EXT. HIGHWAY - NIGHT

A truck is speeding along a dark and abandoned highway late at night. This is somewhere in the Southwest, not quite desert, but all plains and scrub and small wind-blasted bluffs.

INT. CAB - NIGHT

JACK, a truck driver in his late 40s or early 50s, shifts himself in his seat and squints through the windshield. Though the lighting in the cab is low, it is obvious that he is a simple man, dressed nonchalantly but neatly. He has spent a lot of time on the road, both today and in his lifetime in general, but is relaxed.

Jack's high beams have picked up, just on the edge of vision, a lone HITCHHIKER, scruffy, mid-20s, waving madly at the truck.

POV - HITCHHIKER

The truck comes closer, seems to slow down a bit, but then drives by. Then, as an afterthought, it stops about a hundred yards up the road, and a BEEPING sound is heard as it slowly backs up.

EXT. ROAD - NIGHT

The Hitchhiker runs towards the truck, swinging his backpack, tattered coat flapping behind him like a bats wings. The passenger-side cab door swings open, and he climbs in.

INT. CAB - NIGHT

Jack smoothly brings the truck back up to highway speed, then studies the Hitchhiker.

Silence.

Still no answer. The Hitchhiker looks nervous, he is visibly shaken and darts his eyes back and forth across the cab.

The Hitchhiker drops his eyes to the floor.

The Hitchhiker stifles a giggle. He looks up at Jack and finds that Jack's face is completely serious, impassive.

The Hitchhiker clears his throat.

Jack watches the road, paying no attention to his passenger.

The Hitchhiker clears his throat. He lets out a sound halfway between speaking and coughing, as if he has not spoken for a long time. Finally, he takes a deep ragged breath and collects himself.

Jack remains silent and still does not look at the Hitchhiker, but reaches over to the passenger side and flips down the visor. A long, scroll-like piece of paper rolls out, a large heading reading "The Trucker's Code of Honor". The paper has a slightly yellowed look to it, and the font and layout place it somewhere around the 1920s or 30s. Besides the heading, the rest of the paper is in ridiculously small print, and the Hitchhiker brings it close to his face to read it.

There is an uncomfortable silence.

The Hitchhiker shrugs.

Jack breaks out of his seriousness, and grins, he is again a simple down-home truck driver.

The Hitchhiker looks down at his own feet, at his too-large scruffy dress shoes that are held together with duct tape.

He glances over at the Hitchhiker, looking for recognition of his joke. The Hitchhiker looks back at him, blankly.

Jack once again turns his concentration to the road, whistling a happy tune all the while.

The Hitchhiker slowly and furtively unzips his backpack and fumbles around inside. He sneaks glances towards Jack, but Jack doesnt seem to be paying him any attention. The Hitchhiker finds what he is looking for, and lunges like a cobra towards Jack, silver flashing in his hand...

EXT. HIGHWAY - NIGHT

The truck SCREECHES to a halt, pulling halfway off the road and onto the plains. The cab becomes completely still, but the back of the truck swings around and threatens to overturn the entire vehicle. After a tense moment, everything is still.

INT. CAB - NIGHT

Jack still stares forward. His right hand has grasped in midair the wrist of the Hitchhiker, and the hand attached to that wrist holds a knife in a white-knuckled grip. The two are frozen, not even daring to breathe.

Jack twists the Hitchhikers wrist ever so slightly, and the Hitchhiker winces, dropping the knife somewhere on the dark floor of the cab.

The Hitchhiker whines, cradling his injured wrist.

He starts up the truck again and brings it back onto the highway.

The Hitchhiker focuses on the paper which is still dangling in front of his face.

The Hitchhiker makes a move as if to open the door, but sees the landscape speeding by and thinks better of it. He reaches towards the backpack...

He pulls out a knife of his own.

EXT. TRUCK STOP - NIGHT

The truck pulls in to Big Bob's Truck Stop, a cement-and-neon paradise which even this late at night is loud and busy. At least thirty trucks are parked outside, and a few more are arriving.

