NIGHT ON THE LIVING DEAD - ACT THREE “The Television Will Not Save You”

Previously on Night of the Living Dead, the farmhouse turned fortress became a powder cake, and Ben was the man holding a match. Harry Cooper clawed for control, Ben demanded respect, the dead just wanted flesh, and when fear took the wheel out on that lonely road. The truck burned, hope died, and sunrise started to look a lot like judgment. Act 3. Where the masks fall, the guns come out, and Romero proves the real monster was America all along. Act 3. The seller door swings open. Helen and Harry step into the hallway. Faltering, they peer through the entrance way into the living room. Harry, standing behind his wife, is hostile. Partially due to anger with himself because he has reneged on his decision about the seller. Helen, too, is overrought due to the emotional effect of the recent argument and to the fact that she's about to meet strange people in an anxious circumstance. But only Tom and Barbara are in the living room, and Barbara, overcome with nervous exhaustion, is sleeping fitfully on the couch. We can see the broadcast, I think, if the TV works, I have to go help Ben. Helen has gone immediately to Barbara, looks down at her sympathetically, brushes back her hair, and pulls the overcoat around her shoulders. Poor thing. She must have been through a lot. Harry, during these moments, has been flitting anxiously all over the house, from door to window to kitchen to living room. Checking out the actual degree of security and worrying about imminent attack at any second. I think her brother was killed out there. Tom! Hey Tom! Are you going to give me a hand with this thing? Tom startles, aware of his procrastination and bolts for the upstairs to help Ben. Harry, pausing momentarily in his anxiety, comes over to where his wife is looking after Barbara. Her brother was killed. This place is ridiculous! There's a million weak spots up here. Harry hears sounds from upstairs of Tom and Ben struggling with the television set. They are making their way down the steps. I don't care. There's people up here. Why don't you do something to help somebody? Harry, not really hearing her, is staring once more into the gloom outside. I can't see a damn thing out there. There can be 50 million of those things. I can't see a thing. That's how much good these windows do us. The truck driver, who with Tom has reached the landing with the heavy television set, has heard the last part of Harry from Mark. He glowers even as he moves with his end of the burden, but says nothing, as he and Tom gingerly deposit the TV in the center of the room. They hunt for an outlet, find it, then slide and walk the set until the cord is close and up to be plugged in. Ben kneels behind the set to plug in the cord. Wake the girl up. There's going to be a thing on the tube. She might as well know where she stands. I don't want anybody's life on my hands. Harry, stop acting like a child. I don't want to hear. Nothing else from you, Mr. If you stay up here, you take your orders from me. And that includes leaving that girl alone. She needs rest. She's just about out of her head as it is now, so. Now we're going to just let her sleep at all. And nobody's going to touch her unless I say so. Ben stares Harry down for at least a moment to ascertain that he is at least temporarily silenced. Then his hand plunges immediately to the television set. He snaps it on. The occupants of the room jockey for vantage points. And there are abated few seconds of dead silence as they all wait to see if the set will actually warm up. All eyes are on the tube. A hiss begins, increases in volume. Ben cranks the volume all the way. A glowing band appears in spreads, filling the screen. It's on. It's on. There are murmurs of excitement and anticipation. But the tube only shows nothing. No picture, no sound. Just the glow and hiss of the tube. Ben's hand races the tuning dial through the clicks of the various stations. Play with the rabbit ears, which you'll be able to get something. Ben fuses with horizontal and vertical, with brightness and contrast. On one station, he finally gets sound. He adjusts the volume. The picture tumbles. He plays with it and finally brings it in. Full screen is a commentator in the middle of a news report. People in the room settle back to listen. A sign little credibility to the theory that this onslaught is a product of a mass hysteria. Authorities advise utmost caution until the menace can be brought under absolute control. I witness accounts have been investigated and documented. Corpses of vanquished aggressors are presently being examined by medical pathologists, but on top the efforts have been hampered by the mutilated condition of these corpses. Many measures instituted in metropolitan areas include