LOUIS

No ... uh-uh...

Louis stumbles out of the bed backward, knocking over the IV stand, crashing into the tray table and sending the vase of flowers flying as he edges along the wall, staying as far away from the cancer vampire as possible while heading for the door. We MOVE IN on the cancer vam-pire's yellow, blind eyes, its head turning, as we hear Lou-is's footfalls receding down the empty corridor.

CUT TO:

10. INT. NIGHT. RADIOLOGY CONTROL ROOM.

Louis staggers into the dark room, remains panting at the doorway for a moment. There is no pursuit. Looking around, he snaps on a single low-wattage lamp above the control board. The adjoining Treatment Room is in total darkness. He looks around wildly, sees the safe with the radiation symbol, and takes deep breaths to calm down. He knows what he has to do. He fiddles with the dial. In E.C.U. we see 17-right, 43-left, 11-right. The safe door swings open and Louis steps back, shocked at how easy it was. Inside the safe, the lead storage cylinders sit like small bombs. Louis glances over his shoulder, then looks around until he finds the heavy gloves. Donning them, he removes the cylinders and sets them carefully on a table. DISSOLVE TO:

11. INT. NIGHT. RADIOLOGY CONTROL ROOM.

Louis is crouching by the table so that only his head and shoulders are visible. The storage cylinders rise in front of him. The rest is darkness. Still wearing the heavy gloves, he fumbles with the complicated latch and lid on the first cylinder.

LOUIS

Damn.

He tugs off his gloves, easily breaks the seal, flips the latch, and removes the lid. A fierce violet light illuminates his face. The glow becomes even brighter as he shakes the radioisotope into his bare hand. The pellet is small but in-credibly brilliant—a point source of blazing light. He lifts it with both hands.

LOUIS

(whispering)

There's got to be another way.

(beat)

But I don't know what it is...

Louis takes a breath and lifts the isotope higher with shak-ing hands. There is an element of the sacramental to his motions—a radioactive Communion service. He swallows the cobalt 60 pellet, struggles to keep from gagging, and keeps it down.

LOUIS

Ah, God...

He opens another storage cylinder, lifts the isotope. The light in the room begins to fade...

DISSOLVE TO:

12. INT. NIGHT. LOUIS'S MOTHER'S ROOM.

We see a close shot of Louis's mother—her head on the pillow—as she moans in her sleep, turning fitfully, perhaps on the verge of coming out of the sedative-induced sleep. We move down her shoulder to her arm, her hand. Sud-denly a huge, misshapen form comes into the frame and clumsily enfolds her hand. It is Louis's hand, again in the heavy radiation glove. We PULL BACK and see Louis as he sits by her bedside, holding her hand in the dark room. Lightning ripples soundlessly outside the window.

LOUIS

(very softly)

I remember once when I was a kid ... it must have been just after Dad died ... I woke up on a stormy night like this and found you sitting on the edge of my bed ... like you were protecting me from the storm.

The lightning illuminates the room again. Louis quickly looks around. There is no sign of the cancer vampire.

LOUIS

I pretended I was asleep, but I wanted to tell you that nobody could protect anybody. Not from the storm ... not from what killed Dad... (beat)

I wanted to tell you then that all a person could do was run ... run from the people you loved the most ... run so that it didn't hurt so much when you couldn't protect them.

Louis squeezes her hand.

LOUIS

Well, Mom, maybe I'm through running for a while.

He looks around again.

LOUIS

I could see those ... things ... the cancer vam-pires ... in almost every room I passed on this floor.

(shivers)

White blurs in the dark rooms. Waiting. Waiting to feed on the people there... He takes a deep breath.

LOUIS

It's time, Mom. Time to see if it'll do any good.

Louis removes one of the heavy gloves. His hand blazes with violet light. He removes the other glove and the glare from his two hands throws wild shadows around the room. He raises his hands, staring at them.

LOUIS

This won't hurt, Mom.

He lays the palm of one glowing hand an inch from flesh just below her throat. We wait a second and then see the ripple as a tumor slug slides up toward the light. Louis gri-maces but does not remove his hand as the slug emerges from her skin, tests the air with its moist antennae, and then slides into Louis's palm. A second one follows, enters Louis's hand. A third. Louis holds his hand there a mo-ment longer but no more emerge.

LOUIS

(gasping, close to fainting)

I think that's all.

He lifts his hand and we can see the turmoil under the violet-hued flesh of his bare forearm as the slugs curl and writhe in their new home. Louis shifts sideways in the chair and lowers his head almost to his knees, hugging his arm to his chest.