All language subtitles for Tremors.Shrieker.Island.2020.BRRip.XviD.AC3-EVO-HI-English

Subtitles by explosiveskull
www.OpenSubtitles.org

(BIRD CALLING)

(PANTING)

(PANTING)

(GRUNTS)

(THUNDER RUMBLING)

(RAIN PATTERING)

(GROWLING)

(GROWLING)

The prey's approaching the kill box.

Activate the poison darts.
Safeties off.

(GROWLING)

(DARTS FIRE)

Fire!

- (SHOOTS)
- MAN: Yeah!

(FIRING)

Come on!

Recharge!

(SHRIEKING)

Wherever you are, let's go!

MAN 1: I can't believe
we didn't kill that thing.

MAN 2: I know.
We hit it hard, didn't we?

No one said it was gonna
be easy to take this prey,

but we wanted a challenge,
gentlemen, and, well, we got one.

No worries.

We're gonna bag
this little baby tomorrow.

All right?

ANNA: Hey, Bill,

this feel right to you?

Yeah, it's disappointing,
but we'll get him. Why?

I mean, we hit that thing
with a serious dose of Special K,

and he just shook it off
like it was nothing.

Super predators have
a bad habit of being tough as nails.

Hoof! Tough hunt.

Yep.

No trophy mount for these slack-jawed

hipster hunters from Silicon Valley.

Hey, they paid
big money for this hunt.

Yeah, I should hope so.

I mean, how often
do you get to hunt a super predator

whose genetic code's been hacked?

A mega-super predator.

ANNA: Even better.

I mean, you tinkered with evolution,

so a bunch of tech geeks

could hang exotic
trophy mounts on their office walls.

Too bloody right.

We didn't come
all this way to shoot clay pigeons.

Come on, Anna.
We've been in a lot of hunts together,

and this one's no different.

Yeah, but those were fair fights, Bill,
not vanity hunts.

Hey, come on.
What's going on, Anna?

I don't know.

There's something
about this hunt just doesn't feel right.

We're gonna put
this baby down tomorrow,

and you'll feel better then.
You always do.

Now come on,
let's go drink some expensive booze,

and show
these Silicon Valley jokers a good time.

(SOFT CHUCKLE) Come on.
You're gonna enjoy it.

Hey, boys,
let's move on out.

We got some steaks on the grill

and some cold vodka in the freezer.

MAN 1: That's what I'm talking about.

(CHIRPING)

(KEYBOARD CLACKING)

(CLICKS)

(ELEPHANT GRUNTS)

- JAS: Hey, Ishiman!
- Hi.

How are you doing?

Hello. Hello...

JAS: That's a good girl.

- (ELEPHANT SCREECHES)
- (RATTLING)

(MONKEY AND ELEPHANTS SCREECH)

- (MONKEY SCREECHING)
- (GROUND THUNDERING)

(BIRDS SCREECHING)

(ELEPHANT GRUNTING)

- You feel that?
- Yeah.

Volcanic island.
Just some minor seismic activity.

If you want, I'll wrangle up the data.

Yeah. Do that, will you?

Where's Jimmy?

Recovering.

We played Flip, Sip or Strip last night.

He didn't even make it past Sip.

(SNORTS)

(JIMMY SNORING)

- JAS: Let's go, Jimmy.
- What?

- Rise and shine.
- (JIMMY GRUNTS)

(JIMMY GROANS)

JIMMY: Fart in a bag.

My team's supposed to be GPS tagging
the elephants today, right?

(GRUNTS) Am I missing it?

Coffee?

Lovely. Cream?

- JAS: Two sugars.
- Awesome.

Are you hungover?

(CHUCKLES) No.

Yes.

Sorry.

Are you angry?

No. But your crew is
doing all the work over there.

Well, it's kind
of what they're supposed to do, right?

Uh, yeah, but you're the one with
the PhD in Conservation Biology.

Yes, yes, Jas.
I get it. I get it,

but look at it this way,

I'm practicing my leadership skills.

Delegation, empowerment.

Yeah, but you can't
skip over inspiring others.

Commitment and passion,
leading by example.

All right, all right.
And don't forget the all-important

"falling out of the hammock
and getting to work."

Exactly.

Let's go.

Hey, Jas. I wrangled up
all the data from the networks

and ran an analysis
for out-of-the-ordinary signals

- on a real-time basis.
- And?

And it's just no volcanic reawakening.
Just some minor seismic activity.

- (SIGHS IN RELIEF)
- (YAWNING)

- Hey, Jimmy.
- Sorry.

FREDDIE: You good?

- Uh, yeah, I am peachy. Thanks for asking.
- Mmm-hmm.

Red Bull, vodka, it's not a good,
you know, combo.

(GRUNTS) Shoot.
I didn't make it past Sip, did I?

- You never do.
- No.

What's Bill doing over there?

That's Bill's private island, Jas.
You know the deal, no trespassing.

Let's go see what he's up to.

(VOMITING)

(GRUNTS)

(JIMMY COUGHING)

Looks like something punched its way out
from inside this thing.

JIMMY: It's about 30 feet.

- This is an exoskeleton.
- (GRUNTS)

They had dorsal back convex.

Dermal armor.
What the hell is this thing?

It can't be.

It can't be what?

(BRANCH BREAKING)

(BIRD CHIRPING)

There's something in those trees.

JIMMY: Yeah. Let's...

(BRANCH BREAKS)

(SCREECHING)

- (THUD)
- (SCREECHING)

Okay, I'm gonna
start leading by example and run.

I suggest you do the same!

Ishiman! Come on!

- (PANTING)
- (LIGHT GROWLING)

(GROWLING)

JIMMY: Ishi!

What are you doing, man? Come on!

(WHIMPERING)

(RUSTLING)

(GROWLING)

Ishi, come on, man! Let's go!

JIMMY: Ishi!

(WHIMPERING)

(GROWLS)

(GRUNTING)

(SHRIEKING)

Ishi!

