EXT. MOUNTAIN SIDE - MORNING
It’s dawn and cold, one hundred years ago. Two workmen struggle up a
steep hill.
MR. JONES, the older man, leads a teenaged KID, who struggles
with a heavy burlap bag, accidentally letting it drop hard to the ground.
JONES
You might want to be a bit more
careful with that.
With a sour grunt, the kid hoists it back up roughly.
KID
Why? What’s in here?
JONES
Dynamite.
Now wide-eyed, the kid holds the bag much more tenderly. The two men
make their way to an ominous-looking cave. The breath vapour from their
mouths is eerily mimicked by morning mist curling out of the cave’s mouth.
Water drips off the curved stalagmites and stalactites like drool off fangs.
KID
Mister Jones. One minute.
The kid gingerly puts the bag down, makes a show off stretching, rolling
his shoulders, but he’s eyeing the cave warily.
JONES
Wassamatter, kid? Spooked?
A long moan comes out of the cave, wind escaping from deep within. Even
the grizzled Mr. Jones hesitates at this hair-raising sound, then sighs.
JONES
Getting too old for this…
(to Kid)
It’s just a hole in the ground. Let’s
go. Earn your dollar a day.
The two men enter the mouth of the dark cave. INT. CAVE - DAY
Black as hell inside the cave. Jones’ lantern cast menacing shadows on the
rock face walls as the two men walk bent over under a low roof. Two men
walk, but there are three pairs of footsteps. The kid stops suddenly, whirls
around, stares into the darkness.
KID
(whispering)
Mister Jones! Mister Jones!
Jones stops, irritated, turns to face the kid.
KID
I heard something behind us.
Except for their hoarse breathing and water dripping into puddles, it is as
quiet as death. Jones shakes his head, snorts, walks off.
JONES
It’s a Sasquatch.
KID
A what?
JONES
Sasquatch. Bigfoot. The monster of
the woods. Lives in caves and eats people.
And he hasn’t had breakfast yet.
Smiling weakly, the kid scrambles after Jones and the lantern light. Hauling
the heavy bag, stooping in cramped quarters, he doesn’t look back. He
doesn’t see the dark shape silently following them.
INT. CAVERNOUS ROOM -
DAY
Sliding backwards, Jones comes down a tunnel into a cavern room. Right
after him comes the kid, who slips and falls into the room, the burlap bag
slamming hard onto the wet mud beside him.
KID
The dynamite! But while the kid lies petrified, ready to meet his Maker, Jones
just shrugs,
pats his pocket.
JONES
Nothing will happen without the blasting
caps here. But don’t let the water soak
through. Not unless you want to wait all
day down here for the powder to dry.
Hurriedly, the kid leaps up, hoists the heavy bag up.
JONES
Hang on. I have to take a
champagne break.
Jones walks up to the rock wall, unbuttons his fly.
JONES
So what stories they tell you about
this place, kid? Monsters? Ghosts?
KID
I heard this is a burial place, sacred
ground.
JONES
Sacred, eh? Then I’ll christen it.
With a smile, Jones relieves himself, splashing on the rocks. But he abruptly
staggers a bit, loses his balance. And the kid suddenly sits down heavily.
KID
I feel kind of funny…
Jones walks over, sits down beside the kid, pulls out a cigarette.
JONES
Yeah, a little dizzy myself.
Jones’ hand shakes slightly as he strikes a match. It instantly goes out.
Frowning, he lights another one. It too goes out. From the shadows comes
a quiet voice.
br.
VOICE
They won’t work.
Startled, both Jones and the kid jump off the rock. In the lantern light steps
an elderly native MAN, long white hair, clad in buckskin.
OLD MAN
Your fire will have no life here.
Breathing deeply, Jones coughs, clasps his chest.
JONES
Damn, chief, I nearly had no life!
Don’t sneak up on a man like that!
Puzzled, frowning suddenly, Jones swings the light around to the tunnel
behind him.
