Hicks gets her inside, slamming her against the back wall and hits the button to go to the surface level. The door doesn't close. Hicks hits it again and it begins to close.
Not fast enough though. An alien warrior leaps at the door and gets it's arms and head through, the doors closing on it. Hicks fires, point-blank, blasting it in the head. It falls off the door into the tunnel.
Acid slices between the closing doors, across Hicks' armor chest plate. The lift starts upward. Hicks' fingers race with the clasps. Galvanized out of her hysteria, Ripley claws at his armor, helping him as much as possible.
HICKS: Get it off! Get it off!
He screams as the acid contacts his chest and arm. He shucks out of the armor like a madman as acrid fumes fill the lift.
The armor hits the floor. A large sizzling hole can be seen in the chest. The elevator stops. The doors part and they scramble out.
EXT. COLONY - NORTH LOCK
Ripley supports Hicks, who is doubled over in agony as they emerge into the storm-blasted night.
RIPLEY: Come on, you can make it!
EXT. LANDING FIELD - UP-LINK TOWER BASE: Close-up on terminal monitor as Bishop steers the incoming Drop-Ship with a joystick. He looks up as Drop-Ship two flies over the North Lock building, and descends toward the landing grid, side-slipping in hurricane gusts. Bishop stands, guiding it with the portable terminal.
The ship sets down hard, lowering it's access ramp on contact. Ripley and Hicks stumble up to Bishop. Ripley shouts to be heard over the wind.
RIPLEY: Bishop! How much time!
BISHOP: Plenty! Twenty-six minutes!
RIPLEY: We're not leaving!
BISHOP: We're not?
They run up the ship's access ramp, disappearing inside.
EXT. DROP-SHIP - COCKPIT: Bishop sits in the control seat, piloting the ship toward the massive processing station.
EXT. PROCESSOR STATION: An infernal engine, roaring out of control. Steam blasts and swirls, lightning zaps around the superstructure and columns of incandescent gas thunder hundreds of feet into the air. We approach, hypnotically. The Drop-Ship enters frame, moving toward the station. It flies through the massive archway in front, entering the belly of the beast.
INT. DROP-SHIP: Ripley pulls down two weapons from a storage rack and ties their barrels together with some cloth. Then, she winds tape around the stocks, securely fastening them together. Ripley finishes winding tape and drops the roll. She has crudely fastened an M-41A assault rifle, side by side, with a flamethrower unit. Hicks is sprawled in a flight seat, the contents of a field medical kit strewn around him. He's out of the game...contorted with pain. He finishes giving himself a shot of pain killer and looks over at Ripley, mystified at what she's doing.
EXT. DROP-SHIP - COCKPIT: Bishop looks around, finding a good place to set the ship down. He sees a narrow landing platform twenty levels above the ground.
EXT. PROCESSING STATION: The Drop-Ship pivots, hovering in the blasting turbulence, and settles down on the platform with a clang. Lightning arches all around the platform and the ship as the station begins to self-destruct.
INT. DROP-SHIP: Ripley works rapidly, preparing for what she is planning to do. She slaps a magazine into the rifle. The counter lights up, it reads 95. She tapes Hicks' Locator to the barrel of the rifle. Hanging the guns' over her shoulder, she pulls out a few M-41A grenades from a box. Ripley is stuffing gear quickly into a satchel, her hands flying. She picks up a packet of flares and a bandoleer of grenades, shoving them into the satchel.
Bishop comes aft from the pilot's compartment.
RIPLEY: I don't want to hear about, Bishop. She's alive. There's still time.
BISHOP: In nineteen minutes, this area is going to be a cloud of vapor the size of Nebraska.
RIPLEY: Hicks, don't let him leave.
Hicks is holding a wad of gauze plastered over his face.
HICKS: We ain't going anywhere.
She hefts the hybrid weapon, grabs the satchel and spins to leave.
RIPLEY: See you, Hicks.
They share a moment, albeit brief. Mutual respect in the valley of death.
HICKS (nods in satisfaction): Don't be gone long, Ellen.
Ripley smiles and runs to the door controls.
The door opens to a side access ramp. Wind and machine thunder blast in. Ripley runs down the ramp, crossing the platform to the closed doors of a large freight elevator. She hits the open button. The doors part. In the background, the female voice of the warning system is heard.
