For those wondering, this is what was coming next. . .may still one day. 😉
BI Stage two
Story by Chris George & Jason Foster
Point of view from inside a car windshield. It’s night. We see the yellow lines of the highway passing under. A road sign is coming up. It reads “Hattiesburg 20 Miles”
Caption: Almost dawn now. But at least it’s quiet. I prefer driving at night. You don’t have a bunch of soccer moms on cell phones cutting you off, or people just generally being idiots. As jumpy as I am, it’s the last thing I need. It’s only a few more miles until I get home. Would’ve been faster if I hadn’t had to get rid of my piece. Should’ve never stopped at that diner.
Quinn’s maroon 1967 GTO passes by an old pickup truck. Two rednecks are standing near the truck, shoveling up dead possums from the side of the road. As the GTO passes by, one of the rednecks looks up at the car, his face taking on a ghoulish demeanor.
Quinn’s car disappears around a curve, as the redneck ghoul watches. His co-worker puts his hand on his shoulder.
Second redneck: “C’mon, buddy, these animals ain’t gonna shovel themselves up.”
The ghoul turns back to look at his co-worker, his face back to normal, and resumes shoveling.
Quinn pulls into a rundown motel by the side of the road. He heads into the office and walks out a few moments later with a room key in hand (an actual key, instead of the keycards used by most hotels these days).
Caption: “Normally, I would’ve slept in my car. But not in this heat. I barely had enough money to get this place for a few hours until sundown.”
Quinn goes into the room, carrying his duffel bag over his shoulder. He moves a small desk and a couple of chairs in front of the door.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Quinn pulls an old WW I issue bayonet out of his duffel bag. He places the bayonet under the pillow. He turns on the old television set and a scratchy signal comes in of a reality tv show contestant. Quinn rolls his eyes and falls back on the bed.
Caption: I swear to god, I want to find the T.V. execs who put this reality T.V. crap on the air and beat them about the head and shoulders with a frozen salmon. This shit is just that, shit. It’s just another excuse for the public to bury your head in the sand about the things going on in the world. Head in the sand, ass in the air, while you’re sitting around wondering who “America’s Next Top Whore” is gonna be.
Quinn’s eyes focus on a folded piece of paper that’s fallen out of his bag. The paper has “Quinn” written on it in female handwriting.
Quinn flashes back to the day he shipped out. He is about to climb aboard a plane along with several other troops, he turns to smile and wave to his mom and his gf, Vickie.
Caption: Everything was fine when I left a few years ago. There were no signs of any problems. So what the fuck happened?
Shot of Quinn in the army hospital bed in Iraq a couple of years later. He’s holding a “Dear John” letter in his hands. This is the same piece of paper we saw earlier.
Caption: How did things go to shit so quickly?
It’s later now, and Quinn is deep asleep in the bed, but not peacefully. He’s covered in sweat and clutching the twisted sheets in his hands. We don’t see what he’s dreaming about, but he seems to be moaning and half-speaking in his sleep as well.
Caption: A few hours later.
Quinn pops up suddenly, bringing the bayonet out from it’s resting place under the pillow and stabbing out in front of him and screaming.
Quinn slowly begins to awaken, staring at the wall in front of him as it begins to come into focus. He sees the cheap “No smoking” sign taped to the wall.
Caption: Fuck that.
Quinn lights a cigarette and uses one of the motel glasses for an ashtray as he smokes to calm his nerves.
Caption: Think that’s about all the sleep I’m gonna get today. Six in the evening. The sun should be down in a few hours. I’ll get back on the road then.
We see an apartment complex with the sign “Magnolia Court” and an elaborate painted illustration of a Magnolia flower just under the words out front. Quinn’s car is turning into the complex.
Caption: Moment of truth.
Quinn walks up to an apartment door # 138 and pulls out his keys.
Caption: What a homecoming. What you thought was solid and real, has turned into pudding, leaving you helpless and unsure.
Quinn puts his key into the lock and tries to turn it. Nothing happens.
Caption: What the fuck?!
The door opens and we see Victoria. She’s in the middle of getting ready to go out a club for the night and in a semi-dressed state. A black minidress/slip, long, black hair with several streaks of purple, fishnet stockings and gloves, high heel boots with multiple straps and buckles, etc. She sees Quinn and her jaw drops.
Quinn: Why doesn’t my key work and why are you still here in MY apartment, Vickie?
Victoria looks like she’s trying to cover something up (not herself, no false modesty) as she stammers out a response.