enforced curfews and safety patrols by armed personnel. Citizens are urged to remain in their homes. Those who ignore this warning expose themselves to intense danger from the aggressors themselves and from armed citizenry, whose impulse may be to shoot first and ask questions later. During the telecast, there are mixed feelings and reactions, but these responses are sporadic and infrequent. Predominant mood of all involved is to learn as much as possible from the telecast. Or otherwise isolated dwellings have most frequently been the objective of frenzied concerted attack. Isolated families are in extreme danger. Escape attempts should be made in heavily armed groups and by motor vehicle if possible. A praise your situation carefully before deciding upon an escape tactic. Fire is an effective weapon. These beings are highly flammable. Escape groups should strike out for the nearest urban community. Man-defense outposts have been established on major arteries leading into all communities. These outposts are equipped to defend refugees and to offer medical and surgical assistance. Police and vigilante groups are in the process of combing remote areas and search and destroy missions against all aggressors. These patrols are attempting to evacuate isolated families, but rescue efforts are proceeding slowly due to the increased danger of nightfall and the sheer enormity of the task. Rescue for those in isolated circumstances is highly undependable. You should not wait for a rescue party unless there is no possibility of escape. If you are few against many, you will almost certainly be overcome. The aggressors are rational and demented. Their soul urges the quest for human flesh. Sheriff Conan W. McClelland of the County Department of Public Protection was interviewed minutes after he and his vigilante patrol had vanguished several of the aggressors. We bring you now the results of that interview. Fade and segue to videotape interview. Open on wide shot. A night scene. Dense woods. Posted guards maintain the periphery of a small clearing. Spiratic gunfire can be heard in the distance. Some of the men smoke, some talking groups. The area is illumined by a large bonfire. Sheriff McClelland is the focal figure, medium close up, so that as he talks, we catch glimpses of activity in the background. He is shouting commands, supervising defense measures, and the burning of the bodies. At the same time, trying to answer reporter's questions. We cut or zoom closer. McClelland is pacing around, not strained too far, because a lavalier microphone is hanging on a cord around his neck. The crackle of the bonfire, the shouts and bustle of activity can be constantly heard behind his commentary. As he talks, he frequently turns away, his primary concern being his efforts in dealing with the aggressors and controlling his search party. Yeah, well, this is a rough country for an evening hike. What thing's going too badly? The men are taking it pretty well. We killed 19 of them today, right around this general area. He's last three. We found trying to claw their way into an abandoned mind shit. Nobody in there, these things just found an incline and trying to bust their way in. It's funny in a way. What's the thought there was people in there? We heard the racket, came, blasted them down. What's your opinion that can we defeat these things? I hate no problem. The only problem is whether we can get to them before they kill off all these people. But me and my man, we can handle them okay. We ain't lost our body or suffered any casualties. I got to do a shoot for the eyes. You can tell anybody out there all you got to do is draw a sharp bead and shoot for the eyes. Or he'd beat them down the lot of their heads off. Then I'd have a decent chance even if I was surrounded, like two or three of them. If you had yourself a club or a good torch, you can home off or learn the death. Catch fire like nothing. Go up like wax paper. But the best thing is to shoot them in the eyes. Don't wait for us to rescue you because if it gets you too far out, number of you've had it. We're doing our best, but we only got so many men in a whole lot of open country to call. But you think you can bring these things under control? Oh, we got things in our favor now. It's only a question of time. We ain't for certain how many there are or them things, but we know that when we find them, we're going to be able to kill them. So it's a matter of time. They're weak, but they're plenty of them. So don't wait for no rescue party. Arm yourself to the teeth, get together in a group, and try and make it to a rescue station. That's the best way. But if you're alone, you got to sit stock, steal, wait for help. And we'll try like hell to get there before they do. I will tell them to shoot for the eyes. That'll stop