Latitude Theory (AlaskaLoneWolf)

Law of the Wood [3]

An Original Motion Picture - Script
Written by: L T Hunter

[Fade in: Mountainside just above treeline,
helicopter in the distance approaching, winterscape,
a crystal clear blue sky, man out on the skid in a shieldsuit.]

Narrative:

‘There’s always ah’ been three things, that I’ve been afraid of, a fear of women, fear of heights and being electrocuted. Most people would say that I’m addicted to adrenalin. Most say I am a thrill seeker. And I’ll admit, I’ve always been in a habit of proving myself. It was all about feeling that sensation of fear. But, I first decided to do this job because of the money. The fact that I make more in a week, than most other people make all year. It gives me a freedom, when I take risks like no one else. I always admired my father, and it was me proving to myself that I was a man. There have been days when I regretted the decision. Those thought disappear, right about the time I get on the skid for my ride to work.’

[Cut: Chase camera, from same elevation, slightly above the large forboding electrical power line tower, it’s three huge cables illuminated ghostly with a luminescent glow called a corona effect. Reaching out from the skid, the man touches a wand to the wire. As he does, a huge arc of electricity jumps to the wand. Holding the wand to the surface of the wire, he takes a spring-loaded clamp, with a wire attached to the helicopter, and connects the clamp to the wire. Now the helicopter and the powerline are both energized at the same energy level. As he does, the helicopter, the skid and everything connected to the powerline shares the same eerie glow.]

Narrative:

‘They call it a hot zone. A place where a digital watch will die in less than a second. A place where a wedding-band will induct enough electricity to burn through your finger. The hot zone is that place were we make our money. It is the area around the power line while under load. This one is electrically energized to several million volts. Enough to generate a field of flux, or electromagnetic radiation which surrounds the cable, while it delivers this energy between two points. This line connects two major cities. The greater the amount of power, the greater the distance away from the wire the effect can be felt. Even in this suit, it feels like I’m covered in angry hornets. The radiation tends to form little hot spots, like in the folds of the suit, and especially around metal tools. Sometimes, I could swear you could cut it with a knife. The field, and the fear. Today I am making sure that this line will continue to work flawlessly for another decade. The only thought going through my head is the next move in a well orchestrated routine. One mistake is too many.’

[Cut: Chase camera, from above looking down from overhead, to the ground far below. The man from the skid, replaces a broken piece along the length of the powerline mid-span. Working quickly, he detached the spacer, throwing it into a basket behind him. His hands seem guided automatically. A well-practiced routine is obvious. The pilot looks over to the man on the skid. They communicated with nods, and hand signals, even though both wear, albeit somewhat colorful, flight helmets.]

Narrative:

‘The pilot is the real expert. Flying one of these things is a lot like balancing the tip of one pencil upon the tip of another, while sitting on a spinning merry-go-round. I could never do his job. As I doubt he would want to do mine. The fact that he’s flying a helicopter isn’t as impressive as the fact that he seems to be able to read my mind. Not to mention he’s flying right next to a power line. Cross-winds, wind-shears, temperature shifts called thermals, as well as rain and several hundred other things which cause transistional lift, always seem to want to pull those spinning rotors over our heads, into the high-voltage power-line. One wrong move, from either of us, and both our checks go to the next of kin.’

[Cut: Three-quarter view from below, showing how high off the ground the helicopter is and that the powerline is actually moving in the wind. So is the pilot, matching the oscillations in the wire, gently swaying back and forth like a cork, on a ripple of the pond. The man on the skid takes the wand back to the line, then disconnects the clamp returning it to its place on the helicopter. Slowly the helicopter moves away, and as this happens the man on the skid removes the wand, as the arc forms again until it is broken by the distance away from the wire. The helicopter gains momentum and travels along the line at a clip to the next problem area, down the hill and up along the next ridge. All the while the man on the skid stares at the line, inspecting it for failures. They can see damage along the three runs of powerline as the glow tends to gets brighter where there are problems.]

Narrative:

‘Somtimes my mind tends to wander when we’re out here on patrol. After a while, even the thrill of being on this skid wears off. Tower after tower, mile after mile it’s all the same thing. It’s times like this I recount old stories. I’ve had many apprentices, and here is the story of one I found most interesting.’

_____________________________ End of scene

Law of the Wood [4]

An Original Motion Picture - Script
Written by: L T Hunter


[Flying over mountains, the trees slowly
turning from large majestic spruce, to smaller,
more spindly and sparse ones. The blue sky
slowly fades to growing cloud masses. Tight shot
of man in cabin with camera taking pictures out
the windows from the rear of the cabin.]