(RUSTLING)

(GROANING)

JIMMY: Ishi!

Come on, Ishi!

- Come on, Ishi! You can do it!
- (GROWLING)

(ISHIMAN SCREAMING)

Ishi! Ishi!

(BREATHING HEAVILY)

What the hell was
that thing that killed Ishi, Jas?

I don't know exactly.

I tried to help him, but...

I tried to help him.
I did my best. I did, Jas, but...

There was nothing you could do.

I need you to find
Burt Gummer for me, Jimmy.

Me? Well, why not Travis?

I mean, they're partners, aren't they?

(SIGHS) Travis is in a Mexican jail.

Don't ask. Long story.

I need you to head out now.

Head out where?

The last coordinates
I got for his location

are Papua New Guinea.

(ENGINE REVVING)

JIMMY: Mr. Gummer!

Yo, Mr. Gummer!

(GRUNTS)

Help! Help!

Oh, jeez.

JIMMY: Mr. Gummer.
Thank goodness it's you.

For a second there,
I thought I was gonna get cannibalized,

but I'm not, right?

(MEN CHEERING)

- 50K says she can't do that again.
- ANNA: Ah!

I'll take the other side
of that action at two to one.

You want a double-pop, slick?

I'd prefer three to one, actually,
but I believe you don't have the balls.

(CHUCKLES)

MAN: Step up! Go ahead, Bowtie!

Triple-pop. You got it.

You fools have more money than sense.

ANNA: Right, Bill?

Come on, Bowtie!

What, they teach you how to bet at Yale,
slick? 'Cause that's a loser.

Anna, darling, I don't lose.

MAN: Hey, double that bet,
Wall Street!

ANNA: Okay, good.
Well, then here's the game, gentlemen.

Watch this.

ANNA: Mr. Bowtie
over here goes across the bridge

and puts an apple
on his head, and I'ma shoot it off.

- WALL STREET: Whoa!
- MAN: You just got volunteered, my man.

WALL STREET: Okay. And you'll be facing
the opposite direction

while looking into a mirror.

Well, that makes it more interesting.

I like it.

ANNA: You're gonna love this, slick,

'cause the bid's
just gone up to 250,000

at three to one
and we don't do margin betting.

Oh, man!

You got the swag?

Anna, darling,
I have more in my piggybank.

Oh!

Now you see why I hired her.
She's a real piece of work.

You're about to add
750K to your net worth.

Now that's a lot of Jack.

You sure?

Don't worry.
If I miss, I'll miss high.

(MEN LAUGHING)

ANNA: Bring me that mirror, baby.

- Hey, Bowtie.
- Yeah?

You forgot something.

WALL STREET: (SIGHS) That's a good start.

(SPITS)

Good luck.

Come on, baby.

I once saw a guy shit
his pants when she did this.

(BLOWING)

(BOWTIE BREATHING HEAVILY)

(STRETCHING)

(ARROW SWOOSHING)

(ALL LAUGHING)

MAN: What a nice shot!

ANNA: Shouldn't have
doubted me, slick!

Bullseye!

(ALL CHUCKLING)

WALL STREET: Wow.

WALL STREET: I can't believe that.

You're lucky, boy.
You're lucky.

I wonder what Goldilocks wants.

JIMMY: How long you say
you've been here?

BURT: 186 days.
How'd you track me down?

Travis Welker gave
your coordinates to my boss.

It was very sweet of him.

Turncoat!

My own flesh and blood.

Uh, look, I'm here
'cause we need your brand of expertise.

BURT: Let me guess. Graboids?

JIMMY: Wait, how'd you know?

Somehow, they always find me.

Not this time. I'm retired.

Yeah, well, it sounds like
someone's got a little PTGD.

(GRUNTS)

That's Post Traumatic Graboid Disorder,
not the "Stress," the "Graboid," see...

Hey, you know what they say?

One sometimes finds his destiny
on the path to avoid it.

Beats the hell out of civilization
with all its rules and regs.

The State of Nevada ordered me
to hook up a sewer...

You know what that means?

Uh, sanitation?

Sanitation, my ass.

It means permits, government
inspectors, bureaucracy.

(GRUNTS) It's one big
self-licking ice cream cone.

The government gets your spore,
it gets your DNA.

You know, one of those things
killed my friend.

We need you.

You do not. Travis Welker,
he's your go-to man now.

Travis Welker, he's, well,
he's technically unavailable.

Some things never change.

Look, you don't get it.

The bottom line is, if we don't
do something, more people will die.

You're the only one who can help us.

- (SPITS) An island, you say?
- Yeah.

Population?

Eight hundred indigenous people,

plus researchers and scientists.

Look, it's your destiny, Mr. Gummer.

Your destiny.

(STABS)

(GRUNTS)

Destiny's a bitch.

Importing illegal predators
onto an island sanctuary?

Whiskey?

This isn't a social call.

Your island,

what did you unleash over there?

BILL: You've been snooping like a cat.

You know what curiosity did.

I know it killed
one of my men over there today.

(SWALLOWS) God, Jas.
I didn't know.

I'm sorry.

What can I do to help?

Well, let's start with the truth.

Did you breed Graboids?

I did.

Oh, God, Bill,
what have you done?

Created a hunt like no other.

You've imported an invasive species
onto a tropical island.

You can't contain them.

Calm down, Jas.
They're contained.

They're not getting off that island.

Besides, they'll all be dead
by Monday morning.

- How many are there?
- Four.

Three. I found a dead one
over there today.

Did you?

(CHUCKLES)

So we did kill it.

You see, bio-tech's my day job.

It's a shingle to hang on my door,

but hunting, now that is my passion.

It reminds me of my place
in the food chain,

see, 'cause when you got wealth,

the only currency worth a damn
is life and death.

Shut this hunt down now.

Yeah.

I can't do that.

Then I have no choice.

I'm gonna have to report you
to the World Wildlife Federation.

