Eight Legged Freaks

FADE IN:

EXT. DESERT -NIGHT

A rabbit hops across rough terrain.

EXT. HIGHWAY (DESERT) -NIGHT

Three trucks from Chemical Technologies carry barrels of

toxic waste. They pass a sign: PROSPERITY, NEVADA, POP

454.

INT. THIRD TRUCK (HIGHWAY, DESERT) -NIGHT

A sleepy trucker called PIG PEN drives the third truck.

SELF-HELP TAPE (V.O.)

I will be self-assured and

confident around women.

PIG PEN:

I will be self-assured and

confident around women.

EXT. HIGHWAY (DESERT) -NIGHT

The rabbit stops at the edge of the road. The first

truck speeds past. Then the second. The rabbit crosses

the highway in front of the third.

INT. THIRD TRUCK (HIGHWAY, DESERT) -NIGHT

SELF-HELP TAPE (V.O.)

I will not fear the unexpected.

PIG PEN:

I will not fear the unexpected.

The rabbit appears in the road, frozen by headlights.

PIG PEN:

Ahhhhhhhhhh!

Pig Pen jams on his brakes and swerves to avoid the

bunny.

EXT. HIGHWAY (DESERT) -NIGHT

The truck slews crazily. Missing the bunny by a whisker.

2.

INT. THIRD TRUCK (BRIDGE, DESERT) -NIGHT

Pig Pen sees a bridge ahead. If he doesn’t regain

control, he will crash. At the last second, he gets the

rig together.

EXT. BRIDGE (DESERT) -THIRD TRUCK -NIGHT

The rim of a wheel tags the curb. One of those toxic

waste barrels falls out of the back and plunges to the

water below.

EXT. DRAINAGE DITCH -NIGHT

A biohazard warning label is legible as the barrel slips

beneath the surface. Glowing toxic waste seeps from a

gash in its side. Spreading through the pool like neon

ink.

EXT. DRAINAGE DITCH -DAY

The ditch is littered with garbage. The DRONE of

INSECTS. No visible traces of toxic waste. A butterfly

net sweeps through the air to capture an oversized

horsefly.

JOSHUA TAFT (70s), scrutinizes the bug. This old codger

is more comfortable studying bugs than socializing with

people.

JOSHUA:

Hey, Mike. Check this one out.

MIKE PALMER (12) steps over for a look. Puberty hit hard

and fast for this bright, little nerd.

MIKE:

He’s huge!

JOSHUA:

They’ve been like this all week.

Must be something extra tasty in

the water.

MIKE:

Like what?

JOSHUA:

Dead coyote. Snake maybe. Back

in the ’Nam we’d eat python with a

dash of habanero sauce. Mighty

satisfying.

(CONTINUED)

3.

CONTINUED:

MIKE:

You ate snake?

JOSHUA:

When you’re thirty klicks out from

the nearest firebase. Humpin’

through the wake-up with your

finger on the trigger. Charlie

doesn’t give you time to stop for

cutlet.

As Mike skims his own net over the water, he glimpses a

familiar barrel at the bottom of the pool. The brightly-

colored biohazard warning label is clearly visible.

EXT. ROAD -JOSHUA’S HOUSE -DAY

Two bicycles are parked outside a cabin in the middle of

nowhere.

INT. JOSHUA’S HOUSE -DAY

The decor is an odd mix of Vietnam era war relics and

homegrown scientist. Charlie the Parrot sits on a perch.

CHARLIE (V.O.)

Charlie, don’t surf!

JOSHUA:

Quiet, bird. We’re working.

Mike and Joshua stand near the spider tanks. A dozen

aquariums on low shelves. Each glass tank replicates a

specific environment: jungle, desert, cavern, pond, etc.

JOSHUA:

(dims tank lights)

The sun is going down, my

nocturnal hunters. It’s time to

come out and feed.

Mike watches Joshua deposit bugs into each spider tank.

MIKE:

Yeah. They’re definitely getting

bigger.

JOSHUA:

I’ve calculated a growth factor of

twelve percent over the last

forty-eight hours. But that seems

to be accelerating.

(CONTINUED)

4.

CONTINUED:

MIKE:

All from eating these bugs? Maybe

I should try some.

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