Narrator:

‘As we headed further and further north, the weather began to move in which made the sight-seeing a little less than perfect. I put my camera away and decided to catch up on the news.’

[The clouds rolling by, and the sky
suddenly overcast. Tight shot of the
newspaper with large photograph of
girl on the cover, next to another
large photograph of the world’s most
infamous terrorist and a caption in
huge bold faced letters, ‘CAUGHT’.]

Narrator:

‘I was flying into some little known place deep in the backcountry where I was going to meet my guide. His father had been a hunter and trapper of some note.’

[Plane banking tightly, as the inserts of
the newspaper spill out of the inner folds
and scatter across the floor of the cabin.]

Pilot:

‘Oh shit. Are you buckled in back there?’

[Several alarms began howling through the cabin.
The cockpit panels were suddenly lit with blinking
yellow, then red lights. Several dials fell to zero.]

Pilot:

‘Shit, shit, shit, shit….’

[The aircraft began to shake violently, with the distinct smell of oil present, a banging noise grew louder to a crescendo, with the once invisible spinning propeller, churning out three final revolutions and locked with a stutter in a slightly less than diagonal position in the view of the windshield. The two sides of the propeller, each slowly swivelled outward, whirring with its electric actuator to the ‘feathered’ position.]

Pilot:

‘Brace yourself for a rough landing. This is Cessna november-eight-two-six-whiskey, anyone copy? Hey man, listen to me! Strap in dammit. Strap in tight. We’re gonna’ be coming in hot. This is Cessna two-six-whiskey declaring an emergency, mayday mayday mayday, this is Cessna two-six-whiskey declaring an emergency, copy…’

[The mountains below came up fast,
then the spindly trees, as the sleek
aircraft barely spit past large rocky
outcroppings and the tops of bushes
barely three feet from the snowcovered
frozen dirt.]

Pilot:

‘This is Cessna two-six-whiskey declaring an emergency, mayday mayday mayday, anyone copy?’

[A clearing came out of nowhere. A broad and expansive
area rimmed with rather deformed, even surreal trees.]


Narrator:

‘I never really think about death. Perhaps I’ve always been distracted by the busy routine, or the accomplishments I seek to realize. It is something that is always a surprise, since the flood of regrets soon follows.’

[The aircraft hits the ground hard, as the pilot had a difficult time judging the distances and altitude with the white canvas of sky, against the white carpet of snow. Both landing gear and wings folded, in a chorus of bending metal and shredding ice with aircraft. Aerofuel immediately spilled everywhere, inside and out as both tanks ruptured, the plowing aircraft tumbled through the snow. The pilot had not found the time to buckle himself in, and was gruesomely impaled on the yoke, his head snapped back lifelessly, as the aircraft came to its final resting place at the center of a lake in the middle of nowhere.

Narrator:

‘Am I alive?’
____________________________________________ End of scene

Law of the Wood [5]

An Original Motion Picture - Script
Written by: L T Hunter

[Wide angle: Snowfall. Various angles showing just how hard snow can dump from the heavens. Cut: Panorama of clearing skies, at nightfall. Cut: The last whisps of clouds leave. Northern Lights dancing across the sky, the overcast shattered after the hard snow to a blowing wind. Cut: Panning shot of the stars spread out across the heavens; a full moon rising over mountains haunted by the calls of wild animals. Cut: Tight shot of wind blown newly fallen snow, into drifts, masking most of the wreck from view. The belly pod barely visible, only small corners of its cargo scattered, and white lumps in the terrain where debris lay through the large path plowed by an airplane that was soon covered over.]

Narrator:

Snow fell for what seemed like hours. Inside the crumpled fuselage I had managed to climb into a sleeping bag not covered in blood or aerofuel. We had been flying for most of the afternoon, and night came early in these parts. I had found the snap lights I’d tucked into my parka; I was trying to figure out my location on the one of a dozen maps in the pocket behind the pilot’s seat. There was no way of knowing where the satellite phone was, where my laptop computer had ended up, or the one bag that had all the real survival gear in it.

[The lifeless body of the pilot was covered in snow that had blown into the cockpit through the shattered windshield. Snow filled the entire front of the cockpit, drifting between the two command chairs at the helm. Part of the airframe had smashed through the panel, exposing circuits from the inside. The co-pilots headset was still hanging, miraculously on its perch, still plugged into the console.]

