1
BURT". My name is Burt Gummer.
And I've been
called many things.
Gun enthusiast,
monster-hunter,
doomsday-prepper.
I reject all these labels.
What I am is a survivalist.
I've scoured the dirt and dust
of Nevada and Mexico,
putting my life on the line to
hunt super-size subterranean
man-eating predators
called Graboids.
Using a combination of local
knowledge, intuition and firepower,
I've managed to control
this deadly species,
and keep them confined
to the Northern Hemisphere.
Join me.
As I enter into and
beneath the Sands of Hell.
1500 hours.
Moving through the
desert of Perfection, Nevada.
Ground zero for war
with the Graboids.
For those of you newcomers, who
don't have a clue about Graboids,
let me bring you
up to speed.
The Graboid is a vicious
subterranean predator,
about 30 feet in length with a
semi-rigid internal structure.
It senses its prey
seismically,
and employs three powerful,
snake-like oral tentacles
to ensnare its prey, and pull
it into the Graboid's gullet.
It is not a pleasant venue.
Trust me. I've been there.
If that weren't enough,
Graboids give birth
to three ugly spawn
we call Shriekers.
Short, squat, and blind
bipedal bad boys
that sense and hunt their prey
using infrared sensors.
These, in turn, give
rise to the Ass Blaster,
a winged, predatory carnivore
which uses a mixture of
volatile chemicals in its...
...nether regions
to blast into the air and
swoop down upon its victims.
Ass Blasters carry eggs that
hatch and become new Graboids,
beginning this
hellish cycle anew.
I have survived a great many
skirmishes with Graboids,
along with their Shrieker
and Ass Blaster kin.
And that makes me
uniquely qualified
to teach you how to survive
whatever life throws at you.
And remember,
life and survival
starts here.
Who's hungry?
What're you doing?
Shut your blow hole.
I'm tracking.
You feel that?
The only thing you're gonna
feel is my boot in your bum.
Yeah, good luck, with
that gimp leg of yours.
This place
is gut boring.
Yeah. And I'm tired,
and I'm starving.
And the only thing
we've seen all day
is a pack of spotted hyena.
Yeah, it's just
the nature of things, boet.
Yeah, well,
talking about nature,
I'm gonna drop the kids
off at the pool.
Looking northwest,
over the Highveld.
All those reports
about exotic animals,
there's no wildlife here.
Well, speaking of wildlife,
I wonder if my wife's
gonna come back to me.
If she's got brains,
definitely not.
You're a complete
and utter idiot.
I mean, I'm hurting here.
I'm in pain.
And you mock me.
Basson. You hear that?
I didn't hear anything.
I'm in conference.
It's right here.
Here, here, here, here.
Whoa! Whoa!
Basson?
Dreyer!
That's a long drop.
Didn't you see
this gigantic hole?
I think I broke
my butt.
I'm gonna grab a rope.
Bro!
I'm coming, man, relax.
Basson?
Yeah?
I'm gonna throw
this rope down.
You grab onto it, I'm gonna
pull you up, all right?
Hurry up. There's
something down here.
Okay, grab the rope.
Get me out of here, there's
something down here.
Just get me out of here.
Yeah, probably
my ex-wife, Teresa.
Pull!
Yeah, just help me
out man, come on.
You need to lose
some weight.
Get me out of here.
I'm pissing myself.
Basson!
Basson!
Whoo!
107 degrees Fahrenheit.
Hello, Nevada.
Oh, yeah.
Everything tastes
better outdoors.
However, if one wants to enjoy a
source of sustenance out here,
one has to seize
the culinary initiative
when it rears its ugly head.
So, let's review.
It took me 50 minutes to build
this improvised clay oven.
Thirty-two minutes to
fire up the scrub wood,
heat the interior,
feed in that snake
and seal the door.
Now we wait as
this little baby
turns snake into snack.
Whoa!
That's hot!
Ah!
And Voile'?!
One sizzling, succulent
piece of pure protein.
Whoo!
And you can bet that Burt's Bullseye
Brand Cactus Juice Marinade
will eradicate
any trace of that
"tastes like
chicken" residue.
Who the hell
are you?
Yowza!
Smells like chicken.
There he is. Huh?
The man, the myth,
the legend.
Burt effing Gummer.
Travis B. Welker.
Sorry, sir.
I should've told you that.
Don't mean to be all stalkery,
but I've been a big fan of yours
since your Y2K
conspiracy series.
Well,I guess
that's a wrap.
Maintain position, Riley.
It's not Miller Time, yet.
He's all yours,
buddy boy.
Your gear's
piled over there.
And thanks for
the Vegas gig.
What Vegas gig?
The Real Housewives
of Las Vegas.
You can't just
adios on me!
It's a union gig,
pension and health. So...
That is your new camera guy,
and, well, he comes
highly recommended.
Lots of time
in the eyepiece.
You're officially
AWOL, mister.
So, I take it he didn't
give you my resume?
All right, I got
something for you here.
