Hatchet III (2013) - full transcript

- I should've gone
on a swamp tour.

- I don't know.

I swear he's got
a meth lab on his farm,

the way he keeps
going for days.

- I don't know
what else to tell you, Hamil.

Just get the neighbor
to quiet down.

Look, we got every major drunk
from Mardi Gras down here.

There's no room.

- He tried to give me
a speeding ticket.

- Just make it happen.

- Yes, sir.



- How we doing, Winslow?

- Morning, Sheriff.

- Well, New Orleans P.D.
sent us another handful

to hold overnight.

And Hamilton's
out at Sable Ranch.

- Again?

All in all,
not that bad a year.

- Honestly,
not bad at all.

She's got a gun!

- I killed him.

- Drop the gun now!

- Get on the floor now!

- Put it down.

- On the floor!



Spread 'em!

- Wait.
She has something in her hand.

- What is it?

- My God.

It's a fucking scalp!

- Oh.

- Who?

Who'd you kill?

- They're all dead.

- Who's dead?

- Honey Island Swamp.

- I need an available boat unit
out to Honey Island Swamp now.

Hamilton, you there?

- I killed him.

I killed him.

- Any injuries?

- No, nothing noticeable, sir.

- Are you trying to tell me
that none of that blood is hers?

How many bodies
you say there were?

- 20, 30.

- Mm-hmm.

And you're the only one
who made it,

just a few scratches.

No major injuries, huh?

- Yes.

- You see how this could look
just a tiny bit suspicious,

don't you?

- Sheriff Fowler, there is
no answer at the Dunston house.

- Try again.

- I have,
five times.

- Well, then get in your car

and drive over there,
Deputy Elbert.

- Yes, sir.

I'm on it.

- Nobody's home.

Crowley killed them all.

- Enough about Victor Crowley.

- He slaughtered...

- We know who Victor Crowley is.

And we also know...

what reality is.

So let me see
if I got this straight.

You suspected Victor Crowley

of killing your father
and your...

- Brother.

- Brother.

Right, so you
jumped in a swamp tour boat...

An illegal swamp tour boat...

And headed back out
into the swamp

armed with nothing
but a handgun.

A ghost wiped out
everyone in front of you.

You found out
that your family was dead.

And you barely escape
with your life.

But then the next night,

you go back out
into that same swamp,

chase that
same damn ghost,

and you bring
more people with you?

Now, why would you
do something like that?

That has to be
the stupidest story

and some of the most idiotic
and contrived decision-making

I've ever heard.

- I'm telling you the truth.

- I don't think you realize

the kind of deep shit you're in,
little girl.

You come into
a Goddamn police station

covered in someone else's blood,
head to toe.

You're carrying a weapon

and a piece
of somebody's fucking head.

And the best you've got for me
for an alibi

is some kind of urban legend?

Hey!

I am talking to you.

Let me tell you something.

You go up in front of the judge,

you better come up
with a better excuse...

- Sheriff, come in.

- Yeah, I'm here.

- Sir, it's, uh...

- What is it, Hamilton?
Spit it out.

- It's a fucking massacre
out here, sir.

I mean, we've only
covered about

40 yards, and we've already
come up with about four bodies.

I mean, we...

Jesus.

They don't even have faces,
Louis.

- Look, we're gonna
have to call in

every Goddamn paramedic
in the state

and a full recovery team
right away.

We're talking about

DNA-and-dental-records-level
shit out here, man.

Shit, they don't even
have teeth, though.

- We got a girl in custody.

I'm on my way.

- All right, but we're gonna
have to call in state, Sheriff.

We don't even know
how many bodies

we're dealing with out here.

Shit, we just keep
finding pieces everywhere.

- I said, I am on my way,
Deputy.

- Sir, do you want me to go?

- I'll call you if I need you.

Get the fire and paramedics
out there right away.

- I'm on it.

- Fuck off.

- This is Deputy Winslow.
I need all available...

- All right, everybody, get
your dicks out of your hands.

Time to go to work.

These dead bodies
ain't finding themselves.

Come on now.
Double time.

- Would you tell them there's
not gonna be an official comment

until there's been
a full investigation

of the crime scene?

I'm probably gonna
be out there all day.

What?

- Sheriff, I think you have a...

- Shit.

- Hi, Louis.

- Not today, Amanda, okay?
Seriously.

- I need this.
I need this, Louis.

- I don't know
what you're talking about.

- Oh, come on.

Multiple bodies.
Honey Island Swamp.

Girl in custody.

- That is police business, okay?

It's not what you think it is.

- Oh, this has Victor Crowley
written all over it.

Are you out of your mind?

Please let me on that scene.

Let me cover this story.

- Get in line.

- You know,
for the last ten years,

I've been a punch line
on the media blacklist

for my Crowley study.

This is an opportunity...

- Crowley study?

Is that what you're calling it
right now?

I thought it was more like
obsessive sensationalism.

- Now, you just listen here.

I am wounded.

I would like to have access.

Please let me break this story.

Please, Louis.

- As of right now,

all we know is,
there's a possible murder

outside of Jefferson Parish.

