Snow Madness
ACT THREE
The steamy exhalations of the wo men indicates the growing icy coldness. Strickland removes his pocket watch again. This time, he stares at it, deep in thought. McLane watches him out of the corner of his eye, obviously puzzled.
MCLANE (suddenly restless): So … who are the other guys in that photo?
Closing the watch, Strickland puts it away. He gazes through the swirling white curtain of snow.
STRICKLAND: Old friends not yet dead and buried … like my past…
McLane’s face remains blank, unable to react to his remark. Strickland continues staring straight ahead.
STRICKLAND (CONT’D): And being stranded in this place … suddenly seems like some recurring nightmare, like I’m reliving a part of my past that still has to be dealt with, once and for all…
Strickland turns toward McLane, addressing him directly.
STRICKLAND (CONT’D): Do you have any idea what I’m talking about? Who knows, maybe you just think you know. we’ll find out soon enough, though.
MCLANE (suddenly irritated): Just what makes you such an expert, anyway?
STRICKLAND (bitterly): Because I have been through this hell before … and I did survive.
MCLANE: How’s that?
STRICKLAND: Cold so bitter, you actually beg for the fires of hell.
MCLANE: Look, buddy, you’ve been acting pretty damned strange out here. What is your problem?
Turning away again, Strickland stares out the window, trying to avoid the question.
MCLANE (CONT’D): Hey, if we have to be stranded out here together, I sure as hell want to know what to expect from you!
STRICKLAND: It’s complicated. Even I can’t tell you what I don’t understand myself.
MCLANE: Great. Just my luck.
STRICKLAND (another long, uneasy pause): Right after college, I got an appointment to the Air Force Academy. It wasn’t until after I graduated that I realized I’d never be satisfied with just being a pilot. They said I might be one of the first black astronauts. It really seemed like a genuine goal to shoot for.
MCLANE: Interesting. Go on.
STRICKLAND: That’s when I was sent to Anchorage, Alaska for training. Every kind of space condition was recreated — freezing cold, sensory deprivation, numbing monotony. I endured it all. Then, for all my merits, I was chosen for a very special mission. The top three men in our division, including myself, were chosen to live in a remote region near the Arctic Circle. The mission was to exist, or rather to coexist, for a full year, totally cut off from civilization.
Strickland, obviously troubled, squints out beyond the windshield, like a man whose life is passing before his eyes.
Story Continues Below
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Story Continues From Above
MCLANE: Rats in a maze.
STRICKLAND: A man can only take so many temperature readings, or chart so many sunrises or sunsets … or play so many hands of poker. Physically, we surpassed the finest of athletes, but in this raw setting … emotionally, we were still just kids.
Strickland’s eyes are transfixed.
MCLANE: Those scientists must have had a field day with you guys.
STRICKLAND: After ten months, a massive blizzard hit us … so violent we didn’t dare step outside for two weeks solid.
The tiny barracks are deluged in a snowstorm. Three men, Strickland, CAMARILLO, and DANIELS, are playing poker.
STRICKLAND (V.O.): Then, one day, during another damned poker game, all hell broke loose. Daniels accused Camarillo of cheating.
Camarillo reveals his cards … four aces. Camarillo reaches for the pot and Daniels grabs his outstretched hand.
MCLANE: Was he cheating?
STRICKLAND: Does it really matter? It was just a game played for so many granola bars…
Daniels tips the table over, spilling everything on it.
STRICKLAND (V.O.): Daniels just went crazy.
He knocks Camarillo back. Daniels grabs a putting iron and steps toward him. Strickland is frozen in his seat, still with cards in hand. Daniels starts beating Camarillo.
STRICKLAND (V.O.) (CONT’D): He attacked Camarillo with his own putting iron. I tried to stop the fight…
Strickland throws his cards down, jumps up, and yanks the putting iron out of his hand. Daniels slams his forearm into Strickland’s chest, sending him falling backwards. Daniels starts shaking Camarillo by the throat.
STRICKLAND (V.O.) (CONT’D): I had to do something … anything.
