Friday Fiction: Pulling Through

If you haven’t read James Wesley, Rawles’ novel Patriots, you really should. It’s more of an extended treatise than a novel, though, with lengthy discourses on various equipment, techniques, and ideas for securing you and yours post-SHTF.

However, I actually think his screenplay is, from a storytellng perspective, a better treatment of the same themes. It’s shorter, too. The novel bogs down a lot; the screenplay just rocks.

Enjoy.

Pulling Through
by
James Wesley, Rawles
(Revision: May, 2007)
Based on the novel
Patriots: Surviving the Coming Collapse
by
James Wesley, Rawles
Published by XLibris Publishing
(ISBN 1-4257-3407-3)
© 2007, All Rights Reserved
Registered, WGAw: # 714352

C/o P.O. Box 303
Moyie Springs, Idaho 83845
phone # upon request (via e-mail)
e-mail: [email protected]
TITLE SEQUENCE BEGINS WITH A BLACK SCREEN
VOICE-OVER BY G. GORDON LIDDY (OR ALEX JONES, OR A SIMILAR
TALK RADIO HOST) — CONTINUES THROUGH ENTIRE TITLES SEQUENCE)
SFX: Sound of radio tuning from station to station. The
tuning stops when we hear a talk radio monologue, beginning
in mid-sentence:
“…debt has been piling up at the rate of $6 billion a day.
That equates to $10,000 per second. If you include long term
unfunded obligations such as entitlements, bonds, and
military pensions the debt is $19 trillion dollars. The
Federal government is borrowing 164% of revenue for the year.
Note: After The first twenty seconds of voice over, FADE IN
visually (see page 3), while the voice-over continues:
Behind Washington’s smoke and mirrors game, the real deficit
is growing. Government spending at all levels is 45% of the
G-D-P.

We all remember when the chairman of the Bank of Japan talked
about diversifying out of dollars. Then, more recently, the
chairman of the German Central Bank made some “off the
record” comments to a reporter from The Economist magazine.
Within hours, his words flashed around the world via the
Internet: “A full scale default on U.S. Treasuries appears
imminent.” He had spoken the dreaded “D” word. His choice of
the word imminent in conjunction with the word default caused
the value of the dollar to plummet versus the Euro the next
day. T-bill sales crashed simultaneously.
Starting with the Japanese, foreign central banks and
international monetary authorities began to dump their $789
billion in US Treasuries. None of them wanted the now risky
T-Bills or bonds. Within days, long-term Treasury paper was
selling at 20 cents on the dollar.

Foreign investors began liquidating their US paper assets-
stocks, bonds, T-bills–virtually anything denominated in US
dollars. After some half-hearted attempts at propping up the
dollar, most of the Euro nations and Japan announced that
they would no longer employ the dollar as a reserve currency.

The real panic, however, began with the stock market crash.
The 18 year bull stock market had turned bearish when the
Internet bubble burst in 2000, but this secondary crash was
the big one. For the first time in decades, the stock market
was driven by fear. The bear started gradually with lots of
rallies that kept investors from giving up hope. Then last
month, the bottom dropped out. Because of circuit breaker
regulations on program trading it took nineteen days for the
Dow to drop another 6,550 points. Nobody could believe it.
Finally, the government suspended all trading. There was
almost no one buying any of the issues that came up for sale.

Late in the second week of the stock market collapse, the
domestic runs on US banks began, and suddenly the banks
needed lots of money. The Fed’s $1 sheet presses were quickly
switched to print $100 bills. With the printing presses
running day and night turning out fiat currency,
hyperinflation was inevitable. In just two months, inflation
jumped from 16 percent to an incredible 2100 percent. Since
then, the value of the dollar has been pegged hourly, and of
course is the main topic of conversation.
People are rushing to put their money into cars, furniture,
appliances, tools, guns, rare coins–anything tangible. This
has superheated the economy–just like in Germany’s Weimar
Republic in the 1920s. More and more paper is chasing less
and less product.

This is it, America. I’ve been telling you for years this was
coming, and now we have it. Its the end of the world as we
know it.”
(Edit monologue for length, as needed, to match the length of
the titles sequence.)

EXT. DAY – AERIAL – DOWNTOWN OAKLAND CALIFORNIA – SEPTEMBER

As the opening monologue continues, we FADE IN. From a
helicopter, we see smoke from fires in widely scattered
locations in an urban area. We hear the sound of countless
sirens and lots of gunfire. We see looters running in and out
of stores. Shopkeepers are firing at looters. Cops are
arresting looters, but it is obvious that they are fighting a
losing battle. There are not enough police to quell the
growing unrest.

The aerial track continues and focuses on a 15-story office
building. Then we see just one window on one of the middle
stories.

MATCH CUT TO:

INT. DAY – A DOWNTOWN OFFICE BUILDING, CALIFORNIA – SEPTEMBER

Sitting at his desk bathed in light from the window is ROLAND
KELLERING. Roland is a heavyset accountant.

Casting note: This role should be cast with someone more
slender and muscular. His weight will first be shown
prosthetically, and then gradually reduced in later scenes.
(See notes in subsequent scenes.)

Roland is frantically typing away, filling in fields on a
spreadsheet. A CO-WORKER in the next cubicle is far more
overweight and nerdy-looking than Roland.

ROLAND
This is nuts. How can we do estimative
cost-basis accounting when the inflation
rate ratchets up every hour?

CO-WORKER
I dunno, Roland. This is bizarre, as in
Twilight Zone-type bizarre.

A louder than usual bang rises above the “usual” gunfire and
siren noises outside. In reaction, both accountants swivel
their chairs toward the window.

ROLAND
Whoa! That sounded close!

CO-WORKER
So are you going to bug out to that
“hidey-hole in Idey-ho of yours?

ROLAND
Yep, A-S-A-P.

CO-WORKER
Any need for an extra pair of hands
there?

ROLAND
Sorry, but they don’t need another
accountant. Maybe a car mechanic. Or
perhaps if you were prior service Army,
like me…

CO-WORKER
If things get any worse I’ll prolly head
up to my uncle’s place near Lake Tahoe.

ROLAND
I wouldn’t recommend going to a resort
area. Those places will get over-run. And
there’s no agriculture so…

He is interrupted when his phone rings. Roland snatches it up
anxiously. We hear only his side of the conversation.