Well, that seems a bit rash.

Well, maybe it is.

I just can't believe
you've done this, Bill.

I understand.

You gotta do what you gotta do,

but you should know
I jammed the comms grid for the weekend.

No one ruins my hunt.

- (POURING)
- I thought we were friends.

You see this whiskey?
It's a 50-year-old Balvenie.

It costs 50 grand a bottle.

Now I offered you a glass,

and I'm offering again.

To me,

that's what friendship looks like.

To me, it's just whiskey.

(MEN LAUGHING)

(RAIN PATTERING)

(THUNDER RUMBLING)

(SIGHS)

(URINATING)

(THUNDER RUMBLING)

(SIGHS)

(BRANCH BREAKING)

(GROWLING)

(BREATHING HEAVILY)

(GROWLING AND SNORTING)

(RATTLING)

(GRUNTING)

(CREATURE SCREECHING)

- (MAN BREATHING HEAVILY)
- (CREATURE SNARLING)

(CREATURE SCREECHING)

(CREATURE GROWLING)

(YELLING)

(EATING)

(CRACKLING)

(WATER GURGLING)

- Jesus. These hunting scouts are savages.
- (FLIES BUZZING)

Board this up.

Pretty Boy's gone.

He probably just got drunk
and shacked up with an island chick.

Looks like someone needs a shave.
And a haircut.

Jasmine.

I go by "Jas" now.

Or Dr. Welker, whichever you prefer.

I prefer none of the above.
What's she doing here?

JAS: R&D for Avex-Bio.

I sent for you.

Why the hell did I come here?
I was perfectly happy.

Burt, talk to me. We're adults.

You want to talk? Here it is.

I'm taking this boat back
to my life of total isolation.

Please, Burt, don't go.

It's been a long time.

I know Travis was a shock, but...

I don't want to hear
about him or you or me.

Okay.

Let's talk about Graboids,
or more specifically, how to kill them.

Okay.

Henceforth, we will limit
our conversation to Precambrian lifeforms,

understood, Dr. Welker?

Okay, hold on.
You guys are melting my brain.

You two used to be, like, like a thing?

My name is Burt Gummer,
and I've been called many things.

Gun enthusiast, monster hunter,
doomsday prepper.

I reject all these labels.

What I am is a survivalist.

I've scoured the dirt and dust
of Nevada and Mexico,

putting my life on the line to hunt

supersized subterranean
man-eating predators called Graboids.

Using a combination
of local knowledge, intuition...

Frigging awesome.

(GRUNTS)

(ELEPHANTS CALLING)

Civilization comes calling.

Whether I like it or not.

(CHATTERING)

BURT: The Graboid is
a vicious subterranean predator

about 30 feet in length
with a semi-rigid internal structure.

It senses its prey seismically and employs
three powerful snake-like oral tentacles

to ensnare its prey...

- (GRUNTS)
- (SQUEAKS)

A little too close that time.

BURT: If that weren't enough,
Graboids give birth to

three ugly spawn we call Shriekers,

short, squat and blind,
bipedal bad boys

that sense and hunt their prey
using infrared sensors.

This guy can't be for real.

- Trust me, he's for real.
- ...a winged predatory...

Yeah, are you guys kidding me?

Burt Gummer? He pulls major respect.
He's a freaking legend.

If I looked half that good,
I'd shave my ass and walk backwards.

MAN: He looks
more badass with the beard, though.

I like his face.

Ow! That's the dome
I know and love.

And remember,
life and survival starts here.

- Is that a rubber snake?
- (SNAKE RATTLING)

(SQUEAKING)

BURT: This your idea of privacy?

It's the jungle, Burt.
Get over it.

The boys pitched in
and got you some clothes.

Cargo pants, khaki safari shirt,
standard jungle issue.

It's clean, kind of. Anything else?

Give it here.

Whoa.

Damn, Burt.

The miles look better
on you than my backside.

I don't need to know about your...
Your miles.

Okay. Do you want to know
about our son, Travis?

If we must. He's MIA again.

He's behind bars for bringing
magic mushrooms across the Mexican border.

Peyote, is that even still a thing?

Everything old is new, Burt.

Must've gotten his taste for psychedelics
from the shallow end of your gene pool.

Come on.

The team are waiting for a sit rep.

BURT: So, to recap,

there's one KIA
on an uninhabited volcanic island,

and you think your boss,

who happens to run
an international biotech company,

has managed to obtain
and illegally gestate

dormant Graboid eggs.

Test-tube Graboids.

This is folly!

You know, it does seem
kind of folly-ish.

It's not folly, Burt.

The only access
to this island is by sea?

Someone ripped
the HF radios out of the long-tail boat.

Bill cut us off
until his hunt is over.

BILL: I was told
I had an interloper.

Bill Davidson. Billionaire philanthropist

and a hunter of all things exotic.

Burt Gummer.

What brings you to my island paradise?

Visiting a friend.

Hey, nice Weatherby 308.

I see you've installed
a biometric fingerprint trigger lock.

Safety first.
It's required tech on all my hunts.

Ah, your hunts.
Yes, yes. About that.

If you've got Graboids
loose on your private island,

you need to shut down
and create a perimeter

we can defend so the native population
on this island doesn't get eaten alive.

Well, like I told Jas,

that island's a natural containment zone.

Alcatraz for Graboids?

(BILL CHUCKLES)

Oh...

That's catchy. I like it.

BILL: Don't you worry
your little head, Burt.

I'll have those bad boys
dressed and mounted by Monday morning.

Before you begin
your Graboid-slaying quest,

do yourself a favor
and get something bigger than that 308.

That's like spitting at Godzilla.

(SCOFFS)

(CHUCKLES)

Damn, you're a funny man, Burt.

You're gonna
behave yourself on my island, right?

- I'll catch y'all later.
- BURT: Hmm.

Have fun.

That ass-clown's a skid mark
on our collective underwear.