Stalking the unsuspecting Daniels from behind, Strickland raises the putting iron, preparing to strike him.
Strickland’s muscles twitch as McLane nervously watches him.
MCLANE: What the hell did you do?
STRICKLAND: I beat him. Even after he collapsed, I found myself still beating him…
Removing the gun from his boot, he pounds the butt into his palm.
STRICKLAND (CONT’D) (through clenched teeth): I wanted to hurt him just like he hurt Camarillo. I guess I went a little crazy myself.
Obviously shaken by the recollection, Strickland sets his weapon in his lap. Slowly, his breathing returns to normal.
MCLANE: What happened?
Strickland turns and looks him straight in the eye.
STRICKLAND: Both of my friends were dead.
Strickland exits the barracks, HOWLING angrily.
STRICKLAND (V.O.): The next morning, the snowstorm stopped, and I cursed the sun for being one day too late…
A WOLF leaps at him, GROWLING ferociously. Strickland FIRES SEVERAL ROUNDS from a forty-five caliber handgun.
STRICKLAND (V.O.) (CONT’D): I was still dazed. I started to live like the wild animal I was…
A HUMAN FORM jogs through the snow, its backside draped by wolf’s skins, along with a wolf’s head. Only a trail of frosty exhalation accompanies the animal-like GROANING.
STRICKLAND (V.O.) (CONT’D): Within forty-eight hours, the Air Force came and picked me up. I was a real mess. I almost died from exposure…
TWO MILITARY MEN, clad in Arctic parkas, step up to a figure, covered in wolf’s skins, huddled near the door. The wolf’s head raises, revealing Strickland’s blood-stained face. His eyes are unable to focus on the men before him.
STRICKLAND (CONT’D): Who’s there?
STRICKLAND: Two days like that in a frozen hell, never once closing my eyes to sleep.
MCLANE: Why? What happens if you fall asleep?
STRICKLAND: Fall asleep under those conditions, and you lose consciousness completely. Lose consciousness, and your entire system shuts down. Then you die.
McLane grimaces ever so slightly.
MCLANE: So what did the Air Force think about two of their hand-picked trainees ending up dead like that?
STRICKLAND: At first, they found it difficult to accept that two men had died by the same instrument.
MCLANE: I’ll just bet.
STRICKLAND: But during the trial, similar cases were examined, where extended periods of isolation and sensory deprivation had produced similar results. I was finally arraigned on a charge of involuntary manslaughter and released with an honorable discharge.
MCLANE: Drummed out, even when they knew you were defending someone else. Why?
STRICKLAND: They said my condition after the incident warranted it. I was diagnosed with snow fever … snow madness—a temporary, but acute lapse of sanity.
MCLANE: So it was temporary. If they knew that, then why the boot?
STRICKLAND: They said just one episode in a person’s life dramatically increased the risk that it would happen again. Especially if ever subjected to similar circumstances.
McLane gulps.
MCLANE: Great. The Air Force wouldn’t take another chance on you, so they hit you with a disclaimer.
STRICKLAND: Something like that. The doctors even warned me that another episode could possibly kill me.
MCLANE: So why keep that photograph in your watch all these years? Why live in a place like this?
STRICKLAND (adamantly): I kept the picture so I’d never forget what happened. I came here because this was where I wanted to live. I refused to accept their verdict.
MCLANE: So you came here to face your demons. But they’ve consumed you, after all, haven’t they?
Strickland turns a menacing eye toward McLane.
STRICKLAND: Maybe you’re right. Then again … you might be just as disturbed as the rest of us.
He taps his temple with the barrel of his weapon, then returns the gun to his boot. Concerned, McLane watches him, more suspicious than ever. Strickland turns away, smiling.
As the sun rises, the last few snowflakes flutter to the ground. By now, the truck is blanketed with snow.
McLane and Strickland are staring at each other. McLane is hunched over, his face clearly revealing he hasn’t slept a wink all night. He yawns deeply, drearily closing his eyes, then pops them open, trying to rouse himself. Strickland turns away, smiling.