ROLAND (cont’d)
Hello Jen, how are you?
(pause while he listens)
Yeah, things are getting worse. I
should’ve beaten feet up there sooner,
but I promised to help my parents finish
packing up tomorrow. My mom is glued to
that house. Unless I physically load them
–and my mom’s Hummel collection–into
the RV, they’ll never get on the road to
my uncle’s place. Its just the way they
are.
(pause while he listens)
I’m meeting Jack Moody in ’bout an hour.
I’ll coordinate with him.

The co-worker edges in closer, trying to listen-in.

ROLAND (cont’d)
Jack and Tim Wong should arrive up at the
ranch sometime late tomorrow. They’re
planning to drive straight through. And,
God willing, I’ll be there the day after.
(pause while he listens)
I know, Jen. I will.
(pause while he listens)
I promise you, I’ll make it there, no
matter what its takes!
(pause while he listens)
I love you too Jennifer, with all my
heart. Goodbye.

Roland hangs up, and sighs. He stands and tightens his
necktie.

ROLAND (cont’d)
(to his co-worker)
I’m going to see the boss and request an
unpaid leave of absence. Wish me luck.

CO-WORKER
I do not envy you, Roland.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. DAY – A DOWNTOWN OFFICE BUILDING – SEPTEMBER

We see that Roland has removed his necktie and loosened his
collar. He is cleaning out his desk. He tucks several items
into his briefcase including two MRE ration packets and a
kydex-sheathed black teflon-coated T.H. Rinaldi Enigma
fighting knife.

CO-WORKER
Well, you know how it is with him: “100%
commitment and team-players-only need
apply.”
(beat)
What a crappy time to get fired.

With a key from his key ring, Roland unlocks a credenza and
pulls out a heavy rectangular guitar case with a Fender
maker’s logo.

CO-WORKER (cont’d)
I didn’t know you kept an instrument
here! What do you play, bass?

ROLAND
Bass staccato.

DISSOLVE TO:

STUNT / EXT. DAY – AN URBAN CALIFORNIA STREET IN A SHOPPING
DISTRICT – SEPTEMBER /STUNT

Roland is driving his restored flat brown-painted 1968 Ford
Bronco with an Idaho vanity plate that reads “XM177E2”. It
has an unusually large rack sheathed in expanded-metal on the
tailgate.

He is driving to meet his long-time friend, Jack Moody. The
littered streets look more like Afghanistan than California.

A pair of police squad cars with lights and sirens on flash
by in the opposite direction. Roland sees a long line of
patrons waiting to get into a bank.

ROLAND
(to himself)
And what will your maximum $200
withdrawal buy you these days? A coupla
cans of beans?

Roland pushes down the accelerator, lets up, and shifts with
practiced precision into third gear. He has a determined look
on his face. Suddenly, looters surge out into the street. He
swerves to avoid them.

ROLAND (cont’d)
Whoa!

More looters, closer now. Roland brakes sharply. A looter
drops a television right in front of the Bronco, and the TV’s
picture tube implodes with a bang. Roland brakes to a full
halt, and then pre-selects first gear, as is his habit.
Looters surge toward the Bronco. One runs up and gets in
Roland’s face.

LOOTER
Hey man, whatcha got in there?

Roland pulls his Colt Gold Cup .45 from under his thigh and
levels it at the man.

ROLAND
There’s this, but I’ve got to give you
the magazine contents first!

The looter back-peddles, showing his palms.

LOOTER
Hey, don’t come off on me, man!

The looter turn and runs. The other looters get the idea and
do likewise. Roland tucks the .45 back under his thigh and
lets out the clutch and picks his way through the crowd,
gathering speed.

ROLAND
(to himself)
Definitely time to get out of Dodge!

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. DAY – IN FRONT OF A PUBLIC STORAGE SPACE – HAYWARD, CA
SEPTEMBER

JACK MOODY, Roland’s college roommate from a few years before
is waiting with his flat forest green Ford four-wheel-drive
pickup with California vanity plates that reads EAT LEAD.
There is a box trailer hitched behind. Jack has already
pulled the tarp on the trailer forward and flipped down the
tailgate/ramp. Jack glances down at his big Rolex wristwatch.

JACK
I knew you’d make it! And right on time.
You are so punctual you make me want me
wanna puke. Any trouble getting here?

Roland shuts off the Bronco’s engine and then tosses Jack a
brass padlock key.

ROLAND
I had to do a little social work, but
they bluffed easily enough.
(beat)
I’ll pull security while you load, Jack.

Jack catches the key and deftly opens the padlock and rolls
up the door to the storage space. A row of gas cans stacked
two-high lines one entire side wall. Jack immediately starts
sorting them by their tags. He grabs one can in each hand and
starts loading them into the trailer.

JACK
Sounds like a plan. The Wong-man should
be here in less’n an hour. Then I can
pull security while he loads.
(beat)
The Fire Marshall would have a heart
attack if he saw this! So what’s the
status on this gas?

Jack continues to load gas cans two at a time while Roland
stands at the door of his Bronco, scanning the area. We see
that the latches on the guitar case have been flipped open,
but the case remains closed.

Meanwhile, at a storage unit at the far end of the row, a
black family is frantically loading some of their possessions
into an RV camper van.

ROLAND
It was rotated-in, last February, winter
formulated so it stores better. And we
added gas stabilizer, as usual. It should
burn fine.

JACK
Ten of these cans are tagged for you,
right?

Roland nods.

JACK (cont’d)
You know, it’d be safer if all three of
us convoyed up together…

Jack switches to loading green-painted ammo cans. There are a
lot of them. They are obviously full and heavy.

ROLAND
Yeah, I know, but I promised to help get
my parents on the road to Arizona. Don’t
worry. I’ll be up in Idaho just a day
after you ‘n Tim. If for some reason I
get delayed, promise me you’ll look after
Jennifer, okay?

JACK
Sure thing. I can see why you got
engaged, Roland. That ranch is a killer
set up! Gravity fed spring water, wood
cook stove, big barn, garden, hay
field…

ROLAND
Oh no, you’ve got me wrong! It was love
at first sight. I would have fallen in
love with Jennifer even if she lived on
Manhattan Island.

Jack switches to loading brown cardboard cases of MRE
rations. There is a small mountain of them.