No further comment.

- I heard "massacre."

I heard "unidentified bodies
in pieces."

- Jesus H. Christ.
- "Faces missing"?

- Amanda,
that is a police frequency.

Stay off of it.

- I have First Amendment rights,
Louis.

Come on.

Let me work on this story.

Give me a chance here.

It's me.

- So how's Arwin?

- She's good.

No worms or fleas,
and she's been living with me.

- Well, maybe a vulture
picked 'em off.

- Sheriff!
- Sheriff!

- Can we get a comment?

- Come on, guys.
I can't.

Not today.
Please.

Come on.

- Sheriff, Sheriff, can you give
us any information at all?

- Bloodsuckers.

- Sheriff!
Come on.

Something?

- Hey, Elliot.

How you doing?

- Not today, Mrs. Fowler.

- Well, actually,
it's Miss Perlman now.

- Well, you'll always be
Mrs. Fowler to me.

And it's Deputy now.

- That's nice.

How's Adrianne?

- We broke up.

2005.

- Oh.

So where's the suspect?

- That's none of your concern.

- Really?

'Cause I'm about
to post her bail.

- All right, people,
we're gonna have to spread out

the recovery search
a few more miles.

Hyde keeps finding pieces.

- Which way?

- Take your pick.
They keep popping up everywhere.

- Right.

Where the hell
are the paramedics?

- Always the last ones
on the scene.

You know that.

Speak of the devils, huh?

- You Hamilton?

- Yeah, that's me.

- Jim Duffy.
You in charge?

- Yeah, for the moment,

but Sheriff Fowler from
Jefferson Parish is on his way.

Just a little tied up
with press.

- Fuckin' maggots.

- Yeah, you're telling me.

- So what are
we talking about here,

three bodies, six?

- Shit.
Try 20 or 30.

- What the fuck happened?

- Well,
it's all under investigation,

but we do have a girl
in custody.

- A girl?

You guys think a girl did this?

- Shit, yeah.
We got good reason too.

- You guys don't tell us
how to do our job,

we won't tell you
how you suck at yours.

Uh, all right, guys,

let's start gathering
the bodies over here.

Bob, Randy, bag and tag.

Andrew, come with me.

- What happened?

- Some people died
and made a mess.

Barney Fife back there, he says
they got a girl in custody.

- A girl?
- Yep.

- We're not gonna be out here
all night, are we?

- How the fuck do I know,
Andrew?

What are you,
scared or something?

- You know where we are, right?

- Be a man.
Have a Twinkie.

- What girl did that?

You're awake.

I'm Amanda Perlman.

You don't know me.

I tried to post your bail.

But you have to go
before a judge for that,

and there's no bail set, so...

I'm a journalist.

I'm sort of the local expert
on the Victor Crowley legend.

Had a big, splashy article
not long ago,

local legends and lore.

- The Bayou Butcher.

Yeah, I saw you on Montel.

- Oh, you saw that?
Yeah.

Well, you know,
not my best career move.

Been trolling
county websites ever since,

but, you know... I just...

I have a belief
and I have a passion

for the Victor Crowley legend.

And it's kind of made me
a national journalism joke.

And one minute,
you're on national TV.

The next minute, you're...

- What the fuck
do you want from me?

- Well, I don't want
to waste your time.

I can see you're busy.

I just wanted to,
you know,

interview you
about what happened,

find out what you saw.

Listen, I can help you.

You know, if I can prove that
the ghost of Victor Crowley

actually exists,
that would help me a lot.

- So you want me
to help you, right?

Right?

- Yeah, that's right.

I mean, right now, you're
looking at a lifetime in jail.

I might be the best chance
and the best friend you've got.

- No offense,
but fuck you.

I want a fuckin' lawyer,
not a blogger.

- All right, Amanda.
I gave you your two minutes.

You can't be back here.
If Louis finds out...

- Now, you just listen to me.

We're gonna
run through this again,

Marybeth Dunston,
daughter of Samson Dunston,

washed-up local drunk,
who,

if he's even
got enough education

to sign off on
your death penalty acceptance,

would have to be poured out
of a local bar to do it.

And let's not forget
your brother Ainsley.

How many dozen DUI he got?

Oh, and those three months
community service

for defacing a church?

Look, I know you didn't do this,

but you're gonna go down for it
'cause you're po' white trash.

You know what they do
with po' white trash

who are convicted
on a capital charge?

The state of Louisiana
will execute you.

So you go ahead
and you sit in here.

You can bark at me
like a big dog in a cage.

But at the end of the day,

you can either help me
prove Victor Crowley exists,

or you can wait
for the lethal injection

that's gonna end
your miserable life.

- Do it.

- I couldn't help but notice,

your pappy
ain't been here to see you.

Must be happy hour somewhere.

Maybe he'll show up

after he's panhandled enough
pocket change for a Pabst.

- My father is dead.

Victor Crowley killed him.

- Please, tell me what happened.

I know I can help you.

Fine.

I'll wait.

- Son of a bitch.

Where the hell
are the other guys?

- Holy shit.