Jack stops his truck and gets out. He goes to the passenger side, open the door, and pulls the Hitchhiker out roughly, dragging him over to the door to Bob's.

INT. BOB'S - NIGHT

The inside of Bob's, a typical greasy-spoon, is packed with truckers of all ages, about two thirds male and one third female, although there are a few of indeterminate gender. Johnny Cash is playing on the jukebox, the counter and tables are loaded with food and the ubiquitous coffee cups that adorn diners.

The patrons are laughing and joking, switching tables and trading stories. BOB himself sits behind the counter. He is a massive man, well deserving the name Big Bob. He wears a greasy apron that may have once been white, but is now too splattered with food and dirt to tell the difference.

Many heads turn when Jack and The Hitchhiker enter. A few truckers greet Jack by name, and he smiles in recognition. Then, he becomes serious.

Silence, broken only the clatter of a coffee cup dropped on the table by a nervous, pimply young trucker. The crowd parts, forming an aisle from where Jack and the Hitchhiker still stand by the door to Bob's throne behind the counter.

Bob nods, almost regally.

The crowd begins to murmur. This is an inexcusable occurrence.

TIM, a scrawny busboy, gulps, nods, and backs through the swinging door into the kitchen. He returns with a small silver box, on the top of which is inscribed, in stylized script, DUEL. He hands the box to Bob, hands shaking.

Bob pulls his impressive frame out of his chair and moves slowly but determinedly, like an iceberg, towards the door. As he makes his way through the crowd, the aisle closes up behind him, and all the patrons follow him.

EXT. PARKING LOT - NIGHT

The crowd has gathered in a circle around Bob, Jack, and the Hitchhiker. Bob stands in the center, holding the box, and Jack and the Hitchhiker stand about three feet away from him on either side.

Jack kneels with a great amount of dignity and poise. The Hitchhiker is not as graceful, and drops to his knees jerkily.

Bob opens the box slowly. The younger truckers in the crowd crane their necks to see the box's contents, the older truckers nod gravely.

INSERT - THE BOX

The switchblades, old but still in excellent condition, sit on a bed of deep blue velvet. They are highly polished, and reflect the neon that permeates Bob's parking lot.

BACK TO SCENE

Tim enters the circle, takes one switchblade, and brings it to Jack. He does the same for the Hitchhiker, then leaves the circle again.

Bob slowly backs out of the circle, and Jack stands. The Hitchhiker stays down, staring at the pavement, and then snaps into the present and follows.

The two stand facing each other, blades extended and muscles tensed. Jack is confident, the Hitchhiker looks confused and scared.

Jack dashes in, leaping into the air and driving down on The Hitchhiker from above.

The Hitchhiker shrieks and ducks, half-rolling out of the way. Jack lands easily and utters a guttural cry, advancing on the Hitchhiker, his non-knife hand out and his other hand holding the blade behind him in readiness.

The Hitchhiker brings his own blade up with both hands and tries to slice Jack across the chest. Jack knocks the Hitchhiker down with his extended hand, and steps back.

The Hitchhiker closes his eyes and tenses, ready for the kill. He is confused when nothing happens, and opens one eye questioningly.

Jack is respectfully standing back a few feet, waiting for The Hitchhiker to stand so the Duel can continue.

The Hitchhiker stands, and as Jack is looking off into the crowd, tackles Jack to the ground.

The crowd grumbles in outrage, and the two wrestle and roll across the pavement. Jack pushes the Hitchhiker off him with enormous strength, and gets to his feet.

The Hitchhiker screams and attacks without abandon. Each time he strikes, Jack deftly deflects his knife. But Jack has gotten older since his days of training, and is beginning to tire.

The Hitchhiker gets a hit in, across Jack's left arm. Jack jumps back, staring at the wound in shock. He does not deflect the Hitchhiker's next blow, but spins out of the way.

Jack is determined now, and moves in on the Hitchhiker silently. The Hitchhiker dances from side to side, avoiding Jack's increasingly clumsy jabs. The tables have turned.