Tell me about it.

I need to do recon,
see what we're up against.

Now we need to organize
an expedition team. Get geared up!

Count me in.

Geared up?

Yeah, weapons. Big ones.

The full battle rattle. (GRUNTS)

We don't have any munitions.

Well, that's not entirely true.

I mean, we got a couple sharp objects,
some odds and ends.

Odds?

We're completely gun-less?

- (HISSES)
- (BURT SIGHS)

(CHUCKLES SOFTLY) Uh...

Well, let me show you
what we got.

JIMMY: This is a bomb shelter
from World War II.

Now we just use it
to store our dry goods and food supplies.

A couple team members
think it's haunted,

but I think it was
just a monkey giving birth.

JIMMY: Down here.

Watch your step.

(MACHINE RUNNING)

All right, take a gander.
This is what we got.

When we first started
setting up camp here,

I found all this stuff.

We have knives, obviously,
and some machetes. Lots of machetes.

Lord, be praised. Machetes, huh?

Bless my soul, Pennsylvania steel.

That supposed to be good?

Does a bear shit in the woods

- and wipe its ass with a white rabbit?
- (CHUCKLES)

M2 flamethrower used by the US Marines

in the island-hopping campaigns
of the Pacific Theater.

Effective range, 20 to 40 meters.

We also have lots and lots
of crates of dynamite.

What, from the 1940s?

Yeah, I think so.

Is it sweating?

Dynamite sweats?

Dynamite improperly stored sweats
its main ingredient, nitroglycerine.

Yeah, which causes it to be highly,
and I mean highly, unstable.

Even the slightest vibration
could set it off.

FREDDIE: Which could actually
work to our advantage.

Explain yourself.

Me and my crew could turn this TNT
into a Graboid-activated tripwire.

What, an anti-infiltration system?

FREDDIE: You got it. We'll turn
this whole camp into an area of denial.

A couple of crash-bangs
won't stop a Graboid.

Oh, but it'll slow it down.
Or at least let us know that she's coming.

All right, can you and your team
handle this?

Oh, we can make a helicopter
out of bamboo and bubblegum if you want.

All right. Get to it.

Bang it is, Mr. Gummer.

We'll start by running the firing wire
and rigging the clackers.

- MAN: Got it.
- That's dangerous work.

I was born on a weed plantation
in Alder Point, California.

Murder Mountain?

Had a rifle in my hand
and a knife on my hip since I was seven.

Made Eagle Scouts at 12.

I'm not some tree-hugging vegan chick.

I eat what I kill.

I've killed some serious shit, Mr. Gummer.

I could handle this.

She knows her stuff.

Wanna make yourself useful?

I could use a pair of shades.

All right.

But I want them back.

(BIRDS CALLING)

(SIGHING)

(LOW GROWL)

What the hell was that?

Monkeys, I think.

(SIGHS)

Anna, I want this Graboid
on my office wall.

- You better sober up, then, slick.
- (SOFT CHUCKLE)

Hello? Hello? Testing.

Yo, Iris! Here you go.

(PANTING)

Hey, Mr. Gummer.
Do you have any sage advice?

For starters, don't do that.

Yeah, got it.

So, uh, what is Jas to you?

She's not an "is,"she's a "was."

Oh, yeah.
Yeah, I got me a few of those.

I don't get women. Too many moving parts.

I can take apartand reassemble
an AK-47 blindfolded, but women,

they always want to talk about stuff.

Yeah. Talking is tough.

FREDDIE: I thought you could use
one of these.

- JIMMY: What?
- (BIRD SCREECHING)

A bird?

It's your canary in the coal mine.

She'll sense danger
and let you know it's coming.

Hey, a living, breathing Graboid alarm.

You got it!

Yeah. I thought
You didn't have any guns around here?

It's not really a gun.
It's a dart rifle.

It fires a satellite-linked tag
with about a 72-hour battery life.

So, we might tag one of those things,
so we could track it down.

Good thinking.

(INSECTS TRILLING)

Almost there, gentlemen.

(CREATURE GROWLING)

(CROW CAWING)

(PANTING)

(MOSQUITO BUZZING)

Damn mozzies!

WALL STREET: One sec.

Come on, keep up.

(GRUNTS)

You can't handle your liquor?

(TANK TINKLING)

JIMMY: I got this. I got this.

I can do this. I can do this.

(WALL STREET BREATHING HEAVILY)

WALL STREET: Oh, man.

I got a serious case
of swamp-ass going on here.

(SLIGHT GROWL)

WALL STREET: What was that?

(BIRD SCREECHES)

(FLUTTERING)

(RUSTLING)

(BREATHING HEAVILY)

(BOW STRETCHING)

(TWIGS BREAKING)

WALL STREET: Whoa.

(BIRDS CHIRPING)

Let's go.

Mandible range, two meters.

BURT: I haven't seen one
of these bastards in over 20 years.

What bastards?

BURT: I assumed the unpredictable nature
of the evolutionary lifecycle

had skipped this etymologic stage.

If three came out,
we could be up against nine.

They breed like freaking rabbits.

They reproduce asexually?

That's no fun.

BURT: Yeah, and they need
access to protein.

After two to five days
of gorging themselves,

they molt into their winged brethren,

the AssBlasters,
which is not, I repeat,

not good news for us.

Once they become airborne,
no place is safe.

Okay, so we have
approximately 48 hours

to stop these things
before they molt and spread like a virus?

No. A viral pandemic.

Well, good to know,
but what exactly are we talking about?

Shriekers.

(DRINKING)

A Graboid didn't do this.

No, this is something else.

BURT: They're ambush hunters.
They make a loud screeching sound

just before they attack,
ergo the name.

(LOW GROWL)

A large, bony frill on their head
is like an infrared camera of sorts.

They hunt by heat signature?

Like Predator.

(LOW GROWL)

This is real life, son,
not some Hollywood fairytale.

Okay.

Move out!