CUT TO:

INT/EXT. DAY – JENNIFER HANSEN’S RANCH, NEAR BOVILL, IDAHO –
DAY.

JENNIFER HANSEN, a pretty young woman, wears what at first
glance looks like typical western ranch wear: blue jeans and
oilskin jacket. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail. But
she is not wearing cowboy boots. Instead, she has well-worn
combat boots.

An olive drab military pistol belt can be seen in the gap in
the front of her unzipped jacket. A bulge beneath her
jackets reveals a Colt M1911 .45 automatic pistol in an O.D.
Bianchi UM-84 hip holster, with quad magazine pouches. Just
looking at her, its obvious that she really knows how to use
a gun.

Jennifer is carrying a pair of stamped envelopes.

JENNIFER
Come on Molly! Time to get the mail!

Her dog Molly, a Black and Tan hound, runs up joyfully, and
then pads alongside her, silently.

Jennifer passes through a beefy-looking gate that looks
custom made. She reaches the mailbox. It has large sun-faded
stickers that spell out “HANSEN”, and below that, smaller
ones that spell out “RT 1 BOX 308”. Jennifer opens the
mailbox, inserts the envelopes and closes the lid. She flips
up the red metal flag.

The finality of the situation hits Jennifer hard. There are
tears welling up in her eyes. Jennifer and Molly walk back up
the hill,

JENNIFER (cont’d)
I wonder how much longer the mailman will
be coming.
(beat)
Hurry up ‘n get here, Roland! Please!

They walk though the gate in a high chain link fence that
surrounds the ranch house. Jennifer latches the gate. Molly
is left outside the house, as is their routine.

Jennifer closes and locks the door, hangs up her coat, and
then takes off her pistol belt and hangs it on a peg above
her scoped Colt CAR-15 carbine and her woodland camouflage
airbrush-painted .308 Scout bolt action carbine.

The guns are stored in a 18-gun capacity “Ready Rack” in the
hallway. (The rack is only partly full.)
Prop note: To get a rough idea of what her scout carbine
looks like, see:
http://www.impactguns.com/store/product659.html

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. NIGHT ­ THE HANSEN RANCH HOUSE ­ FRONT HALL

Jennifer is sipping a cup of tea, looking nervous. Molly
barks repeatedly. We hear gravel crunching as a pickup truck
is heard approaching. It stops and the engine is turned off.
Molly continues to bark.

Jennifer is looking even more nervous. She heads to the ready
rack.

There is a series of knocks from the knocker on the front
door. Jennifer approaches the door with her CAR-15 tucked
into her shoulder, held at “low ready”, stock extended. She
stands to one side of the hallway to avoid being directly in
front of the door.

JENNIFER
Who’s there?

AARON
(o.s.)
It’s me, Aaron. All’s well.

JENNIFER
Plate!

AARON
(o.s.)
Plate o-Shrimp!

She looks through the door’s fish-eye peephole to visually
confirm what she’s heard. Jennifer steps forward and unlocks
the door. The door opens to reveal the bright glare of MOTION
SENSOR SECURITY LIGHTS on the porch. Her cousin AARON CECIL
steps in, carrying a Springfield Armory M1A semi-auto rifle.
The door is promptly closed and locked behind him.

Aaron wears thick glasses. He is Jewish, in his 20s, a
bachelor. He is a shy, soft-spoken, bookish, an electrical
engineer.

He wears RealTree BDUs and a full set of LC-2 load carrying
“web gear”. The harness has been painted with large blotches
of brown paint to make it blend with his BDUs. The harness is
complete with magazine pouches, a canteen and pouch, a
holstered Colt Commander .45 ACP PISTOL, compass pouch, first
aid pouch, and a green Glock sheath knife.

JENNIFER
Cousin Aaron! It is sooooo good to see
you!

They hug each other.

AARON
Has anybody else arrived?

JENNIFER
Nope, you’re the first. Tim and Jack are
already on their way up. God willing,
Roland is heading up tomorrow. Did you
bring your trailer?

AARON
Yeah, its crammed full, and so’s the
pickup. Even so, I had to leave a lot
behind as charity for my neighbors. I
should’ve pre-positioned more of my food
and gear here at the retreat.

They place their long guns in the Ready Rack in the hallway.
Aaron hangs up his web gear on one of the long row of pegs on
the wall above the rack.

JENNIFER
Any trouble on the way up from Boise?

They enter the kitchen, and sit down at the table to talk.
Jennifer prepares Aaron a cup of tea,

AARON
A gas station charged me a hundred and
fifty bucks a gallon for gas. That was
trippy.

Aaron looks anxiously at Jennifer.

AARON (cont’d)
So whadaya hear from Terry and Teesha?

JENNIFER
Teesha sent me an e-mail. She said that
they should be here late tomorrow
afternoon.
(beat)
Well, lets get your gear unloaded!
Hopefully in a couple of hours we can get
some sleep.

They step outside.

AARON
Boy, it sure is quiet here.

CUT TO:

STUNT / EXT. ­ NIGHT ­ DOWNTOWN NEW YORK IN POWER BLACKOUT /
STUNT

SUPER: New York City

We see a woman’s face. She is screaming. The woman turns and
runs away, frantically. Sirens wail.

Looters smash their way into a row of downtown stores, using
cars to pull off or push in stores’ retractable security cage
doors. Bursts of gunfire are heard in the distance.

Meanwhile, across the street, a fire burns out of control.

CUT TO:

STUNT / EXT. ­ NIGHT ­ DOWNTOWN SEATTLE / STUNT

SUPER: Seattle

Shouting. Police and fire engine sirens. Numerous gunshots
are heard close-by.

A furniture store is on fire. Several fire trucks are there
with lights flashing, but no hoses are directed at the
flames. The firemen take cover to avoid sporadic gunfire
from looters.

CG Visual Effect: Tracer bullets streak through the night
sky.

FIREMAN #1
(To another fireman, also
taking cover from the
shooting.)
They ain’t payin’ us enough for this!

FIREMAN #2
With the in-flation, they should be
paying us about a thousann bucks an hour.

SFX+CG: A bullet ricochets under the truck, directly between
them. It cuts an angry gouge in the asphalt. They both hear
the impact and see the gouge. They gasp and look at each
other, wide-eyed. They step up onto the pumper’s running
board for additional cover.