JONES
Hey, how did you get in here? There’s
only one way in.
The old man ignores the question, steps closer towards Jones and the kid.
OLD MAN
You shouldn’t be in here. The air is foul.
Jones unbuttons a top pocket, looks inside. A little mouse pokes his head up,
whiskers quivering.
JONES
Naw, as long as Oscar’s okay, we’re okay.
OLD MAN
You don’t understand. This is the mouth
to Hell. You’re breathing in the Devil’s
breath. Something in the air here twists
the mind.
Jones snorts impatiently, motions to the kid to “let’s go”.
OLD MAN
We bury evil men here, madmen with
cursed souls. They whisper in your ear,
touch you with cold hands, drive you mad.
But the old man talks only to shadows, his voice an echo on the walls.
Jones leads the kid off, deeper down into the bowels of the earth.
INT. NARROW TUNNEL - DAY
Crawling along a narrow tunnel, Jones holds the lantern before him. The
wind suddenly picks up, subsides, then picks up again, a creepy low moan,
as if the cave itself was breathing.
KID
Bye Jesus, Lord a mighty…
Jones twists around with the lamp, lighting up the kid’s sweat-stained face.
JONES
Easy, kid. Panic will kill you sure as
quicker than any wind.
KID
Just…you know the Indians say that the
earth is a living, breathing thing.
JONES
Ah, they’re heathens, pagans at heart.
That old coot back there was born
a savage, before the missionaries came.
Jones holds the lamp up ahead of him. The narrow tunnel widens out to
a larger natural carved out room.
INT. CAVERN ROOM - DAY
Jones and the kid straighten up, shake the dirt off. Jones points at the rock
face wall.
JONES
That’s where the geologists think the
vein is. So we’ll blast some samples,
hope for a strike. But you know…
Looking ghastly in the dim light, Jones smiles crookedly at the kid.
JONES
…we also just might wake up the Devil.
Unstrapping the pickaxes tied to their bodies, Jones and the kid start hacking
at the rock face, making a hole to put the dynamite in. Hard, sweaty work.
The kid suddenly stops, wrinkles his nose at a foul odour.
KID
You smell that? That smell? How’s
Oscar doing?
Jones inhales, shrugs, peers into his chest pocket. Oscar the little brown mouse
is alive, but wriggling frantically, desperate to escape. Frowning, Jones raises
his axe to resume work.
JONES
It’s just a little musty down here,
that’s all. Keep going.
The kid lifts his pick-axe, abruptly freezes at a vague, indistinct sound, a
breath, a mumble in his ear…“kill him” Holding the axe chest high,
protectively, he looks quickly all about him, then at Jones’ broad back.
KID
You say something?
Another whisper, louder, more urgent…“kill him.”. The kid spins
in a circle,
looking at shadows, searching. Jones stares at him, puzzled.
KID
Listen, listen!
It’s very quiet and tense in the shadowy cavern. Jones and the kid face each
other, pick-axes held high and defensively.
JONES
Son, you just take a deep breath,
calm down, and get back to work.
We’re almost finished.
Moving away from the kid, keeping an eye on him now, Jones swings his
pick-axe up high into the air, smacks it down into the rock. He lifts it up again
for another swing. CLUNK! Jones looks up. The roof ceiling is now suddenly
lower. And the walls have moved in closer.
JONES
What the devil…
Jones retreats to the centre, gaping up at the slowly descending
roof, the
walls grinding towards him. The kid stares wide-eyed at him.
KID
What? What’s wrong?
JONES
Can’t you see it? Don’t you see
what’s happening?
Pick-axe held high, the kid looks wildly about.
KID
No! What? What’s wrong?
Jones flings down his axe, scoops up the lantern.
JONES
Out! Now!
No need to tell the kid twice, he sprints for the narrow tunnel ahead of the
frantic Jones.
INT. NARROW TUNNEL - DAY
Every man for himself. Scrambling on his hands and knees, leaving Jones
behind, the kid wriggles through a crevice, then stops suddenly. He’s not
stuck, there’s plenty of room, he just has stopped.