them low jobbers. You have heard Sheriff Conan W. McClellan for the County Department of Public Protection. This is your civil defense emergency network, with reports every hour on the hour for the duration of this emergency. Remaining your homes, keep all doors and windows locked. Do not under any circumstances. Ben reaches over and clicks off the television. Why'd you click it off for? Man said they only come on every hour. We're all we need to know. We got to get out of here. He said the rescue stations have doctors and medical supplies. If we could get there, they could help Karen. How are we going to bust out of here? We're going to sick kid, two women, one of them out of our head and three men. And there's a million of them things outside. Willard has a checkpoint there, about 17 miles from here. Wait, you from here? You notice area? Yeah, yeah, I was working in the cemetery across the road. I'm the caretaker. Two of them things attacked me and I high-tailed it over here. Found everybody wiped out. Not too long after these other people fought their way in here and I was scared. But I opened the basement door and I let them in. Unbeknownst to everybody else, Barbara has been sitting up listening. Now she speaks, startling them and gathering their attention. She has come down from her hysteria, but is very weak. You work in the cemetery? My brother is over there. You poor thing. My girl is her too. We have to get to a rescue station. The television told us we have to try and escape. Well, I think we ought to stick right here and wait for a rescue part. He said if you're few against many, you don't have a chance. We can't tram sandwich eat miles through those things. We ain't got to tram. My truck's right outside the door. This stops Harry. There is a moment of silence. But I'm just about out of gas. But there's a pump near the shed outside. It's just locked. The key ought to be around somewhere. There's a big key ring in the basement. I'm going to go look. The keys are labeled. Is there a food cellar? Yeah, why? We're going to need lots of jars. We can make mylots of cocktails, scare those things back, and then fight our way to the pump and gas up the truck. We're going to need kerosene. There's a jug in the basement too. Barbara and I can help. We can rip up sheets and things. Here's the key ring. The pump cares market with a piece of tape. Good. That settles that question. But we should take a crowbar anyway. In case the key don't work. The crowbar can double as a weapon for wherever it goes with me. But I don't want to get all the way out there and find out the pump won't open. I'll go. You and me can fight our way to the pump. The women can stay in the cellar and take care of the kid. We should have a stretcher. Barbara and Helen can do that. Harry, you're going to have to guard the upstairs. Once we unborder the door, those things can get in here easy. But me and Tom got to get back in here too once we get back with the truck. You got to guard the door and unlock it for us. Then we'll board it up as fast as we can because those things are going to come fast on our heels. Now if we don't get back, well then you'll be able to see from upstairs and you can barricade the door again and go to the basement. And you can just sit down there and wait for your rescue party. Mmm. I want the gun then. It's the best thing for me to use. You're not going to have time to stop it, aim. Oh, I'm keeping this gun. Nobody else lays a hand on it. I found it and it's mine. You don't care what happens to us. How do we know you and Tom won't just take the truck and cut out? That's a chance you're going to have to take. If we cut out, you'll have your goddamn basement. Like you'd be crying about this whole time. We're going to die here. If we don't all work together. My brother's out there. Maybe we can get him and bring him back. He's just wounded. He'll be okay. That's okay, honey. We'll be alright. Maybe your brother will be too. Let's get busy. We've got a lot to do if we're going to bust out of here. He's on his feet taking command. We fade out of the scene. We fade into a new scene, completion of escape preparations. Tom's pouring kerosene into fruit jars. Helen is dipping twisted rag fuses in kerosene in the bottom of a dish. Barbara comes from the kitchen with more jars, drying them on the outside and putting them on the table. She and Helen begin working the kerosene soaked fuses through the holes which Thomas cut in the jarlets. Between them is a crude stretcher made of broomsticks and torn sheets, this, presumably for the wounded girl Karen. The television is off, but the radio drones lowly repeating the recorded message. The radio is on as a monitor only, but they might work and still keep up with news that may affect their situation. I don't know