SAMPLE PAGES
OPENING SEQUENCE:
FADE IN:
EXT. CELEBES SEA, ABOARD THE FISHING TRAWLER
"MINDANAO SUNSET" - DUSK (THE PAST)
The sun crowds the horizon in a dying flash of fire. The
small boat CHUGS over glassy waters.
TITLE OVER:
60 miles off the coast
The Philippines
Date Unknown
On deck, a FISHERMAN sifts through a meager catch.
SUDDENLY
the vessel
HEAVES
to starboard.
The Fisherman dives for the helm. Cuts away a rope lashed
to the wheel. Struggles for control.
The compass SPINS wildly. He shuts down the engine. A long
SILENCE.
Then a deep, quivering
RUMBLE.
Bone-jarring. Subsonic.
The windshield TREMBLES. Gauges SNAP and SHATTER.
IN THE DISTANCE
a geyser SPEWS into the air. Acres of water fall away.
Form a deep gulf. The boat drifts toward the chasm.
A DARK SHAPE
looms out of the roiling depths.
It's an ISLAND. No more than a mile in diameter.
The boat bottoms out on solid rock as the island's only
tall peak rises beneath it.
The terrified Fisherman holds on. Clutches the crucifix
around his neck.
A magnificent antediluvian
TEMPLE
emerges from the seething water.
The ground TREMBLES violently. Huge columns CRUMBLE at the
entrance of the temple.
A silvery
METAL CYLINDER
the size of a thermos bottle, skids down the marble
stairway.
Careens over a cliff.
Sinks into the ocean.
The fishing boat slips from its rocky perch. CRASHES into
a gorge below.
The trembling STOPS.
The island sinks below the turbulent water, sending a
large Tsunami-like
WAVE
charging toward coastal Mindanao.
ON THE OCEAN BOTTOM
the cylinder FLASHES in the fading light.
INT. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BOTANY LAB - DAY (60's)
TITLE OVER:
University of California
Late 60's
THE CYLINDER
rests inside a pressure chamber. The top has been
unscrewed.
Next to it
A SMALL SEED
in a sealed Petri dish.
The seed's the size of a large marble. Football-shaped.
Chocolate brown skin wrinkled with furrows.
DR. LEONARD RICHMANN, a driven man in his 20's, gazes at
it through the pressure window.
VIRGINIA WHEAT, mid-20's, strides in. She's very pregnant.
RICHMANN
Morning, Virginia. How's our
mother-to-be?
VIRGINIA
Mom's a little weary.
Taps her stomach.
VIRGINIA
He's been playing touch football
all night.
TECHNICIANS fuss around her. She slips into what looks
like a 60's era Apollo space suit.
The LIGHTS in the room flicker briefly.
VIRGINIA
Better spend some grant money on
the light bill, Leonard.
RICHMANN
They're having trouble with the
generator again.
VIRGINIA
Maybe we should hold off.
RICHMANN
No way. I've been waiting my whole
life for something like this.
Stares through the glass at the seed.
RICHMANN
If I'm right, that little snapshot
of frozen time will spring back to
life and start growing again.
(beat)
After five thousand years.
VIRGINIA
Who told you that?
Snaps on rubber exam gloves. A Technician seals her
helmet. A HISS of oxygen.
RICHMANN
Berkeley dates the cylinder at
three thousand, B. C. Give or take.
Virginia's voice is MUFFLED from inside the suit.
VIRGINIA
Those 'Bezerkly' guys couldn't date
a paycheck. There's no steel that
old and you know it.
Guided by two Techs, she moves into the cramped pressure
chamber.
RICHMANN
They didn't say steel -- exactly.
VIRGINIA
Well, what did they say, exactly?
RICHMANN
An alloy. Something like titanium.
VIRGINIA
Next thing you know, they'll claim
it was beamed down by space aliens
from Neptune.
The Techs step out. Seal the door.
INT. CHAMBER
A shrill WHISTLE as a pump sucks air out of the chamber.
VIRGINIA
(on com)
You should be in here, Leonard.
This is your project.
RICHMANN
(on com)
You found it. I just write the
grants and raise the money.
Virginia slides a dissecting microscope over the seed.
Focuses a pin light.
VIRGINIA
And take the credit.
Opens the lid of the Petri dish.
VIRGINIA
You sure there's no danger of
biohazard?
RICHMANN
Will you relax? Raul Cano at Cal
Poly found ancient bacteria in the
belly of a fossilized bee.
A fragile haze shrouds the seed as lingering nitrogen
scatters into the vacuum.
RICHMANN
All he got was a cold.
Virginia leans in. Monitors around the lab display her
view through the microscope.
RICHMANN
Perfectly preserved. Carboniferous?
VIRGINIA
I've never seen anything like it.
Takes a pipette. Releases a small drop of water onto the
seed.
VIRGINIA
I'm re-hydrating now.
The seed expands slightly as the water makes its way deep
into the kernel.
VIRGINIA
You are a thirsty one, aren't you?
RICHMANN
Another drop.
VIRGINIA
Not in the protocol.
RICHMANN
Forget protocol! It's not going to
bite.
Virginia releases another drop of water onto the seed.
Opens an autoclave. Gets a scalpel.
OUTSIDE THE CHAMBER
the pump HUMS effortlessly. A Technician checks a pressure
gauge.
Virginia makes a lateral cut down the husk of the seed.
Grabs for tweezers. Misses. They CLATTER to the floor.
VIRGINIA
Sorry.
Gets another pair from the autoclave. The lights FLICKER
briefly. The Technicians scan their monitors.
Virginia reaches into the dish with the tweezers. Flips
the seed over like a dead beetle.
The lights BLINK again. The Technicians scramble.