Where the fuck
did all this rain come from?

Randy.

One, two, three.
- Holy shit.

What'd you guys bring me,
a giant?

- Yeah, it's hard to tell.

This poor bastard
was lying on top

of the biggest chain saw
I've ever seen in my life.

I haven't found his head yet,

and his body's in a lot
of different pieces.

- Jesus.

- Yeah, well, I thought
you might want to take a look

at this one right away.

They guy looks like he had
all kinds of muscular

and skin deformities.

And he was
only wearing overalls.

- Get the fuck out.

- I know, right?

Anyway, it looks like this one
in particular might be...

| don't know... a crucial
component in all of this.

- Wait a minute.
You don't think that...

- I'm not saying shit,
all right?

All I'm saying is that
you might want to drop

whatever you're doing
and check this one over first.

- Awesome.

Gonna be fucking creepy,
but awesome.

Let's go.

Come on, big man.
We got a date.

One, two...

Dude, I'm telling you
this may be it,

and I've seen
some crazy shit, man.

I was working on an Asian male,
head severed off,

leg cut off
below the knee.

I'm telling you, man.

He looked kind of like you, man.

- Oh, what?
Because I'm Asian?

- No, dude,
because you were...

- Yeah, I get it.

We all look the same, right?

Ha, ha, ha.
It's hilarious.

Asshole.

- Oh, fuck that.

- He was shredded to pieces.

There was nothing left
to possibly get back up again.

I mean, taking his head off
wasn't enough.

Dismembering him was.

I got away.

- Now, what time was this?

- This morning.
I don't know.

Reverend Zombie thought
that by letting Crowley

kill the three people that
were responsible for his death,

somehow the curse
would be lifted and...

I don't know...
he would just go away.

It was all bullshit.

- Hmm.

According to my research when I
interviewed a voodoo priestess...

And she was a real
voodoo priestess...

- She was a real voodoo
priestess, of course.

- I know it sounds crazy.

But if anybody
should be a believer,

I would imagine
it would be you.

According to the legend,

Victor Crowley
is cursed as a repeater.

Each night, he has
to return exactly as he was

when he died, okay?

He has to relive the night of
his death in an endless cycle

over and over again.

You can't kill him.

He's already dead.

It's kind of sad, really.

- I sawed his body
into little pieces.

I'm pretty sure he's dead.

- I don't know.

The priestess said no amount
of physical damage

can keep him from
returning again and again

in his original form.

- He's dead.

- He's not.

- Any sign of the Sheriff yet?

- Nothing yet.

- Aw, shit.

Well, he should be here soon,
all right?

I'm on channel six
when you see him.

- Hey, any more bodies?

- Man, it's hard to tell.

It looks like we got a whole
area down there by the cabin,

a whole crime scene over there,
a whole mess of bodies.

Even more to the east.

My call?

I think the victims
were in two separate groups.

Hell, they probably didn't
even see each other down there,

coming each way,
different directions?

Man, how the hell
do you deal with that smell?

Takes a couple years,
but you do get used to it.

Another day on the job for me.

- You know,
close the door, man.

I'll be on six.

- Randy?

- Freeze!

Don't move!

- Shit.
Whoa!

- Hamilton?

- Get off of me right now,
damn it!

- Holy shit.
Holy shit.

Help!
Help!

- Hamilton!

Hamilton, do you read?

Sheriff?

Lou, are you there?

- I heard it.
I got a call into state.

I'm bringing everyone and
everything I can bring with me.

We should be out there
in less than 30.

- You still think he's dead?

- I killed him.

- You didn't.
But I know how.

- How?

- To rid the swamp
of that curse,

we've got to give the ghost
what he wants.

- But he's searching
for his father.

- His father endlessly,
night after night.

Once he has him, he can finally
find peace and pass on...

- That is impossible.

Thomas Crowley
has been dead for years.

- I can explain all of it.

But first I need to know
that you're gonna help me out.

- I already told you
everything that I know.

- You are the only living
relative of Samson Dunston,

the man who caused all of this.

You are the only one
who can end it.

That means you are the only one
who can make it stop.

You heard
what I heard on the radio.

How many more people have to die
before this is over?

- I can't.
- You can.

We're going for a ride.

- Oh, hell no.

- All available units,
we have a report of a man down

by the Honey Island Swamp.

No response from fire,
paramedics on site.

I need all available units
to Honey Island.

All available units
to Honey Island Swamp.

- Elliot, you have to help me,
because if you don't,

everybody in that swamp
is gonna die.

You open that door.

- Look out, look out!

- Open it!

- Oh, he's coming.
Cover me!

- Now!

- All right,
here's what we know now.

A group of Jefferson Parish
P.D., paramedic, and fire

respond to a report
of a multiple homicide

right here
in this area.

There were 12 people,
all of whom are now MIA.

We have one suspect in custody.

And our last contact
was about 45 minutes ago.

But we did receive distress
calls of an unknown attacker

and multiple men down.

- So who's left?

- We're not exactly sure.

- Do we know if the attacker
is still in the area?

- Well, we have to assume so,
yeah.

