Variable Interest Rates on the Ice Road - Script

EXT. ICE ROAD - DAY

A vast, frozen void. Lake Winnipeg. The horizon is a blur of white ice and grey sky.

Two pickup trucks sit side-by-side. Engines idling. Exhaust plumes rise straight up and freeze instantly in the minus-thirty-two air.

INT. MARK'S TRUCK - CONTINUOUS

A HIGH-PITCHED WHINE drills through the cabin. It sounds like a dying bird trapped in the dashboard vents.

MARK (39), wearing a winter jacket with a blown zipper, stares at the instrument panel.

The dashboard is a Christmas tree of warning lights. Check Engine. Low Oil. Tire Pressure.

A red icon glares: DOOR AJAR.

Mark looks at the driver's door. It is shut tight.

He slams his shoulder against it. THUD.

The light stays on.

He cranks the radio volume knob. Classic rock BLASTS, fighting the mechanical scream.

EXT. ICE ROAD - CONTINUOUS

The truck beside Mark's is a Ford that is mostly rust.

KEVIN (30s), wearing only a hoodie, stands outside his driver's door.

He scrapes a porthole in the frost on his side window using a credit card.

He scrubs frantically. The card bends. SNAP.

INT. MARK'S TRUCK - CONTINUOUS

Mark watches Kevin through the glass.

He revs the engine. It COUGHS. A rattle of loose heat shields.

The tachometer needle jitters like a nervous addict.

EXT. ICE ROAD - CONTINUOUS

Kevin stops scraping. He climbs in.

He flashes his HIGH BEAMS.

INT. MARK'S TRUCK - CONTINUOUS

Mark jams the shifter into 4-High.

CLUNK.

Metal on metal.

He grips the wheel. Knuckles white.

He mashes the pedal.

EXT. ICE ROAD - CONTINUOUS

The rear tires spin. ZIIIIING.

Rubber polishes the ice. Smoke rises, but the trucks barely move.

They inch forward. Painfully slow. The traction control lights on both dashes flash in unison.

Kevin’s Ford fishtails in slow motion, drifting toward a snowbank.

INT. MARK'S TRUCK - CONTINUOUS

The speedometer reads 80.

The world outside moves at walking pace.

Mark eases off the gas.

The tires catch. A LURCH.

Mark’s head slams the headrest. The coffee in the cup holder SLOSHES.

EXT. ICE ROAD - CONTINUOUS

The trucks find grip. Speed builds.

20 km/h. 30 km/h.

The suspension RATTLES violently over washboard ice.

INT. MARK'S TRUCK - CONTINUOUS

Vibration shakes the cabin. Mark’s teeth chatter.

He glances at the odometer: 214,000.

He looks ahead. Through the windshield, a jagged scar cuts across the ice. A pressure ridge. One foot high.

Kevin swerves to the left to avoid it.

Mark stays the course.

A cell phone in the cup holder BUZZES against the hard plastic. The screen lights up: LOW BALANCE ALERT.

Mark ignores it. He grips the wheel harder.

The heater WHINE rises in pitch. A dentist's drill.

The front left wheel starts to THUMP-THUMP-THUMP. The floor mat vibrates.

The plastic moose bobblehead on the dash blurs from the shaking.

Mark doesn't lift his foot.

EXT. ICE ROAD - CONTINUOUS

The truck hits the ridge.

WHAM.

It goes airborne. A rusty bird taking flight.

Silence for a heartbeat. The tires hang in the empty air.

INT. MARK'S TRUCK - CONTINUOUS

Gravity returns.

SLAM.

The suspension bottoms out. The bump stops SCREAM.

The coffee flies from the cup holder.

It splashes the windshield. Instantly freezes into a brown, opaque smear.

Mark is blind.

He fumbles for the window switch.

The glass rolls down. The wind SLAPS him. Tears freeze on his lashes.

He leans his head out the window. Dog-style.

EXT. ICE ROAD - CONTINUOUS

Mark roars past Kevin.

Kevin is fishtailing, fighting for control.

Mark crosses the imaginary line at a bullet-riddled stop sign.

INT. MARK'S TRUCK - MOMENTS LATER

The truck coasts to a halt near a snowbank.

Mark sits. Shaking. The smell of burning oil fills the cab.

He rolls up the window. It GROANS. He has to pull the glass up with his fingers.

EXT. ICE ROAD - CONTINUOUS

Kevin pulls up behind. He gets out. Still just the hoodie.

He walks to Mark’s window.

Mark rolls it down two inches.

You owe me fifty.

You caught air. I saw your whole undercarriage. You got a rust hole in your muffler.

I know. Did I win?

Yeah.

Kevin digs in his pocket. He pulls out a crumpled blue five. A ten. Some coins.

I only got twenty-four bucks cash. I can e-transfer the rest.

Data is down out here, Kevin. You know that.

Kevin looks at the frozen lake. He reaches back into his pocket.

He pulls out a bag of beef jerky.

Teriyaki.

Mark sighs. The heater WHINES.

He takes the cash and the jerky through the crack in the window.

INT. MARK'S TRUCK - LATER

Mark drives slowly back the way they came.

He tears open the jerky with his teeth. Chews.

It is tough.

He stares at the grey horizon.

THUMP-THUMP-THUMP.

The wheel still wobbles.