This is called
a digital file.
It's gonna speak to my
awesome capabilities.
Kind of wish your website
could do the same for you,
but I can help.
I beg your pardon?
I'm a big fan. You know,
possibly your biggest.
But the fact that you're out here
in Who-The-Hell-Cares, Nevada,
smokin' rattlesnake
says something.
You know what it says?
It says you're underachieving
big time, my man.
You should be a global brand.
Come on!
I mean, how many monster-hunters
do you know? Huh?
I know one.
Burt Gummer.
Last check, how many Twitter
followers did you have, huh?
Zilch.
Your opinion is duly noted.
It's what I'm here for. To help
build out the Burt Gummer brand.
I'm thinking, "Paranoid loner
meets charming whack job."
I can fix you.
I don't need fixing.
Yo, what happened
to your dome, my man?
You binge watch
Breaking Bad, again?
You trying to appeal
to a younger demographic,
get a little
Pitbull on us?
What l choose to do with my
cranium is none of your business.
All right.
This is snake,
right, not rat?
Whoa!
That is a win. That's a
yummer from The Gummer.
You know what, you look like
you could use a cold one.
I know I can. You want?
Hey, I think we're vibing right
now, right, Pop? You feel it?
It's good talk.
Where's your beer?
HEY-
Hands off my gear.
Lighten up, Pops.
You from the government?
Nope. Florida.
Grew up on
the Gulf Coast.
Panama City,
Trampa, Pensacola.
Pensacola?
Yeah.
They got a
great gun show.
Yeah, right off
the Interstate.
I was there in '74.
You got that look.
What look?
The "I did some dirty
things in Florida" look.
Hey, I get it. It was the '70s,
free love, you were young.
What now?
Looks like the IRS finally
caught up with you.
Mr. Gummer. Mr. Gummer.
You are way off grid, sir, you're
a very difficult man to find.
Evidently, not
difficult enough.
lam Erich Van Wyk.
I'm with the South
African Wildlife Ministry.
South Africa? You
with the government?
What? No, no.
I'm a big fan of yours.
Go on.
Well, we have a rather
pressing situation in Gauteng.
Gauteng. The Cradle
of Humankind?
Yes, that's right.
We have a confirmed
sighting of what
you would refer to
as an Ass Blaster.
That's impossible.
The species are confined
to the Northern
Hemisphere.
Oh, well, then, I suppose it's
some other flying carnivore
that shoots flame
out of its rear end
that we have wreaking
havoc in Africa?
Is this a confirmed
sighting?
Oh, yes, sir. Although the
witness is no longer alive.
When do we leave?
Excellent.
Slow your roll,
there, Gums. Okay.
You're quite the fetching bushman, Mr.
van Dick.
It's Van Wyk.
Van Wyk, right,
okay. Um...
Mr. Gummer really isn't in the
monster business, anymore.
I'm what?
Give us a minute,
will you?
What the hell
are you doin'?
I'm working this
dude for some paper.
Paper?
Cash. Listen.
You don't take the first offer.
Let me close this deal.
Request denied.
I work alone.
Come on, but you need
a videographer, okay?
You need to take
the long view on this, okay?
Think about it.
The Gummer in Africa.
This is our chance to catch you
on tape really doing what you do,
and really giving it
to those Ass Blasters.
Okay, that came out weird, but
you know what I mean, right?
This is real world, son.
You're a newbie.
Newbie?
Okay, stop being Burt for a
second, and just listen.
I may have not
spent most of my life
fighting giant,
blind worms,
but I spent the last 10 years
of my life deep in the shit.
Pulling gigs for CNN
and Fox in the sandbox.
Yeah, Afghanistan, Syria.
You know those places?
Yeah.
And as for firearms,
I just added this
baby to my collection.
HK91.
Where'd you get that? Uh-uh-uh!
You punch my ticket
to South Africa,
and will I hand
over this beautiful,
semi-automatic
Mr. Shotty to you.
Deal.
Erich. May I call
you Erich?
Of course.
We really
appreciate your offer,
but Mr. Gummer's monster-hunting
schedule's all booked up.
Sorry.
Oh, uh...
That's a pity.
Bigfoot in the Ozarks.
Possible gremlin in Fresno.
Family of werewolves
in Peru we heard about.
Thank you for
your time, gentlemen.
I don't suppose it
would make any difference
if I offered to fully fund
Mr. Gummer's videos
for the next two years?
Four
Three.
What time does
your plane leave?
How quickly can
you roll your tents?
Rolled.
Burt Gummer.
In Africa.
Africa's not
for sissies, yeah?
We eat what we
kill here, boet.
You mind if I
call you boet?
Boet?
Yeah. It means brother.
So, you're the
monster-hunter?
Yeah, somethin' like that.
This doesn't look like any
Ass Blaster I've ever seen.
Strange attraction.
Come again?
A man who hunts a monster.
It's a strange attraction.
Mr. Bravers,
are you drunk?
Not yet.
Mr. Gummer?
