Blade Page #6

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KAREN:

You haven't started in on the internal

organs?

CURTIS:

Just the blood sample from the

pericardial sac.

Curtis pauses, studying Quinn's disfigured face -- the features seem

much less damaged now -- almost as if the corpse were healing itself.

CURTIS:

That's weird --

KAREN:

What?

CURTIS:

He looks different now, burns are less

extreme, some of these wounds have

closed up --

Curtis pulls out a penlight, flicks it on. He leans over Quinn,

shining the light into one of his eyes.

CURTIS:

Tell me something, honestly, you ever

have second thoughts about us?

KAREN:

(grudgingly)

Sometimes --

Curtis looks up from the corpse, grinning beneath his mask.

KAREN:

-- but then I remember what an

ass-hole you were and I'm snapped back

to reality.

CURTIS:

Jesus, Karen, you're breaking my heart

here --

Quinn suddenly bolts up from the autopsy table, sinking his fangs

into Curtis' jugular. He snaps the man's neck in two for easier

access, sucking in blood like a living vacuum.

Karen stumbles backwards, sending autopsy tools CLATTERING.

QUINN:

rises from the table, flinging Curtis' twitching body aside. He curls

his blood-soaked lips back, baring viper-like fangs, emitting a

GUTTURAL GROWL --

QUINN:

(crazed by thirst)

-- more -- blood --

Karen backs into the corpse drawers, but Quinn is upon her in a half-

second, wrapping a hand about her throat. His mouth opens/morphs

disturbingly wide as if to swallow her head whole, caustic saliva

dripping from his canines --

Karen tries to turn her head away, but Quinn's grip is vise-like. She

finds herself staring into his eyes -- pupils pulsing rapid-fire,

opening and closing, hypnotic --

As Quinn sinks the tips of his fangs into Karen's carotid artery and

starts to nurse --

BANG!!! A load of MAHOGANY buckshot chews into Quinn's side. He HOWLS

in pain. Another load catches him full in the face. He drops Karen.

She falls to the floor --

KAREN'S POV

The sound of RUSHING BLOOD pounding through her skull. Everything

spinning. She struggles to move, turns her head, finds herself eye to

eye with Curtis' corpse.

ON QUINN:

rising, his face torn up, smoking. WHIP PAN TO --

BLADE,

standing at the entrance to the morgue, a streetsweeper auto-shotgun

in hand, sizing Quinn up.

BLADE:

Now don't we look dapper?

Quinn BELLOWS with rage, ripping one of the heavy steel refrigeration

doors from its hinges, flinging it at Blade like it was lawn

furniture --

Blade rolls to the side as the door CRASHES against the wall. Quinn

runs, moving through the morgue like a human tornado, heading for the

windows at the end of the room --

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