But, guys, I want you all armed
and at the ready.

We got no idea
what we're dealing with here,

so let's be prepared
for anything, okay?

- Is the attacker armed?

- Definitely, but we just
don't know with what.

- I'll take it from here,
Sheriff.

Officer Hawes,
Louisiana State SWAT.

- Uh, nice to meet you, sir,

but actually,
these are my men and, uh...

Sir?

Sir?

- All right,
everybody listen up.

You will give
one verbal warning,

and then you will shoot to kill.

Do I make myself clear?

- Yes, sir.

- Good.

Let's stay together
and move out!

- Son of a bitch.

- What do you got in there,
a nuclear warhead?

- No, but I brought
about every other toy

I could get my hands on.

- You don't fuck around.

Mikaela Dougherty.

- Cory Schneiderman.

It's a pleasure.

- You planning on taking out
a T-Rex tonight?

- You do know where we are,
right?

- Smelly swamp?

- This is his swamp,

Victor Crowley.

- I'm sorry.
I'm new here.

I just transferred
from Arizona.

Who's Victor Crowley?

- A long time ago,
there was this little boy

who was born deformed,
and he...

- Come on.
Let's go, dipshit.

- That guy's
such a fuckin' asshole.

I'll tell you about it later.

- The NRA would be proud.

- I'm a member.

- Can you please
take these cuffs off of me?

- Absolutely not.

I shouldn't even be doing this.

I could lose my job
on this.

- Where am I gonna run,

locked up in the back
of this fucking car?

- Will you please shut up?

- How far is Ozona?

- Ozona?

It's up the 11 freeway
on the other side of Nicholson.

- What's in Ozona?

- Mrs. Fowler, Ozona is nowhere
near Honey Island Swamp.

What we need to do...

- We need to get to Ozona
is what we need to do.

And for the last time,
it's Miss Perlman, Elliot, okay?

Just, you know,
call me Amanda.

Do that.
Amanda.

- I thought you were
Sheriff Fowler's wife.

- Ex-wife.

- I need to call the Sheriff and
let him know what we're doing.

- No, you absolutely do not,
not yet.

- Do you understand how much
trouble my ass is gonna be in?

- I tell you what.

Get me to Ozona,
and then you can call Louis

and tell him we're on our way.

Deal?

- What is in Ozona?

- Thomas Crowley.

- Thomas Crowley?
Thomas Crow...

If he were alive,

wouldn't he be like
300 fucking years old by now?

- He's dead.

- So what are we gonna do,
dig him up?

- Not exactly.

- Tell me about the suspect.

- Well, she turned herself in
this morning.

She was covered in someone
else's blood, holding a shotgun.

- Did you get a confession?

- No, she kept carrying on
about some local legend

named Victor Crowley.

- Yeah, well, I'm familiar.

She was in custody when your men
made the distress call, correct?

- Yes, sir.

My guess is that it's one
of these Crowley impersonators;

you know, some local nut
that's heard the ghost story

one time too many.

But she's clearly part of it,
though.

- Yeah, well,
I'll be the judge of that.

I suppose if anybody's
a Crowley expert,

that would be you,
right,

being that your wife
is Amanda Fowler, correct?

- Uh, ex.

She's my ex-wife.

- Got a few of those myself.

- Yeah, it's complicated.

You know, when I transferred
from Houston,

I thought she and I, we just
clicked so good, you know?

But then...
I don't know...

- I was just making small talk,
Sheriff.

I really don't want
to hear about your divorce.

No offense.

- So when did you transfer?

- About a month ago.

So far, so good.

Though,
Mardi Gras has been a trip.

- Fucking Mardi Gras.

It's the worst time of the year
for all of us.

Everyone flocks
to Bourbon Street,

thinking it's gonna be like one
of those Bayou Beaver DVDs.

And instead, they get
toothless 60-year-old women

flashing their sagging pancake...

- Just a bird.

You're really freaked out, huh?

- Yes, I'm really freaked out.

There's a reason
this swamp is condemned

and closed off
to the public.

Enough people disappear,
enough bodies pile up,

and eventually,
you can't help but believe

there's some truth to the ghost
stories you hear around here.

I've only been living here
for three years,

and I'm already a believer,
I'll tell you that much.

- Hey, I get it.

I believe in ghosts too.

I swear I saw one in my bedroom
when I was six years old.

But it just smiled at me
and walked out.

It wasn't scary,

kind of peaceful
and comforting.

- This isn't
Casper the Friendly Ghost.

- How do you know?

- 'Cause Casper
doesn't tear you in half

with his bare hands.

- Fucking Christ.

- You still believe
in friendly ghosts?

- What the hell did this?

- Oh, God.

God, we're fucked.
We're fucked.

We're so fucking fucked.
We're...

- Will someone shut Schneiderman
the hell up?

- It's a good thing you got that
girl in custody, huh, Sheriff?

- Who you calling?

- I'm trying to reach the person
we're going to see,

see if he's home.

- Who we going to see?

- His name's
Abbott McMullen.

I did a bunch of interviews
with him a couple years back,

my original Crowley piece.

- Okay.