We're heading for a safari
lodge, just south of the river.
The owner's been
kind enough
to let us base our
operations there.
Hey, where's my bug-out bag and
the weapons I brought from home?
About that.
We have very strict customs
laws here in South Africa.
I should have warned you about the
three-day weapons quarantine.
Three-day what'?
Don't worry about it. I've
procured us some weapons.
They're waiting
for us at the lodge.
There, there it is,
there, there.
Nice digs, Van Dyke.
It's Van Wyk.
Hey,boet
Yeah?
I got a story
for you.
Every morning in Africa,
a gazelle wakes up.
And he knows he's gotta run
faster than the fastest lion,
otherwise...
He gets killed.
Every morning,
a lion wakes up.
And he knows he's gotta
outrun the slowest gazelle,
otherwise he's
gonna starve to death.
So, it doesn't matter if you are
a lion or you're a gazelle,
in Africa,
when the sun rises,
you better be running.
Hey, if you need my help,
call me on the horn.
Mmm.
Now, you go well, boet.
Thank you.
Chop-chop, Pops.
Stop calling
me "Pops."
Got you.
Old man.
And we're clear!
What? I don't understand.
This is a seismic
vibration monitor.
It's uplinked
to the South African
National Grid
of Seismology
and can detect
Graboid movement
within a 50 square-mile area.
Next level type stuff.
Graboid? Worms?
Exactly.
This is Johan Dreyer.
He's my local
field representative
and a safari
guide in the area.
He's the one who witnessed
the fatal attack.
That's right.
And this towering hunk of dark
chocolate is my assistant, Thaba.
That's quite
a gun you got there.
Rifle.
Bet it makes you feel like
you got a lot of power.
I can drop a charging
rhino at 100 meters.
You wanna go for a run?
How's life in the
Thunderdome?
Well, you wouldn't know
what a rhino looked like
if it shoved its horn
through your throat.
Graboids and
Ass Blasters are immune
to any known form
of tranquilizer,
rendering your weapon useless against
the creatures we're hunting.
Capturing. Capturing,
that's the plan, right?
You don't capture these things.
You kill them.
Kill them,
capture them, I don't care.
But what we have in Africa,
sir, is not Graboids.
If you've got Ass Blasters,
you've got Graboids.
Odontotermes baadi.
Yes.
But on a massive scale.
It has the same
magnesium mandibles.
That explains the presence of formic
acid in the bedrock surrounding it.
It spits out the acid
to soften the rocks,
while the mandibles
chew through it.
This is a super digger.
We're going to be on the
cover of Science magazine.
Been there, baby.
I want National Geographic.
Whoo!
Ugh!
Mr. Gummer.
Mr. Gummer. Over here.
Can you say, "Ballin"'?
Hey, what's the Zulu
word for "ballin"'?
Hello, Baruti. Taking the
kids for a walk, I see?
Well, you know that
these young ladies
are too high-class
for the likes of you,
so,I guess
somebody has to do it.
Just act natural.
These men are here investigating
the impundulu attack.
Oh, right, the
monster-hunters, right?
Ish. I'm still in training, but
I got, like, a credit away.
There.
You want guns, Burt?
This is how we roll.
Wow.
Here you go.
What's this?
The weapons you asked for.
A BSA .303 and a .30-06?
Well, there's also
a Colt Peacemaker.
And a...
Ooh! The double-barrel thingy.
Are you serious? We might
as well use a spit straw.
Granted, it's not
everything you requested.
No, what I requested
was confiscated
by your mindless
government lackeys.
Yes, I'm sorry about that.
They don't just
hand out machine guns
to every jacked-up safari jockey
that comes to this country.
This is Africa, Mr. Gummer.
But we're not
all bushies.
Was that racist? That
sounded a little racist.
Bushist.
You promised me
adequate weaponry.
What do you think we're hunting,
Rocky, the flying squirrel?
That .30-06 will drop
anything on this continent.
Anything.
Who's this?
HEY-
Hi.
What are you doing?
Zapping worms for bait.
Look. Here they come.
Damn!
Whoo-hoo!
You got any wasabi?
Eat it.
Eat it?
Eat it.
African tradition.
ls it really
African tradition?
No.
Oh, God.
Travis, Travis.
This is Dr. Nandi Montabu.
She owns the reserve.
Hey, Doctor.
Nandi is fine.
No, free Wi-Fi at
a coffee shop is fine.
You are like
a holiday drink.
Like a caramel macchiato
pumpkin spice latte,
but instead of pumpkin,
it's African spice.
Okay, well,
sounds delicious.
Thank you.
You must be Travis.
At ease, Mr. Welker.
Mr. Gummer,
welcome.
Um... I've arranged some refreshments
for you back at the lodge.
With all due respect, Doctor...
It's Nandi.
Nandi, I think we should
get right to the hunt.
Let's rest up, Mr. Gummer. Start
fresh in the morning, yes?
I'm not here on
a safari weekend.
If you've got Graboids,
no one is safe.