KID
Hey! What the hell’s that?
Looking back over his shoulder, the kid sees dark shapes, hands, claws,
wrapping around his feet and legs.
KID
No! No! Let go of me!
A sudden tug, and the kid slips down. Kicking frantically, he grabs at rocks,
his fingernails dragging along them. But he is slowly being pulled down into
the blackness.
INT. FURTHER DOWN TUNNEL - DAY
Gasping for breath, Jones slithers like a snake through the constricting
tunnel, the walls creaking and groaning forward, the roof slowly lowering.
JONES
Oh God…oh my God…
Jones scrambles madly ahead, then stops, blocked by the kid’s wildly kicking
legs before him. The crevice is shrinking, but there’s still room.
JONES
Keep going! Go!
KID
They’ve got my legs!
Nothing has the kid’s legs, but there’s no time to debate. Jones grabs
the kid
by the heels, shoves him up and through, then squeezes through himself. He
just makes it through before the crevice seals up.
JONES
Come on, kid! Move! Move!
INT . NEAR CAVE ENTERANCE - DAY
There’s light at the end of the tunnel…daylight. But the circle is shrinking,
the curved stalagmites and stalactites closing like fangs on Jones and the kid
as they stumble to the cave’s mouth.
JONES
Hurry, kid, hurry!
Crawling on his belly, Jones shoves impatiently at the kid in front of him,
who slaps and kicks at invisible hands.
KID
Get them off me! They’re on me!
Nothing is on the kid. Jones looks ahead at closing cave’s mouth.
JONES
Move! Quick! Before it closes!
EXT. MOUTH OF THE CAVE - DAY
Bruised and bleeding, the kid tumbles out of the cave, rolls to safety.
Jones is still in the cave. A low moan comes from the black mouth.
KID
Mister Jones? Is that you?
The kid inches forward, ready to flee, staring into the dark opening.
KID
Are you all right?
A weak, muffled sound comes within. The kid freezes, listening, then picks up
a rock, and steps past the stone fangs into the mouth of the cave.
KID
(whispering)
Where are you?
The kid steps slowly, cautiously. From above, something small and furry
drops suddenly at the kid’s feet. He jumps back, stares at the little brown
mouse that darts past him out the cave.
KID
Oscar?
A red drop falls on the kid’s shoulder. Then another. The kid looks up.
KID
God almighty!
Pinned up on the ceiling, skewered on a sharp stalactite, is Jones. His body slips
off, plunges down towards the kid, who dives out of the way. As the kid races
down the mountain, we hear a VOICE-OVER.
VOICE-OVER
That kid was my grandfather.
We FADE to present day. The speaker, HARVEY, a bearded bear of a man
in his late thirties, talks to PAUL, old, gray, and battered from years of manual
labour. They are in a sad, cheap mining museum, faded photos and rusted
equipment around them. Harvey looks out the window at the abandoned mine
site.
HARVEY
He worked here all his life, never went
near that cave again. And to the day he
died, he swore that’s what really
happened in there that day.
Paul nods slightly, a “yeah, could be…” gesture.
HARVEY
I always thought that his story would
be a great scene in a film.
Harvey peers reflectively out at the empty buildings and hills.
HARVEY
Paul, this cave he was in…it’s still here,
right? Part of the mine?
PAUL
Yeah. In Section eight. I worked there.
HARVEY
Is it still open? Could we shoot there?
PAUL
Uh…yeah.
Paul’s reluctant tone causes Harvey to glance over curiously, but “brrriiinngg”
goes Harvey’s cell phone. Just on reflex, Harvey groans before answering.
HARVEY
Hello? What? Twelve days?
Bad news. Harvey grabs his cell-phone, chokes the life out of it.
HARVEY
I need more time than that! Look,
I couldn’t shoot a Grade B porno
Filipino skin flick in twelve days!
But Harvey’s yelling into a dead phone. Paul motions to Harvey to follow
him.