The Hitchhiker gets in another cut across the leg, and then another behind the ear. He is giggling maniacally now, and dancing even more exaggeratedly.

Jack steps back to the edge of the circle, breathing heavily. The Hitchhiker stands where he is, grinning and beckoning Jack to take another shot at him

He gathers all strength and rushes at The Hitchhiker. The Hitchhiker starts laughing again, but the laughter is abruptly cut off as Jack disarms him.

The switchblade spins through the air and lands several feet away. Jack puts a hand on the Hitchhiker's shoulder and forces him to kneel.

The crowd cheers wildly, rushing in and taking Jack onto their shoulders. En masse, they move back towards the door to the truck stop, Bob and Tim leading.

The Hitchhiker is left sitting in the middle of the parking lot, alone and dazed. The crowd pours into the truck stop.

Raucous cheers from the truckers.

The Hitchhiker picks himself up, standing shakily like a marionette. He looks around slowly, and his eyes light on the forgotten switchblade still sitting where it fell.

EXT. TRUCK STOP - NIGHT

It is much later, and though it is still dark out, dawn is just beginning to tinge the horizon. Most of the trucks have left, but a few still sit in isolated parking spaces, most notably Jack's.

Jack leaves Bob's with a few buddies, grinning and waving to those left within. He shakes hands with his friends, who go off to their own rigs and pull out onto the highway, driving into the morning.

Jack watches them leave, smiling in remembrance of his victory and his honor regained. He nods his head, getting back to business, and shuffles off towards his truck.

He stands on the shelf outside the drivers side door, fumbling for his keys. A figure comes out of the darkness and grabs him around the neck.

Jack gasps. The figure steps back, revealing the switchblade between Jack's shoulder blades. Jack whirls, ineffectually grabbing at the handle: he is too stiff to properly reach.

The figure comes forwards, it is, of course, the Hitchhiker. He throws a well-placed punch to Jack's face, Jack falls back against the switchblade and is still.

The Hitchhiker turns him over and begins to take the blade, but stops - he does not want any part of this Trucker's Honor nonsense. Instead, he removes Jack's wallet from Jack's back pocket, and locates the keys in Jack's coat pocket.

INT. CAB - NIGHT

The Hitchhiker climbs into the cab. He looks around on the floor and locates his backpack and his own knife, as well as an old battered baseball cap, which he puts on. He checks himself in the rear-view mirror, and practices speaking into the mouthpiece of the CB radio.

He giggles nastily and starts up the truck, and after a few jerks and stalls, he is on his way.

EXT. HIGHWAY - NIGHT

It is still dark, but the Hitchhiker is traveling towards the spreading glow of sunlight. He is starting to pick up the intricacies of truck driving, and is really speeding along.

He reaches over and idly flips on the CB radio, turning the dial through various channels.

The Hitchhiker settles on a channel of only static, which seems to soothe him. He settles back in the seat, but sits up with a start when he hears voices coming through.

The Hitchhiker makes a sudden U-turn, swinging across the other lane and heading west. He scans the horizon in all directions and sees no one on the road, no one on the plains.

He begins to breathe more slowly, though still barreling along at incredible speed. He is nearly calm, when he notices something coming towards him out of the dark - a wide and unavoidable line of headlights.

He makes another U-Turn, and pushes the truck to the limits of its acceleration.

The Hitchhiker is nearly hyperventilating. His hands are locked on the wheel, his eyes straight ahead. As the sun rises over the slight hills, another line of trucks appears over the horizon.

The Hitchhiker tries to turn off onto the plains, but completely fails, jackknifing across both lanes. There is no movement from the crash, and the other trucks pull up and surround it, focusing their headlights on the cab.

The drivers side door flies open, and the Hitchhiker drags himself, bloody and bruised, out onto the highway. He coughs, spitting and choking, and looks up.

In the dim morning light, he can make out the forms of various truckers. Simultaneously, they all pull out switchblades, and the circle closes in on him.

The screen fades to black over his screams.

THE END