what?
How do you feel about big waves?
I love waves.
We're trapped.
The escape bubbles are gone.
- The door.
- Hey, look at this.
"I am fully aware of the finality
of my decision.
It is my hope that our sacrifice
will mean that the human race...
will never know this awful mutation."
- Our death warrant.
- Signed by the good doctor.
Hell with it.
- What are you doing?
- Well, I'm gonna find out...
how far up Shit Creek we are.
- Thank goodness you're still alive.
- Where you been?
Get your ass out here now
and get us. Right now!
Please calm down.
We haven't deserted you.
Naturally, after we received Dr.
Thompson's message, we were concerned.
But we never would have deserted you.
When are you coming?
- You said 12 hours.
- That's the bad news.
The hurricane has turned your way.
Right now, it's on a course of...
Just answer the goddamn question.
When are you coming?
- Hopefully, within the next 48 hours.
- Forty-eight hours?
I realize you must have gone
through hell...
Gone? Bitch, we're still here!
I can't control the weather.
Rest assured, your SOS...
was received by the coast guard
and the navy...
and we will be responding
at the earliest, safest opportunity.
- Just don't promise us nothin'.
- I realize this must sound ridiculous.
- No shit.
- Now please try and get some rest.
How are we gonna rest?
I can't sleep. Can you sleep?
- Get some rest?
- Save your breath.
- Damn. In 48 hours? No way.
- We don't have much choice, do we?
I'll tell you what. I'll take a watch.
You all try to get some rest.
I ain't gonna never be able
to sleep again. In life. Ever.
"Request weather report, July 26."
- "Data not available."
- Come on.
"Files Closed."
- Oh, man.
- They know, don't they?
Yeah. I think they're just sittin'
up there, decidin' what to do with us.
Maybe they have.
- What're you looking for?
- I'm seeing how my investment's doing.
"The stock of Tri-Oceanic Corp.
Took a bath today...
when news of a tragic mining accident
was revealed to investors.
The board of directors was called into
a meeting in New York this afternoon.
A spokesperson revealed that
the accident destroyed Shack Seven...
off the coast of Florida.
Eight miners are reported dead.
All bodies are missing.
Killed were Steven Beck,
Elizabeth Williams, Justin Jones...
Dr. Glen Thompson, Tony Rodero, Bridget
Bowman, G.P. Cobb, Buzz Parrish."
Martin, you bitch.
Welcome to the union, boss.
We're all expendable.
- Doc, I owe you five dollars.
- Five dollars?
- Emergency warning.
- Listen.
- Countdown to implosion.
- The air's stopped.
Ten minutes and counting.
- They ripped open an air duct.
- Can we fix it?
There are 20 miles of pipe.
They coulпve tapped in anywhere.
That's true.
Cobb. Job security.
It's that rattle in Corridor A.
You got it. It's showin' us where it is.
- It's drawin' us out.
- It didn't waste any time, did it?
You can't go out there.
That's what it wants.
If we lose enough air in here, the
internal pressure will drop, and crunch.
Implosion, babe.
Wait. You don't think
I'm staying here?
Nine minutes to implosion.
- It's over here!
- Is that it?
Yeah.
- It's going!
- We're losin' air faster than I thought.
- Go! Here.
- Don't spend all day down there.
Don't worry. I won't.
Let's do it.
Eight minutes to implosion.
- Oh, no. Damn!
- Can we fix it?
- Can we shut it down someplace else?
- Come on.
- What do you think? I wanna die?
- We're not gonna die. What do we do?
- How should I know?
- You know this shack!
- I don't know!
- Come on! This shack's your home, man!
The swamp. There's a backup air valve
at the swamp. If we...
- What?
- I just saw Doc.
No, Jones. Let's get outta here.
Come on.
Seven minutes to implosion.
- Look out!
- Watch out!
- Did you get it?
- I think we did it!
- I don't know!
- Hurry!
Move it! The door's closing!
The other door's closing!
Willie, get out! Get out!
- Torch it!
- Careful!
It's