what to think about my brother. We have to get out of here, but maybe we'll find him in Willard. Maybe he was able to crawl to the car and get away. We have to think of ourselves now. It's hard for you, but it's all we can do. My girl is getting worse too, I have to get her a doctor. Roomsticks and belt buckles and all sheets. She's hold okay. I always hated the boy scouts. It'll be okay. Is there anything open upstairs? Someone knows in the room, Spenna's off. Unfastening the doors now. We'll throw the cocktails from upstairs. Just splash the whole area with them. That should keep most of them away while we break for the truck. We're ready. Here comes Spen now. Ben, the gun strapped around his back, is carrying a crowbar and claw hammer. He walks around checking preparations, smiles of Barbara. Glad to see she's a little better. All right. Things are ready up there. Now, me and Tom are on board the front door. Harry, you take the two women upstairs. Carry them all top cocktails with you. Soon as the door's unbar, we can throw those things all over the place. Make sure they catch fire good. Then the women bust down here getting a cellar. Don't forget the stretcher. All right? When we hear footsteps on the stairs, me and Tom will be gone. It'll be up to you, Harry. You got to watch this door. Got yourself a good length of pipe. I have a pitch fork. Good. Good. OK. Both men working on each separate piece of lumber. They undo the barricade. Each nail creek is a menace. They are alert to the constant danger. They finish and watch, posting themselves anxiously by the door. Shadowy figures lurk in the dark outside. Tom and Ben wait for the Molotov shower to begin. A cry is heard. A window flies open. The first fiery blaze lights in the yard. More follow. Some aimed for the creatures themselves. One or two catch fire. The others start to back away. The entire field is lit up. Bones shower from upstairs. That's open! Run for it! His voice echoes as Tom and Ben burst into the yard. They're armed with torches and with a gun. They leap into the truck. Tom plunges the torch into the chest of an attacker. We'll immediately catch his fire and goes down in blaze clutching the torch. The truck starts up in carines and a new turn for the old shed. Attackers fall away as it starts up. Ben aims. Fire several shots. Most miss the truck jounces toward the gas pump across the yard. But one creature goes down. At the front of the gas pump near the old shed. Tom and Ben leave out. Attackers are starting to make their way to them from the cross the yard. Tom fumbles with the key to the locked pump. Ben shoves him back. Apparently aims the gun. The gun fires, blowing the lock of pieces. Gas spurts out all over the place. Creatures have vans. Gas still spurting. Tom crams the nozzles in the mouth of the gas tank in the back of the truck. Ben crouches and levels off with his weapon. An approaching attacker goes down. But more are coming in. Tom's torch has inadvertently set fire to the dowel's truck. The flames begin to lick and spring. The attackers gather in force ever closer. Tom leaps into the flaming truck. It skids and lurches across the yard. Ben shouts to know of it. The flaming truck speeds away driven by the panic tom. Several of the things are upon Ben. He thrashes and pounds the torch and gun. Ignoring Tom, he has to try and fight his way back to the house. From inside the house, the panicked and cowardly Harry has only seen pieces of the action. He has been darting back and forth from door to window and trying to see what has been happening outside. From his viewpoint, the escape attempt has met with total doom. He has seen the truck catch fire driven away by Tom. Ben appears to be overwhelmed. Harry runs again to the door. He sees the truck completely in flames, speeding away from the house toward a small rise. Back to the kitchen window, Ben is about to be overcome. Things all around him. Harry does not see as Tom jumps from the burning truck to be seized by attacking ghouls. The truck continually unmanned from the far rise and explodes violently. The noise and flames shattering the night. Several ghouls are at the front door trying to beat their way into the house. From inside, Harry is in complete terror. He cannot hold out. All is lost. He panics and bolts for the seller. But Ben has slugged his way through the attackers on the porch. Look at it! Open this! He is pounding for admission at the front door. He turns and with a powerful lunge, kicks the last attacker off the porch. On the rebound, he plows his shoulder against the door, it traps his open, the lock broken, and Ben bursts in time to catch Harry at the seller door. But there is no time. Ben frantically turns to reborning the door. His eyes meet Harrys for an instant. Then they both fall to work. They