Munny by Dylan Lewis

Munny Dylan Lewis

(Based on the characters by David Webb Peoples.)

Darkness. The sound of a large fire fades in. We also hear the bursting and collapsing of a great amount of burning wood. It grows louder, and builds until it’s deafening, and we...

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I/E. BLEAKBELLOW - NIGHT

Texas-New Mexico border: 1870

We see the night sky, veiled by an unending coat of storm clouds. Rain starts to fall. There’s an echo of thunder, in the distance. The drops gain speed, and plummet to the Earth, at a rapid rate. The camera pans down to an old west saloon engulfed in flames.

There are three corpses sprawled along the ground, at the entrance: a cowboy and two whores. Parts of their bodies have been ripped away from gunfire. Their blood has mixed together in a small pool and been splattered on the wall. The fire reflects off it, while their clothes soak in the incandescent liquid.

More bodies are inside, burning along with the rest of the saloon. We close in on a puddle of blood, as it boils in the flame next to another corpse. A silhouette makes its way out the saloon, and creeps towards the camera. It holds four bottles of whiskey, two in each hand.

The figure turns its head, and reveals half its face in the flames. WILLIAM. MOTHERFUCKING. MUNNY. Between twenty-five and thirty years old. He’s got a welt on his left brow and blood on his face, the latter of which is not his.

He wears a black Knudsen hat. His head is full of brown hair that runs down through his coarse beard. He’s got on a roughed up, jet black jacket over a dark red button up shirt. There’re remnants of blood on them too.

Munny surveys the village. Through the storm, we hear the sloshes of hooves in mud, and they’re close. It’s from four cowbowys, who ride in, and stare at the saloon.

As they pull up to the front entrance, Munny sets three of the bottles on the ground. He keeps one in hand, and begins to drink. The cowboys struggle to control their horses while they snort and jerk out of fear.

Cowboy 1: (incredulously) What in the hell happened on down here?

Munny finishes the whiskey, and ignores the man’s inquiries. He, then, removes it from his lips, and sets his grey, dilated eyes on the cowboys. They stare back. Beat.

Munny lets go of the bottle, and grasps the two pistols at his waist. They’re drawn with ungodly speed and precision, for a drunken man. He unloads both chambers into the four men.

Blood, limbs, and hunks of skull and brain matter splatter all over their terrified horses, which take off into the storm out of sight. The dead cowboys are dragged behind them.

Munny watches them go. He whistles, and we hear a trot come towards him through the mud. A horse pulls in front of him, and he grabs the three full bottles of whiskey.

He replaces them in a black saddle bag, before he raises himself on top of the animal. He looks over the area, once more, then starts at a walk through the village, away from the saloon. Munny keeps his eyes on the buildings around, for any sign of life.

He continues at a slow, treacherous pace, and passes a stone well. To his right, something moves, and knocks something else to the mud. A figure breaks ahead of Munny, at a run, along the buildings. Munny reaches to the side of his saddle, and pulls out a sawed-off shotgun. He aims and fires both shells.

We hear the pellets crash through glass and wood and a female squeal of pain. The figure drops to the ground, and doesn’t move again. Then, another figure moves to Munny’s left. It looks to turn a corner into an alley.

Munny reloads, and shoots again. He hits the building, though we can’t tell through the dark and rain if he gets the runner. No squeal, this time. Munny scans both sides over. He sees nothing, then looks above to the windows of the few two-story buildings he goes by.

A single figure watches him, through a pair of black curtains. Munny loads the gun, once more, and clicks it shut. The person bolts away, but he shoots the glass out anyway. He and the horse continue on, still with an eye to the window.

They reach the edge of town, and Munny replaces his weapon back into the saddle. We watch him from behind, like he’s the angel of death. He fades away straight into the night storm, while the heavy rain pounds the landscape.

FADE TO BLACK:

Beat.

FADE IN:

EXT. NEW MEXICO WILDERNESS - AFTERNOON

Munny lays passed out, on the desert floor. He’s got his hat over his face to block the sun, and he uses his balled-up trench coat for a pillow. It’s no longer raining, though the ground shows signs of the previous night’s storm. His horse sits, several yards away.

We take a look at the desolate desert around him, to show just how far he’s wandered. The storm can be seen along the horizon, many miles away. Back to Munny, he’s still asleep in the mud. We, then, hear the clicks of two pistols being cocked, though, he’s undisturbed, despite this.

UKNOWN VOICE: (offscreen) A little late in the day to be sleepin’ ain’t it? Now, ya ask me, I’d say that there could get a man killed in these parts. Wouldn’t ya agree, Mr...?

A bounty hunter stands with his horse behind him. He holds two large pistols at this sides. He’s about the same size and weight as Munny, and no more than twenty-one years old. There’s a smug sense of confidence on his face, demonstrated by a smile that reveals several missing and rotten teeth.

BOUNTY HUNTER: That storm last night was all out o’ hell all right. Be a shame for one to survive it just to be killed outta their own carelessness.

Munny lies right where he is, not moving. We can’t tell if he’s asleep or not.

BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) Damn shame. Damn shame. Now, Mr., I don’t much like killin’ no folks, but I sure will, if they don’t do what I like of em. So, Imma need ya to do as I say, ‘fore I take care of what there storm couldn’t. Now, roll on over, take off that hat off o’ yours, an’ show me your face.

Munny still lays motionless.

BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) Maybe, you still ain’t hearin’ me. What I said was: move your pathetic, drunk ass, an’ show who you is, right the fuck now.

Nothing.

BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) Motherfuckin’.

The bounty hunter takes his left pistol, and clears the chamber. Each round hits within inches of Munny’s body, and splatters mud all over him. The man, then, puts the empty gun in its holster, now, with just the right in hand.

BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) (pissed off) I said take that goddamn hat off, ‘fore I load your carcass with every bullet I got in this thing. Now.

Beat. Finally, Munny starts to stir.

BOUNTY HUNTER: That’s right. Smart man. (CONT’D)

Munny rises to his feet, removes his hat from his face, and places it on his head. He’s ghoulishly hung over.

BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) (excited and afraid) Oh yeah. You who I’m looking for alright. I’ve got William Munny in the flesh staring down the barrel o’ my ol’ Colt.

No reply from Munny. Just a stare. The bounty hunter takes a few steps towards him.

BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) Good shit. The bounty on that there forehead o’ yours been raised up to two thousand dollars, after what you pulled last night.

MUNNY: Last night?

BOUNTY HUNTER: Yeah. Last night. You remember.

MUNNY: Yeah. I do. Vaguely.

BOUNTY HUNTER: Vaguely. Then, you understand what ya got comin’ for ya, don’t ya? You an’ that gang you’s got. Where’re they? Las Gilas still?

Beat. The two stare at each other.

BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) (smiling in confirmation) That’s right. Now, ‘fore I tie you up, Imma need you to pitch them pistols o’ yours. Get em. Gone.

Munny takes his pistols from their holsters, and tosses them away to both sides. The bounty hunter moves forward, still with his gun locked dead on Munny, until he’s right on him. He positions himself behind, replaces his pistol, and takes out a lasso. He starts to tie Munny’s hands together.

BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D) I really do appreciate ya doin’ the right thing, an’ not makin’ me shoot ya dead, Will. The extra five hundred is gonna be that much sweeter, when we get back. Especially, once I see em hang your ugly ass.

He laughs at the prospect.

Yessiree. BOUNTY HUNTER: (CONT’D)

Munny yanks his wrists away, grasps the back of the man’s legs, and propels himself backward, knocking the bounty hunter flat to the ground. Munny lands on top of the man, who’s breath is driven from his lungs.

He lets out a small, high pitched squeal, as it leaves him. Munny turns over and places his hands on each of the man’s pitsols, to trap them in their holsters. Munny positions his knee between the man’s legs. He raises it, and thrusts it into the bounty hunter’s groin, which sends out another high pitched, yet lower, cry of pain.

Munny repeats this action several times. Each strike draws a fainter, duller gasp from the man. He raises himself into a proper mount position, and pins the hunter’s arms and guns between his legs. Munny begins to hail fists into his adversary’s face. He busts the man’s nose, and generates bruises all over.

He doesn’t hesitate to wrap his hands around the hunter’s throat, when he finishes. He squeezes. The man struggles, but it’s no use. He can’t breath, he can barely see through his black eyes, and his only weapons are trapped between he and his killer’s bodies. Finally, he gives into it, and accepts his fate.

Munny still keeps a firm grip on the hunter’s throat, for many seconds after the man has passed. He scans over the area for any more attackers, but the desert is clear. He looks back to the bruised, bloody face, and releases it.

He searches the body for anything worth while. Munny takes the man’s pistols, ammo, canteen, money, and boots. He keeps everything, but tosses the boots away, without care. Munny, then, reaches into the man’s jacket, and pulls out two folded sheets of paper. They’re wanted posters.

The first is for he, William Munny. It’s new, and offers fifteen hundred dollars for him dead, two thousand alive. He crumples it, and pitches it behind his back. He looks at the second poster.

It’s for a man named Wesley Dunn: a member of the Gardner Gang. He’s up for four hundred dead, eight hundred alive. Last seen at one of the gang’s hideouts in Luna, New Mexico, near Las Gilas.

Munny inspects the face, then folds the poster into fourths, and puts it in his pocket. He retrieves his own pistols and jacket, before he starts towards his horse. He spies the dead cowboy’s steed, and looks it over. It’s much stronger and healthier than his own.

Munny removes his saddle and belongings from his horse, pulls out one of his new guns, and shoots the animal in the head. He throws the hunter’s saddle off, replaces it with his own, and pulls himself up. Again, he looks over the landscape.

He nudges his fresh horse forward, and the two go at a walk. We focus on the two corpses left behind, while he moves out of view.

We see the dead man’s face, then the horse’s. There’s a gaping hole in its head. Brain matter spills from the entry and exit wounds, though both eyes remain intact. It appears to be stuck in a never-ending shriek. We linger on this shot, for several moments. Then...

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