FIREMAN #1
Yeah, maybe if they paid us in twenty
dollar gold pieces!
(beat)
Maybe.

CUT TO:

EXT. ­ NIGHT ­ WEST LOS ANGELES IN POWER BLACKOUT

SUPER: Los Angeles

Sirens wail. The crackle of gunfire is almost constant.

From an aerial view, we see that a flood of refugees from
L.A. clogs the highways.

As cars run out of gas, they transform the highways into grid
locked parking lots.

CUT TO:

STUNT / EXT. ­ NIGHT ­ SOUTH OAKLAND RIOTS / STUNT

SUPER: Oakland

A squad car with two Oakland police officers is ambushed with
a massive volley of gunfire from gang members with bolt
action rifles and pump action shotguns. The police don’t even
have the chance to get out of the car before they are shot
dead.

CUT TO:

EXT. ­ NIGHT ­ DOWNTOWN OAKLAND RIOTS

AERIAL SFX/CG: Fires burn out of control throughout the
downtown area.

CUT TO:

STUNT / EXT. ­ NIGHT ­ DOWNTOWN OAKLAND RIOTS / STUNT

At street level, we see a retail business district. Fires on
both sides of the street. Looters run through the street
carrying stolen merchandise. Some are laughing. The crackle
of heavy gunfire is heard in the distance.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. /A.M. – JENNIFER HANSEN’S RANCH, – MORNING

Jennifer looks exasperated after trying to make a phone call.
She hears a series of tones and a recording: “All circuits
are busy now. Please hang up and try again…” She punches
the “Talk” button twice, and then the re-dial button. She
gets the same recording. She tries yet again. This time there
isn’t even a dial a tone–just a humming noise. She hangs up
and she looks like she is about to cry.

CUT TO:

STUNT EXT./ DAY – JUST NORTH OF WEED CALIFORNIA – ON HIGHWAY
97 ­ MORNING ­ STUNT

JACK MOODY and TIM WONG continue their drive toward Idaho.
We see them take the Highway 97 turnoff from Interstate 5. As
the pass through Weed, they see that all of the gas stations
have signs spray-painted on 4 x 8-foot plywood panels that
read “NO GAS”. The stations are guarded by men with rifles.

The highway is now deserted. Jack is now in the lead.

As Jack rounds a sharp bend, he sees a truck blocking one
lane of the road, and a pickup parked alongside it, blocking
the other lane. Jack slows down. The truck is loaded with
railroad ties. Realization flashes across his face: This
could be a road block! By the time he figures this out, his
Bronco is within 50 yards of the obstruction.

Jack has no time to call Tim on the CB to warn him. And with
trailers on behind their pickups, they cannot easily turn
around.

Jack hits the gas and swerves around onto the shoulder, and
narrowly misses one of the trucks. Two men dive out of the
way. Tim follows Jack’s lead, also accelerating.

As they skirt around the pile, two men armed with traditional
long-barreled pump action bird hunting shotguns stand up
behind the truck on the right hand side. Tim and Jack
instinctively duck down and keep going.

Four blasts come at Tim Wong’s pickup. The first takes out
the windshield The second hits the passenger-side window. The
third and fourth shots pepper the camper shell–the pellets
shatter the back window.

Just down the road, Tim often checks his rear view mirrors,
to be sure that the ambushers aren’t following.

He radios Tim on his CB:

TIM
(into handset)
Oh maaan! A little pucker-factor there!

JACK
(into handset)
Are you intact, Wong-man?

TIM
(into handset)
Yeah, I’m okay. But there’s glass
everywhere.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT./EXT.- JUST NORTH OF WEED CALIFORNIA – ON HIGHWAY 97­
MORNING

Ten minutes and ten miles and farther down the road, Jack
again radios to Tim.

JACK
(into handset)
This is a good spot, Tim.

Jack and Tim pull off on a wide shoulder along a straight
stretch that affords good visibility in both directions.
There is no traffic.

Jack pulls security, cradling his M1A rifle, while Tim
assesses the damage.

The windshield is shattered. He can hardly see through it.
The passenger-side window has disintegrated into chunks.

STUNT EXT./DAY – EASTERN WASHINGTON / STUNT

They kick out the windshield, and sweep the broken glass off
of the bench seat.

TIM
We’ve still got 600 miles to go. I’m
gonna frickin’ freeze to death.

In quick cuts:

A.) Tim pulls gear out of the back of his Toyota until he
finds a box marked “Cold Weather Gear.” In this sequence, we
see that one of the things that Tim has packed in his truck
is an oxy-acetylene torch outfit.

B.) He bundles up in field pants with cold weather liners, an
olive drab Wooly Pully sweater, a brown goose down vest, and
his RealTree field jacket. He also puts on army black leather
D-3A gloves with liners and his Navy wool watch cap.

C.) He re-packs the boxes and they resume their drive west.

CUT TO:

EXT. DAY – IN FRONT OF A NICE SUBURBAN HOUSE – FREMONT, CA
SEPTEMBER

Roland, ROLAND’S FATHER, and ROLAND’s MOTHER are all carrying
out boxes from the parents’ house. Occasionally we catch
glimpses of his pistol in a shoulder holster under Roland’s
jacket.

They load the boxes into an older-model Winnebago motor home.
Roland’s mother carries her mewing Siamese cat out to the RV,
in a plastic cat carrier. There are several guns seen inside
the RV including an M1A1 Carbine with a folding stock and an
M1 Garand.

There are 10 six gallon red plastic Rubbermaid gas cans, and
three olive drab-painted 5 gallon steel jerry cans that look
just like the ones on the back of Roland’s Bronco.

ROLAND
You sure you’ll have enough gas?

ROLAND’S FATHER
With the extra gas that you gave us, I
calculated we’ll have about 6 gallons
left when we get there.

ROLAND
Are you sure you couldn’t use one more
jerry can?

ROLAND’S FATHER
No, you’ve already given us all you can
spare. Your mother-n-I’ll be fine.

ROLAND
Promise me that you don’t stop for
anything. If anyone tries to flag you
down, just don’t stop.

ROLAND’S FATHER
You don’t have to tell me that! I’ll
treat it like I was on Route 1 over in
the ‘Nam.
(beat)
Now you get going, and take good care of
that little fiance of yours. She sounds
like she has a good head on her
shoulders.

