EXT. A ROAD. DAY.
A MAN (TRACKER) IS SQUATTING IN THE ROAD STUDYING A RED SUBSTANCE ON THE FLOOR. ANOTHER MAN (COMPANION) STANDS NEXT TO HIM OBSERVING.
THE TRACKER LIFTS SOME OF THE SUBSTANCE TO HIS LIPS AND SNIFFS IT.
TRACKER:
Strawberry Sauce...
THE TRACKER TASTES THE SUBSTANCE
TRACKER: (CONT"D)
..and a hint of hundreds and thousands. Come on.
THEY RUN TO A NEARBY AREA AND COME TO A HALT. THE TRACKER LOOKS DOWN AT THE PAVEMENT, KNEELS DOWN AND RUNS HIS HANDS OVER THE SURFACE OF THE PAVING SLABS.
TRACKER:
Look scuff marks. Pretty recent too. Maybe as many as seven children were here.
HE FOLLOWS SOME OF THE MARKS ALONG THE PAVEMENT.
TRACKER: (CONT"D)
Someone's Zoom was melting...only got as far as the orange bit. Come on we may be too late.
FX: DISTANT ICE CREAM VAN MUSIC.
TRACKER:
Quiet. You hear that? He's calling to the herd.
COMPANION:
Distress....?
TRACKER:
I fear you may be right.
THE TRACKER NOTICES A WHITE SUBSTANCE LEADING AWAY. THE TRACKER BENDS DOWN AND TAKES A SMALL AMOUNT ON HIS FINGERS AND PLAY WITH IT THOUGHTFULLY.
TRACKER :
Still some firmness left, we're getting closer.
THEY RUN A SHORT WAY DOWN THE ROAD. THE COMPANION STOPS, GRABS THE TRACKER AND POINTS.
COMPANION:
Sir! You might want to see this.
ON THE FLOOR IS ARE PILE OF SCATTERED CHOCOLATE FLAKES
TRACKER:
He's dumping his flakes.
COMPANION:
Sir. Shall we go back and have a 99?
TRACKER:
There's no time.
THEY BOTH PICK UP SOME CHOCOLATE FLAKE. PUT IN THEIR MOUTHS AND CHEW.
COMPANION:
Too crumbly.
TRACKER:
I have taught you well.
COMPANION:
Maybe in trouble?
TRACKER:
He's wounded, Others will have picked up the scent. He could be desperate... dangerous.
SCENE TWO:
THE TRACKER AND COMPANION ARE HIDDEN BEHIND A SAND DUNE, LOOKING OVER THE TOP. THE ICE CREAM VAN IS STATIONARY, IT'S TUNE PLAYING SOFTLY AND SLOWLY LIKE A CASETTEE PLAYER WITH IT'S BATTERY RUNNING OUT. A GROUP OF PEOPLE DRESSED IN BEACH WEAR ARE CRAWLING ALL OVER THEVAN AND HELPING THEMSELVES TO ALL THE ICED GOODS.
COMPANION:
We're too late sir, too late.
THEY CHASE AND SHOO AWAY THE BEACH GOERS.
COMPANION:
Such a senseless waste. Why must it be this way?
TRACKER:
Life's savage game. It is not yours to question anymore than it is mine to answer.
HE PATS HIS COMPANION ON THE BACK IN A COMFORTING GESTURE.
TRACKER:
Come on, we may have lost this one but there are more out there that we can still save.
THEY RUN PURPOSEFULLY INTO THE DISTANCE
END.
. Sorry! got you mixed up with swertyd!
