Tremors 5: Bloodlines

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1

BURT". My name is Burt Gummer.

And I've been

called many things.

Gun enthusiast,

monster-hunter,

doomsday-prepper.

I reject all these labels.

What I am is a survivalist.

I've scoured the dirt and dust

of Nevada and Mexico,

putting my life on the line to

hunt super-size subterranean

man-eating predators

called Graboids.

Using a combination of local

knowledge, intuition and firepower,

I've managed to control

this deadly species,

and keep them confined

to the Northern Hemisphere.

Join me.

As I enter into and

beneath the Sands of Hell.

1500 hours.

Moving through the

desert of Perfection, Nevada.

Ground zero for war

with the Graboids.

For those of you newcomers, who

don't have a clue about Graboids,

let me bring you

up to speed.

The Graboid is a vicious

subterranean predator,

about 30 feet in length with a

semi-rigid internal structure.

It senses its prey

seismically,

and employs three powerful,

snake-like oral tentacles

to ensnare its prey, and pull

it into the Graboid's gullet.

It is not a pleasant venue.

Trust me. I've been there.

If that weren't enough,

Graboids give birth

to three ugly spawn

we call Shriekers.

Short, squat, and blind

bipedal bad boys

that sense and hunt their prey

using infrared sensors.

These, in turn, give

rise to the Ass Blaster,

a winged, predatory carnivore

which uses a mixture of

volatile chemicals in its...

...nether regions

to blast into the air and

swoop down upon its victims.

Ass Blasters carry eggs that

hatch and become new Graboids,

beginning this

hellish cycle anew.

I have survived a great many

skirmishes with Graboids,

along with their Shrieker

and Ass Blaster kin.

And that makes me

uniquely qualified

to teach you how to survive

whatever life throws at you.

And remember,

life and survival

starts here.

Who's hungry?

What're you doing?

Shut your blow hole.

I'm tracking.

You feel that?

The only thing you're gonna

feel is my boot in your bum.

Yeah, good luck, with

that gimp leg of yours.

This place

is gut boring.

Yeah. And I'm tired,

and I'm starving.

And the only thing

we've seen all day

is a pack of spotted hyena.

Yeah, it's just

the nature of things, boet.

Yeah, well,

talking about nature,

I'm gonna drop the kids

off at the pool.

Looking northwest,

over the Highveld.

All those reports

about exotic animals,

there's no wildlife here.

Well, speaking of wildlife,

I wonder if my wife's

gonna come back to me.

If she's got brains,

definitely not.

You're a complete

and utter idiot.

I mean, I'm hurting here.

I'm in pain.

And you mock me.

Basson. You hear that?

I didn't hear anything.

I'm in conference.

It's right here.

Here, here, here, here.

Whoa! Whoa!

Basson?

Dreyer!

That's a long drop.

Didn't you see

this gigantic hole?

I think I broke

my butt.

I'm gonna grab a rope.

Bro!

I'm coming, man, relax.

Basson?

Yeah?

I'm gonna throw

this rope down.

You grab onto it, I'm gonna

pull you up, all right?

Hurry up. There's

something down here.

Okay, grab the rope.

Get me out of here, there's

something down here.

Just get me out of here.

Yeah, probably

my ex-wife, Teresa.

Pull!

Yeah, just help me

out man, come on.

You need to lose

some weight.

Get me out of here.

I'm pissing myself.

Basson!

Basson!

Whoo!

107 degrees Fahrenheit.

Hello, Nevada.

Oh, yeah.

Everything tastes

better outdoors.

However, if one wants to enjoy a

source of sustenance out here,

one has to seize

the culinary initiative

when it rears its ugly head.

So, let's review.

It took me 50 minutes to build

this improvised clay oven.

Thirty-two minutes to

fire up the scrub wood,

heat the interior,

feed in that snake

and seal the door.

Now we wait as

this little baby

turns snake into snack.

Whoa!

That's hot!

Ah!

And Voile'?!

One sizzling, succulent

piece of pure protein.

Whoo!

And you can bet that Burt's Bullseye

Brand Cactus Juice Marinade

will eradicate

any trace of that

"tastes like

chicken" residue.

Who the hell

are you?

Yowza!

Smells like chicken.

There he is. Huh?

The man, the myth,

the legend.

Burt effing Gummer.

Travis B. Welker.

Sorry, sir.

I should've told you that.

Don't mean to be all stalkery,

but I've been a big fan of yours

since your Y2K

conspiracy series.

Well,I guess

that's a wrap.

Maintain position, Riley.

It's not Miller Time, yet.

He's all yours,

buddy boy.

Your gear's

piled over there.

And thanks for

the Vegas gig.

What Vegas gig?

The Real Housewives

of Las Vegas.

You can't just

adios on me!

It's a union gig,

pension and health. So...

That is your new camera guy,

and, well, he comes

highly recommended.

Lots of time

in the eyepiece.

You're officially

AWOL, mister.

So, I take it he didn't

give you my resume?

All right, I got

something for you here.

This is called

a digital file.

It's gonna speak to my

awesome capabilities.

Kind of wish your website

could do the same for you,

but I can help.

I beg your pardon?

I'm a big fan. You know,

possibly your biggest.

But the fact that you're out here

in Who-The-Hell-Cares, Nevada,

smokin' rattlesnake

says something.

You know what it says?

It says you're underachieving

big time, my man.

You should be a global brand.

Come on!

I mean, how many monster-hunters

do you know? Huh?

I know one.

Burt Gummer.

Last check, how many Twitter

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