ROLAND’S MOTHER
And take good care of yourself, too. May
God grant you travel mercies. I love you,
son.

ROLAND
I love you too, mom. And you, dad. God
bless you.

They embrace. Roland’s mother starts to cry.

As Roland walks to the door of his Bronco, we see that the
spare tire has been moved to the roof rack.
We also sew that there are now six olive drab painted cans of
gasoline in the custom rack on the tailgate.

CUT TO:

EXT. DAY – ON HIGHWAY 5 – NORTHERN CALIFORNIA – SEPTEMBER

Roland is driving north in his Bronco, looking determined.

The road is crowded with heavy traffic. Many cars are
obviously heavily laden. Some are towing trailers–camping
trailers, box trailers, U-Haul trailers. One older-model
sedan has a 55 gallon drum sticking half out of its trunk.

DISSOLVE TO:

FLASHBACK ­ EXT. – A.M. ­ HANSEN RANCH ­ TWO YEARS EARLIER –
SUMMER

Roland drives through the open gate of the Hansen ranch. His
Bronco (with California plates in this scene) does not yet
have the modified roof rack or tailgate rack. Roland looks
like he weighs even more than in later scenes. There is a
Century 21 real estate sign by the gate.

Roland wheels to a stop in front of the house, and hops out,
holding an MLS real estate book.

Set note: There is not yet a chain link fence around the
house.

He walks up to the porch and knocks on the door. Jennifer
Hansen cracks the door open slightly. Molly is poking her
nose out the door, barking furiously.

Jennifer sees the California license plates so she at first
looks hesitant.

They begin talking through the narrow crack in the door.

JENNIFER
Hush, Molly!

ROLAND
Hello! My name is Roland Kellering.
Sorry to arrive unannounced. I saw this
place listed in the multiple listing
book. I tried to call the agent on my
cell, but I couldn’t get a signal.

JENNIFER
You won’t be able to get a signal. This
end of the county isn’t scheduled to get
cell towers for about five years. Not
enough people out here in the
hinterboonies. I’ll be happy to show you
around.

Jennifer swings the door open and steps out. She is wearing
jeans, a T-shirt, and nurse’s white tennis shoes. Roland sees
her for the first time. He is plainly smitten by Jennifer’s
beauty. As she shows him around, Roland is distracted and
spends a lot of his time looking at her rather than the
ranch’s facilities and amenities.

Molly has calmed down and walks along with them, wagging her
tail.

ROLAND
S-sure! Thanks Ma’am, or…um

JENNIFER
Jennifer. There’s 42 acres, all fenced
and cross-fenced, mostly with five
strand. (She turns a slow circle,
pointing.) Forest Service to the north
and east, …and that’s 120 acres of B-L
M land on the other side of the county
road. The ranch to the west is 240 acres-
the Hastings’ place. They mainly run bald
faced blacks. They also lease that B-L-M
land. They’re good neighbors.

They continue their walk around the exterior.

JENNIFER (cont’d)
The water is gravity fed from a boxed
spring up where you see that patch of
Hawthorn trees. The cistern down below it
holds fifteen hundred gallons. In all his
years here, grandpa never ran out of
water. The barn holds seven ton of hay.
There’s no hay in there right now, but
there is about three cords of seasoned
Tamarack, and that’s included.

ROLAND
Wow, this place sounds great! Why on
earth are you selling it?

JENNIFER
I work down at the hospital in Lewiston,
and its nearly an hour commute in good
weather. I inherited this place a year
ago. I love it, but the commute is just
too much. And the upkeep is too much for
me to manage by myself.

ROLAND
You’re not married?

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. MORNING – ROLLING HILLS IN SOUTH EASTERN WASHINGTON

Tim and Jack are refueling Dan’s pickup with a steel jerry
can. Two more cans are sitting at their feet.

JACK
We’ve made it past Walla-Walla. Should be
smooth sailing from here on out!

CUT TO:

STUNT / INT./EXT. DAY – PALOUSE HILLS, WASHINGTON – STUNT

Super: Eastern Washington

TERRY WILLIAMS, early 30s, a black US Marine Corps Force
Recon veteran, with short-cropped hair, muscular but slightly
overweight. With him is his wife TEESHA WILLIAMS, a
registered nurse who attended college with Jennifer.

They are travelling toward Bovill in Terry’s heavily-loaded
brown 1976 Dodge Power Wagon pickup with a round red Marine
Corps sticker on the back window of the camper shell. Terry
is driving.

The camper is crammed with boxes and dufflebags of field
gear. This completely blocks Terry’s rear view, except via
his side mirrors. The Washington vanity license plate reads:
SEMPRFI.

Terry wears a sage green MA-1 military flight jacket, jeans,
and green canvas-sided jungle boots. Teesha wears jeans, a
BDU jacket, and white nursing tennis shoes.

TEESHA
I have to stop, Terry.

TERRY
Can’t you wait, Teesha? We’ll be at
Roland and Jen’s place in less’n an hour.

TEESHA
I have to stop, soon!

TERRY
Safe enough here.

They are in a stretch of highway that traverses a National
Forest. There is no traffic in either direction. Terry pulls
off onto the shoulder along a sparsely wooded stretch of
road.

As he brakes to a stop, Teesha immediately pops open her door
and jumps out.
Locale note: To get an idea of what the terrain looks like,
see: http://www.theslowlane.com/91tripb/palouse.html

TERRY (cont’d)
(while picking up her shotgun)
Hey! Don’t forget yourÅ 
(quietly)
Å Oh never mind.

Teesha scampers off into the brush. Terry checks the truck’s
gas gauge. He taps it with his finger. It reads just under
1/4 full. Terry fiddles with the nylon shell holder on the
stock of the 20 gauge Remington Model 1100 “Youth” shotgun.
He checks that the buckshot shells are properly positioned.

TERRY (cont’d)
(to himself)
You gotta learn, you don’t go anywhere
without a weapon.

Just as Teesha starts to jog back to the truck, a late model
Chevy Corsica with California plates zooms up behind the
pickup and stops.

Two men, both big and rough-looking with stubbly beards jump
out of the Corsica. THUG #1 intercepts Teesha before she can
get back to her door. He has a stainless Ruger Redhawk .357
magnum revolver with an 8 inch barrel pointed at her head.
Teesha freezes, looking terrified.

