Skinwalkers (18 page)

Farnsworth’s
eyes fell upon the wooden post dangling from
the door before
the
bounty hunter. The writer
surged forward
, the severed chain at his ankle clanking,
and thrust his shoulder against the post’s hanging end. Wilson joined him and minutes later, the
doors were secured.

 
They moved away from the doors, clearing a path for the Gatling gun should its repulsing force prove necessary. When, after several minutes, no pounding sounded
from
outside, the men relaxed.

The bounty hunter turned and approached Maxine. The reverend held her in his arms as she cried. The bounty hunter nodded to Phillips and he released her. Maxine looked up, fury in her
wet
eyes. She slapped the bounty hunter and began to beat his chest with her fists.

“You let them take him, you bastard!“ she yelled. “You let them take my son! You were supposed to protect us! You were supposed to keep us safe!“ After some time, Maxine quieted and her punches stopped. She collapsed into the bounty
hunter’s
arms. He pulled her close and cradled her so she that she cried into his chest.

Each of them could hear the ancient’s mocking laughter as it echoed
with
supernatural volume in the night.

From
Skinwalkers
, a screenplay by
Bear
Hill…

ACT 6: THE CHASE

CUT TO:

EXTERIOR: CANYON IN NEW MEXICO DESERT – NIGHT LANDSCAPE ENSHROUDED BY GREEN FOG

Still shot of SWIRLING FOG. After several seconds, MOVING IN SLOW MOTION, SEVERAL FLEEING 1
^ST
NMVC SOLDIERS APPEAR out of the FOG RIDING on HORSEBACK. At last, PRIVATE SANCHEZ EMERGES from the fog.

CLOSE UP: Still in SLO-MO, Sanchez TURNS in his saddle, a terrified look on his face, and gazes back into the fog.

CAMERA POV CHANGES to that of Sanchez. SLO-MO speed continues as a few LOPING SHAPES of SKINWALKERS APPEAR within the fog. They increase in number until they are a black tide of approaching monsters.

CAMERA CHANGES POV to show Sanchez TURNING back around in his saddle and SPURRING HIS MOUNT ONWARD. CAMERA PANS OUT to REVEAL TWO RIDERS immediately FOLLOWING Sanchez. We hear the drawn out ROARS of the
skinwalkers
as several of them POUNCE as a single wave onto the riders following Sanchez, TAKING DOWN both HORSES and RIDERS.

CLOSE UP: of Sanchez.

CAMERA CHANGES to SANCHEZ’S POV. CLOSE UP. TIME suddenly CATAPULTS FORWARD as the dark shape of a HOWLING
skinwalker
LEAPS UP out of the fog at Sanchez.

CAMERA CHANGES POV, PANNING OUT to SHOW Sanchez REER his HORSE UP ON ITS HINDLEGS. The horse WHINNIES and KICKS the
skinwalker
AWAY with its FORELEGS.

Sanchez quickly STEADIES his horse and SPURS it back into a RUN. As Sanchez GALLOPS FORWARD through the RANKS OF HIS FELLOW SOLDIERS, we can now HEAR the incessant ROARS OF THE SKINWALKERS and both SEE AND HEAR FLASHES OF GUNFIRE as they ERUPT throughout the fog. The soldiers have RUN into an AMBUSH.

CLOSE UP of Sanchez. Sanchez LOOKS upward as he HEARS the ROAR of an attacking
skinwalker
.

CAMERA CHANGES TO SANCHEZ’S POV to SHOW a
skinwalker
LEAPING DOWN THROUGH the fog from the CANYON WALL to ATTACK Sanchez.

CAMERA changes POV, PANNING BACK TO SHOW the
skinwalker
TACKLING Sanchez from his horse.

They HIT the mist enshrouded GROUND, with Sanchez PINNED BENEATH the
skinwalker
. The
Skinwalker
RAISES a bloody clawed HAND and then BRINGS it SLASHING DOWNWARD TO OPEN SANCHEZ’S BELLY.

EXTREME CLOSE UP. Sanchez’s GUTS EMERGE from his belly, LOOKING LIKE A PACK OF GIANT BLOODY WORMS BURSTING FROM A ROTTED MELON.

EXTREME CLOSE UP. Sanchez SCREAMS.

CLOSE UP. The
skinwalker
THROWS BACK its HEAD and ROARS in triumph.

EXTREME CLOSE UP. The END OF A BAYONET SPRINGS OUT of the
skinwalker’s
THROAT IN A GUSH OF BLOOD, KILLING IT INSTANTLY.

CAMERA PANS BACK to REVEAL CORPORAL MARTINEZ STANDING behind the
skinwalker
he has just KILLED. He retracts his bayonet and the
skinwalker
FALLS OFF of Sanchez and OVER ONTO ITS SIDE.

Martinez TRIES TO HELP Sanchez to his feet as the Private SCREAMS AND TRIES TO HOLD IN HIS OWN GUTS.

MARTINEZ (YELLING)

Come on, Hector! Come on!

SANCHEZ (SCREAMING)

Oh God! Oh God! Oh Jesus!

Martinez SUCCEEDS in GETTING SANCHEZ TO HIS FEET AND MOUNTED ATOP his horse.

Martinez MOUNTS his horse behind Sanchez and SPURS it into a run …

THE TRANSFORMATION

“T
he boy?“ Garrett asked. “The boy’s simple. I got no use for him. No deal.“

Maxine
gently pushed Pablo aside and sashayed the two steps separating her from Garrett. She
encircled his neck with
her arms and pressed her face to his cheek so she could whisper softly into his ear. “Oh, but, Mr. Garrett. I’m well worth it.“ She reached down and rubbed his crotch as she licked his earlobe. “In fact, you could have ten little ones running around your saloon and never notice it with me there to keep you and the rest of the men in town occupied.“

Garrett’s face went lax as he stiffened in her hand. Little Joe looked over his
boss’s
shoulder and watched, his expression indifferent.