- What are you doing?
Why are you stopping, Elliot?

- Old Man McMullen?
Abbott McCrazy?

- Yeah.
Your point is?

- We are in some
serious shit here, Amanda.

We have friends in that swamp
that are seriously injured

if not dead.

And I just took our
prime suspect out of jail

against the law
and against my better judgment.

And now you have me out here
on some wild goose chase,

chasing I don't know what

with a more morbid version
of Wednesday Addams

in our backseat,

who could possibly be
a psycho killer.

- Yeah,
I'm sitting right here.

- No offense.

- None taken...
asshole.

- Hey, I'm still
an officer of the law,

so watch your mouth before I add
a few more charges to the list.

- Oh, can me telling you
to go fist your own ass

be another one of them charges?

- Okay, see?
That's it.

- Okay, no, no, no.
Stop!

Come on, guys.

Abbott McMullen
is the only living relative

of Thomas Crowley.

Thomas Crowley
is his great uncle.

- And?

- He has Thomas Crowley
on his mantle in an urn.

- So fucking what?

- The only way to give the ghost
of Victor Crowley peace

is to finally give him
what he wants.

- If that's true,
then why didn't you

just bring him Thomas Crowley's
ashes years ago?

- Because I can't.

Only the person
responsible for his death

can finally deliver
what it is he's looking for.

I tried to have
this conversation

with your father
two years ago,

and he pulled a gun on me
and told me to go fuck myself.

- Classy family.

- Go fuck yourself.

- Look, I know
how insane this sounds.

But until somebody
has a better idea,

this is the only option
we've got.

So I suggest we stop the
fighting, we start driving,

and we try to put an end to this
once and for all.

Louis is out in that swamp,
your best friend, my husband.

- You mean your ex-husband,
right?

Just drive, please.

- I hate to break it to you
again, lady,

but my father's dead.

- He sure is.

But you're not.

- No way one person
did all this.

- For fuck's sake.

Will you stop dancing around
what's really going on here?

- Shut up, Schneiderman.

- No, sir,
with all due respect,

whether you want
to believe it or not,

this has Victor Crowley
written all fucking over it.

- Control your deputy,
Sergeant.

- Schneiderman,
stand down.

- Are you kidding me?

These are somebody's balls.

Balls are not supposed to be
hanging from trees.

Yet, I'm finding myself looking
at fucking balls, sir.

- That guy knows what's up.

We need
to get the fuck out of here

and call the National
fucking Guard or some shit...

- Shut your fucking mouth.

This whole thing could be
some sort of a joke...

A sick, perverse,
practical fucking joke.

- That doesn't
look like a joke to me.

My deputy's right.

I'm calling in the military,
and we're leaving.

- Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!

- Hold your fire.
Hold your fire!

Hold your fire!
Hold your fire!

Who the hell are you?

- I'm Andrew.

I'm what's left of
the first response team, sir.

Look, we got to get the fuck
out of here right now.

Thank God you guys showed up.

- Why don't you tell me
what happened then?

- What happened?

Fucking Victor Crowley happened,
that's what.

Look around.

- Then why are you still here?

- I hid underneath someone
else's body I found over there.

All right, he massacred
everyone in minutes.

- And you didn't fight back?

- No, I didn't fight back.
I hid.

And that's the only reason
those aren't my balls

hanging from that tree.

Okay, please...
Please.

We need to leave
right this second.

- This is Sheriff Fowler,
Jefferson Parish.

I'm trying to reach Colonel
Mesco, Louisiana National Guard.

- Repeat that, Sheriff Fowler.

- We got a sit...

- Cancel that request.

- Copy that.

- This is SWAT team leader
Tyler Hawes.

The situation's under control.

Cancel that request.

- What's your 20,
Officer Hawes?

- Do not answer that.

All right,
everyone listen up.

I will not... and I repeat not...
be losing my job

by calling in
the fucking military

until I figure out what exactly
is fucking going on here.

Do I make myself clear?

Yes, sir.

- Is this guy kidding?

- Fuck this shit.

Your ego
is putting all of us in danger.

Fucking fire me.
I don't care.

I'm leaving.

- Officer Schneiderman,

are you aware
of the consequences

for fleeing the scene
of a murder?

- Yep.

But at least I'll be alive.

- Don't do it, Deputy.

- Calm down.

What are you?
Are you scared?

- Yes.
Yes, I'm fucking scared.

How the fuck
are you not scared?

- He's like a tank.

No matter
how many bullets he took,

he just kept
getting back up and coming.

If we don't leave
right this second,

nobody's gonna
be alive tomorrow.

- Then where is he?

- I don't know.

I've been playing dead and
hiding until you guys showed up.

Last I heard was screaming
coming from over there.

- Hold your fire.
Hold your fire.

Hold your...

Go check it out.

We got him.

- Good job, fucktards.

- Oh, my God.

Hide!

Go!
Hide, hide!

- Move.
Move, move!

Go!

- Hey, guys.
Yeah, yeah, guys.

Check this out.
Who wants in on this?

No, no, no.
He lives there.

Stop!

This is not a good place
to hide, okay?