THUG #2 trots up to the driver’s side door of the pickup and
levels a Mossberg Model 500 12 gauge riot shotgun at Terry.

TERRY (cont’d)
Oh shi…

THUG #2
Outta the truck! Now!

Terry obeys, reluctantly.

THUG #2 (cont’d)
Open your jacket!

Terry unzips his sage green MA-1 flight jacket.

THUG #2 (cont’d)
Hands-on-top-aya-head!

Terry again raises his hands. Thug #2 steps forward quickly,
and in one motion jerks Terry’s Colt .45 M1911 Government
Model pistol out of its shoulder holster.

He steps away briefly and puts Terry’s pistol on the hood of
the Corsica.

Thug #2 parades back to Terry’s pickup and motions with his
shotgun.

TERRY
Just let my wife go!

THUG #2
Sid-down!

Terry sits on the asphalt and puts his hands on his head, and
tries to look meek. Thug #2 now foolishly turns his back on
Terry. He rummages around under the seat, thinking that
Terry is completely disarmed.

This is Terry’s only chance. He waits until Thug #2’s head
is turned. Terry pulls his AMT Backup .45 ACP pistol out of
the inside left pocket of his flight jacket. He rolls forward
onto one knee, and shoves the barrel of the pistol up against
the back of Thug #2’s head. He has the drop on him.

TERRY
Put it on the seat, verrrry slowly, and
back out!

Thug #2 slowly turns his head far enough to see the pistol.
He snarls, puts down his riotgun and crawls out.

Seeing what is happening, Thug #1 panics. He doesn’t know
whether to take a shot at Terry, shoot Teesha, run, or piss
his pants. Terry still holds his pistol at the back of Thug
#2’s head.

TERRY (cont’d)
Face down on the pavement! Front leaning
rest position… Move!

Thug #2 again complies. Keeping one eye on Thug #1, Terry
gives Thug #2 a quick frisk. All that he comes up with is a
large wad of cash and a Benchmade Elishewitz pocketknife. He
drops the cash on the pavement and shoves the closed knife
into his pants pocket with his left hand.

Thug #1 stands immobile, shaking with fear.

THUG#1
D-drop your gun!

TERRY
No, you drop your gun, or I’ll shoot you
and your partner.

Thug #1 goes into a total panic. He points his gun at Terry,
then back at Teesha, then back at Terry. He still has the
shakes. This guy obviously has a room-temperature I.Q. and
no nerve whatsoever.

Throughout all this, Terry has his AMT Backup pistol pointed
at the back of the head of Thug #2, who is on his belly,
growling. Its the old Mexican standoff.

The next time that Thug #1 switches to pointing his gun at
Teesha, Terry leans his forearms across the hood of the
pickup and lines up the sight rail of his pistol on the chest
of Thug #1.

Thug #1 now looks back at Terry, and his eyes get as big as
saucers. Now he is very panicky. Thug #1 starts slowly back
pedaling. Just as soon as the muzzle of Thug #1’s gun swings
away from Teesha and toward him, Terry fires at Thug #1 with
his AMT Backup pistol. The bullet hits Thug #1 in the chest.

TERRY (cont’d)
Front Sight!

Terry fires his pistol again. The second shot grazes the top
of Thug #1’s head. Thug #1 goes down. Teesha runs toward her
door.

When Thug #2 hears Terry’s shots, he jumps up at Terry.
Terry empties the four rounds remaining in the magazine of
the AMT Backup pistol into Thug #2. Two bullets hit him in
the chest, one in the neck, and the last shot goes right into
Thug #2’s ocular window. He dies quickly, thrashing. Terry’s
pistol clicks empty.

Terry realizes that Thug #1 is not yet one-hundred-percent
dead. Thug #1 sits on the ground. He gurgles and waves his
gun around. He is hemorrhaging heavily from the wound in his
chest. He starts pulling the trigger of the revolver. By pure
chance, the third of the six rounds hits Teesha. She falls to
the ground, clutching her shoulder, screaming.

TEESHA
Heeelp!

TERRY
Teesha!

Before Terry can finish putting in a fresh magazine in his
pistol and line up the sight rail on Thug #1 again, Thug #1’s
revolver goes empty. He keeps clicking on fired chambers,
with the muzzle pointing randomly. After another few seconds
he collapses, dead. Terry completes his reload and grabs
Teesha’s army surplus medic’s bag from the pickup. He runs to
Teesha. He sees that it is a through-and-through wound, that
it isn’t a major hit, and applies direct pressure.

TERRY (cont’d)
Direct pressure!

He opens sterile Carlysle bandages and applies them to both
sides of the wound. He leads Teesha (supporting most of her
weight) back to the passenger side set of the pickup.

Terry quickly picks up the thugs’ revolver and tosses them on
the floor of the passenger side of the pickup. Terry
retrieves his Colt M1911 .45 pistol (from the Corsica) and
puts it back in his shoulder holster.

He leaves the thug’s bodies and car alone. He drives away,
rapidly accelerating. We see the end of the bumper and the
front quarter panel of the Corsica, and the pavement beneath
in the foreground.
The inert forms of the two thugs lay in the middle-ground. In
the background, Terry’s truck disappears from the frame, as
he drives around a bend in the road.

The sound of the pickup engine fades. The scene lingers. The
sound of the Corsica’s engine can be heard, still idling. Two
of the $100 bills that Terry dropped earlier now flutter
across the pavement in the breeze. A crow caws loudly.

CUT TO:

EXT. DAY- HANSEN RANCH – IN FRONT OF THE BARN

Tim Wong and Jack Moody arrive at the retreat. Their trucks
with trailers are ground-guided into the barn. Jennifer
stares agape at the shot-out windows on Tim’s pickup.

TIM
Oh maaaaaan, It was chaos!
(beat)
Hiya Aaron! Where’s Terry and Teesha?

AARON
They e-mailed us at o-dark-early this
morning. They should be arriving here any
time now.

CUT TO:

EXT. DAY – ON HIGHWAY 5 – NORTHERN CALIFORNIA – SEPTEMBER

Roland continues his drive. Now there isn’t much traffic on
the highway–just a few cars and trucks, most with trailers
piled high.

Oddly, Roland notices several long haul diesel trucks without
trailers. The drivers have abandoned their loads and just
want to get home.