Travis, did you
eat the worm?
Well, hello.
We did it.
You did it.
Yeah. I hate to go
back to the real world
and lecture at
stoned-out students.
Be nice to stay out here
in the bush, with you.
I wish this moment would
last the rest of my life.
That's where Basson died.
Coordinates?
What?
Longitude and latitude?
I don't do
coordinates.
Everything is in my head.
What about field
communications?
What the hell was that?
A monkey's wedding.
Local lingo. Sun shower.
We get them every day,
at this time of the year,
at the exact same hour.
You can set
your watch to it.
1500 hours.
Exactly.
Mother Nature
keeps to her rhythms.
Dr. Montabu. Nandi?
Yes?
I think you guys
might wanna come and see this.
BU RT; Why?
There's been another attack.
An Ass Blaster definitely
didn't do this, Mr. Van Wyk.
Hey, Gums.
You may wanna
check this out.
If you're dumb, you bleed.
Your problem is bigger than
I thought, Mr. Van Wyk.
How so?
This Graboid
is much larger
than the North
American variety.
It's Africa.
Everything's bigger.
Everything
except my munitions.
Knowing your enemy's
strength is Intel 101.
What other surprises
do you have in store for me?
I'm learning as I go,
Mr. Gummer.
This one's leaner, too.
Much leaner.
And more dangerous.
We're gonna need
a big-ass cage.
Jeez, Gummy-drops,
we get it.
You like to get
cozy with your guns.
Not just cozy,
Mr. Welker. Conjoined.
This is a hot zone.
Hey, what was that ministry van
Wyk said he was affiliated with?
South African
Wildlife Federation. Why?
Just curious.
Hey!
You want a ride?
No, I'll see you
over there.
See her where?
Oh, she invited me to
some tribal dance thing.
We move out at 2200 hours.
I suggest you grab some chow
and get some rack time.
Wait. Are you
giving me a curfew?
I don't do curfews, Pops.
Okay? I'm an adult.
But here's what
I suggest you do.
I think you should
go inside, right?
Check out
the mini-bar situation.
See how your
401 is doing.
And I'll download the intel from the
smokin' hot South African chick.
And I am gonna
dance with the natives.
Hey!
Come here!
Hey!
You made it.
Wow.
This is quite the rager.
Yeah.
You guys got a keg?
Yeah.
Try this.
What's this?
Courage.
And?
It tastes like
cow piss.
You want more? Try again.
No, I really don't.
So, what is this?
This is a warrior dance.
Our ancestors hunting the
lnkanyamba and the impundulu.
What's that?
Impundulu. It's what
you call the Ass Blaster.
Ass Blaster.
Yes.
Yes.
Hey, you know, you make
Ass Blaster sound good.
You know, Thaba, I'm
really not sure about these guys.
Especially this
Travis guy. I mean...
I don't like the way
he's looking at my Nandi.
ls she your Nandi, now?
Yeah, well,
she could be.
Good luck with that, bro.
A guy can
dream, right?
Dream us up a couple
of cold ones, would you?
Hundreds, boet.
Ah...
To dreams.
Jesus Christ!
Okay.
What you call
the Ass Blaster,
in our language, the word
means "lightning bird."
The impundulu are
nocturnal hunters.
They have bio-sensors
on their foreheads
and their hunt is
based on heat signatures.
If they hunt
during the day,
their targeting
might be confused.
So, those freaks
come out at night,
so they can hunt their
prey in cooler temps?
Yes, they're
like vampires.
No,no,no!
It just took off
with Thaba.
It was attracted
to the engine heat.
The engine was cold.
We gotta get Thaba.
I'll get my gear.
Whoa, boet.
ls that Thaba?
Kill the engine.
HPF 250.
Heat-blocking gear.
You got one of those
ball gowns for me, princess?
Turn on the AC, if you wanna
hide your heat signature.
Yeah, tough guy
Thaba.
HEY-
Thaba.
I have better things to do than
babysit Americans in Africa.
Thaba!
Hold on, I got you.
Damn. I'm out.
C'mon, boet- Come on, you
old fart, let's get moving.
Help me, boet! Get this thing
off me, boet! Help me, boet!
I stuffed his blazing butt.
You're like
freakin' Rambo.
Let's boogie.
Hey, what happened?
The question is
where were you?
He was with me.
Really?
Well, here's some
intel for you, Doc.
Those fart-flaming sons of
bitches have crossed your DMZ.
You need to evacuate
everyone, ASAP.
Thank God you're
here, Mr. Gummer.
All right, load every gun.
We're going after them.
We leave in 10. I'll
hitch the lion cage.
I don't think so, Yankee.
My cage, my hitch.
Hey, Gummy Bears,
wait up.
Don't call me that.
Wait up.
Number one, don't ever
touch me like that again.
Number two, don't ever
touch me like that again.
You copy?
Yeah, I copy.
I don't have the time
to posture for your camera!
This was a mistake,
havin' you along.
