supplies.
He grabs a bunch of items, carries them over to the dining
table.
He spreads everything out: gauze, needle, thread, rubbing
alcohol, hydroperoxide, etc...
BUNKER - LATER
The bleeding's stopped. A needle and thread is being used to
sew up the wound. The stitches are tight, compact. He's
obviously done this before. Feels natural.
BUNKER - LATER
Between the two men, the floor's bathed in blood. Extra
towels and gauze, soaked, laying on the table.
Troy's still unstable, wobbles. He makes his way to the cot,
stumbles, bangs his head on the metal frame. He's out!
BUNKER - LATER
He starts to wake. Groggy. He sits up, head droops a bit
trying to scan the room. He doesn't have his strength yet.
But, he'll be damned if that will stop him, so he...
... starts to rise. Reaches out for anything to help him
along his way.
BATHROOM DOOR
Troy comes up on the bathroom. Noticing: the dimensions are
off, space is hiding in tricky architecture. An illusion.
Troy's impressed, studies it for a beat.
He slowly reaches out, opens it. It's a small supply closet.
He closes the door. Looks discouraged. Continues on to the
kitchen area. Opens the small fridge, gets some eggs out.
Milk, then some cheese... a little orange juice.
KITCHEN - LATER
Troy fries up some eggs, sausage, and cheese. A glass half
filled with orange juice sits to the side. He takes nips off
it every once in awhile.
DINNING AREA - LATER
Bloody gauze still atop the table. Troy doesn't mind as he
eats his meal. Focused. Determined. He knows his mission,
what he has to do.
In the middle of enjoying his juice, something stirs. He's
focused, strains to listen. Nothing... then --
-- Griffin's body convulses. He starts to growl, wheeze.
Troy makes a move toward the gun rack but gets tripped up by
Griffin -- his eyes bloodshot, have jaundice clusters.
Griffin claws, scratches at Troy, who evades. Squirms about.
He boots Griffin in the face, scratching some skin off.
It hangs, grotesquely. Drips, chunks of red.
Undeterred by the harsh face lift, it lumbers on, focused.
Hungry. Determined.
It manages to get on top of Troy, growling, drooling.
Salivates. Troy holds his ground... until his arms wobble,
shake... then he notices it: the gun.
He lets the walker attack, brushes him to the side, locking
him up with one hand, reaching for the gun with the other.
It's just out of reach...
... trying so hard. Almost there... it's getting tough
holding down this ravaging beast. Something has to give, and
most likely, it's going to be Troy... then --
-- he lets go of the walker, gets a little extra reach. He
gets the gun and fires a round into it's skull, just as it's
about to chomp down on his shoulder.
The deafening PING of the shot disorients him. His eyes
widen, face cringes.
He lies under the weight of the walker. Exhausted. A hearty
intake of breath, before he... passes out.
INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT
Barely larger than the bed itself, enclosed by cracked stone
walls. Passionate moans, giggles permeate the air.
OFF TO THE SIDE
two silhouetted bodies roll around, entangled in the sheets.
Moist skin slapping against each other. Boisterous moans.
LATER
Post Coital as the two lay snuggled, satisfied.
PULL TIGHT
on their faces, elated. It's Troy with ADENA, a beautiful
Middle Eastern woman.
Troy is content, almost subdued by his love for this woman:
the intensity we've come to recognize in Troy, seems to be
gone; or at least dormant. Then --