Roland tries his cell phone again. It flashes “No Signal.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. DAY – HANSEN RANCH – NEAR THE BARN

Jennifer has her .45 on her hip and her CAR-15 slung casually
over one shoulder.
Using a giant Arrow brand chrome-plated hand stapler, she is
repairing some loose spots on the chicken wire on her chicken
pen. Jack holds the wire in place while Jen does the
stapling. In the background, we see Tim carrying in gear from
his truck.

JACK
Jen, I’ve got to tell you, I trust Terry
and Roland like brothers, but I have my
doubts about Tim and your cousin Aaron.
Especially Aaron. He is such a techno
nerd. I’m not sure he’ll have what it
takes if things get terminal.

JENNIFER
Don’tcha worry about him. Growing up, we
spent several summers together here at
grandpa’s ranch. He had lightning fast
reactions then, and he probably still
does now, since he’s kept up his fencing
practice. When we were both about 11, he
saved me from getting bit by a
rattlesnake.
(beat)
One more thing is he’s got phenomenal
night vision. Don’t you worry about Aaron
Cecil. We’re a team here. Teesha is like
a sister to me. I can’t wait ’til she
gets here. And you’re like the brother I
never had.

JACK
(peeved)
Thanks. Can you finish this by yourself
now?

Jennifer nods. Jack turns and walks back toward the house.
Jennifer seems oblivious to Jack’s mood. She resumes
stapling, holding the stapler in a two-handed grip.

MATCH CUT TO:

STUNT / FLASHBACK – EXT. DAY – HANSEN RANCH – NEAR BARN –
SUMMER / STUNT

Jennifer is holding her stainless steel Colt Gold Cup .45
pistol in a two-handed grip. Roland is teaching her how to
shoot a pistol for the first time.

A wooden target frame with a large black bullseye target is
set up 40 feet away from where they are standing. A card
table has been set up beside them, to hold their gear while
they practice. Scattered on the table are: boxes of
ammunition, an ammo can, Roland’s .45 (a twin to Jennifer’s),
a roll of extra targets, the same Arrow stapler we saw in the
last scene, and eight extra .45 magazines.

ROLAND
Remember: Front sight in focus. Rear
sight should seem a little fuzzy, and the
target also a little fuzzy. Don’t lock
your elbows. Just squeeze the trigger
slowly and steadily. Don’t jerk it. It
should come as a pleasant surprise when
the cartridge fires. Don’t anticipate
it, and you won’t flinch.

Jennifer squeezes off three rounds.

JENNIFER
How was that?

ROLAND
Better, much better. But you are still
locking your elbows. Safety up! Let me
show you something.

Jennifer thumbs up the pistol’s safety. Roland steps close
behind her and wraps his arms around hers and grasps her
hands in his own. She smiles.

JENNIFER
Now what kind of lesson is this?

ROLAND
No ulterior motives, although I’ve gotta
admit it does feel nice. Now bring the
pistol back about three inches so your
elbows aren’t locked. This time forget
about the sights and just feeeel it.
Concentrate on your grip and your stance.
Safety down. Go ahead and expend the
magazine.

Jennifer lines up on the target and then closes both eyes.
She fires five more rounds. After the last round is fired she
opens her eyes and sees the pistol’s slide locked to the
rear.

Roland steps away. While he watches, Jennifer thumbs the
magazine release–ejecting the empty magazine and then deftly
inserts a full magazine, thumbs down the slide release, and
thumbs up the safety.

ROLAND (cont’d)
Ooooh! I like the way you do that! Very
smooth.

JENNIFER
I see what you mean about my elbows.

ROLAND
You are the weapon. The pistol is just
your tool. Eight more rounds! This time
concentrate on the whole works:
“situational awareness, breathing, grip,
posture, sight picture, target, and
trigger.”

She fires eight more rounds at two second intervals, again
emptying the pistol. This time they are all in the black.
When she finishes, Jennifer is grinning from ear to ear.

Jennifer ejects the empty magazine, sets the pistol down on
the table, and starts to reload some of the empty magazines.

ROLAND (cont’d)
I’ll put you up a fresh target.

JENNIFER
Ugghh! That’s a pretty big group!

ROLAND
Don’t worry, you’re doing great. You’re a
natural.
(beat)
Besides –we’re shooting at 12 yards.
Most real combat shooting is seven yards
or less.
(beat)
You’re also missing the bottom line.

Jennifer cocks her head to the side, not understanding his
point. (beat.) Roland spreads the target across his chest. It
is now clear to Jennifer that anyone at that distance would
have been shot full of holes.

ROLAND (cont’d)
This is the bottom line.
(beat)
But keep in mind that what you’ve learned
thusfar is just the basics. I’ll get you
signed up for a couple of courses down at
Front Sight or Thunder Ranch. They’re
real pros. It’ll be my treat.

JENNIFER
Just like that Goretex jacket you bought
me, and this Colt Gold Cup, huh? “Your
treat”?

ROLAND
We’ll… we’re serious now, so I can
spoil you all I want, right?

JENNIFER
Most guys buy their girlfriends flowers
and candy and…

ROLAND
And things like this?

He hands her a small velvet-covered ring box. She opens it.
Its not just a small diamond–it is a big rock.

JENNIFER
Oh, Roland!

Roland gets down on one knee.

ROLAND
Will you marry me, Jen?

DISSOLVE TO:

STUNT / EXT./ DAY JUST NORTH OF WEED CALIFORNIA – ON HIGHWAY
97 ­ MORNING / STUNT

Roland is driving northward. Rounding a bend in the road, he
encounters the same group of men that Tim and Jack had the
day before. But now they have a full-fledged road-block set
up.
It is a clever construction, with a combination of wrecked
cars, parked trucks and stacked railroad ties piled up so
that cars have to slow down to a crawl and negotiate three 90
degree turns at very low speed to pick their way through the
road block.

There are now five cars and pickups, including a sheriff’s
department car–all with shot-out windows and body panels
full of bullet holes–that have been pushed-off the side of
the road or made part of the roadblock.

Eight men stand at various positions around the road block,
armed with shotguns and rifles. One wears a pair of black
nylon shotgun shell bandoleers across his chest, reminiscent
of a Mexican bandito.

Roland rounds the bend in the road, sees the roadblock, and
is forced to brake sharply. Roland skids to a halt just 40
feet short of the barricade.