board up the door. They are temporarily safe. They turn and look at each other, sweat streaming from each face. Harry knows what is coming. Ben's fist crashes against Harry's face. He is driven back, one punch following another, until Ben quits. Flenching his lapels against the wall. Ben's words spit out, each word punctuated by an additional slam of Harry against the wall. You did right! Next time you try something like that! I'll kill you! Ben slams him one final time. He slides down the wall, crumbles on the floor. His face is swollen, he is streaming blood. Ben is already at the seller door. Come on up! It's us! It's all over! Tom is dead! Fade out. The survivors are gathered in the living room. Barbara and Helen are slumped on the sofa. Overwhelming mood of hopelessness and despair. Harry's sulks in a corner. His head slung back. His face swollen. He is holding an ice pack against his eye. His good eye follows Ben, who is pacing about the room, where Ben's pacing takes him to the kitchen, or to some area out of Harry's sight. The good eye, nervously relaxing. Ben's movements make virtually the only sound. He is checking the defenses by force of old habit, rather than hope. The rifle is slung on his back. For a long time, we dwell on the scene, on the absolute dejectedness of the prisoners within the barricaded house. Ben paces from door to kitchen to window. He starts to go upstairs, stops, checks himself, goes to the door again. He looks at his watch. Ten minutes to three. There'll be another broadcast in ten minutes. Nobody says anything. Ben pulls back the curtain. His eyes grow suddenly wide, but he watches for a long moment. We see his view of the outside. There are many ghouls lurking in the shadows of the hanging trees. Some of the things are in the open, much nearer to the house than they dared come before. Remains of charred bodies are dimly apparent from various parts of the lawn. But Ben's eyes are fastened on a more grisly scene at the injured lawn. In the moonlight, several ghouls devour what had once been torn. They rip and tear into aspects of his body, ghoul is teeth, biting into Tom's arms and hands. Ben stares, fascinating, and opposed. With a convulsive movement, his fingers release the curtain. He turns, shaken, and faces the others. Beads of perspiration dripping from his forehead. Don't know how you look out there. You won't like what you see. Mary's good eye fastens on Ben, watches him, satisfied and contemptuous to see the big man weaken. Ben moves for the television, clicks it on. Barber's screen pierces the wall. Ben leaps back from the television. She is on her feet, screaming uncontrollably. No, we'll never get out of here. None of us will never get out of her lie. Jody! Jody! Oh, oh, God! None of us, none of us, no! Oh, God, no! Before anyone can move to her, she chokes up as suddenly she began and slumps, sobbing violently to the couch. Her face buried in her hands. Helen tries to soothe her, but great sobs come racking from deep within. She grows gradually quiet. The sobs diminish, but she remains slumped on the couch. Her face covered with her hands. Helen covers her with the overcoat, but this action seems futile. Barbara makes no movement whatsoever. Ben allows himself to sink very slowly into a chair in front of the TV. Harry's good eye goes from Barbara to Ben. His eye fastens on the gun, which Ben lowers, but first to the floor and leans across his legs. Ben threads his arm through the fringe sling and maintains his grip on the four-piece. Harry watches. I'm going to the cellar to take care of Karen. Come on, honey. Come and talk to me. It will make you feel better. Barbara makes no response. Helen turns and starts for the cellar door. She has to squeeze past Harry's chair. Fertively, his eye on Ben. Harry touches her and pulls her towards him. She too watches Ben. She knows something is up. Ben remains transfixed before the TV. He is lost in thought. His mind drifts somewhere. There is nothing on the screen, just a dull glow and low hiss over scanning lines and static. He has turned the set on too early. I've got to get that gun. We can go to the cellar. You have to help me. He has let the ice pack come away from his eye. We see it as swollen in black and condition and the desperation on his face. Ben still gazes at the TV. Worried about the possibility that Ben might catch them in the act and not really sympathizing with Harry? Helen pulls away, but she leans her face to Harry's and whispers quickly. I'm not going to help you. Haven't you had enough? He'd kill us both. She goes to the cellar and on the way has to pass behind Ben's chair. She hesitates. Her eyes fall on the gun. The sling is wound around Ben's arm. We study her face. It is not clear whether she would have taken it or not. But she makes