INT. TRAIN CAR - NIGHT
Absolute darkness, save for the pale, ghostly glow of a few dying smartphones.
Outside, the wind SCREAMS against the metal skin of the train. A high-pitched, physical pressure.
Inside, breath plumes in white clouds. Frost creeps across the windows in jagged patterns.
LEO CAINE (29) sits huddled in a window seat. He wears a thin jacket, insufficient for the temperature. He shivers violently.
His thumb hovers over his phone screen. Brightness at minimum. Battery: 14%.
He types frantically into a notes app. His eyes dart to the reflection in the dark glass.
Three rows ahead sits MORRISON (48). Tidy graying hair, symmetrical face. He wears a tailored wool coat.
Morrison is perfectly still. He reads a paperback book illuminated by a tiny, surgical PEN LIGHT.
While others shift and groan, Morrison turns a page. Calm. Methodical.
Leo slides his hand into his jeans pocket. He grips a hard, rectangular object. The outline of a drive presses against the denim.
MARK (40s), a heavy-set man in a suit, stands up abruptly. His silhouette blocks the faint light.
I’m not freezing to death in here. I’m finding the conductor.
A few passengers murmur. A BABY wails in the back, a thin, miserable sound.
Mark steps into the aisle.
We need answers. Who’s with me?
Morrison does not look up from his book. He clicks off the pen light.
The sudden darkness silences the car.
That is an inadvisable course of action.
Mark freezes. He squints at the shadow of Morrison.
The vestibules are frozen. You risk exposure and disorientation. The most logical choice is to conserve heat.
It isn't an opinion. It is a statement of fact.
Mark opens his mouth, then closes it. The fight drains out of him. He sits back down.
Morrison clicks the light back on. He returns to his book.
INT. TRAIN CAR - LATER
The cold has deepened. The frost on the windows is opaque now.
Morrison moves down the aisle. The LATCHES of his briefcase CLICK loudly.
He holds a stainless steel thermos and paper cups. He stops by a shivering MOTHER holding the wailing baby.
He pours a cup. Steam rises in the frigid air.
Leo watches through the gap between seats. His phone is dark now. Dead.
Morrison hands the cup to the mother. She nods, grateful. The baby’s crying subsides into gulping sounds.
Morrison moves to the next row. A provider. A shepherd.
He stops at a row across from Leo. LINDA (22), wearing a hoodie and clutching a textbook, watches him approach.
Morrison pours a cup. He leans in.
Chamomile. It helps with the cold.
Linda hesitates. She looks at his face. Bland. Kind.
She takes the cup.
Thanks.
Morrison nods and returns to his seat.
Leo watches Linda. She brings the cup to her lips but does not drink.
She waits until Morrison is seated and reading again.
Slowly, she tips the cup. The liquid splashes onto the carpeted floor, steaming.
Leo catches her eye. She stares back. Sharp. Alert.
INT. TRAIN CAR - PRE-DAWN
A gray, diffuse light seeps into the car. The world outside is a white void. Snow buried up to the windows.
Morrison is at the far end of the car, inspecting the door seal.
Leo moves. He crouches in the aisle next to Linda’s seat, pretending to search the floor.
(Whispering)
Did you drink it?
Linda keeps her eyes forward.
Smelled sweet. Like a sedative.
Leo’s hand tightens on the pocket with the drive.
His coat. It’s not civilian.
Modified DSA field jacket. My uncle had one. That agency doesn't exist anymore.
He’s here for something.
Linda glances down at Leo.
Someone. He’s been watching you reflect in the glass for three hours.
Leo stops searching. He looks up at her.
We need to stay awake. Shifts.
Already on it. Go sleep. You look like hell.
Leo nods. He scrambles back to his seat.
INT. TRAIN CAR - NIGHT
Total blackness again. The wind has changed pitch. A mournful howl.
Leo sits rigid. His eyes are open, staring into the dark.
Morrison stands in the aisle next to him.
Leo does not feign sleep. He looks up at the shadow.
Morrison stands there for a long beat. He exhales. A cloud of vapor hits Leo’s face.
Morrison walks on.
A new sound vibrates through the floor. Low. Rhythmic.
WHUMP. WHUMP. WHUMP.
Passengers stir. Murmurs of hope.
Is that... is that a rescue?
The sound grows deafening. The ROAR of heavy machinery.
Blinding SEARCHLIGHTS slice through the windows. The interior flashes in stark white strobes.
Faces light up with joy. Mark cheers.
Leo shrinks back against the seat. Terror.
The light hits Morrison.
He stands in the center of the aisle. Back straight.
He is not looking at the lights. He is looking at Leo.
Morrison smiles. Small. Precise.
He reaches into his coat and pulls out the thermos. He twists the cap. The seal BREAKS with a sharp hiss.
The side door of the train car SCREECHES. Metal tearing against ice.
The wind rushes in.