Just another pimple
on the ass of progress.
You need to chill out.
Don't tell me to chill.
You were AWOL.
Now, we've got another K.I.A. and a
full-scale A.B. incursion to deal with.
You want to make
yourself useful?
Go help with the evac.
Then, feel free to join in.
Think you can manage that?
Mr. Gummer. I think
you'll find this useful.
There is a God.
R5.
Full banana clip.
I zeroed the scope myself.
Where'd you get this?
You don't want to know.
I like your style.
A-frickin'-men.
What's a veterinarian
doing with a machine gun?
They must've flown
in north of the river.
Ass Blasters
don't fly, they glide.
They mix several volatile
gastrointestinal chemicals
that actually ignite, allowing
them to achieve blast off.
They fart to take off?
That's funny.
Shh. Listen.
You hear that?
Black-backed jackals.
Scavengers.
All right. Take it ahead and kill
the engine. We'll have a look.
You sure do come
prepared, Mr. Gummer.
Basson was killed
on that koppie,
just underneath
that cliff face.
I think we have
our Ass Blaster colony.
What about the bait?
Don't we need to make it hot
so these bastards
can see it?
For sports injuries.
Forget the meat.
We need heat.
Happiness.
Okay, unhook the cage.
Gotcha.
Is that it?
Sure as hell
ain't Mickey Mouse.
Stand behind me so he can't
read your heat signature.
Remember,
Mr. Gummer, capture, not kill.
Easy. Take your damn shot.
Say hello to my
dart, bitch.
Don't panic.
Hold your position!
Easy.
Screw that,
I'm out of here!
No,
stay with me, stay!
That's right.
Fly right into
my crosshairs,
you fire-farting
son of a bitch.
You can't kill me.
I'm African.
Ass-Blast flamb.
What did you do?
Why'd you kill it?
And Dreyer, too?
- Nandi, Amahle!
- Yeah?
I think you left
this in my truck.
Thank you.
You're welcome.
Nandi. After
we evacuate,
I was thinking that
maybe I should take
you and Amahle
somewhere safer.
There's so much work to do.
I can't leave this place now.
In that case,
I'm staying here.
With you.
Me, too.
Really?
You know what, try not to
shoot each other, okay?
This doesn't add up.
Ignored the thermal flare.
Came directly at us.
Protecting the nest,
weren't you? Roger that.
Where there
are Ass Blasters,
there are Graboids.
Sorry, I'm going
to have to take
that little
money-maker from you.
What're you doing?
Cashing in, hopefully.
Why don't you hand that over?
I should've
known you were dirty.
Thought it was
the luckiest day of my life.
I send Dreyer out
to get a cheetah cub,
and he runs smack-bang
into a flying carnivore.
Who are you?
Let's start with
who I'm not.
I'm not with the South
African Wildlife Ministry.
This is not gonna
end good for you.
Sure it will.
An Ass Blaster
would've fetched 100 times
what a cheetah cub or
a rhino horn would've.
Dead one,
not nearly so much.
You're a common poacher?
Morally, I'm okay with it.
You. Not so much.
Now, get
into the cage,
or I'll shoot
you in the stomach.
Shoot me.
Kill me.
But you won't cage me.
It ain't over
till it's over.
Useless!
Damn. Ow!
Hot.
Hot.
Ah!
The call of nature.
The Maasai have
been using urine
as an insect repellent
for centuries.
This may be the last
will and testament
of Mr. Bertram Gummer.
Heather.
If you're
still out there,
give
the HK 41 a good home.
I miss it.
And to some extent, you.
Bastard Van Wyk.
If l ever get
out of here alive,
lam coming for you.
Ah!
Definitely an
acquired taste.
ls it over yet?
Oh, no, no, no.
Cue the freakin' lion.
I can't hear you.
Two alphas.
One understanding.
It's lonely on top
of the food chain. Huh?
Oh, God. We're getting
to know one another.
Shade, at last.
Shit! NO. No!
No,no,no!
Pussy!
I'll take you down.
Thus I give up my spear.
I will claw my way
down your gullet.
You picked a weird time
to start meditating, dude.
What the hell
you doing here?
I'm taking you
back to the zoo.
You drove straight into
a kill zone, you moron.
There's a Graboid right behind you.
Get to high ground, now.
This might get
a bit bumpy.
Hang on
to your frosting.
Hang on, Burt!
Whoo-hoo!
You missed that
last stop sign.
I think I'll walk
the rest of the way.
You wanted
to be outdoors.
Damn you, Travis!
How's Africa taste, Burt?
Go! Get on the rocks.
On the rocks!
The rocks! On the rocks!
Oh, shit!
My bad. You okay?
You damn near broke
every bone in my body.
Yeah, but what does that have
to do with me saving your life?
I swear, I saw Graboid markers.
I must be delirious.
You're welcome. Pops.
I told you not
to call me that.
How'd you know
where I was?
Remote viewing.
Yeah, I spent
a little time in the NSA.
Smile, you're on
candid camera.
