SOUND of a rattling car heater, a majestic, dying lung
The car sits on a desolate gravel road flanked by a wall of wet, rotting trees.
Inside, JOHN (20), pragmatic and exhausted, grips the peeling leather of the steering wheel. CLOSE ON his fingernails, tiny black flecks of leather stuck underneath. He stares through the fogged windshield.
CLICK.
The heater dies. The rattle is gone.
Silence. Absolute. Heavy.
BENJAMIN (19), a ball of nervous energy swallowed by an oversized, moth-eaten parka, shifts in the passenger seat. His voice is muffled.
John taps the spiderwebbed screen of his phone.
Benjamin leans forward, the cheap nylon of his coat SWISHING loudly.
John finally lets go of the wheel, flexing his cramped hands. He exhales. A puff of white fog hangs in the air between them. The cold is already seeping in.
THUMP. A single CROW lands on the hood. It doesn't caw. It just stares at them through the glass.
It tilts its head, then...
TAP. TAP. TAP.
Its beak strikes the metal, a sharp, unnerving sound.
He reaches into the backseat, dragging a standard office briefcase onto his lap. It's handcuffed to his left wrist.
ANGLE ON the handcuffs. They are pink and fuzzy.
John rubs his face. A deep, soul-level exhaustion. He glances at the briefcase, then back at the road.
The words hang in the cold air, feeling like a lie.
A fine, misty drizzle coats the windows, blurring the oppressive forest. The interior is a mess of energy drink cans and wrappers.
Benjamin rustles a bag of salt and vinegar chips. The CRUNCH is explosive in the silence. He offers the bag to John.
A half-laugh escapes John's chest. A small crack in the tension.
The mention of home brings the silence back. Heavy again.
John looks at his best friend. Hair a mess, parka making him look like a child. Too young for this. A wave of profound sadness washes over John's face. The adventure is over.
Suddenly—
Two beams of bright, blue-white LED headlights slice through the gloom, blinding them. They reflect harshly in the rearview mirror.
Benjamin sits up straight, wiping vinegar dust from his hands onto his parka.
A vehicle pulls up beside them. Not a black SUV.
A silver, sensible, family minivan with a 'Baby on Board' sticker in the rear window. Its engine purrs efficiently.
The driver's side window rolls down with a quiet WHIR.
A WOMAN (60s) sits behind the wheel. Librarian-esque. Glasses on a chain, grey hair in a tight bun. Her scarf looks expensive. Her expression is flat. Bored.
John swallows. His throat clicks.
Benjamin elbows him, hard.
The Woman sighs, a sound of profound impatience. She glances at her watch.
The Woman doesn't blink. She opens her door, steps out. She wears heels in the mud. She walks to Benjamin’s side, pulls a small key from her pocket, and unlocks the fuzzy cuffs with practiced ease.
She takes the briefcase without a word.
The Woman pauses, briefcase in hand. She looks at the two of them, shivering in their rusted-out car. Her expression softens, just a fraction.
She reaches into her coat, pulls out a cheap burner phone, and tosses it onto John's lap.
She turns to leave.
The Woman stops. She looks down at the briefcase, then back at them. A small, dry smile touches her lips.
Silence. The crow on the hood taps the metal again. TAP.
She gets back in her minivan, backs out spraying gravel, and disappears down the road.
John and Benjamin sit in the silence. The forest just seems stupid now.
Benjamin starts to laugh. It's a wheeze at first, then a full-blown, hysterical cackle. He slaps his knee.
A smile twitches at John's mouth. He fights it, then gives in. The tension of four days unspools from his chest in a rush of laughter.
John leans his head back, feeling light. They're alive. Stranded, but alive. He picks up the burner phone. It’s an old flip phone.
He flips the phone open. The screen lights up.
He doesn't dial. He frowns.
He reads the message.
The blood drains from his face. The laughter dies in his throat. The warmth vanishes, replaced by ice.
He reads it again. The words don't change.
CLOSE ON THE PHONE SCREEN
The text message glows:
THE DECOY WORKED. INTERCEPT TEAM EN ROUTE TO YOUR LOCATION. ETA 2 MINUTES. RUN.
BACK TO SCENE
John looks up from the screen, the blue light reflecting in his wide, terrified eyes.
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