(SNARLING AND SCREECHING)

What the hell is that?

Bioacoustics.

They're speaking to each other.

Yes, but what the hell is it?

Hey, we have lost Wall Street, Bill.
He was right behind me.

If you're gonna piss like a puppy,
you better stay on the porch.

(GROWLING)

(BIRD CHIRPING)

(SNARLING)

Ah, shit.

Holy shit.

(SHUDDERS)

(SNARLING)

(YELLING)

(CREATURES SHRIEKING)

(YELLING)

This way.

Wait, the bird told you that?

Shut up and follow.

(YELLING)

(CREATURE SCREECHING)

(YELLING)

(GROWLING)

(CREATURE GROWLING)

(FIRING STOPS)

(SHRIEKS)

(SHRIEKING)

- (GUNSHOT)
- (CREATURE SCREECHES)

(BURT SIGHS)

JIMMY: Oh.

(CREATURE SCREECHING)

BURT: I count three
Shriekers still on the run.

(SIGHING)

(GRUNTS)

(WHISPERING) Don't move!
We've got a Graboid. Everyone stay still.

- What the hell did this?
- Shriekers.

Yeah.
But this new version uses

their bioacoustics as a weapon.

Behavioral mutation.

(SHUSHING)

(WHISPERING) Everyone stay still.

This son of a bitch
is dug in like a grizzly in December.

Thanks for the save,
Gummer, but we're losing the light.

We're gonna head back
to a defensive position.

Don't move! We're right
in its wheelhouse. Look at that.

Dead trees, soft, sallow ground.

The formic acid they use to eat

through this earth
has soured this whole area.

It's like one giant Graboid playpen.

(BURT SCOFFS)

How many did you hatch?

Four. One's dead.

(MUTTERS IN ANGER)

Are they juiced?

We used stem cell technology
and genomic editing

to improve their predatory kill instincts.

(SIGHS)

If we make it out of here alive,

I'm gonna open up
an extra-large can of whoop ass on you!

All right, I'm gonna distract it,

and you all go at once
in different directions.

- Copy.
- BURT: They can only get us one at a time.

You any good with that Glock?

Give me a target, I'll hit it.

Okay. I'm gonna toss
this flamethrower as far as I can.

When it lands, shoot the small tank.

- That's where the nitrogen is stored.
- Got it.

(CREATURE SHRIEKING)

Run!

Jesus.

Oh, this shy lady
doesn't want to show her face.

Come on, let's get the hell out of here!

All right, bon appetit, bitch!

(JIMMY GRUNTS)

(SHRIEKS)

(BURT PANTING)

JAS: How was the hunting party?

BURT: Busy.

JAS: You got a GPS dart into something.

Yeah, I did.

Well, we've been tracking
whatever it was.

All right. Shriekers are pack hunters.

If you're tracking one,
we're tracking the pack.

I hate to be a fly
in the buttermilk, but remember Charlie?

Who the hell's Charlie?

Charlie. He's our
11,000-pound bull elephant

we GPS tagged last month.

Well, his GPS just refreshed.
He's 1,000 meters from our camp.

Charlie's reading is subsurface.

He's 37 meters down.

And he's here?
He's not on Dark Island?

Yep. I did a 3D scan of the mass.

It's 19 meters long
and weighs over 20 tons.

No, it can't be. No, no, no.
Graboids aren't that big. They don't swim.

- You sure about that?
- It's impossible.

One of those Graboids got off Dark Island
and made its way over here.

And ate an 11,000-pound elephant?

And it's 1,000 meters
due east of our outpost.

Hold on, that's Bill's camp.

Look, we need to get up to the outpost
and install that perimeter tripwire.

That won't be necessary.

Well, I'm afraid it is, Bill,

because not only are we up
against two more juiced Graboids,

but your stupidity
has spawned

Shriekers.
That's what killed your men today.

Yeah, it was a tough hunt.

It's a good thing
they all signed waivers.

Are you hearing me?
This hunt has got to stop.

No, it doesn't, and it won't.

See, I never leave a hunt half done.

I'm taking those trophy mounts,

and no one's gonna stop me.

You don't know what you're up against.

I think I do.
And I'm asking you kindly,

step back and let me do what I do.

I can't.

Huh.

Yeah.

I kind of thought
you were gonna say that.

Well, I guess we're
at an impasse, huh?

See? This is the trouble
with not having guns.

A word of advice,
Bill, stand down.

You shit the bed
and you need me to clean it up.

I got this handled.

I'll tell you what you got.

You got a genetically enhanced
giant carnivorous worm

with tunneling abilities
that puts Bugs Bunny to shame.

Now it escaped your contained island,
made its way here,

and judging by your performance today,

I don't think
you have the know-how to put it down.

Don't do this, Bill.
You'll be up way past your bedtime.

- (SHOOTS)
- (BURT GRUNTS)

Night, Burt.

(GROANS)

(CRICKETS CHIRPING)

Bill, we might've stepped
in the shit this time.

We shouldn't have hatched
these things, let alone juiced them.

This species should be left to die.

Take it easy, man.

It's R&D gone bad. Very bad.

Hunting's a brutal sport, my friend.

You know, there's actually
a Burt Gummer Day.

You know,
like Labor Day or Memorial Day.

He's not just a legend,
he's a superhero in some circles.

He's a paranoid militant
with more guns

and ammo than any sane
person should have.

(JIMMY GROANING)

(GRUNTING)

- (BIRD CHIRPING)
- (SIGHING)

Hey, is he okay?

(GRUNTS)

(BURT GRUNTS)

I can't believe Bill roofied you.

I believe it. And these zip-ties
are a boil on my backside.

That's putting it mildly.

We need a knife.

Or a saw.

Put a finer point on it,
we need a friction saw.

A friction saw, huh?

BURT: Yeah, you got one?

No, but you do.

- (TWIGS BREAKING)
- (GROWLING)

(TWIGS BREAKING)

- (GROWLING)
- (RATTLING)

BILL: She's here!