“You really that good, lady?“ Garrett asked.

Max lifted her hand and then pushed it inside the front of Garrett’s trousers. “Take me upstairs and let me show you just how good I can really be. On the house, of course. Call it a free sample.“

“Me first. Then the Indian.“

“Of course. At the same time, if you like.“
Maxine
removed her hand from Garrett’s trousers and began to lead the men inside the saloon. “Stay
here
, Pablo.“ Maxine commanded. “Behave.“

Pablo paid her no notice. He was totally consumed in counting the grains of wood lining the planks of the porch. So much so, he
failed to
notice when three large boys came to stand in front of him.

“What are you looking at?“
The
biggest of the three, obviously their leader, asked. Pablo
didn’t
answer. He stood with his head bowed, counting to himself.

The leader
jabbed
his thumb at one of the grinning boys
behind him
. “Larry here says he seen you yesterday mumbling nonsense to yourself. He thinks you’re a dunce.“

Pablo said nothing.

“Hey,“ the leader said
.
“I’m talking to you.“ He shoved Pablo’s shoulder. Without looking up, Pablo groaned in warning.

“You are a fucking dunce
.“ The
boy shoved Pablo again, this time more forcefully. Pablo made a half-animal sound in his throat as he stumbled backward. The three boys chuckled, the cold light of cruelty gleaming in their eyes.

“Have a seat, you stupid piece of shit.“ The leader slammed Pablo against the porch rail. Pablo rebounded and fell to his knees. He began to rock back and forth as the inhuman sound gained volume in his throat.

“That’s right you fucking dunce
.“ The
leader stepped in front of Pablo
.
“Bow to your fucking betters
.
Bow to
—!“

Pablo lunged forward and clamped his teeth onto the bully’s genitals.
The boy screamed, his voice the terrified, high-pitched shriek of a girl.

“Get him off me
!
Get him off me!“

The two
lackeys
stood frozen in shock.

The leader
shoved
at Pablo’s head, but he refused to loosen his
jaws
. “Ah, Jesus! He’s killing me! Get him off!“ The
lackeys
finally snapped out of their bewilderment and rushed forward. They took hold of Pablo’s arms and pulled, trying to wrench him off their friend. The leader’s yells grew louder, his already unbearable pain tripling with their attempts to free him.

“No!“ the boy screamed. Not
—!“
Unable to cope with his anguish, the boy’s body was trying to shut down. He’d gone white and his eyeballs were threatening to roll back in his head.

The
lackeys
stopped pulling and began to beat
at
Pablo’s head. Pablo seemed oblivious to their onslaught. His teeth remained a vice on the boy’s testicles.
A blow found Pablo’s
temple
and black
roses bloomed before
his
field of vision. His mouth fell
open
and he slumped to the ground.

The leader
dropped onto
the porch beside him, still screaming as he cupped his balls in his hands.

The lackeys looked at each other.
“Let’s get the hell out of here!“ They took their leader’s arms and began dragging him away.

Pablo began to rock where he
lay
on the floor, moaning until the wood grains caught his eye once again. As he began to methodically count them, his world steadied and his encounter with the boys began to fade from his mind.

P
ablo awoke as if from a trance to stare at the furry arm of the
skinwalker
carrying him through the dense fog. He didn’t realize what was happening. One minute he’d been inside counting the
nailheads
in the church floorboards and now he was outside in the cold and dark. He did not like the cold or the dark. What he liked even less was someone other than his mother touching him. And this stinking, hairy thing had
Pablo’s
entire body
cradled against
its side.

Pablo growled and sank his teeth into the
skinwalker’s
arm. The creature jerked to a halt and howled in pain. It slung Pablo away, tossing him through the fog.

Pablo smacked the earth and rolled. He scrambled to his feet and
ran
. He heard the
skinwalker
howl
,
and he quickened his pace.
Without warning
, Pablo smacked into something hard and solid in the fog. Pablo looked up and made out the shapes of the rails comprising Doc Howard’s outdoor pig pen. He slid in between them and ran for the Doc’s slaughterhouse.

Pablo heard the
skinwalker’s
barking grow louder as it closed in. Then the beast yelped in pain as it banged against what Pablo knew was the pig pen’s rails. Pablo ran for the chute leading inside the slaughterhouse. At the last moment, he dropped onto his belly and edged his way into the crawl space beneath the building. He heard the
skinwalker
roar as it crashed through the chute doors into the slaughterhouse above.

Pablo curled into a fetal ball.
The
skinwalker’s
heavy tread on the slaughterhouse floorboards sent dust cascading down over his body. Pablo heard the monster topple over several tables, scattering knives and other tools as it sniffed for him. He caught a glimpse of its snarling face as it crossed over the floor drain.

At last, he heard the beast lope across the
slaughterhouse
floor and exit through the chute. Pablo feared the
skinwalker
would shove its muzzle into the
crawlspace
in search of him. He wanted to moan but a voice deep inside his head, that of his
mother
, told him not to, so he obeyed.

The
skinwalker
howled. Its call was answered by several more far off in the distance. Pablo heard the monster beat a retreat, and then all fell silent. So Pablo lay there in the dark, cold and alone, with the smell of death all around him.

F
arnsworth stood in an upscale restaurant full of chandeliers and ornate crown moldings. He was dressed in a three-piece suit. A gold watch dangled from a gilded chain attached to his vest. “And then,“ J.T. said, “I watched as the savage cavorted in a vulgar manner about the fire pit, half naked and mesmerized by whatever dark gods he called master.“