Sorry, I forgot
your underwear.
We've been betrayed.
Van Dick?
How'd you know?
I knew the guy wasn't your
typical, run-of-the-mill D-bag.
So, I did a full, digital
cavity search on him.
And guess what? Poser!
Yeah, that whole South
African Wildlife Federation,
it's not even a thing.
He's got a Graboid egg, he intends
to sell it on the black market,
the implications of
which are unfathomable.
You fart?
No.
You smell gas?
Affirmative.
Fuel line's busted.
Good news is
.l can fix it.
Bad news is
we're outta gas.
You didn't bring
a spare jerry can?
No, Burt, l forgot
a spare jerry can
'cause I was rushing
to save your ass.
And we've got no talk?
No bars, no
Wi-Fi in the bush.
You must feel
right at home.
We got to get to high ground,
so we can get a cell signal.
Hi.
What was that?
Are you okay, Nena?
There's something
out there, Mama.
I know, baby, I know.
Baruti. Baruti. Please take
her to her room, now, okay?
Come on, Amahle.
Let's go.
Give me the spy thing you're
always looking through.
Oh! Field glasses?
Or binoculars.
Yeah, whatever, Tommy Technical.
Give 'em to me, let's go.
Anything?
Oh, crap.
What?
There's no sign
of Van Dick,
but I got a bead
on his Land Cruiser.
He must be creeping
around here somewhere.
What, are you
ready for a gun fight?
Let's do this.
Go, go!
Burt, wait up.
There goes his
trade-in value.
Tracks here.
Serpentine.
It's Graboid?
Uh-uh.
And human.
Van Wyk's. He was running.
Ooh! Hey, Burt, got
some war porn for you.
You might like that.
Phosphorus.
I'm lovin' it.
I got dibs
on the broomstick.
Damn.
Oh, Yeah. Yes.
Locked and loaded.
Okay. Stay calm.
Come on.
Take that.
Mama.
HEY-
I'm so glad you're here.
Hey. You okay?
Yeah. Gang's all here.
They're coming! They're coming!
They're coming! Help.
Help me! They're coming!
Dear God!
They're coming! Help!
Freeze.
Where are you?
That's my egg.
Give me back my egg.
Move,
get up on the rocks!
On the rocks!
They can't reach you on the rocks.
They can't get you up there.
Ow!
Stay on the rock.
Don't move. Freeze there.
That's my egg.
These Grabs are on HGH.
Are you frickin'
kidding me?
The tentacles have detached
from the Graboid.
You're in the
Burt zone now.
Why is it the critical,
need-to-know information
never gets to
Burt Gummer?
Well, maybe nobody knew.
Nobody knew it?
Nobody knew the friggin'
bastards have gone free range?
It's all right.
Holy shit balls.
Evolution run amok.
I don't understand.
This African life
cycle has mutated.
It's much more evolved,
more efficient.
Nocturnal Ass Blasters, Grabbers
that detach from the host.
And where the hell
are the Shriekers?
What's next?
Graboids that talk?
Okay, Burt, keep it
together, all right?
Try not to have
a breakdown.
Let's just try to
focus on one thing.
Why were they zeroing
in on that ice chest?
They were going
for the egg.
Propagation
of the species.
The Ass Blasters are protecting
the Graboid bloodline.
So, you're sayin' there's some
seriously gnarly shit in that cave.
Like, it's really beast heavy,
Graboid Ground Zero?
We gotta get in that cave,
destroy that nest.
We can't allow
those eggs to hatch.
You sit tight.
I'm goin' in.
Since when are
you in command?
Since... Shut up, Burt.
I don't need
your crap.
Oh, really?
Yeah, Burt don't
need nothin'
except Fiber One cereal,
prune juice,
man khakis and
a monster to hunt.
You got somethin'
to say to me?
Yeah, I do.
You're suffering from a mild
case of heat exhaustion
and a severe case of "getting
too old for this crap."
So, give me the vest
and your flares.
I'm goin' in.
ls that it?
That's it.
Then why is the needle on my
bullshit detector still in the red?
I don't know. You got
trust issues, man.
Serious, you need therapy.
Just give me the vest.
You got a signal
on that phone, yet?
I have a bar.
Trade?
Really, you're gonna
barter? Okay.
Three, two, one.
First sign of trouble,
you pull the pin
on this white phosphorus
grenade and you skedaddle.
Comprende?
Comprende.
I'll handle it
from here.
He's got a pair,
I'll give him that.
This is retarded.
You're talking to me,
so make it count.
Mr. Bravers, Burt Gummer
here- I'm in a bit of pickle.
Well, yeah. The bush
can do that to you.
So, how can
I help, boet?
I need a jerry can
of gas and some ammo.
Ah. Why the hell not?
Where are you?
About three clicks
northwest
of some old railroad bridge,
modified for road use.
Ah, yeah, yeah.
I know the spot.
So, must I come heavy?
Is there any other way?