Narrator:

I had to try the radio, at least once an hour, on the off chance that somehow, out there in the darkness someone would hear my call. All the while, I figured someone would be showing up in a rescue helicopter. Hours went by. Only answers were silence. Problem was, where we were going, the flight plan wouldn’t show us overdue for at least a week. I had come to the conclusion that at this point, it would be a game of survival.

[Maps were strewn about the tight coccoon at the rear of the plane. Snow had packed against the sides making it impossible to see outside, except for a small portion of the rear window and the hole in the windshield. Huddled inside a large down-filled arctic sleeping bag, a sole survivor contemplated a dire plight.]

Narrator:

The landing, if you could call it that, left me surprisingly uninjured. I had a bruise on my forehead, and felt numb where I didn’t ache. I felt as if I’d went a few rounds in a boxing ring. After I realized I wasn’t dead, I also realized that I needed to change my pants. I kept telling myself this was a bad dream, that I would wake up at some point. The snap lights didn’t last long enough for me to figure out my location. So I decided to sleep, stay in the wreckage, and figure it all out in the morning.

__________________________________End of Scene

Law of the Wood [6]

An Original Motion Picture - Script
Rough Draft - Third Revision
Written by: L T Hunter

_________________________________________________________________

[Pitch black room. Tight shot, focus on blinking clock reading six in the morning.
Mixed commotion, glass bottles clinking together across the room unseen. One shadow
passes in front of a small slit in the shades blocking out the daylight passing
through the window. The small particles of dust, and haze of stale smoke still
hanging thick in the air, stirred by the shadow scurrying around in the blackness.]

Groundman:

‘Get up man, we’re gonna’ get fired, for Chrissake git’ outta’ bed man!’

[The heavy blackout curtains folded back violently, partially torn from the rod.
Light from the rising sun blasting into the small cavity, illuminating all the
empty bottles strewn about the floor, dresser, bed and lining the perimeter of
the room, some in pyramids, some smashed in small piles in the corners of the room.]

Apprentice:

‘C’mon, aaargh!’

Groundman:

‘Dude, da’ boss is gonna’ tan both our asses if we’re not on dat’ last bird…’

[A small Hughes 500 approaching from the work camp, lands just outside.
The pilot looks curiously as if confused. A man steps out of the side opposite.]
Apprentice:

‘Are you serious, after last night, I doubt he even cares!’

Groundman:

‘Get up, we’ve pulled the heavy crew, we got to be there, you know that.’

Apprentice:

‘Alright! Gimme’ a second to put on my…’

[Rifling through the closet, throwing out a shirt, a dirt ripped cover-all and
a hat, along with boots and a couple of well-soiled socks, which hit him in the
face. His hair still in disarray, eyes barely able to open or focus.]

Groundman:

‘Here! Don’t bother with it, jus’ get out da’ door. The stew is so pissed off…’

Apprentice:

‘Why is that?’

Groundman:

‘You’ve got both sets of da’ keys for all da’ equipment ya’ dumbass’

[The keys come tumbling out of the pocket of the over-alls]

Apprentice:

‘Oh shit.’

[The helicopter blades nearly spun all the way down. The man on the pad looking
toward the two men running, half-dressed, and stumbling across the yard. Several
others look on shaking their heads, hiding their laughs, the mechanic re-fueling
the helicopter guesturing over to the pilot to pay him some money which the pilot
takes from his zippered chest pocket.]

Groundman:

‘Sorry Stew, won’t happen again.’

[A much older, rather distinguished man nearing retirement, his hair grey at his
temples, and into his unshaven muscular jaw. His steel-rimmed glasses tipped ever
so slightly downward so that his cold blue eyes meet with theirs.]

Steward:

‘Ya’ gotta’ learn that being on my crew means ya’ can be counted on.’

Apprentice:

‘Sorry Stew, won’t happen again.’

Steward:

Angry voice, ‘One more word an’ ya’ll be gettin’ a pink slip.’

[From out of view, the ‘Boss’ approaches, quite a bit taller, and massive. As the
helicopter turbine begins to spool-up, the rotors begin to turn faster. The
huge man, dressed in all black gear, wearing a hard-hat with a single word
boldly marked across the top on all sides, ‘BOSS’, puts a huge hand on both
standing in front of the shop steward.]


Foreman:

Yelling, ‘I did ya’ Dad a favor puttin’ you on dis’ crew, an’ dis’ is what I git?’

[In the helicopter, sitting beside his roommate, leaning over to his partner.]

Groundman:

‘Better pour dat’ slop in the hole double-time.’


__________________________________________End of Scene

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