PITCH BLACK

     EXT. CRASH SHIP - DEEP DUSK

     A second darkness sweeps over the survivors. Now they all stop,
     beholding...

     EXT. SPIRED HILLS - DEEP DUSK

     Something pouring from the spire-tops. Backlit by coronal light,
     it first seems to be smoke or ash -- but soon we realize these
     are living things, HATCHLINGS SQUEALING IN DELIGHT over their
     first nightfall.

     EXT. CRASH SHIP - DEEP DUSK

                              JOHNS
               Jesus, how many can there....

     They keep coming, filling the sky with thick waves. Mercifully,
     the hatchlings seem to be moving away. But now one wave cleaves
     from another -- and does a quick about-face.

                              PARIS
               Just a suggestion, but perhaps we should
               flee.

                              FRY
               Cargo hold, everyone in the cargo hold.
               lesgo, lesgo, lesgo.

     They run. Reach the cargo hold. Turn back to see...

     Riddick and Shazza still coming. Hearing the SQUEALING WAVE
     descending on them...

     Riddick and Shazza hit to the dirt. Hatchlings torrent just
     inches overhead.

     CLOSE on Shazza. Horrified. Hard to breathe. Like being
     underwater.

     CLOSE on Riddick. He watches in awe, no more frightened that a
     kid lying on his back looking up at the stars. Experimenting, he
     eases a bone-shiv into the hatchlings. Instantly it's whittled
     down to nothing. It's like a river of razor blades.

     The hatchling keep coming. Shazza whips a panicky look at the
     cargo hold. Can she make it? Should she even try?

                              AUDREY
               Tell her to stay there. Stay down.
               SHAZZA, JUST STAY DOWN!

     Shazza starts worming toward the cargo hold. Suddenly the
     hatchings vanish. A beat. Is it safe? Shazza gets to her
     feet...

                              FRY
               No, no, NO, NO, NO....

     ...and the wave is back, enveloping Shazza.

     INT./EXT. CARGO HOLD - DEEP DUSK

     Standing in the mouth of the cargo container, the others get a
     last glimpse of Shazza as she flies by the doors, caught up in
     the funnel-cloud of hatchlings. Then she's simply gone.

     EXT. CRASH SHIP - DEEP DUSK

     Still on the ground, Riddick checks left and right like someone
     about to cross a busy street. Now he gets up, smacks his hands
     clean, strolls for the hold. Behind him...

     A rising GANG-CLICKING.

     CLOSE on Fry. She knows the sound better than anyone.

     EXT. SPIRED HILLS - DEEP DUSK

     The spires are crumbling, torn down from within.

     EXT. CRASH SHIP - DEEP DUSK

     Reaching the cargo hold, Riddick turns around for one last look.
     PUSH IN as he sheds goggles -- and looks at the world with his
     jaguar eyes.

     RIDDICK'S POV: In degraded image, we see the predators -- adult
     hatchlings -- emerge from the spires. They're large, mammalian,
     hammer-headed. They CLICK with echo-location, sounding out the
     world they haven't inhabited in 60 years.

                              FRY
               What is it? What's happening?

     RIDDICK'S POV: The predators launch from the hills, gliding,
     SOUNDING, searching.

                              RIDDICK
               Like I said. Ain't me you gotta worry
               about.

     EXT. SKY - DEEP DUSK TO NIGHT

     The rim of the planet overtakes both suns. The world goes dark.

     INT. CARGO HOLD - NIGHT

     Vault-like DOORS BOOM CLOSED.

     The survivors are locked inside the only secure part of the ship.
     Somehow they've been reduced to neanderthals huddling in their
     cave, listening to the howls of the sabertooths.

                              AUDREY
               What if...what if she's still out there...
               still alive....

                              JOHNS
               Well, I don't want to jump to conclusions
               here...but 'member that boneyard? These
               just might be the fuckers that killed
               every other living thing on this planet,
               okay? Chances of Shazza knockin' on that
               door anytime soon are just about zero
               squared.

                              FRY
                         (agreeing)
               I saw the cut-marks on the bones. Wasn't
               a natural die-off.

                              IMAM
               Quiet, please. Everyone.

     Imam is listening at the cargo door. The others pile up
     alongside, ears tuned like radar. CLICKING SWEEPS PAST outside.