He immediately takes the precaution of putting the Hurst
floor shifter in the “Reverse” position and leaves the clutch
pedal depressed.

He glances in the rear view mirror as he rolls down his
window. At the same time he slowly pulls his .45 from under
his thigh, and passes it to his left hand, keeping it low
against the door panel and out of sight. He executes a “weak
hand” safety operation. (He wangles his left thumb behind the
hammer and thumbs down the pistol’s right-handed safety
lever.)

BANDITO
Hold it right there!

ROLAND
(shouting out the window)
You can relax guys, I’m not a looter!
I’m just trying to get back to my ranch
in Idaho.

BANDITO
You can pass, but you have to pay the
toll. The toll is half of your fuel and
cargo!

Roland makes a snap decision. He simultaneously pops the
clutch pedal out, stomps on the gas, and slumps down to the
right so that his chest and head will be out of the line of
fire. The Bronco roars backwards.

The men at the roadblock open up with a withering volley of
fire. The windshield and back window shatter.

With his head still down, Roland snaps his left hand out the
window and fires a quick succession of six un-aimed rounds.
The men at the roadblock dive for cover.

After backing up nearly 100 feet, Roland pops his head up
briefly to gauge his direction. He makes a quick adjustment
of the wheel.

Three men at the roadblock with semi-auto rifles (a thumbhole
stock post-ban FN/FAL, an H&K-91, (both .308s), and an M1
Garand in .30-06) drop into prone positions and take aim.

Two other men from the roadblock (one of them is The Bandito)
run down the shoulder of the road toward the retreating
Bronco. They obviously have not thought out this particular
situation.

BANDITO (cont’d)
Ventilate that mother!

Roland jinks left and right. Then he slams on the brakes and
executes a herringbone turn–nearly coming to a stop as he
does. As he turns, all of the side windows of the Bronco (on
both sides) are shot out. As Roland roars off in forward
gear,

The three semi-auto rifleman open fire in a fresh fusillade.
Their fire punctures all six of the gas cans on the back of
the Bronco. Fuel is gushing out at an alarming rate. Roland
works the gears with precision, even though he is still
mostly keeping his head down.

The pair of bandits running toward the Bronco reach the spot
where the Bronco made its 180-degree turn. Just ahead of
them, the pavement is littered with 1/4-inch cubes of safety
glass, and the road is puddled with gasoline.

LOOTER
Frick! He’s gettin’ away!

BANDITO
You think he’s gonna get away? Watch
this!

The Bandito lights a match from a book of matches and then
sets the entire matchbook on fire.
He lobs it at the puddle of gasoline that begins 15 feet in
front of them, and then turns to run. The gasoline roars into
an enormous cloud of flame.

Roland see the flash behind him, and gasps. He puts the pedal
to the metal. The wall of flame rushes toward the Bronco at
tremendous speed. The gasoline is still gushing out of the
cans, but now with less volume.

ROLAND
Show me the horsepower!

The Bronco’s engine is screaming. The speedometer is pegged
at 80 miles an hour. The flames rush on, getting closer and
closer.

We see the flow of gas from the punctured cans slow to a
trickle. The wall of flames nearly gets to the Bronco, but
the combination of the Bronco’s speed and the rapidly
decreasing flow of gasoline allows Roland to barely–just
barely–out-runs the flames.

The flames subside behind him and Roland slows down to a more
sedate 70 miles an hour. Roland reloads his pistol with a
fresh magazine.

ROLAND (cont’d)
Thank you, Lord God in Heaven!
(beat)
Sorry I couldn’t stick around for the
barbecue, fellas! I’ve got a hot date in
Idaho.

DISSOLVE TO:

STUNT / EXT./ DAY JUST NORTH OF WEED CALIFORNIA – ON HIGHWAY
97 ­ LATE MORNING / STUNT

Roland has stopped and is assessing the damage. He has a fire
extinguisher in his hand, just in case. He refuels the Bronco
with the small quantity of gas left in the cans. Most of them
have several punctures–the lowest in the lower-third of each
can.

ROLAND
(thinking out loud)
Seven times 16 is 112. Ohhhhh… About
400 miles short! I’m in some deep Schumer
now!

Roland has laid out black plastic garbage bags to catch any
gas that spills–every drop is now precious–and begins to re
fuel from the punctured gas cans. He then carefully discards
the empty (punctured) cans in a ditch, avoiding sparks. All
of the Bronco’s windows have been shot out. Wearing gloves,
Roland pulls the spider-webbed windshield out of its frame.

CUT TO:

EXT./DAY ­ HANSEN RANCH – FRONT PORCH

It is Jennifer’s turn to guard. She sits on the front porch
with her CAR-15 across her knees. Molly sits beside her. She
scans the county road with her camouflage rubber-armored
Tasco binoculars. (The ranch is now guarded continuously, in
eight hour shifts.)

Jennifer addresses Aaron, through the open window. Aaron is
sitting at what will be soon be the CQ desk. He takes off a
pair of headphones.

JENNIFER
The phone?

AARON
Its still dead.

JENNIFER
C.B.?

AARON
There’s a lot of chatter: Some of it is
prolly just “a-friend-of-a-friend told
me”-type unsubstantiated rumors. But to
believe what they’re saying, Spokane,
Seattle, most of cities in the Willamette
Valley are on fire. No trouble yet in
Lewiston or Clarkston. Lots of refugees
coming up the Columbia River gorge.
They’re outta gas, hungry, and desperate.
I wouldn’t want to be in Pendleton right
now.
(beat)
From what I’ve heard, it sounds like the
new SOP around here is families doubling
up to provide mutual security.

An older-model Jeep pickup approaches on the county road. It
slows and brakes sharply to stop in front of the gate.
Jennifer shouts through the open window:

JENNIFER
Hey! Its Terry’s jeep!

Terry swings the gate open, jumps back in the truck and roars
up the hill, not bothering to shut the gate.

JENNIFER (cont’d)
Jeez, he’s in a hurry!

Terry brakes his pickup to a stop squarely in front of the
house and jumps out. He looks very agitated.

TERRY
Teesha’s been shot!

FOR THE REST OF THE SCREENPLAY, GO HERE.

Yes I’m an attorney. No, I am not your attorney, and nothing in this post constitutes legal advice or opinion.