no attempt. She opens the door and goes down into the cellar. Harry's eye follows her as she leaves. As Helen reaches the bottom of the cellar stairs, she looks up and her face shows startlement. A shaken smile. Her daughter is sitting up, propped on her elbows, on the workbench table. Karen? She starts for her, but stops. There is something strange. Her face turns slowly toward her. We see the ghoulish looking her eye. She begins to rise slowly, terrifyingly, her features grow test. The coat that was her blanket begins to fall away. Her eyes stare through Helen and beyond her. Slowly, agonizingly, she raises herself from the table. Helen, terrified, begins to back away across the cellar. Her hand falls in a knife. Her child creeps toward her. She moves a large packing crate, trying to block her path, trying to stave the confrontation. But she is too late. She springs. It appears as though the knife will be driven into her breast. But on this spring, we cut to the upstairs, where simultaneously a screen pierces the room. An assault has begun. The things are beginning to break into the house. They've gotten into the den and are hammering at the barricaded door. The walls are starting to come apart. Ben is on his feet, trying to reinforce the barricades. With hammer and crowbar, he works furious. Harry! Harry! Give me a hand over here! Harry comes over behind Ben, and instead of helping, rips the gun from Ben's back. Holding the gun on Ben, Harry backs toward the cellar. Ben turns around, panicked. The things are breaking into the house. What are you up to, man? We gotta get these things out of the house! Now we'll see who's going to show who. I'm going to the cellar! And you can run up here! You crazy bastard! His hand goes behind him to the cellar door. But at that moment, the Goulish Karen leaps upon him with great thought. Karen is at Harry's throat. Ben is able to grab the gun. He levels off, trying to hit the kid. But a sudden wrench to the two struggling bodies. And then misses. Harry screams. A great clod of blood appears at his chest. Clutching the wound, he begins to go down. He falls through the entrance way to the cellar stairs. He reels, grabs the banister, begins to descend. He sees his view as he falls. Really, head first down the stairs. Ben, meantime, has flung the kid. Karen with one heave against the wall. But things have broken into the house. Everywhere, the barricades are coming apart. Barbara, with a hysteria of event, has flung the cellar to the attack. She smashes a chair against one of the aggressors. He goes down. He smashes and smashes it on the floor until there is nothing left of the chair. She climbs up, still swimming, fighting with Ben against the things that have come into the house. This is quite apparent that they cannot hold out. The attack rages, they are overwhelmed. Ben grabs Barbara and pulls her after him toward the cellar. She is lashing and swinging, beating at an attack even as he drags him. Ben pulls open the door to the cellar and Helen is at his throat. He brings the gun up between their struggling bodies until the muzzle is against her throat and squeezes the trigger. She is blown halfway across the roof. Ben and Barbara run down the stairs. But Harry is spalled in a pool of blood on the floor. He is dead. But beginning to rise, Ben pushes Barbara back. She turned her head away. Ben raises the gun and we study this as three evenly spaced shots rip the room. Ben is almost glad to kill Harry. He turns to Barbara, breathing hard. She collapses against him and begins to sob. We hear faint pounding against the barricaded cellar door. But it is holding. The creatures cannot get in. The screen is black. There are sounds of birds. Fater sounds of dogs. Human voices. Fade up quickly. Sunrise. The morning after the siege. The sky is clear. The rising sun is bright and warm. There is dew in the high grass of a meadow. Men with dogs and guns reworking their way up from the woods that surround the meadow. We do not see the posse at first. We merely hear their sounds. Shouts, muffled talk, panting and straining of dogs against leashes. Sheriff McClellan's posse. A few men, some with German shepherds unleashes. Finally come up out of the woods and onto the edge of the sunlit, do we meadow. The wet grass is damp in the boots and trouser legs of the men. McClellan is perhaps the third man up from the surrounding thicket. He is a heavy man, mustacheed, breathing hard because of his weight and the difficult job of leading the posse through the night. He is armed with shotgun and pistol and a belt of ammunition strung over his shoulder. He pauses, looks back into the woods and mumps perspiration from his brow with a bald-up dirty hankerchief. Come on, let's step loudly now. Never can't tell we'll run into a pair. He accosts