Victoria: Uhh. . .well, we were both on the lease and so I had Randy put on there too, because we weren’t sure if you were coming back or not. . .
Randy (off panel): Hey, babe, is everything ok?
Quinn’s face goes dead as all the blood begins to drain out of it.
Victoria turns inside to respond.
V: It’s fine, don’t worry about it!
She turns back to Quinn as he pulls the now crumpled letter out of his pocket and flings it at her.
Quinn: While you’re at it, why don’t you explain this?
She folds her arms and attempts a smile as Quinn starts yelling.
V: That, uh, yeah. . .
Q: I’m thousands of miles away, in a country where people are trying to kill me constantly, and my only support structure back home is sending me Dear John letters! HOW THE FUCK COULD YOU DO THIS?!
Randy now comes into view, a white guy in his early 20’s, dressed like a cross between a frat boy and a rapper, his baseball hat cocked to the side, lots of bling, etc.
R: Yo, you best be backing’ up outta here with all that disrespect in my crib! Who da fuck is this loser, Vic?
Quinn is incredulous at this point. Almost inarticulate with rage as Victoria steps between him and the cocky Randy.
V: Uhm, Randy, this is Quinn. He’s my ex. Let me handle this.
She turns back to Quinn, Randy behind her, still looking smug.
V: Listen, your stuff is in storage. I just want to get on with my life. Randy was here for me when you weren’t.
Quinn seems to be staring through her as she speaks, not hearing her. He manages to point at them.
Q: Get the fuck out of my house. . .both of you. . .
Victoria’s pleading now.
V: I don’t want any problems, Quinn, just let me get you the storage key. We’ll talk about this tomorrow after you’ve cooled off.
She heads back inside to get the key.
Randy steps up towards Quinn.
R: Yeah, I was there for her. I was there every night while you was out in the desert, playing war hero. I heard all about you, Quinn, the big, bad war hero. You don’t look like no war hero to me. You look like a mark.
Randy tries to push Quinn out of the doorway, but as his hand reaches Quinn’s shoulder, Quinn grabs him at the wrist and twists it, while delivering a front kick to Randy’s knee. Randy drops to the ground hard, Quinn still holding him by the wrist, while kicking him.
Page Fifteen & Sixteen
Quinn delivers kick after kick to Randy, while still twisting his wrist and yelling at him. You can simply stat the first drawing and repeat, interspersed with “KICK” between the images.
Quinn drops Randy’s wrist and targets his genitals with several swift kicks as Victoria comes running out the door, key in hand.
V: Oh my god, what are you doing?! Quinn, stop it! Stop!
She drops the key on the ground and covers Randy’s body, as Quinn is barely able to stop a kick from connecting with her and Randy.
Quinn turns away from the pair and picks the key up off of the ground. He’s holding it tightly in his quivering hand.
Q: If I get a bill for this storage shed. . .
Quinn leaves the thought unfinished and walks back to his car, he gets in and drives off.
Victoria sits up, watching Quinn drive off with an unsure look on her face. From beneath her, Randy moans.
R: That’s right. . .run away. . .who’s the big dog now? Baby, I think I need a doctor. . .
V: Shut up, Randy.
Quinn is driving in silence. He passes through a heavily wooded area. He comes to a bridge. Pulling off to the side of the road, he walks out to the bridge, and lights a cigarette before leaning over the side.
Caption: I really shouldn’t have done that. I think I need to get some help.
We see an image of Quinn and Victoria as teenagers hanging out on the bridge with a bunch of their friends.
Caption: Shit, why did I come here? This used to be our place.
We see the kids now partying and drinking under the bridge. Some are pulling their clothes off and jumping into the river to go swimming.
Caption: Every weekend, this was it. Party central. Despite the rumors about the history of this place. The disappearances.
We see Quinn and Victoria having crawled up under the bridge, making out.
Caption: What the fuck happened to us?
Quinn is snapped out of his memories by a crunching sound coming from under the bridge.
Quinn pauses for a moment. He hears more crunching sounds.
Caption: Kids still come out here? Sure they do. . .
Quinn stops short again.
Caption: But that smell. . .not that smell. . .
Quinn heads back to the car and pulls the bayonet and a flashlight out from the trunk. He turns on the light and begins to walk down under the bridge. He shines the light around until coming to rest on. . .
A pack of ghouls chowing down on a teenager’s body.
Caption: Oh, fuck.