(INDISTINCT SHOUTING)
You ugly bastard!

(YELLING)

Come on, come on, come on!

(CREAKING)

RICHARDS: Did we get it?

I don't know.
Why don't you go out there and check, Doc?

The boots you're wearing,
they're on loan from me.

I'm not sure how this is relevant.

Check the laces.

550 paracord?

Yes. 'Cause every smart prepper knows

to be prepared for situations like this

and switches
out his laces for 550 cord.

Oh, you gotta be kidding me. (CHUCKLES)

(RUSTLING)

(GROWLING)

(GROWLING)

Pull the paracord tight
and move it back and forth.

Okay, here we go. (GRUNTING)

Does anybody see it?

(SHRIEKS)

(YELLING)

- (FIRES)
- Where is it?

Bloody hell, I don't have a visual!

BILL: It's an underground creature,
you idiot.

Where is it?

Calm down, Doc.

(PANTING)

Richards, stop!

Flare!

You're a dead man running, Doc.

BILL: Flare!

(GROWLING)

(SNARLING AND GROWLING)

Mother of God!

(GROWLING)

(GROWLING)

(SHRIEKING)

BURT: That's it.

(BURT GRUNTS)

Got it.

Leadership skill number three, creativity.

Finally, a hunt-worthy predator,
huh? (GRUNTS)

What the hell, Bill? You've lost it.

Did you see that thing?

It's a masterpiece.

I didn't sign up for this.

You can't defect on me.

Pull yourself together, Bill,
and get out of this hunt.

I can't do that, kiddo.

Then I'm gone.

Hey!

Then leave your sidearm.
It's the property of Avex-Bio.

(SCOFFS)

Fine.

(UNCOCKS)

Good luck, Bill.

God knows you're gonna need it.

I don't need luck.

Hey, Bowtie, you ready for some fun?

(GRUNTS)

Well, we're in a real pickle.
We're locked in from the outside.

What?

- (SIGHS)
- (BANGING)

(DOOR CREAKING)

(THUD)

Mr. Gummer.

Come to add salt to the wound?

No. I've come to make peace.

We just lost several
of our hunting party fighting that thing,

including Dr. Richards,
and I'm afraid Bill's gone batshit crazy.

So if you could use a spare set of hands,
I'd like to throw in.

Come on, Burt.
They say it takes a village.

No, it's gonna take an army.

- An army?
- Yeah.

I just met the queen,
and she's Godzilla-big.

JAS: Okay, let's get out of here.

JIMMY: No, we're way safer
in here than out there.

(THUNDERING)

(GROWLING)

You led her right to us!

No, I came to help.

It's okay, it's okay.

This place was built
to withstand a nuclear attack.

There's no way
that thing is getting in here. We're fine.

(RUMBLING)

You were saying?

Crud.

ANNA: Oh, no.

(GROWLING)

(WHISPERING) Wait.
Don't move. Not a sound.

- Jas, don't.
- Okay.

(ALL BREATHING HEAVILY)

(CREAKING)

Shh.

(WHIRRING)

Somebody shut that thing off!

If I kill the genny, we'll go dark.

That's okay.
Everybody get your cell phones out.

Put your flashlights on.

All right, kill it. Kill it.

(MUTTERING)

(BURT SHUSHING)

What? Give me a break.
My cell's at 0%.

BURT: (WHISPERING)
You have to be kidding me.

(SNAPS FINGERS) The dynamite.
That's our ticket out of here.

Good thinking.

We'll fire up that genny,

invite this bitch
in for some tea and dynamite,

and blow the hell out
of this bomb shelter.

ANNA: I love the way
you think, bro.

All right, we've got a plan.
Let's get on it pronto.

Yeah.

BURT: All right, hand it to me.

Careful.

(CHIRPING)

Okay, I think that should do it.

Okay, let's move towards the door.
Come on, come on, come on.

Turn it on.

(GENERATOR WHIRRING)

(CREATURE GROWLING)

(CLATTERING)

(GROWLING)

Got a light?

- JAS: Go! Go, go, go!
- Sayonara, muchacho!

Go, go!

(INDISTINCT SHOUTING)

(PANTING)

(COUGHING)

Three dead Graboids.
Just one more between us and salvation.

Don't forget about the Shriekers.

Believe you me,
as far as Shriekers are concerned,

I have a long memory.

And the way they feasted
on Bill's hunters today,

I'm sure there's
a whole litter of them by now.

(WATER SPLASHING)

Hey, this is madness, Bill!

Yes, it is.
Makes you feel alive, doesn't it?

(SHRIEKING)

Maybe we just hole up, okay?

And let the monster hunter handle it.

You think holing up will keep
that creature from eating us alive?

(CROW CAWING)

I don't know. Maybe not.

Yeah? Lighten up, Bowtie.
Where's your sense of adventure, huh?

I paid for a hunt. Not for this.

And that, my friend,
is what I'm gonna give you.

The hunt of your life.
Enjoy it. Hmm?

You're fricking crazy.

Now grab your balls, and your rifle,

and meet me
at the end of the bridge.

We're gonna kill some Graboids, hmm?

(BILL CHUCKLING)

(SCREAMING)

All right, we're just about
done setting up perimeter.

Any of those things get in here,
we're gonna frag their asses.

Sorry, what?

I said, we're ready to frag
their frigging asses.

Don't do that, Jimmy.

Do what?

Don't say things like,
"frag their frigging asses."

Burt Gummer can pull off that stuff,
but it's not a good look on you.

(GRUNTS) Sage advice.

- FREDDIE: Excuse me, Mr. Gummer?
- Yep?

I just did a recycle
on Charlie's GPS tag...

The underground elephant?

Yeah, it seems like he's causing
a bit of trouble in Bill's camp.

(SIGHS) Effing Bill.

(GROWLING)

(YELLING)

BURT: You stay here and finish up.
I'll handle Bill.

