Schweitzer Fachinformationen
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INT. MONITOR SCREEN. NIGHT.
Images of stunning violence. Looped.
Soldiers in a foreign war shoot an unarmed civilian at point-blank range; a man is set on by a frenzied crowd wielding clubs and machetes; a woman is necklaced while her killers cheer and howl.
Pull back to reveal that we are seeing one of many screens in a bank of monitors, all showing similar images . . .
Then revealing that the monitors are in a . . .
INT. SURGICAL CHAMBER. NIGHT.
. . . surgical chamber. And watching the screens is a . . .
. . . chimp, strapped to an operating table, with its skull dissected open, webbed in wires and monitoring devices, muzzled with a transparent guard. Alive.
Behind the surgical chamber, through the wide doorframe, we can see a larger laboratory beyond.
INT. BRIGHT CORRIDOR. NIGHT.
A group of black-clad ALF Activists, all wearing balaclavas, move down a corridor. They carry various gear - bag, bolt cutters.
As they move, one Activist reaches up to a security camera and sprays it black with an aerosol paint can.
INT. LABORATORY. NIGHT.
The Activists enter the laboratory.
CHIEF ACTIVIST
Fucking hell . . .
The Chief Activist takes his camera off his shoulder and starts taking photos.
The room is huge and long, and darkened except for specific pools of lights. Partially illuminated are rows of cages with clear perspex doors. They run down either side of the room. In the cages are chimpanzees.
Most are in a state of rabid agitation, banging and clawing against the perspex, baring their teeth through foam-flecked mouths.
They reach the far end of the lab, where on a huge steel operating table they see the dissected chimp.
FEMALE ACTIVIST
Oh God . . .
The dissected chimp's eyes flick to the Activists. Blood wells from around the exposed brain tissue.
Tears starts to roll down the Female Activist's cheeks.
(to Female Activist)
Keep your shit together. If we're going to get them out of here . . .
The Finnish Activist is checking the perspex cages.
FINNISH ACTIVIST
I can pop these, no problem.
So get to it.
The Finnish Activist raises his crowbar and sticks it around the edge of one of the doors - about to prise it open.
At that moment, the doors to the laboratory bang open.
The Activists all turn. Standing at the entrance is the Scientist.
A pause. The Scientist jumps to a telephone handset on the wall and shouts into the receiver.
SCIENTIST
Security! We have a break-in! Get to sector . . .
A hand slams down the disconnect button.
. . . nine.
The Chief Activist plucks the receiver from the Scientist's hands, and then rips the telephone from the wall.
A beat.
I know who you are, I know what you think you're doing, but you have to listen to me. You can't release these animals.
If you don't want to get hurt, shut your mouth, and don't move a fucking muscle.
(blurts)
The chimps are infected!
The Activists hesitate, exchanging a glance.
(continuing: stumbling, flustered)
These animals are highly contagious. They've been given an inhibitor.
Infected with what?
Chemically restricted, locked down to a . . . a single impulse that . . .
The Scientist hesitates before answering.
Rage
Behind the Activists, the bank of monitors show the faces of the machete-wielding crowd.
(desperately trying to explain)
In order to cure, you must first understand. Just imagine: to have power over all the things we feel we can't control. Anger, violence . . .
What the fuck is he talking about?
We don't have time for this shit! Get the cages open!
No!
We're going, you sick bastard, and we're taking your torture victims with us.
NO! You must listen! The animals are contagious! The infection is in their blood and saliva! One bite and . . .
They won't bite me.
The Female Activist crouches down to face the wild eyes of the infected chimp behind the perspex.
STOP! You have no idea!
The Scientist makes a desperate lunge towards her, but the Chief Activist grabs him.
Good boy. You don't want to bite me, do you?
The Female Activist gives a final benign smile, then the Finnish Activist pops open the door.
NO!
Like a bullet from a gun, the infected chimp leaps out at the Female Activist - and sinks its teeth into her neck. She reels back as the chimp claws and bites with extraordinary viciousness.
At the same moment, a deafening alarm begins to sound.
(shrieking)
Get it off! Get it off!
The Finnish Activist rips the ape off and throws it on to the floor. The infected chimp immediately bites into the man's leg. He yells with pain, and tries to kick it off.
Behind him, the Female Activist has started to scream. She doubles up, clutching the side of her head.
I'm burning! Jesus! Help me!
We have to kill her!
I'm burning! I'm burning!
What's . . .
We have to kill her NOW!
Meanwhile, the Female Activist's cries have become an unwavering howl of pain - and she is joined by the Finnish Activist, whose hands have also flown to the side of his head, gripping his temples as if trying to keep his skull from exploding.
What's wrong with them?
The Scientist grabs a desk-lamp base and starts running towards the screaming Female Activist . . .
. . . who has ripped off her balaclava - revealing her face - the face of an Infected.
She turns to the Scientist.
Oh God.
She leaps at him. He screams as they go tumbling to the ground. The Chief Activist watches in immobile horror as she attacks the Scientist with amazing ferocity.
INT. CORRIDOR. NIGHT.
Another Activist makes his way down the corridor towards the lab.
ACTIVIST
(hisses)
Terry? Jemma?
No answer.
Mika? Where are you?
He reaches the door to the lab, which is closed - and . . .
. . . as he opens it, we realise the door is also soundproofed.
A wall of screaming hits him.
He stands in the doorway - stunned by the noise, and then the sight.
Blood, death, and his colleagues, all Infected.
(continuing)
Bloody hell.
The Infected rush him.
Fade to black.
Title:
28 DAYS LATER
INT. HOSPITAL ROOM. LATE AFTERNOON.
Close up of Jim, a young man in his twenties, wearing pale green hospital pyjamas. He has a month's beard, is dishevelled, and asleep.
We pull back to see that Jim is lying on a hospital bed, in a private room. Connected to his arms are multiple drips, a full row of four or five on each side of the bed. Most of the bags are empty.
Jim's eyes open.
He looks around with an expression of confusion. Then he sits up. He is weak, but he swings his legs off the bed and stands. The attached drips are pulled with him and clatter to the floor.
Jim winces, and pulls the taped needles from his arm.
JIM
Ow . . .
His voice is hoarse, his mouth dry. Massaging his throat, he walks to the door.
INT. COMA WARD. LATE AFTERNOON.
The door to Jim's hospital room is locked. The key is on the floor.
He picks it up and opens the door.
Jim exits into a corridor.
At the far end, a sign reads: COMA WARD. There is no sign of life or movement.
Jim walks down the corridor. One of the doors is half-open. From inside, there is the sound of buzzing flies.
INT. HOSPITAL WARDS. LATE AFTERNOON.
Jim moves as quickly as he can through the hospital, still weak, but now driven by adrenaline.
All the wards and corridors are deserted. Medical notes and equipment lie strewn over the floors, trolleys are upended, glass partition doors are smashed. In a couple of places, splashes of dried blood arc up the walls.
He reaches A&E. On one wall is a row of public payphones.
He lifts a receiver, and the line is dead. He goes down the line, trying them all.
In the corner of the A&E reception is a smashed soft-drinks machine, with a few cans collected at the base.
Jim grabs one, rips off the ring-pull and downs it in one go. Then he grabs another, and heads for the...
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