He offers her a bite of a PAY DAY CANDYBAR. Susan smiles,
shakes her head. She wearily leans against him.
Peter looks out as the dumpster filled with roaches is raised
by MECHANICAL ARMS into the waiting maw of the dump truck.
THE SCREEN. DARKNESS.
A voice, a somber bas-relief in the darkness.
Strickler's Disease crept into Manhattan
like a thief in the night, claiming its
first hundred victims before it was even
INT. HOSPITAL - NIGHT - FLOATING SHOT
We FLOAT through a long hospital ward.
Past ROWS of illuminated oxygen tents, pulsating softly in
the dark like cocoons of light.
Most were children under ten.
TRACK past tents. BODIES OF SMALL CHILDREN inside, wrapped
in white sheets, hooked up to IVs or breathing apparatus.
Skeletal hands, parched lips, glazed eyes.
BELLOWS of respirators push in and out, labored, failing.
IMAGE RESOLVES TO A VIDEO ON A SCREEN.
PULL BACK to reveal a number of SCREENS, each with a
different set of images. We are in a NEWS VAN. A
TECHNICIAN and DIRECTOR sit watching.
The voice belongs to an ANCHORMAN who's now overimposed.
Only after the numbers had reached into
the thousands were officials able to
identify the carrier of the deadly
Cut to three.
The Technician manipulates the controls. On another screen
we see them cut to STOCK NEWS FOOTAGE: regular cockroaches,
crawling on garbage.