VOICE: Attention. Emergency. All personnel must evacuate immediately. You now have fifteen minutes to reach minimum safe distance.
Ripley enters the elevator. The doors close.
INT. FREIGHT ELEVATOR: The elevator descends. Ripley crouches on the floor and loads up the grenade launcher on the M-41A. Cocks it. Setting the weapons down, she removes a flare packet from her satchel. Pulling out the six flares, she stuffs them into her pants pockets.
CLOSE-UP ON THE FLOOR READ-OUT: As the elevator descends. The level counter decreases...fifteen...fourteen...thirteen... Ripley removes her jacket and dons a battle harness directly over her T-shirt. Her eyes burn with determination that holds the gut-panic in check. She puts the bandoleer of grenades around her chest as well. Hefting the guns up by her side, she stands ready. Ripley closes her eyes and tries to calm herself. This is the most terrifying thing she has ever done. She is soaking in sweat. The voice of the warning system echoes down the tunnel again, calm and mechanical.
VOICE: Attention. Emergency. All personnel must evacuate immediately. You now have fourteen minutes to reach minimum safe distance.
Ripley primes the flamethrower. A blue flame emits by it's barrel. The lift motor whines, slowing. It hits bottom with a bump. The safety cage retracts. Slowly, expectantly, the doors part. She stands there, swiveling the weapons. Steam clouds swirl all around her.
INT. CORRIDOR: Ripley moves out of the lift, knuckles white on the rifle. She looks around. A jet of steam sprays out above, startling her. Before her is a network of pipes stretching in every direction. Some glow cherry red from heat build-up. She moves into the tunnel ahead and shoots the flame unit into the open space above her, just for precautionary measures. Continuing forward, she fires again, lighting up the tunnel, and setting a few pillars on fire in the process.
Rounding a pillar, Ripley looks back to see the elevator doors close with a bang. No turning back now. Tight on Ripley as she looks around, then down at the locator.
It beeps slowly, showing the range to it's target. A blast of energy goes off to her left causing Ripley to close her eyes for protection. Ripley moves that way, approaching a "Sub-Level 03" stairway. The bottom is obscured in mist. She sprints down the stairs, coming to a landing with an overheated red-hot pipe over it. Ducking, she moves straight on to a two-way junction. Ripley pans the locator around. The beep become faster to the right. She moves on.
INT. CATACOMBS: Ripley stops just outside the entrance to the alien-encrusted tunnel before her. Just to be on the safe side, she sends a blast of flame scorching ahead of her. Pulling out a flare, Ripley ignites it and throws the stick down. It almost disappears in the encrustation. Momentum speeds up as Ripley continues forward as fast as possible, her guns aimed straight ahead at all times. Ready for anything. Her breathing is fast and hard.
Coming to another stairwell junction, she flames straight ahead. Ripley moves around the stairs, stopping at a corner to peer around it in terror. Her breathing has become short gasps and her heart beep races, thump-thump, thump-thump, beating loudly. The locator has begun to beep faster by the second. She checks it. It's signal is louder when aimed toward a nearby descending staircase.
Ripley dashes down them. At the bottom, she quickly moves around the stairs and begins up another corridor. The locator's beeping has increased again. Stopping under a flashing yellow Klaxon, she sends a burst of flame out ahead of her. Ripley moves forward, swiveling to look everywhere.
Another flare is lit to mark the way back. Appearing out of a steam cloud, Ripley comes to a corner. She points the locator around and heads right. She run-walks along the corridor until the locator's signal has become a stream of sound.
CLOSE-UP ON LOCATOR: Showing the digital counter. It reads zero. Ripley can't believe it. Where's Newt then? She looks down. There, lying in the sticky encrustation, is the tracer watch. All hope recedes, disintegrating into mindless chaos. She grips the bracelet hard and begins to weep.
INT. EGG CHAMBER: Newt is cocooned in a pillar-like structure at the edge of alien egg cluster. Her eyelids flutter open and she becomes aware of her surroundings.
The egg nearest her begins to move...opening like an obscene flower.
Newt stares, transfixed by terror, as jointed legs appear over the lip of the ovoid one by one. She screams.
INT. CATACOMBS: Ripley hears the scream and breaks into a run.
INT. EGG CHAMBER: Newt watches the face-hugger emerge and turn toward her.