I think he lives here,
so... bushes over here.

Hey, you.
You want to hide in the bush?

- We're so gonna fuckin' die.

We're so gonna fuckin'...

- Shut your fucking mouth.

- Stop!
Guys!

- Oh, shit.
Shit, shit.

- Ugh!

- Stop, stop!

Stop. Don't fire!
Stop!

Help me!
Help!

No!

No, no!
Help!

Help me!
No!

- Move your head.

- Help me!
Thank you!

- I got you.
I got you.

- Move back, move back,
move back, move back.

- Oh, shit.

Oh, shit.

- Fire!

- Ugh!

Help me!

- What the...
What the fuck?

- Get down!

- Ah!

- Ugh.

- Ah!

- Uh!

- Ah!

No!

- Let's do this,
you little bitch.

- Oh.

- Oh, fuck this!

- Ah!

- Schneiderman!

- Help!

- Schneiderman, get back!

- You're gonna kill him!

- He's already dead.

- Guy was always
a fucking dick anyways.

- What's up, swamp bitch?

Running around
in your fucking overalls

killing everybody
I fuckin' know.

- Oh, my God!
Please!

Please, God!
Please stop.

- You want your fucking daddy?

I'll give you your fucking
daddy, you deformed douche.

- Sorry, Rick.

Eat this, motherfucker!

- Ugh!

- Ugh!

- Whoo!

Yeah!

Whoo!

You see that?

Now, that's how
you take a bitch out.

- Run!

- Come on!

Back to the boat!

- Come on!

- Get up!

- Ugh!

- Oh, damn it.

Fuck you!

Fuck you!

Oh!

No!

- This is it.

- I spent two days
interviewing Abbott McMullen

for my Crowley story.

You never quite get
the smell out of your sinuses.

- And you think he's just
gonna hand over the ashes

of Thomas Crowley to you?

No.

But he'll hand 'em over to you.

- Wait.

What?

Stay here.

- Where the fuck
am I gonna go?

- Amanda, this is crazy.

You can't do this.

- I tell you something.

By the end of the night,
if I'm wrong,

you can personally
haul my little ass to jail.

- Oh, I intend to.

- 'Cause this is
the last chance we've got

to bring this to an end.

- How?

- That girl
is Samson Dunston's bloodline.

Hey, Mr. McMullen.
Remember me?

- Who are you?

- I'm Amanda Fowler.

- From the paper?

- Yes, sir.

- I ought to shoot you dead

for waking me up
at this crazy hour.

It's the middle of the night,
for Christ sakes.

It's 8:45.

- Well, that's what I said.

Who is the colored?

- Who's the...

Deputy Winslow,
Jefferson Parish.

And you do know that
the whole Civil Rights thing

did take place, just FYI.

- I didn't do nothing
to that little girl.

There ain't no crime in looking.

- I'm sure you didn't,

not a nice tolerant man
such as yourself.

- This here is harassment.

I'll have your job.

- After tonight?

Yeah, you just might
have my job.

- Mr. McMullen, we just
wanted to visit with you

about a matter
of extreme urgency.

- What?
Was there a fire?

Is Sarah Jane all right?

- She's fine.
She's fine.

We just wanted to have
a minute of your time,

just a minute.

- Well, all I got's a minute.

Got a lot of irons
in the fire, you know.

- Oh, yes, I know.
I know that.

Thank you.
Thank you very much.

- And don't you try
to steal nothing.

I got eyes
in the front of my head.

- Why don't you just offer me

some fried chicken and
watermelon while you're at it?

- I ain't got no food.

- It was a joke.

- You mumble.
I can't understand you people.

- Forget it.
- What?

- Forget it!
- Faggot?

I ain't no faggot.

Oh, well, come on in.

If you're here to talk about
Victor Crowley again,

I told you everything
I had to say yesterday.

- Well, actually, Abbott,
that was ten years ago.

- What?
Speak up.

- Yeah, I'm not here
to talk about Victor Crowley.

- Well, then,
what the hell you want?

- We are here
on official police business.

You've got a piece of evidence

that is part
of our investigation.

We wanted to borrow it and then
bring it right back to you.

- And where is your warrant?

- You're not under arrest.
It's okay.

- You're not in any kind
of trouble, Mr. McMullen.

We just need
to borrow an item from you

and return it to you briefly.

- You know,
you mumble too much.

I can't even understand you.

- Oh, you know,
when last we spoke,

you told me that these
are Thomas Crowley's ashes.

Isn't that right?

- No, them's my uncle's ashes.

- That's right.

These are your uncle's ashes.

- What the hell are you doing,
you little harlot?

- I am just gonna borrow these
for a little bit,

and we're gonna
bring 'em right back.

- Oh, over my dead body.

- Mr. McMullen,
I'm afraid I must insist.

I'll bring your uncle's ashes
back to you personally.

- What the hell you want
with my uncle's ashes anyway?

- I'm taking these as evidence.

This is part
of a police investigation.

Show him your badge.

- Show him my badge?

- Show your badge.

- It's official police business, sir.

- That's right.

