Hell on Wheels

Hell on Wheels

Cullen Bohannon, a former Confederate veteran of the American Civil War, returns home to find his wife & child murdered by Union soldiers & his farm burned to the ground. After a revenge killing spree takes out mot of those he holds responsible for the atrocity, the identity of the last two victims brings him out west to the site of the eastern workings which will one day become the Transcontinental Railroad, under control of the sociopathic businessman Thomas Durant & his associates, who've assembled a group of ex-slaves, immigrants & misfits of society at the traveling tent city which follows the railway ever westward, Hell on Wheels.

Year:
2011
10,929 Views

Cullen Bohannan:
[Rev. Cole is on his knees with his back to the door, cradling Lt. Griggs' severed, cloth-wrapped head in his arms when Cullen walks into the church] Uh... I don't, I don't mean to disturb your prayers, preacher.

Reverend Cole:
How can I help you, son?

Cullen Bohannan:
[sitting down on a pew] I'm on a dark... path, sir. Been on it for awhile now.

Reverend Cole:
Where does the dark path lead?

Cullen Bohannan:
More blood. More hatred. I met somebody who reached out to me, asked me to turn away from that darkness, and uh... you been wantin' to preach to me, so... here's your chance.

Reverend Cole:
[Cole sets the bundle down and stands up] Well, there... there is a God. Of that, I have no doubt. [pause] But there's a... [he quickly pushes the lid shut on Griggs' slightly open coffin]... there's a Devil, too. And you, y'know what that ol', that ol' Devil did? Want me to tell you about that? [Cullen shrugs] Yeah? Well, that Devil, he, uh, cut off God's arms. And he hacked off God's legs. And he gouged out His eyes. Ripped out His tongue and then left Him lyin' there in a bloody heap on the floor. But... he left God's ears, so He could, He could hear us down here when we're wailin' and thrashin' and prayin' for His help. [he puts his hand on Cullen's shoulder] But brother, there ain't a damn thing God can do to help us.

Cullen Bohannan:
What're you sayin', preacher?

Reverend Cole:
Just... choose hate. It's so much easier. [Cullen gives him a disturbed look and gets up to leave] Brother! [he points emphatically as Cullen turns around and stares at him] Choose hate.

Reverend Cole:
[Cullen drunkenly stumbles past Rev. Cole's church late at night] Mr. Bohannon, did the good Lord save you from hangin' so you could drown yourself in whiskey?

Cullen Bohannan:
It's a little late for proselytizin', ain't it, preacher?

Reverend Cole:
Y'know, you were right, y'know, you don't deserve forgiveness.

Cullen Bohannan:
[drunkenly laughing] Yeah.

Reverend Cole:
Well, neither did I. Yet I, I stand here, my wickedness washed away by the, by the blood of the Lamb.

Cullen Bohannan:
[stumbling away] The hell you know 'bout wickedness?

Reverend Cole:
You ever hear of Bleedin' Kansas? [Cullen stops dead in his tracks and turns around slowly] Y'know, I rode with Martyr John Brown.

Cullen Bohannan:
John Brown was a cold-blooded killer.

Reverend Cole:
You in a position to throw stones on that account, Mr. Bohannon? [pause] That's right. 'Cause, y'know, one night... we authored the deaths of five men. Slave owners. We pulled them from their homes and butchered them with broadswords. [pause] Y'know, drunk as I was, I, I neglected to put an edge on, on my blade. It was hard work, brother, but I... I kept a-hackin'... and a-hackin'... and a-hackin' 'til I couldn't hack no more. Now THAT'S Bleedin' Kansas.

Cullen Bohannan:
W... why didn't you just shoot 'em?

Reverend Cole:
Ah... mercy of a bullet was somethin' they didn't deserve.

Cullen Bohannan:
Well, I owned slaves.

Reverend Cole:
Yeah, well, lucky for you, you weren't in Kansas that night.

Cullen Bohannan:
[Cullen chuckles humorlessly and staggers closer to Cole] No, preacher. That's lucky for YOU. [he takes a swig of whiskey]

Reverend Cole:
[grabbing Cullen's hand] No one deserves forgiveness, brother. That's the beauty of grace.

Cullen Bohannan:
[Cullen pulls away and turns to go] I thank you for the sermon... preacher.

Reverend Cole:
I used to be a lot like you, Cullen. Only difference was I had a cause. What is yours?

Cullen Bohannan:
[Cullen stops again] Yeah, John Brown's dead. That's right. Yeah, I believe we hung his sorry ass. [pause, then Cullen begins singing "Dixie" sarcastically; Cole walks away in disgust] "Wish I was in the land of cotton/Old times there are not forgotten/Look away... look away... look away... Dixieland..."


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