Free THE GORGE screenplay by Scott Nicholson Page A

ledge and checks out the gorge below. The storm has passed and the river is still swollen, but the sky is tranquil and sunrise is bloody but peaceful. Below, Raintree’s corpse still dangles upside down. Dove is nowhere to be seen.
    He checks the rope that Dove had secured, then eases down it. As he passes Raintree, Raintree’s limbs begin trembling. Raintree’s face is gray, he’s in mid-change, his body trying to reanimate.

    FARRENGALLI
    Sucks to be you, Chief. Guess ProVentures will need a new spokesman now.

    Just as Farrengalli starts rappeling down, Raintree’s milky eyes snap open.

    RAINTREE
    Skeeek.

    He swings out a claw but Farrengalli is already out of reach, hurrying down the rope. Raintree tries to fly but he’s too tangled in the rope. He plays out the slack and is yanked, and he slams back against the cliff. He tries it again. Same result. He’s pissed, skeeking and hissing his undead rage.

    FARRENGALLI
    Don’t worry, you’ll still get some publicity.

    He heads down the cliff face.

    CUT TO:

    EXT. RIVERBANK. MORNING.
    Clara and Bowie are safely below the jumbled cave-in, resting, Bowie scratched and bruised, Clara looking fresh.

    CLARA
    Why didn’t they attack Ace?

    BOWIE
    I don’t know. Maybe he really was a messenger.

    CLARA
    He was crazy.

    BOWIE
    Prophets are only crazy until they’re right.

    CLARA
    Well, don’t be expecting any virgin births.

    BOWIE
    The river comes out at a lake eight miles or so down. There’s a little town there.

    CLARA
    I can’t walk that far.

    Bowie scans the sky.

    BOWIE
    Let’s go to the camp. We hid a kayak there.

    CUT TO:

    EXT. CLEARING IN WOODS. MORNING.
    Farrengalli jogs into the camp where he’d left Castle. The makeshift canopy is still in place but sagging, the campfire dead. He runs to the place where he’d propped Castle, feels around in the bushes and pulls out a backpack.
    He opens it, rummages, pulls out Dove’s camera.

    FARRENGALLI
    Yeah, baby. Ticket to the stars.

    He shoves the camera back in the backpack, then goes into the woods and emerges, dragging the inflated Muskrat.

    FARRENGALLI (CONT’D)
    Last man on the island.
    (shouts)
    Hear that, losers? It’s only fucking natural.

    He heads toward the river with the kayak.

    CUT TO:

    EXT. RIVERBANK. MORNING.
    Farrengalli is putting the kayak in the water when Bowie and Clara appear. Farrengalli is momentarily surprised, then sees the gun in Bowie’s belt.

    FARRENGALLI
    Hey, Chief. Good to see you.

    Bowie glances around the camp.

    BOWIE
    Where are the others?

    Farrengalli wipes his index finger across his throat in a cutting motion.

    FARRENGALLI
    They’re meat, man.

    BOWIE
    Dove?

    FARRENGALLI
    The crazy injun took her up the tower. I heard the screams.

    CLARA
    Have they come back yet? Dead, I mean?

    FARRENGALLI
    Vampires don’t come out in the sunlight. Didn’t you know that?

    SKEEE -explosion of motion as the Dove-goregoyle soars out of the treetops and with one extended claw rakes Farrengalli’s throat open as she swoops by. Farrengalli falls to his knees, clutching his throat, blood spurting, as Dove-goregoyle banks and swoops again.
    Bowie draws his gun as she approaches, she peels her lips back, a gray grin full of teeth and he aims. The struggle is big on his face. He can’t shoot.
    The Dove-goregoyle slams into him and knocks the gun away. For a moment they are tangled in a sick parody of intercourse, Dove going for his throat as Bowie struggles to fight her off.
    Clara picks up the revolver and fires twice, the bullets smacking into Dove’s torso. Gray fluid oozes out of the wounds.
    The third time Clara pulls a trigger there’s a cold click. As they struggle, Bowie pulls a piton from Dove’s belt and jabs it repeatedly into her stomach, her torso lurching with the plunging motion. Bowie crawls on top of her, and for just a second her eyes are no longer milky.
    Bowie pauses with the piton in a two-handed grip, staring into her eyes.

    CLARA
    She’s dead,