                              AUDREY
                         (whispering)
               Why do they do that? Make that sound?

                              IMAM
               Perhaps the way they see. With sound,
               reflecting back.

                              FRY
                         (realizing)
               Echo-location. That's what it is....

     Now MORE CLICKING -- behind them. Lights whip around to find...

     Nothing. Only the door of an open container about halfway down
     the tunnel-like hold.

     A volley of looks. "How the fuck could one get in here?"

                              FRY
               Breach in the hull. I dunno.

     More CLICKING. Johns realizes they expect him to check it out.

                              JOHNS
               I'd rather piss glass.

                              RIDDICK
               Well, you got the big gauge.

                              JOHNS
               Wanna rag your fat mouth?

                              AUDREY
               Maybe it's just their beads again. Imam,
               are you still --

                              IMAM
               No, no, no, I do not believe --

                              JOHNS
               C'mon, man, you're drivin' everybody
               bugfuck with those things. Why don't you
               just lose the goddamn....

     More CLICKING -- along with the sound of TOPPLING CARGO.

                              RIDDICK
               Big beads.

     Butching up, Johns sucks on his breather and shimmies toward...

     The open container. Leading with his shotgun, he FIRES blindly
     around the door. Something SQUEALS -- then silence. Johns eases
     his head and a light around the door to spot...

     Hatchlings on the ground, blasted into dog food.

                              JOHNS
                         (to others)
               Okay. We're okay. Just some small ones
               that musta --

     Something WHOOSHES for his head, swinging like a scythe. It
     catches his shotgun, DISCHARGING IT, giving us...

     A flash-image of an adult predator. Up close.

     In one thin second, Johns is back with the others.

                              JOHNS
               Very big beads.

                              PARIS
               Not staying in here another....

     He goes for the main-door lever, ready to flee into the night.
     Fry lunges for him.

                              FRY
               Christ, you don't know what's out there!

                              PARIS
               I know what's in here!

                              IMAM
               Everybody come, this way and we should be
               safe. Hurry, please....

     INT. FIRST CONTAINER - CARGO HOLD - NIGHT

     Imam shepherds them into a container. The door slams closed.
     At first, only the sound of MOUTHS SUCKING BREATHERS. Then a
     SCRATCHING.

     Johns fumbles with a cutting torch. Gets it burning. Adjusts
     the gasses to illuminate...

     The door. Scythe-like blades are probing joints. Suddenly HEAVY
     BLOWS drive everyone back.

                              RIDDICK
                         (to Johns)
               Can you do sumpin' else with that?
               'Sides holding it in my fucking face?

     Taking the hint, Johns starts cutting the common wall between
     containers. It's a race between the sparks of his cutter and the
     blades of the predators.

     INT. SECOND CONTAINER - CARGO HOLD - NIGHT

     An burn-outline appears in the common wall. Johns kicks out the
     escape hatch. Audrey speed-crawls through first as...

     INT. FIRST CONTAINER - CARGO HOLD - NIGHT

     Predators shred into the container right behind them, CLICKING,
     sweeping, hunting.

     INT. THIRD/FOURTH CONTAINERS - CARGO HOLD - NIGHT

     SERIES OF SHOTS: Again and again, they burn a new escape hatch
     just as the predators break into the container being vacated,
     always entering darkness.

     INT. FIFTH CONTAINER - CARGO HOLD - NIGHT

     Inside their fifth container now, Johns torches away. Fry and
     Paris use cargo to block the entrance hole -- then block the
     cargo with their bodies.

     Riddick adds his weight -- until he notices pepper-shot in the
     cargo. Suspecting the worst, he leaves the others behind...

                              PARIS
               Hello, hello?

     ...and moves to the front of the container where darkness
     prevails. Something SQUISHES underfoot. He slips off goggles.

     RIDDICK'S POV: Of dead hatchlings on the floor. This is the
     open container, the one where Johns found predators.

     Sensing energy, Riddick lifts his face.

     RIDDICK'S POV: Of an adolescent predator. It squats atop cargo,
     eating a hatchling. A heavy bone-blade crowns its skull.

     Sensing Riddick, it sweeps the area with INQUISITIVE CLICKS.

     PREDATOR POV: Of Riddick.