Well, I've got
a couple of rocket pods
I took off a MiG-23
in the border war.
It's too much?
Just right.
Come to Africa. We'll
have some laughs, see some game.
Go to a deep,
dark, cavernous...
on, my God.
No. Not again!
You are one ugly bitch.
Suck on this!
Whoa!
Anything to report?
Yeah. I think we
hit the mother lode.
What's
happening, Baruti?
I don't know.
I mean, these creatures are
supposed to be nocturnal hunters.
Why have they changed?
Predators don't
change their tactics
unless they are
forced to do that.
Something's triggered
these attacks.
Animals always go
for the food source.
No, I don't think it's that.
There are other reserves here.
So, they're targeting us. Yes.
Make sure all of our weapons are
loaded and the truck is ready.
We're going
to the village.
Safety in numbers.
Yeah.
Those eggs have got themselves
the full protection package.
So, we punt?
Not so fast.
Our protection
package has just arrived!
There they are.
Oh, no.
Let's call it!
We pissed off
the head worm?
Shut it down.
To the rocks,
to the rocks!
Come on,
come on back!
Hang on. Hang on.
Come on. Come here.
Come back inside, man.
Hold on!
Charley?
Charley?
Charley?
Charley!
Charley?
This is a bag
of dicks.
We're outta ammo and we
have to blow that cave.
Come on, Gums.
Don't lose faith.
We are definitely F'ed up
beyond all recognition.
But we are not
out of ammo.
All I got is this
damn pop gun, that's it.
The bag is full,
and it's ready to blow.
Think outside the box.
Oh, my God. You're right. Yeah.
That'll scramble
a few eggs.
Oh, no. That'll make a big frickin'
omelet, is what that'll make.
Now, how do we get to the chopper
without gettin' eaten alive?
There's a herd
of cattle out there.
If we run with them,
we can get lost
in their seismic
signatures.
What? That's your
brilliant idea, to run?
"When the sun rises in Africa,
you better be running."
You ready for this,
old man?
You better step on it.
Consider it stepped on.
Not too far, now.
Go, go, go, go!
Out of my way, ladies.
Break it up, break it up.
You get to the helo.
You lock it up.
Whoo!
Yeah!
Easy, hoss.
She'll be back.
Right. Let's poach
some eggs.
Scramble.
My bad.
Hello. These MiG pods hold 16 rockets each.
Looks like he loaded 10.
This is gonna
ring their bells.
It's a bit of overkill,
don't you think?
If you're gonna give 'em the
horn, give 'em the horn.
All right. All right,
enough of the '60s.
Hey, I like that song.
Come on, where's
the Tupac?
Burt doesn't love the old hippy-dippy,
free-love stuff, does he?
Takes me back.
Back to where?
Back before I met
your sorry ass.
Back to a gun show
in Florida?
What do you
know about Florida?
We're burnin' daylight.
All right. Laser designated.
Locked on target.
Holy shit balls!
Oh, yeah!
Psycho.
What the hell? Jesus.
What the hell? I thought
you were dead, man!
Swallowed. Swallowed
by that wide broad.
She was about 10 meals ahead
and 20 craps behind.
So, she spat me out.
Spat you out?
Well, I tickled the insides
of her belly a little bit.
Been there,
done that, my man.
The bitch is back.
Let's get outta here.
Buckle up, boys.
Come on, let's go.
Lock it up, lock it up.
Okay, let's go.
Let's go. Come on,
come on, come on.
Come, come,
come, come on.
Stay close, Amahle.
Stay close, okay?
They're here.
Okay. All we need to do
is get to your truck.
Stay close.
Again with the roof?
Whoo!
I like this
badass Baruti.
Come. Come, Amahle.
Come on, get in the back.
Good girl.
Shit!
It couldn't make it
through the concrete slab.
Okay, it's
turning around.
I've got an idea.
All right.
Stay here, baby, okay?
Give me a light,
give me a light.
There you go. Thanks.
Let's go.
Thanks for the gas.
No worries, boet.
Hey, look, I've gotta go
and fight a fire in Zululand,
and my girl's
running on fumes.
So, if you need me...
I can reach you
on the horn.
Yebo.
I've got a feeling
you're gonna be needing this.
An FN MAG.
Classic.
She packs a punch,
that baby.
She's all yours.
Thanks.
Boet
Always be running. Yeah.
Never stop running,
boet. Never!
Let's talk
about Florida.
Sunshine State.
Lotta ladies.
I'm askin' what you know
about me and Florida.
I know that you went to a
Grateful Dead concert once
when you were there.
How could you possibly know that?
That was 40 years ago.
Pretty sure I know
who you went with.
What do you
know about Jasmine?
Flower child meets
heroin chic. Model.
Hated disco.
Loved Hendrix.
You were selling your dad's old guns.
She was in the parking lot.
Burning her bra.
Far left meets far right.
They spend the night.
Love's a bitch,
huh, Burt?
Who is she to you?
I call her "Mom"
most of the time.
Boom!