- Who'd you rob this from?

- Who'd I...

You know what?
That's it.

I'm through.
I'm done.

- Abbott, I promise,
we'll be bringing 'em back.

We'll be bringing 'em
right back.

- I said, over my dead body.

- Well, then,
you leave me no choice.

- Go ahead.
Shoot me.

Go on, do it.

Shoot a defenseless old man.

Go on, pull the trigger.

- Abbott, I'm sorry, but we are
leaving now with this urn.

Open the door.

- Do it.
Shoot me.

Go on.
Do it.

Yeah, I knew
you was a coward.

You come barging into my house

with some negro thief
claiming to be a cop.

- Fuck it.
Fuck you.

- I am a veteran.

I went all the way to Korea.

- Fucking white people.

- That's right.

Run, boy.

Pow.

Yeah, gotcha.

- Let's get the hell
out of here.

- Is he...
Is he still following us?

Where'd he go?

- Oh, God,
he knocked the wind out of me.

- What are you doing?
No stopping.

Stopping...
Stopping very bad.

Ugh!

- Who the hell was that?

- I don't know.

- Well, he was a paramedic.

Doesn't he work with you?

- Yeah,
but I don't know his name.

- Hey!

We got to get back to the boat.

You're going the wrong way.

- See?
Fuck that guy.

- Well...

You got to be
fucking kidding me.

- You're Samson's bloodline.

You have to be the one
to give the ghost what it wants.

- The fuck I do.

You can't bring me back there.

- We don't have a choice.

The one who caused
the ghost's death

is the only one
who can make it right.

- I had nothing
to do with this.

- But your father did.

I'm sorry, but, Marybeth,
this is the only way

to make it right.

- And why are you just coming up
with this plan tonight?

Why now?

- I told you.

I approached your father
years ago.

It didn't exactly
go over well.

And until you waltzed
into the police station

wearing
Victor Crowley's innards,

what proof did I have
that he was real?

Stop!

- You're gonna get us killed.

- Stop it, Marybeth.
Stop!

- Turn the fucking car around.
You can't...

- You have to go, Marybeth.

Only you.
Only you.

You're the one.

- Ugh.

- Oh.

- Oh, God.

- Come on, man.
Let's go.

- Where's your boat?
- What's wrong with this one?

- I don't have the keys.

- What?
Why?

- I work with a bunch
of redneck racists.

They don't let me
drive anything.

- Christ almighty.

Let's go!

- Fuck it.

- Back in the ambulance.

Move it!

- Shit!

Oh!

- Fuck!

- This is Sheriff Fowler,
Jefferson Parish.

This is Sheriff Fowler.

This is Sheriff Louis Fowler.

God damn!
It's dead.

Does that work?

- Yeah.
- Thank God.

- This is Sheriff Fowler,
Jefferson Parish P.D.

S.O.S.
Repeat, S.O.S.

We are under attack
in Honey Island Swamp.

- This is the National Guard's
frequency, Sheriff Fowler.

Did you say
you're under attack?

- Yes, please.

We need help immediately, okay?

Listen, you got to send military
assistance or something

as soon as possible, okay?

We're pinned down here.

We got SWAT team officers dead.

We got deputies dead.
We got...

Fucking half the Louisiana
police department is dead.

- Who's attacking you, Sheriff?

- Victor Crowley.

- Repeat that.

- Crazed gunmen.

They're heavily armed,

and they're firing
everything they got.

We need military assistance.

You got to send some kind
of chopper or something,

airlift us the fuck out of here.

- Understood, Sheriff.

We are dispatching
air support immediately.

What are your coordinates?

- What the...

- I ain't got no fucking
coordinates, you moron.

I'm in Honey Island
fucking Swamp.

It's not that big.

You'll see six major league
fucking police boats,

and they'll be
parked alongside the shore.

That's where we'll be, okay,

pinned down in an ambulance
taking heavy fire.

- We're on our way.

Hold tight.

- Finally.

Fucking finally
something goes right.

- Wait.

Be quiet.

- What?

- He's gone.

- Nobody move.

- Maybe he gave up.

- Even if he did, nobody steps
outside this fucking boat.

Nobody touches anything
without my say-so,

do you understand me?

- Sounds good.

- We're staying put

till the National Guard
gets here.

- Randy.

That guy's name was Randy.

I knew his name.

- What is that?

- I don't...

- Shut up and listen.

- Where the fuck
did he get a grinder?

- Oh, shit.

It's a gas belt sander.

It was in the evidence pile
outside the boat

with those other weapons.

I might've... okay, okay,
okay, I put it there.

My bad.

- We really need to call
the Sheriff and let him know...

- Elliot.
Elliot, no.

If you do that,
he will order you

to take me and Marybeth back.

- Yeah, probably.
- And then what?

I take full responsibility.

I'll say I pulled your gun.

- Yeah, right.

- I'll do whatever it takes, Elliot,

because I am not wrong.

I am not.

- I'm sorry.

- Oh, don't do it, Elliot.

Please don't do this.

- Sheriff, you there?

Lou, come back.

Louis!

This is Deputy Winslow.
Heather, are you there?