(GUN FIRING)

- (CREATURE GROWLING)
- (BOWTIE YELLING)

(GROWLING)

Help me!

Help me!

(GROWLING)

Help! Help!

(WATER SPLASHING)

(PANTING)

Shit.

Welcome to the party, Burt.

Hey, Bill.

BILL: The survivalist survives.

So far, the Graboids are
the best damn hunters on this island.

Holy hell, is it just you?

It's just me and it.

It's time for you
to come with me, huh?

This creature's
an all-go, no-quit killing machine.

It won't stop till it has you.

You came all this way
to tell me what I already know?

Turn the comms
back on and call for backup, huh?

Just get out of here alive,
what do you say?

I never lose.

No one wins against these things. No one.

You have.

Not winning, just surviving.
I've been lucky.

Now, come on, let's call it a day
and get you out of here.

- I'm gonna find it and kill it.
- (WATER BUBBLING)

- Bill, don't be a damn fool. Come on!
- (CREATURE GROWLING)

- Come on, Bill!
- (FIRING)

Would you listen to me? Come on,

we can't stay here!

I'm staying here.
I'm gonna win, Burt.

- Just...
- I'm gonna win.

No one wins.
Come on, come on, come on.

Don't touch me.
Don't touch me, Burt.

Bill... Bill, come on.

I got this.

(YELLING)

BURT: Don't let go!
Don't let go!

You son of a bitch!

(CREATURE GROWLING)

It's over.

Come on!

- It's got me...
- No chance.

This has to end here.

Bill wasn't just a food source,
he was an enemy.

That Graboid wanted him dead.

Well, why didn't he come after you?
You're obviously the alpha.

She's culling the weakest
from the herd first.

Oh, crap.
That means I'm next.

BURT: Now, look,
it's only a matter of time

before the Graboid
works her way over here.

Okay, so Bill and his weird science

has opened the gates of hell here.

We gotta put this place
in lockdown before those Shriekers

get over here to help their leader.

No, we've gotta eliminate
those Shriekers over on Dark Island

before they morph into AssBlasters
and can go anywhere.

Oh, hell. I need orientation.
Where the hell are we?

JAS: Well, there's Bill's camp.

- BURT: Wait, what's this?
- Devil's Punchbowl.

It's an inactive caldera
from the Quaternary period

about half a mile east up mountain.

- BURT: Is that a plateau above it?
- Mmm-hmm.

That looks like
a good place to end this fight.

I love a good last stand.

Well, why there?

We lead it over the cliff
into the caldera and blow it to hell.

It worked for Val and Earl 30 years ago,
it'll work for us.

Wait, who's Val and Earl?

A couple of guys I used to know.

Look, can you and your team
pre-rig the caldera with the TNT?

Does a bear shit in the woods

and wipe his ass with a white rabbit?

- Ooh!
- (CHUCKLES)

You guys are weird.
Just skip to the good part.

Okay, so right now,
it's at 86 Fahrenheit.

At noon, it'll be 100 plus.

BURT: Why is that good?

'Cause regular
human body temperature is 98.6.

If the environmental
temperature exceeds that,

then theoretically speaking,
the Shriekers' heat vision...

...will be less effective
when it comes to warm-blooded mammals.

Okay, they found shade.

The satellite tag on the Shrieker
places them inside the sub-oceanic cave.

Ah, I think we're gonna
have to split the team on this one.

Burt, you and I should
ambush the Shriekers... Rambo style.

All right, Jimmy and I will engage
the Shriekers in the cave.

JIMMY: Oh, can I have the chainsaw?

Fine, I'll keep the flame unit.
You ready for this?

I am so ready! I think.

Leadership skill number four,
courage and commitment.

BURT: Okay, stay on
your walkie-talkie channel one.

JAS: Channel one.

JAS: Be careful over there.

I don't have to be careful.
I'm prepared.

Stop fussing.

Listen, I'm sorry about...

Oh, forget it.

No. No, listen.

It was wrong
not to share our son with you.

I was young

and I didn't want
you to feel trapped into something

you weren't ready for or didn't want.

Understatement.

That's why I went it alone.

We do the best we can with what we got.

I changed my mind.
I can't do this, Freddie. I can't.

No, I wasn't raised on Murder Mountain,
growing weed or shooting squirrels.

I was raised by a single mom.

Excuse me.
Single moms are totally badass.

Yeah, okay, maybe,
but I was a kid in the suburbs.

My mom wears pink scrubs
with a little white toothy logo,

and she's a dental hygienist.
I'm just a...

Callate, okay? Don't say that.

Don't let those negative self-loathing
thoughts leave your head again, all right?

Do you mind if
I ask you a question?

If I said no, would it matter?

Does this "go it alone" thing
really work for you?

I gotta go, Slim.

JAS: Hey, don't lose those Ray-Bans.

Hey, let's go, Ram-boy.

You're the baddest man alive.

And your mom,
she probably used that sharp tool...

(SPEAKING SPANISH)

The scraper, the tooth, the...

The plaque scraper.

Yes, that. I bet you
she'd shove it up a Shrieker's ass

if she had to, okay?

Let's go, son! Move out!
You hold down the fort.

Don't let that Graboid
give you any crap.

Go get them, all right?

(BIRDS CALLING)

(METAL RATTLING)

BURT: Come on,
Ram-boy, let's go.

(BAT FLUTTERING)

JIMMY: (WHISPERING)
This has gotta be the place.

BURT: If three Shriekers
survived that last battle,

we're gonna be up against
at least nine by now.

Keep your eyes peeled,
Ram-boy.

Copy that, Mr. Gummer.

BURT: What the hell are you doing?

JIMMY: Putting mud on me
like Arnold did in Predator.

I mean, I don't want those creatures
seeing my heat signature.

JIMMY: Come on, mud up.

BURT: Not a terrible idea.

What I wouldn't give
for a Mylar poncho right now.