Well, that's gotta stir up
some shit, right? Huh?
You mean,
you and me are...
That's right.
Bloodlines.
Feel the theme
happenin', here?
No.
Yes.
No. Impossible.
You're tellin' me.
I don't believe it. There's
no way you're my offspring.
What? Well, that's a
dick thing to say?
What, do you think
you're better than me?
I just don't... I mean...
Crud. Look at you!
Yeah, look at me.
How could I be the son
of Burt Gummer?
A man of such
towering importance.
You know what?
Forget it.
We don't have to do this whole Dr.
Phil thing, okay?
Let's just survive this
African worm invasion,
and we'll go back to never speaking
to each other again. Cool?
Son of a bitch!
Let's get outta here.
Let's boogie.
Damn it!
Grabber's got us hooked!
You've got a gun. Use it.
Yeah, dawg!
I want a paternity test.
What's this?
I found it.
Amahle.
What's going on?
I think I know why
we're under attack.
Where would they go?
The village.
Safety in numbers.
Let's go.
Stay in the car,
baby,okay?
Nandi!
Come on. Come on!
Let's go!
Amahle? Amahle?
Amahle?
Amahle.
Amahle!
Amahle!
Mom!
No seismic activity.
Travis, look!
Amahle, behind you!
God, no! No, no.
Off the ground
and on the truck!
No, she's
my child. No!
Let's go.
It's gonna
be okay, honey.
It's okay.
Wait right there.
Go, go, go!
It's gonna
be okay, honey.
Hold on!
Let me get
a shot on it.
No, no, no. We can't
risk hitting the girl.
What does she
have in that basket?
I think she's got
an lnkanyamba egg.
That egg is the last
of the bloodline.
Why do you say that?
Because we blew up
their nest.
Look, we have
a hostage situation.
They're not gonna touch her
as long as she has the egg.
What's
the worm count?
One.
And the queen bitch
is comin' for that egg.
Hey. HEY,
hey,hey.
- You see what I see?
- Yeah.
Okay. One of us
is gonna be bait
and one of us has
gotta snatch the kid.
Who's it gonna be?
I'll get her.
- Hold on, baby.
- Let's go.
Stand still!
Baruti!
Travis, here. Throw it!
It's okay. It's okay. BURT:
You got her, you got her.
Behind you!
I think I have an idea.
Shoot
Amahle always uses her earthworm
zapper to catch worms.
We can build one on
a much larger scale.
We have the worm. What do you
suggest we use for the zap?
The lightning.
We can use the pile rods from the
drill rig and wire them together.
You can set your watch
to the lightning, right?
Yes, and right now
we've got 13 minutes.
Let's hope the bride
doesn't get cold feet.
What's goin' on?
Can you keep her busy?
I can try.
If we're lucky, she'll
follow your seismic signature.
Send them to the river and
bring them back on my signal.
Your signal?
I'll send up a flare.
Give me some slack.
Game on, Travis.
Come on, tube snake!
Come on. They're
headed our way.
Goodness, okay.
Go, go, go, go!
Come on,
wherever you are.
On the roof.
Whoo!
Sonny boy!
Here it comes!
It's over, baby.
Come, let's go.
I just got wormed.
HEY-
Here.
Ooh. Yeah, no,
I know this is Africa,
but I'm not gonna
eat what I just killed.
Thank you.
Okay.
Well, Travis, I just wanted to
say thank you for everything.
You're a good man.
Deep down there.
What, it's not
on the surface?
It rarely ever is.
You've gotta dig deep.
See ya.
NANDl: Amahle!
Good work today.
Yeah.
You, too.
So, what's the next
stop on the Burt train?
More Who-The-Hell-Cares,
Nevada?
It's home.
Where you goin'?
I don't know.
Probably back to Florida.
Okay. You take care,
you hear?
Hey, wait a minute.
What about my career?
What about it?
We had a deal.
You said you were gonna take the
long view, build the Gummer brand.
Said you were
gonna fix me.
You don't
need fixin', Pops.
Now, come on. We got a
gremlin to catch in Fresno.
Pops.
My name
is Burt Gummer,
and I've been
called many things.
Gun enthusiast, monster-hunter,
doomsday-prepper.
I reject all these labels.
What I am is a survivalist.
And I'm
Travis B. Welker.
I've been accused of being a ninja
photographer, an adrenaline junkie,
and hitting on
hot 22-year-olds.
I'm guilty on all accounts.
L embrace these labels,
and I live by them.
And together, we're taking on
the bizarre, the deadly, the weird.
It's a dirty job.
But dirty guys are sexy.
We've cracked
the code of survival.
We are the cure
that ails anything
crittery, creepy or crawly.
We are
the knockout punch
to the shadowy
world of monsters.
Go, go, 90!
I don't know what the
hell you unleashed in there.
So, if you need us
for anything that goes
bang in the night
or fluff under your floor...
It's over here!
Watch your back!
Or just...
...reach us on the horn.
And remember, survival
and life starts here.