PAUL
Uh, while we’re waiting for the others
to show up…
INT. MUSEUM - DAY
Limping, Paul leads Harvey for a little tour of the make-shift museum.
PAUL
Yep, never thought we’d out-last
the coal here. And most of us old
guys, why, mining’s all we know.
So we figured, a museum, well—
Briiinnngg! Harvey makes a small, apologetic “one sec” gesture before
answering the cell phone.
HARVEY
Uh huh? Yeah? What? You’ve
got to be kidding me!
Again, Harvey strangles the cell-phone, squeezing its circuits.
HARVEY
The guy hasn’t worked since drug rehab,
we’re doing him a favour, and he turns us
down? That’s it, he’s dead…psychic hot
lines and diaper ads from now on!
In an angry, frustrated gesture, Harvey snaps off the phone, looks at Paul.
HARVEY
I swear, in a past life, I must have been
a mass murderer…
Paul nods blankly, then gestures to a huge rusted drill bit.
PAUL
See that? One of those did this.
Lifting up a pant leg, Paul shows a nasty drill wound on his pale white calf.
He then motions over to a dusty circular saw.
PAUL
And one of them is why I can’t
count to ten no more.
Grinning cheerfully with missing and yellowed teeth, Paul holds up two hands
and eight fingers. Two pinkies have been severed off at the knuckle.
PAUL
That was Section eight for you.
Worst area of the mine.
Harvey looks expectantly at Paul, nodding, “continue”. Paul hesitates,
bites
his lip. Off-camera SHOUTS suddenly save him.
MEN’S VOICES
Paul, you in here? That movie fella
showed up yet? Hey, Paul!
Paul steps out from behind a rail-car.
PAUL
Over here, guys! Harvey’s with me!
A group of five other MEN respond, come strolling over to Paul and
Harvey. All look aged, broken by a life underground. And at that instant,
“briinggg” goes the cell phone’s mating call. Harvey lets go a
heart-felt groan.
Paul arches an eyebrow, looks at Harvey.
PAUL
Sure you want to keep answering
that thing?
Looking at the incoming phone number displayed, Harvey exhales wearily.
HARVEY
Oh great, the girl-friend…well,
could be worse. Could be the wife.
(answering)
Hey, babe…
Good thing video-phones aren’t around yet. Harvey’s rolling his eyes
up to
the skies, and making a “yap, yap, yap” talking gesture with his hand
before
abruptly interrupting .
HARVEY
Carol, it’s not a bit part. They’re
just paying you like it’s a bit part.
The sudden dial tone is Harvey’s answer. Sighing theatrically, he looks at
the
group of miners.
HARVEY
Ah, the suffering of the artist.
Harvey pauses, looks at the gaunt, diseased men before him, true suffering.
There is a short, heavy silence. Paul jumps in with the introductions.
PAUL
Harvey, this is Driller, Worm, Digger,
Fox, and Chain.
HARVEY
Those can’t be your real names.
PAUL
Ah, we sort of all got named after our
jobs down there.
HARVEY
But, you’re…Paul.
PAUL
Yeah. I was the boss.
The men all nod respectfully. Paul is still the boss. One of the men,
DIGGER, clears his throat.
DIGGER
So you want to make a movie here?
HARVEY
Yes, this is a terrific location, so moody
and atmospheric. I see a docu-drama
cinema-verite look to my film.
Blank looks from all the men, but polite murmurs of agreement.
MEN
Yeah. Sounds good. I like that.
DIGGER
What kind of movie is it?
Harvey grimaces slightly.
HARVEY
Basic standard action adventure formula.
But I want to elevate it, give it warmth
and real texture, you know?
More nods and murmurs of assent from this room full of Fellinis.
VARIOUS MEN
Yeah. Good idea. I agree.
HARVEY
In fact, I really need your input here.
Mining stories…legends…the myths
of the men down under, stuff like that.
Lots of frowns and empty looks from the men. Paul scratches his head
thoughtfully.