(JIMMY GRUNTING)

JIMMY: Okay.

- (CREATURE SHRIEKING)
- (JIMMY GASPS)

- (CREATURE GROWLING)
- (BIRD FLUTTERS)

Movement.

Where?

Dead ahead.

JIMMY: Where are they?

Every blow you strike
has to be a kill shot.

The underbelly is what you want.
Legs, feet, groin,

all the soft stuff.

Go for the groin. Got it.

Let's go medieval
on these ugly slime bags.

I thought we were going Rambo.

Oh, uh...

You go Rambo. I've got the chainsaw.
I'm going Evil Dead.

You ready?

Ready. Wait, wait.

What?

Ear protection. These guys use
sound as a weapon, remember?

Right.

(BLADES CLICKING)

Stay with me, boy! Come on!

Let's do this.

(WHIRRING)

Mr. Gummer?
Don't get too far now.

(CHAINSAW RUNNING)

(CREATURE GROWLING)

(CHAINSAW WHIRRING)

(CREATURE SHRIEKING)

- (JIMMY GRUNTS)
- (SHRIEKING)

(CHAINSAW WHIRRING)

(GROWLS)

(GRUNTING)

(JIMMY YELLS)

(JIMMY GRUNTING)

Don't you try!

(CHAINSAW WHIRRING)

(JIMMY GRUNTING)

(PANTING)

(SCREECHING)

(GROWLING)

Hey, guys?

ANNA: She's here.

- (CHAINSAW RUNNING)
- (JIMMY BREATHING HEAVILY)

JIMMY: Okay,
that wasn't too bad.

(TANK RATTLING)

JIMMY: All right.

All right. Mr. Gumm...

(CREATURES GROWLING)

(GROWLING)

(SHRIEKING)

Get to high ground! I repeat,
get to high ground now!

(GRUNTING)

(SHRIEKING)

How you doing, Ram-boy?

Suck on this!

(CHAINSAW WHIRRING)

I'm loving this flame unit!

- (CHAINSAW WHIRRING)
- (CREATURE SHRIEKING)

(SHRIEKING)

(SHRIEKING)

(BURT GRUNTS)

(BLADE SWOOSHES)

(STABS)

(LOW GROWLING)

(BLADE PULLS OUT)

Who needs guns
when you got Pennsylvania steel?

(GRUNTS)

(ANCHOR THUDS)

(BIRD TWEETING)

Whoa!

Whoa!

We don't want to lose
that nice figure now, do we?

No sign of our nemesis. It's quiet.

Yeah, it's weirdly quiet.

(RADIO CRACKLES) Mr. Gummer,
it's Freddie. Over.

Hey, Freddie.
Go for Burt. Over.

Look up and to the left.

I'm gonna take a wild guess.

Queen Graboid finally showed up?

Yes, she did,
and she's right underneath you.

Twelve meters down.
I mean, right beneath you.

Where is everybody?
Is Jas all right?

JAS: I thought you'd never ask.

BURT: Don't move! Stay still.

You shouldn't be here, Jas.

I can handle myself.

(EXHALES)

Where's Anna?

Water tower, Mr. Gummer.
All good up here.

What are you...
Jas, get him off the ground!

You've been waiting for me,
haven't you?

(CREATURE SNARLING)

(SIGHS)

It's time, isn't it?

Yeah. Devil's Punchbowl, is it ready?

More or less.

Make it ready now!

FREDDIE: Copy that, Mr. Gummer.
See you there. Over.

Roger that.
Easy as you go. See you there shortly.

So, uh, what now?

You need to get out of here. Both of you.

I'll meet you there. Go, now!

Yeah. Wait,
isn't that thing gonna follow us?

No, no.
That mother wants me.

Now skedaddle. Go. Scat!

(SIGHS)

You don't have to go it alone this time.

I've got this, Slim.

Yeah, but what happens if...

If?

That's one hell of an if.

But if so,

then you and that
ne'er-do-well son of ours stand to inherit

2,000 gallons of petrol,
a five-year supply of water,

3,000 MREs

and enough munitions to blow
the State of Nevada to kingdom come.

Nice portfolio.

Oh, and you get
these sunglasses back.

I'm sorry to interrupt
your last will and testament,

but we gotta do this, Mr. Gummer.

Affirmative.

And whether you like it or not,
I'm coming with you.

That's a negative.

- No.
- Now, you'll go with Jas,

and we'll rendezvous
at the Devil's Punchbowl,

now skedaddle.
Go, go, go. Come on.

(CREATURE GROWLING)

Okay, big guy.
Just you and me.

- (CREATURE GROWLING)
- (BIRD CHIRPING)

Mano-a-mano.

BURT: Destiny's a bitch.

(GROWLING)

(GROWLING)

(GROWLING)

(HORSE WHINNIES)

Time's up!

- Mr. Gummer?
- You again?

Yeah. So, what's the plan?

The plan is to get her to charge us.

We draw her to the edge
of the cliff and over.

And then we lunge out of the way
at the last second?

Something like that.

(CREATURE GROWLING)

(GROWLING)

(BREATHING HEAVILY)

This is it, Ram-boy.

So lead, follow,
or get out of my way.

Okay.

I'll lead.

That's not an option.

Your options are to follow
or get out of the way.

No, I'm faster.

- I'm wiser.
- I'm younger.

I... You got me there.

Teamwork, then.
Can we settle on that?

(GROWLING)

(GROWLING)

(GROWLING)

(SNARLING)

Vaya con diablo, mija.

(GROWLING)

(YELLING)

(GROWLING)

(CHUCKLING)

(CHUCKLING)

(GRUNTS)

Mr. Gummer?

Mr. Gummer?

Mr. Gummer?

Mr. Gummer?

Mr. Gummer?

JAS: Where is he?

I don't know.
He was right next to me, and then...

FREDDIE: Mr. Gummer?

Burt? Burt?

Burt!

Mr. Gummer!

No.

(SIGHS)

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