- Elliot, where the hell
have you been all night?

Shit is going down
out at Honey Island.

- Yeah, I'm aware.

I'm boarding a boat now.

- Do you have
the Dunston girl with you?

Please tell me
that isn't true.

- Look, I can
explain everything.

Just... when's the last time
you talked to the Sheriff?

- It's been almost two hours

since we heard from anyone
out there.

But the National Guard
received a distress call

from a paramedic boat,
and they're on their way in.

What the hell's
happening out there?

- Look,
who placed a distress call?

- Why did you take the suspect
out of her cell?

- Who sent out
the distress call?

- They said it was the Sheriff.

He said there's
a group of gunmen

attacking them or something.

We can't get a response
from anyone here.

- Don't you see?
Louis is alive.

- Yeah, two hours ago.

- He called in the military.

He said
it was a group of gunmen.

Don't you get it?

He did that so that he would be
sure that they would come.

What's he gonna say,
"Victor Crowley's attacking us"?

You got to think about this.

We have got to get out there.

And we got to get out there now.

- And then what?

- And then we make sure
she puts that monster

back in his grave,
where he belongs.

- Oh, shit.

Should we run for it?

- Where, back to the woods?

- No, to his boat.

While this fucker's distracted
sawing through this wall,

let's open the door
and run for the other boat.

- Even if we get a head start,

there's no way
the three of us make it.

It's like
he's everywhere at once.

- What are you doing?

- I don't know.

We have to find something
to fight back with.

- An RPG didn't take him down.

You think
a couple of needles will?

- Well, we have to do something.

- We're running
out of time here.

What's the ETA
on that chopper?

- Chopper's coming in
from Baton Rouge.

ETA, ten minutes.

- We ain't got ten!

Damn it!

- He must've
chewed through the wiring.

- Hey, I see the other boats.

Let's pull around.

- We don't have time.

We're close enough.

- You heard her.
Let's go.

Let's go.

- Ugh.

- Now, listen,
you've got to trust me.

- Look, I promise,

I won't let anything
happen to you.

You know that promise?

It's fading fast.

- Come on,
get it together.

- Let's go.

- Get your hands off me!

- This will be over soon.

- Yeah, it will be.

- Ugh.

It's got me!
It's got me!

Get it off!
Get it off!

Get it off!

Get him off!

- Sheriff?

- Louis?

Lou!

- Now what?

Sheriff?

- Louis, answer me!

- They're all dead.

- He's not dead!

- He is so dead.

- No, he isn't.
He called for help.

He's not dead.

Here!
- No!

- Take it.
Take it!

- Get out of my face, bitch!

- Take it!

- Sheriff!

- Victor?

Victor, come out!

Come and get your daddy.

Victor Crowley!

Victor Crowley,
we've got your daddy!

- Why did he stop?

- Louis?
- Shh!

I'm trying to listen.

- Sheriff Fowler!

- I think it's them.

- Oh, thank God.

- Louis,
where the hell are you?

- Amanda?

- Who's Amanda?

- Oh, my God.
It's my wife.

- Okay.

- Amanda.

- Oh, my God.

- Victor!

You come out here to me
right now.

I've got something you've been
needing a long time.

- Sheriff Fowler!

- Don't even.

- I still have ammo.

- Fowler?

- Just stay put.

- I can reach it.

- Stay away from that hole.

- Shh.

- Victor, where are you?

- Okay.

- Don't.

Don't... don't...
don't do it.

- I want to see you.

- Stop.

- You come out now!

- Stop.

- I got your daddy here,
Victor!

Ow!

Andrew, help!

- Come out!

Come and get your daddy!

- This is bullshit.

Amanda,
we need to find the others.

- Found 'em.
There you go.

Look around.

Victor, come on!

Where are you?

- He's...

He's here.

- Freeze!

- Oh, God.

- On the floor now!

- Cover her.

Don't let anything
happen to her.

- No.
- Only you.

- No!
- Only you!

We can't kill him unless
you put it into his hand.

Go!
You hear me?

You do it.
You do it.

Do it.

- Here.

- Don't shoot until he has it.

- Here he is.

- I'm sorry for what...

they did to you and...

I'm sorry.

And I'm sorry
for what my father did to you.

- I'm sorry.

Daddy?

- Take it.
Take it.

- Step back, Marybeth.

I said, step back!

- Oh, honey.
Oh, honey, I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

- He's dead.

- No, Elliot!
No!

Elliot!
No!

Give him the ashes.

Ah!

I knew you were real.

- I came to save you.

Ugh.

Here's Daddy, motherfucker!

- Ugh.

Ah!

Ugh.

Got to get up.

Get up.

Get up.

Get up.

Fucking do it already.

Just one more time.

Come on, do it.

Come on, do it.

Come on, do it.
Come on, do it.

Come on,
fucking do it already!

Come on!
Get up!

Oh, God damn it.

Do it already.

Fucking do it already!

Ugh.

Fuck it.

Ugh.

- Hey!

Hey!

Over here!

I'm here!

Get me the fuck out of here!

Help!

Help!