We open at sunrise. A truck of settlers advance from Mexico to the fringe. We don’t get their names, or even much about them. Some have made the intersection some time recently. A young lady (Alondra Hidalgo) is citing the Bible – Old Testament entries about deliverance from Egypt. Gael García Bernal has a very much embraced, clamor making teddy bear in his rucksack. (Try not to stress, Chekhov’s principle of delicate toys becomes an integral factor later.)
Their vehicle separates, so their aide must go up against them foot through “the barren wilderness”, a course not ordinarily prompted. On the opposite side of the wall looms Jeffrey Dean Morgan, slurping bourbon in his truck. The radio predicts a perilously hot day, before he swings to his unnerving puppy, Tracker, and says: “We should go huntin’.”
This is no Irwin Allen catastrophe epic; we don’t invest much energy becoming acquainted with every character’s back story. Rather, against the barren, center of-no place foundation, shots begin to ring out and the transients get picked off one by one.