PAUL
Geez, Harv, we just did our jobs.
Blast, dig, haul ore…day after day.
Seeing Harvey’s disappointed reaction, the men all wrinkle their brows,
trying to come up with something. Digger’s face lights up, he snaps his
fingers, points at Paul.
DIGGER
One time, he lost two fingers.
All the men suddenly start lifting shirts, rolling up sleeves, pointing at missing
or damaged body parts.
VARIOUS MEN
I crushed my pelvis. My arm near got
torn off once. There’s a hole in my hand.
I had a spike rip right between my nuts.
Harvey’s only half-listening, his eye and attention has wandered off to a
bronze
plaque reading FALLEN COMRADES with dozens of names on it. Moving
closer, a name from 1902 jumps out at him…TK Jones.
HARVEY
(stunned)
Mister Jones…
Paul strolls up beside Harvey, looks grimly at the honour roll.
PAUL
No work more dangerous than
mining, Harvey. More miners die
on the job than all the cops, loggers,
or iron-workers put together.
HARVEY
Hey, what happened here?
Harvey points to ten names all grouped under a single date - May 15, 1966.
HARVEY
Ten men died in one day?
PAUL
Yeah. Cave in.
DIGGER
And we were there.
Digger blurted that out without thinking. The men stiffen, glare at him with
narrowed eyes. Harvey looks at him curiously, but Digger clams up, glances
over at Paul, who steps forward, speaks quietly.
PAUL
That day there was a sound I hope
to God to never hear again. Like the
Devil roaring in Hell.
Arms folded, looking at the floor, all the men nod, lost in memory. Paul
locks in his gaze into Harvey’s eyes.
PAUL
The lights went out, rocks came down.
In the dark we lay there like dead men
waiting to be buried.
A convulsive shudder ripples through the silent group of men.
PAUL
The earth just opened and swallowed
those men. They’re down there still
to this day, God rest their souls.
INT. APARTEMENT - DAY
Harvey’s home is more homely than homey. Avocado-green fridge and stove,
all white paint job, it’s rented, not owned. He’s in his “computer
room”, the
kitchen table, studying the screen intently. It shows old photos and newspaper
articles of the 1966 disaster.
HARVEY
(muttering, reading)
Explosion…possibly methane gas
or dynamite accident.
Harvey clicks the mouse around, changing images of grim miners, ambulances,
distraught wives, and rescue equipment before stopping and frowning. On
is a prominent headline MIRACLE SURVIVOR over a photo of a man being
carried out on a stretcher. Harvey’s eyes widen as he reads.
HARVEY
Buried two weeks…Boomer Roberts
the only survivor.
On a note pad, Harvey’s scribbling down “2 weeks!”, “Boomer
Roberts”
HARVEY
Doctors amazed…good condition.
Miners can’t believe it…a miracle.
Harvey zips up through the text, looks at the news photo again. Roberts on
the stretcher gazes hollow-eyed at the camera, his face hard as stone.
HARVEY
You tough little bastard.
The caption under the photo reads “Lone survivor with rescuers.”. None
of
the miners carrying Roberts are smiling. All look as grim as the man on the
stretcher. The small print identifies the lead man as “Paul Hull”.
HARVEY
Paul…and Digger…
He’s thirty years younger, but Paul, Digger, and the rest of the men Harvey
met at the museum are in the photo carrying Roberts.
HARVEY
Why didn’t they tell me about this?
The sound of a door opening interrupts Harvey’s puzzled wonderings.
In steps his wife TRISH, a tired looking woman in her mid-thirties with hair
dyed more to hide gray than to stimulate lustful thoughts.
HARVEY
Hi, honey.
But Harvey doesn’t get up from the table to welcome or help her. Judging
from the way she bangs the groceries down on the counter, Trish has had one
deep-fried bitch of a day. Harvey’s not real perceptive. He opens his mouth
and says…
HARVEY
How was work?
Trish fixes Harvey with death-dealing laser-ray eyes.