a man just climbing up out of the woods. The man wears an improvised sweatband, carries a rifle inside arm and has a walkie-talkie strapped on his back. You keeping in touch with the squad cards, George? Yeah, they know where we are. They should be intercepting us at the house. Good. These men are dog tired. They could use some rest and hot coffee. Let's push along now. The squad cards will be waiting with coffee and sandwiches at the house. The men push on across the field. Inside the house, Ben and Barbara have been dozing on chairs in the basement. Ben wakes up abruptly, thinking he has heard something, but he isn't sure. He sits up and listens more closely. From far off, there's the sound of a dog. Ben listens for a long time, but here's nothing more. Outside, the meadow has become the apron of a cemetery. The one Barbara and John had come to with the flowers for their father. The posse is advancing, threading its way among the grave markers. A man finds John's skeletal remains near the spot where he had fallen. Down the dirt road, and up a short grade, is Barbara's car, with a smashed window. It looks like this guy's car, or fella, never had a chance. The men pass through the cemetery and over the wall, where several squad cards are waiting on the road. There are also one or two motorcycle patrolmen. One of the men dismounts and hails Maclelland. Hi, Kenny. Nice things going. Maclelland advances and shakes hands, stops a while, mocks his brow again. The men begin to catch up and regroup. The posse fills the bend in the narrow road. Hey, sure. Glad to see you, fellas, Shirley. We've been at it all night. But I want to break till we get in that house over there. We might be lulligagging around while somebody needs our help. We'll see first, then stop and get some coffee. Anything you say, Connie? Inside the house, Ben has sneaked up to the top of the cellar stairs. He listens there, very intently, not wanting to open the door because creatures may still be in the house. This time, for sure, he hears gunshots. And a mumbled sound of what must be voices of approaching men. There is even what sounds like a car engine. Ben bolts excitedly down the stairs. Ben wakes the girl. Barbara, Barbara, here. There's men outside of it. I can hear them. He must be here to rescue us. Outside, we see the cause of the gunshots. The posse is flushing out ghouls from the pump house and surrounding area. The squad cars have driven up. The posse is advancing across the lawn, guardedly, toward the partially destroyed old farmhouse. The men crouch and sneak up slowly, keeping their eyes fastened on the house. A loud sudden noise stops them. They watch, stopped in their tracks. Shoot for the eyes, boys. Like I told you before. Always aim right for the eyes. Inside, ready to shoot or swing, Ben has slammed open the cellar door. The force of his shoulder against the door has carried him into the living room. Nothing. Only the ramshackle and destruction from the recent siege. He edges his way through the twisted wreckage and overturned furniture toward the front door. There is no light in the place. His hand finds what is left of the curtain. He pulls it back and starts to peer out. But a shot rings out. Ben reals driven back, a circle of blood on his forehead, right between his eyes. Barber's scream is heard from downstairs. Simultaneously, McClellan shouts his face flushed with anger. David, what did you shoot for? I told you to be careful. There might be people in there. Now, this place is demolished. There ain't nobody in there. I'm sure I heard girls scream from maybe the basement. Several men had advanced to kick in the front door. They step back and peer cautiously inside. Their faces searched the room. A patch of sunlight from the open door falls partially on Ben. He is dead. The men look down at him, but step past him toward the cellar. They do not know he was a man. From the cellar, they hear muffled sobs. McClellan enters and begins to inch his way down the stairs. Anybody down there? He draws his pistol, inches his way down the stairs. At the bottom, he confronts Barbara, sitting wide-eyed in a chair. McClellan raises his pistol, aims it for her head. But something stops him. A tear in her eye. He lowers the weapon. It's alright, men. Come on down. It's just a girl down here. He goes to Barbara, bends over her, looks at her, begins to help her up. Closing scene with titles and credits. Burning of bodies in the art of the old house. Perhaps the burning of the house itself. In the background, against the scene of McClellan draping his jacket around Barbara and bringing coffee to her lips. We see Ben's body on a stretcher, carried by two men. They lifted into the rear of a station wagon. It's too bad. An accident. The only blotch we had the whole night. The end.