HARD CUT IN:
EXT. GRAYLING MICHIGAN, FOREST - DAY
The wind breathes through a suffocating forest in the fall.
We stalk through the decaying trees. The mud. The dead leaves.
We come to a hill top. The wind sifts the dead leaves to the
right, the left. One area staying still as the wind unearths:
A MAN. Lying prone on the hilltop in decaying leaf camouflage.
A Bolt-action RIFLE propped and aimed at a DEER near a stream.
We come in close on his eye as it looks through the scope...
We hear a single GUNSHOT sound out in the far away distance.
Low pitched. Fading out like a breath. His eye doesn't flinch.
He categorizes the sound of the gunshot, then fires.
EXT. FOREST ROAD - LATER
A bloody DEER HOOF leaks out from under a fluttering blue
tarp in the bed of a '91 CHEVY PICK-UP as the truck winds
through the forest. The man's shadow in the driver seat.
EXT. TRAILER IN THE WOODS - EVENING
The Chevy pick-up parked next to it. Wet FIREWOOD in stacks.
A detached, rusted generator. Laundry lines and chicken wire.
The DEAD DEER hangs from a rope draped over a tree branch.
The blood stained blue tarp on the ground under its body.
The man skins the deer. We see him now as he works. Long,
greasy hair. Stubble. Sunken eyes that don't know sleep.
Another low pitched GUNSHOT in the distance. Like a single
fracture in some Arctic iceberg. Hollow, deep and thundering.
The man recognizes and acknowledges his sonic acquaintance.
INT. TRAILER - NIGHT
An OLD TV plays a black and white re-run. A ceiling mapped
with water stains. A BED pressed against a wall with warped
wood panelling. One CHAIR. One TABLE. Each coated in dishes.
Cans. Newspapers. Each cheaper than the last.
The man sears meat on an electric plug-in stove. He sits in
the lone chair, cuts a piece of meat, lifts it to his mouth...
Three fast, loud, high pitched GUNSHOTS sound out in the
distance. Different from the others...Automatic.
His hand stops.
EXT. TRAILER - MOMENTS LATER
The man RUSHES outside and stares out into the dark forest
that engulfs him. We push into the blackness and listen...
The high-pitched GUNFIRE continues in the distance. Escalating
in tempo like rain on a canvas tent roof. Accelerating.
The GUNFIRE CHORUS reaches its crescendo, when three harsh,
THUNDEROUS SOUNDS erupt in the distance. Explosions.
And then silence. The reverb of the assualt dissolves into
the wind like an apparition.
The man stays still. Eyes focused on the soundless woods.
Alarm in his eyes. Bordering dread. He knows what he heard.
This is GANNON(40).
INT. TRAILER - MOMENTS LATER
The man pulls a cardboard box from a closet. Tears it open:
A folded POLICE UNIFORM. PICTURE FRAMES. A KEVLAR VEST. A
PAIR OF BLACK-TOE SHOES, and a CB RADIO. He pulls the CB
out. Plugs it into the wood wall's open electrical socket.
His finger trembles as he reaches toward it, turns it on...
POLICE PATROLMAN (V.O.)
-CONFIRM SHOTS FIRE- ON -CER -ERAL, ULTIPLE
DOWN, WILCOX ROAD, -EDIATE ISTANCE
A police scanner. Gannon squints as he tries to make out the
words from the SHRILL, SCRATCHY voice...
Oscar Bravo thirty-two, say again,
POLICE PATROLMAN (V.O.)
I REPEAT, MULTIP- DOWN. -EAVILY ARMED
GUNMEN OPENED FIRE ON -AL, ALL
ADDITIONAL- MED EVAC -MMEDIATELY
It cuts out. Static. A cell phone RINGS on a nearby table.
He looks to it. 'OLSEN...' He answers.
I heard it.
Time you got?
Gannon checks his watch. 5:21 p.m.
Get to the safe house by five-thirty.
Olsen hangs up. Gannon scrolls the phone's address book to a
name we don't see. He calls...
Gannon's eyes twitch with fear as each ring leads to nothing.