VIRGINIA
Abort! If we lose vacuum, this
thing is toast!
RICHMANN
It'll hold.
Virginia focuses the microscope.
AN INFINITESIMAL ANOMALY
appears on the edge of the seed. Partly in shadow. Darker
than the skin.
VIRGINIA
Damn!
Everyone studies the monitors. She zooms in.
SHARPER FOCUS
on the dark spot. The seed reflects in her face plate.
VIRGINIA
Decay?
RICHMANN
Or mold. Focus!
VIRGINIA
I'm right on the edge!
The room SHUDDERS. The lights FLICK on and off several
times.
Then OUT completely. The pump GRINDS to an ominous halt.
RICHMANN
We're losing it! Virginia, get the
hell out of there!
Too late. Air RUSHES in. The vacuum disintegrates.
The seals on the door and windows of the chamber
IMPLODE.
Virginia struggles in darkness to find the Petri dish.
Catches her protective suit on the edge of the lab table.
The seed SWELLS
like a cancer.
It's skin
CRACKS
into a dozen shards
and EXPLODES
sending
A DELICATE MIST
into the air.
Tiny particles
DRIFT
like dandelion fuzz
toward
A SMALL RIP
in the forearm of Virginia's space suit.
ALMOST SILENCE NOW.
Only the HISS of air in the chamber.
Only a GASP inside the space suit.
INT. UC BOTANY LAB - LATER
A GHOSTLY FORM
fills the frame.
Dark. Unstable. Like a hair in the lens of a projector.
Without reference, we can't make it out.
Richmann peers through the eyepiece of a clunky sixties
ELECTRON MICROSCOPE.
The form appears on a
MONITOR.
Better now. More definition. It's a fragment of the seed
containing the dark spot.
Richmann focuses in.
A MARK
emerges. Geometric. Cool. Intelligent. Fused in the seed
husk like a hologram.
Richmann cranks in more magnification.
ON THE MONITOR
the shape blooms.
We're looking deep inside molecular structure.
DEEPER FOCUS.
The design is formed from a group of stick-like,
pictographic characters. Arranged linearly, like writing.
Sanskrit, perhaps. Or the older Harappan. But oddly
skewed, distorted.
Whatever it is, Richmann's stunned. Exhilarated by the
possibilities.
He siphons out the seed fragment with a pipette. Places it
in a sample bag with the other fragments.
INT. THE WHEATS' BEDROOM - NIGHT
Virginia wakes. Sits up.
VIRGINIA
Something's wrong, Joe.
Next to her, JOSEPH WHEAT, a solid man in his late 20's,
struggles out of sleep.
VIRGINIA
I think the baby's coming.
JOSEPH
You're not due for six weeks.
INT. UC MEDICAL CENTER, PRENATAL UNIT - DAY
BABY BENJAMIN 'BEN' WHEAT, red-faced and slightly
premature, squirms in the confines of an incubator.
Behind a tripod, Joseph Wheat photographs his new son with
a vintage super-8 movie camera. He's light-headed. Swims
in the joy of fatherhood.
JOSEPH
Hey, little man! Benjamin! Ben!
Look at Daddy.
A DOCTOR steps in.
DOCTOR
Your wife is having a little problem.
His voice trails away as they walk down the hall.
DOCTOR
We've moved her to ICU as a precaution.
Baby Benjamin's thin arms lurch in the air. He reaches out
with his left hand.
Feels the cool plastic of the incubator cover. BURBLES contentedly.
The camera WHIRS unattended on its tripod.
His tiny forefinger traces
a small MARK
in the condensation on the incubator cover.
INT. JAIL CELL - DAY (THE PRESENT)
An odd, auburn
MARK
on the cell wall.
It's similar in design to the mark Richmann saw on the seed fragment.
The painter is BENJAMIN (BEN) WHEAT, now 30. His palette
is an ugly gash on the left wrist. His brush, a bloody finger.
He's dressed in a blood-spattered Moschino T-shirt and jeans.
TITLE OVER:
Thirty years later.
He splatters a few more strokes on his improvised canvas.
GUY-IN-NEXT-CELL (O.S.)
The psycho is at it again!
An ALARM sounds.
Ben leans back in the corner. Beneath his crabby wildness
and three day beard, he's a good-looking, engaging young
man. He runs his tongue over his teeth.
BEN
I need a damn toothbrush! My teeth
feel like they're wearing little
woolly sweaters.
Joseph Wheat enters. He's in his 50's now. Sullen. No
longer a proud young father. He's out of breath. Sweating.
Gets out his wallet. A JAIL DEPUTY steps to the desk.
DEPUTY
Hi, Mr. Wheat. You don't look so
good.
JOSEPH
Angina's acting up.
Pops a capsule from a prescription bottle under his tongue.
BEN
I can get home by myself.
Joseph nods. Counts out money.
DEPUTY
Same as last time. Drunk and
disorderly.
DEPUTY
(to Ben, re: his wound)
You better get that taken care of.
Lays out Ben's property from an envelope.
DEPUTY
Sign for your stuff.
Ben signs the ledger.
DEPUTY
Hell of a way to spend your
birthday.
EXT. OCEANVIEW CEMETERY
Joseph pulls his car to the curb. Ben steps out. Walks
toward the entrance of a mausoleum, pretentiously
decorated like an ancient temple.
INT. MAUSOLEUM - DUSK
Ben sits on a bench. Polishes a brass marker on a
sepulcher with the blood-soaked hanky on his wound:
"Virginia Benson Wheat. 1944 - 1969".
The setting sun throws shafts of light through a rococo
skylight.
BEN
See you soon.
Places a small white rose in the flower vase and leaves.
END SAMPLE
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