EXT. GENERAL STORE 6:20 PM, SUMMER. The street is desolate, the setting sun casting a golden glow onto the pavement, exemplifying the nothingness. Nothing is there to make a sound, not even wind. The sound of drums, GUITAR, and bass (country style) enters the silence, faint at first, growing in sound as the seconds go on.
CHANEY, 17, a dark-haired girl with wild dark eyes, walks into the street, pushing a shopping cart full of miscellaneous objects (BRICKS, GUNS, CEREAL BOXES, BOOKS, HEADPHONES, WIRE, etc.), listening to COUNTRY MUSIC; the sound comes from her earphones, which she takes out. She shuts down her iPod, tosses it into the cart, looking behind her back as she does so; with another few glances to her surroundings, she steps toward the doors of the shopping mall, pushing the cart as gently as she can. She stops just before the range of the automatic doors, and takes a BRICK with one hand, a GUN with the other. She tosses the BRICK at the doors, takes another BRICK, tosses it, and so on, until the weight of the thrown bricks opens the doors; she points her gun at the aperture, just in case something comes out at her. CHANEY walks into the store, gun still readied.
INT. GENERAL STORE; it’s badly-lit, lights flickering at times. CHANEY’s footsteps echo throughout the store, while her breathing struggles to remain calm. Her hand shakes ever so slightly.
CHANEY walks to the front of one aisle, taking a look behind her. She takes a step forward, grabbing a CAN of BEANS, whipping her head around to look behind her. SOMETHING’s moving in the shadows at the other end of the aisle. She fixes her sight on that, stepping backwards.
CHANEY (V.O)
Look behind you, look to the side of you, but never forget that there’s a front of you too.
CHANEY keeps walking backwards, glancing from over her shoulder to in front of her; the shadowed THING seems to be getting closer. She turns around, and breaks into a run, as the THING begins to run after her, growling. She runs out of the store, THING closing in on her.
EXT. GENERAL STORE. CHANEY stumbles into the SUNLIGHT (blinding), turning just as she gets to the cart.
First clear view of the THING (SNAPPER); a large, gray dog in shape and color, but with patches of missing fur, blood in the drool, snarling, eyes blood-shot. It stops in the sun, letting out yelps of pain, clawing at its own eyes.
CHANEY turns the gun on it, aiming for the head, casually pulling the trigger. BRAINS splatter onto her clothes.
CHANEY (V.O) [cont.]
It doesn’t take much to kill them... once they’re in the sunlight. But in the dark, you better have a place to hide and pray.
CHANEY tosses the can into the cart, resuming her pushing it down the street.
CHANEY (V.O) [cont.]
Sandfield. Population a week ago, two thousand and thirty-seven. Population now, one tourist. Me.
CUT TO: CHANEY in a room, talking into a tape recorder.
CHANEY
But like me, they don’t stick around long. Once everyone’s gone... they move on. And I move with them, well, once the food’s gone. You probably don’t know who they are. Well, let me tell you this: you’re in for a helluva ride. Once they get there, they don’t stop. They don’t stop, until bones litter the street. People call me Chaney. And you could say I’m the last person standing.
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Whaddya think? Worth continuing?
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