     (NOTE: The PREDATOR POV is a crude image that gives impression
     without detail. We're "seeing" what the predator hears with
     echo-location. Think of a sonagram that strobes and wraps its
     subject in 3-D space.)

     Oblivious, the others kick out the new escape hatch. Audrey,
     Fry, and Johns worm through. Imam and Pilgrim #2 hang back.
     "Where's Riddick?"

     He's in a stare-down with a predator.

     Searching, Pilgrim #2 rounds a corner -- and finds his head
     caught in a vice-like grip.

                              RIDDICK
               Don't. Move.

     RIDDICK'S POV: As a second predator appears above them. This
     one reaches down with its scythe blade...

     And gently probes the two men. It wants know what they're made
     of.

     CLOSE on the pilgrim's shoes. Over-running with piss.

     More blades descend, moving over them like surgical instruments.
     One test-slices Riddick's shirt.

     INT. SIXTH CONTAINER - CARGO HOLD - NIGHT

     In the next container, Fry waits anxiously. Hissing through the
     escape hatch:

                              FRY
               Imam? Where are they?

     INT. FIFTH CONTAINER - CARGO HOLD - NIGHT

     CLOSE on a predator's scythe blade. It test-slices the pilgrim's
     skin. Blood wells up. All CLICKING CEASES.

                              IMAM (O.S.)
               Hasan?

                              FRY (O.S.)
               Riddick?

     TIGHT on the pilgrim -- more scared now that the clicking has
     stopped. Losing his nerve, he bolts.

                              RIDDICK
               No....

     The predators are on him, just blurs in the dark. DEATH-SCREAM.

     RIDDICK'S POV: A third predator appears above him.

     Making his move, Riddick darts around cargo and heads for the
     escape hatch as...

     Fry's light catches him square in the face. Blinded, Riddick
     HOWLS and stumbles forward. Fry's light leaps deeper to hit...

     The predator right behind him. With a similar reaction, the
     beast HOWLS and flails back.

     HOLD on Fry for a time-stopped moment. What stopped it? Was it
     really her? Suddenly a SHOTGUN EXPLODES beside her head. Jacked
     up, Johns is BLASTING shadows.

                              FRY
               Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!

                              JOHNS
               'Sokay, 'sokay. I killed it.

     They give him a look. "Sure you did." Suddenly a CARCASS SLAMS
     to the floor, sending everyone jumping back in a perfect splash-
     pattern. "Christ, he did kill one."

     Fry reclaims her dropped light and beams it on the carcass.
     Wherever the light strikes it, the flesh chars and steams.

                              FRY
               There....

                              PARIS
               Like the light is scalding it.

                              FRY
               It hurts them. Light actually hurts
               them....

     VULTURE SOUNDS from the two O.S. adolescents, fighting over the
     scraps of the pilgrim.

                              IMAM
               Is that...Hasan?

     Riddick nods.

                              JOHNS
               We'll burn a candle for him later. C'mon.

     INT. SIXTH CONTAINER - CARGO HOLD - NIGHT

     Cargo has been shoved against the door and walls. The survivors
     gather around Fry's handlight. Audrey -- tough little Audrey --
     has been reduced to a shivering lump of mush.

                              FRY
               ...one cutting torch...one handlight here,
               two more in the cabin...I think two
               more....

                              PARIS
               Spirits. Anything over 45 proof burns
               well.

                              FRY
               How many bottles?

                              PARIS
               Not sure. Ten?

                              FRY
               Those umbrellas, the ones that mist.
               Would they burn?
                         (reading his face)
               If you got a receipt?

                              PARIS
               Possibly.

                              FRY
               Awright. So maybe we'll have enough light.

                              JOHNS
               Enough for what?

     Now she challenges him to be the mind-reader.

                              JOHNS (CONT'D)
               Oh, lady. If you're in your right mind,
               I pray you go insane.

                              FRY
                         (to others)
               We can stick to the plan. If we get four
               cells back to the skiff, we're off this
               rock.

                              PARIS
               I hate to kill a beautiful theory with an
               ugly fact, but that sand-cat won't run at
               night.

                              FRY
               We'll have to carry the cells...drag
               them...whatever it takes.

     Troubled faces. Is it just our imagination? Or is the light on
     the floor growing dimmer?

                              AUDREY
               You mean...tonight? With all those things
               still out there?