TRISH
(acidly)
Oh, it was fun. How about you,
dear? What did you direct today?
Any money into our account? Oh,
wait, silly me, I forgot. You’re working
for nothing.
HARVEY
Trish, honey, I told you. This is a
back end deal.
TRISH
The only back end deal is you getting
screwed there. You’ve got to get a real,
paying job soon.
Suppressing a sigh, Harvey nods, returns to his computer.
TRISH
I said you better get a real, paying job
soon, because I’m leaving my job.
Either I quit or I go on maternity leave.
THAT gets Harvey’s attention real quick. He stares in horror at Trish.
TRISH
Welcome to the real world, Harvey.
Harvey gulps, takes a deep breath.
HARVEY
You’re not…pregnant?
TRISH
No. That requires sex.
Harvey barely masks his relief. No matter, Trish catches it, marches off to the
bedroom, slamming the door so hard that, seconds later, there’s a muffled
shout
and angry thumps on the floor under Harvey’s feet.
HARVEY
(to floor)
Ah, turn off your hearing aid!
(muttering)
And your pace-maker.
Getting to his feet, Harvey tips his head back in silent prayer, inhales deeply,
then goes to the bedroom door. He gently twists the door-knob. You can tell
he’s wishing like hell it’ll be locked, but it turns and the door opens.
INT. BEDROOM - DAY
Trish is lying curled up on the bed in a fetal position, crying into a pillow.
This doesn’t seem to be an uncommon marital position for Harvey…he’s
not shocked by it. He lays down beside Trish, rubs her back.
HARVEY
Trish, I know this hasn’t been easy
on us, but please just give me a
little more time.
TRISH
But I don’t have more time.
A red-eyed Trish turns over, stares at the ceiling.
TRISH
Today at work, we had an office
baby shower for a woman ten years
younger than me. She’s almost thirty
and she’s ten years younger than me.
HARVEY
I know, but…
Harvey stops, obviously clueless as to what to say next. The silence grows
heavier, deeper.
TRISH
I keep doing the math, over and
over. What age I’ll be when our
child learns to drive…how old I’ll
be when they graduate.
Trish rolls over to look at Harvey.
TRISH
Every month is another egg gone
forever from a dwindling supply.
The clock just isn’t ticking, Harvey,
it’s ringing.
Harvey just nods. What else can he say? Trish clears her throat.
TRISH
So I’ve made a decision.
The look on Harvey’s shows all the mental alarm bells are ringing. He holds
his breath, waiting.
TRISH
I’m giving my notice for the end of
the year. At work…
Trish looks deep into Harvey’s eyes.
TRISH
…and here.
Tossing a pillow at Harvey, Trish nudges him off the bed.
TRISH
You have all night to think about
it. There’s a sleeping bag on the
couch.
EXT. MOUNTAIN HIGHWAY- MORNING
A car that has seen better days tools along the Sea to Sky Highway.
INT. CAR - MORNING
An unshaven, sleepy-eyed Harvey has one hand on the wheel, the other on
his umbilical cord cell phone.
HARVEY
Look, James, for the last time…
there were no female miners back
then. Even if there were, if they’re
trapped underground, they wouldn’t
be having sex!
Harvey rolls his eyes in exasperation at the reply he gets. He starts whipping
the cell phone back and forth from his mouth to arm’s length.
HARVEY
What? Can’t hear…you. Must…
be mountains…call…later…
Harvey snaps off the phone, shakes his head. Suddenly, the engine starts
coughing, stuttering.
HARVEY
No, no, come on baby, please no!
The motor catches a few more times before resuming normal smooth running.
Harvey pats the dashboard gently, appreciatively.
HARVEY
You’ll get a tune-up very soon, I
promise.
EXT. MINE MUSEUM SITE - DAY
Harvey’s car pulls up in the parking lot and Harvey gets out of the car,
cell phone glued to his ear. Judging from his slumped, hang-dog posture, it’s
like bad news, only worse.