MCLANE (clearing his throat): So … you never did tell me how the Air Force knew it was time to come pick you up. Who made that call?
STRICKLAND: According to one source … within twenty-four hours of the time of the killings, they began receiving an odd series of distress calls.
MCLANE: From who?
STRICKLAND: You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. The Air Force sure didn’t believe me.
MCLANE: Tell me. Who?
STRICKLAND: It was Camarillo.
MCLANE: You mean your dead Air Force buddy? The one the other guy bludgeoned to death?
STRICKLAND: I told you it was too hard to believe. The Air Force called the distress calls they received … an anomaly.
MCLANE: That’s nuts. You’re right, I don’t believe you. No wonder they swept you under a rug.
Suddenly, the monotonous CRACKLE of the CB radio diverts their attention.
EAGLE EYE: Calling Mountain Machine. This is Eagle Eye. Do you copy, Mountain Machine? They’ve cleared the highway near you. Rescue workers nearing your position any minute now. Over.
Strickland reaches for the microphone. McLane flings his door open.
McLane leaps to the ground with a GRUNT. His overnight stiffness is obvious as he runs clumsily toward the highway.
Strickland is caught totally off-guard.
STRICKLAND: Damn it, McLane! Wait!
McLane doesn’t even look back.
MCLANE: Leave me alone, you nutcase! I’m warning you! Just leave me alone!
Strickland grabs the gun from his boot.
Strickland jumps to the ground, takes a few strides and crouches, aiming his weapon with great skill.
STRICKLAND: McLane, wait!
As McLane looks over his shoulder, he sees the gun pointed in his direction. He collapses, terrified.
MCLANE: No!
The GUN EXPLODES ONCE, just as a WOLF, leaps at McLane, then falls limply to the ground, struck down by the forty-five slug. Strickland rushes to the sprawled out McLane.
STRICKLAND (smiling warmly): Relax, Mr. McLane, relax. It’s over. You made it just fine.
McLane squirms in the snow. Suddenly, he is unable to catch his breath. He loosens his collar.
MCLANE: I’m confused.
STRICKLAND: Look, Mr. McLane, I’m sorry if things got a little out of hand, but it was the only way.
MCLANE (cranky): What are you saying now?
STRICKLAND: Think about it. If you’d been allowed to fall asleep last night, chances are you’d never wake up again. I just did whatever it took to keep you alert and awake. Got it now, my friend?
McLane is clearly dumbfounded. Exhaustion overtakes him. He lays back down in the snow, closing his eyes tightly.
MCLANE: Unbelievable. I really thought you wanted me dead. But why?
STRICKLAND: Let’s just say I did it for me as much as for you. OK?
MCLANE: Right … the demons.
Suddenly, an unfamiliar VOICE responds to McLane.
MALE VOICE: Excuse me, sir. What’s that you’re saying? Demons?
McLane opens his eyes, squinting up at a strange FIGURE.
MCLANE: What? Who’s there?
RESCUE WORKER: Search and rescue, sir. Everything’s going to be all right now.
MCLANE: It’s about time. We thought you’d never get here…
Still clearly disoriented, McLane looks around.
MCLANE (CONT’D): Where did Strickland go?
RESCUE WORKER: Sorry, sir. Who?
MCLANE: My driver … Strickland. He was just here, standing over me. Which way did he go?
RESCUE WORKER: I’m sorry to have to tell you this, sir, but your friend … is dead … I’m afraid he succumbed to exposure sometime during the night. His body temperature indicates five, maybe six, hours ago, at least.
McLane is stunned.
MCLANE: No, no, no; that can’t be. He was just here a second ago … He saved my life.
RESCUE WORKER: Yes, sir, of course he did… Now, try to remain calm. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.
NARRATOR: It’s long been said that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. If this is true, then pursuing power is, and always will be, a tricky game at best. And today, Mr. Alexander McLane has finally discovered for himself that power is not simply a thing to be bagged and hung like a mere trophy—the most valuable lessons to be learned only in … A Strange World.
