The Survivalist Page #13

Kathryn spoons some food into a bowl and sits beside him on

the bedside chair. He force himself up against the bed

board, ignoring the shooting aches and pains.

She angles a spoon of soup to his mouth. A moment's

hesitation - what's in it? - then he allows her to feed

him.

After some spoonfuls...

KATHRYN:

Things will change a little.

She inspects his response, then offers another spoonful.

KATHRYN (cont'd)

We share portions equally. The door

to the store won't be locked at

night. The weapons are shared.

SURVIVALIST:

It's still my farm.

KATHRYN:

Property rights are rather quaint,

don't you think?

He coughs, gruffly.

KATHRYN (cont'd)

If you had been on your own-

SURVIVALIST:

I wouldn't have got shot.

KATHRYN:

Funny. She said the same thing.

She eats a spoonful herself.

KATHRYN (cont'd)

You're alive because we need each

other.

She offers him another spoonful. Resentful, but hungry, he

takes some.

KATHRYN (cont'd)

Where are the spare shells?

SURVIVALIST:

That what you kept me around for?

KATHRYN:

Would have found them eventually.

He points to the the bookshelf.

SURVIVALIST:

Seek and ye shall find.

She sets down the bowl and takes out the Forager's Bible.

She opens it to find the pages have been hollowed out, to

hold three shotgun shells.

EXT. CABIN, FRONT - DAY

Survivalist ambles out the door on his makeshift crutch - a

long-handled spade.

Milja, kneeling over the beds, glances back at him.

MILJA:

Morning.

SURVIVALIST:

What are you doing?

MILJA:

Seeding.

SURVIVALIST:

You used the seed beds?

MILJA:

No.

SURVIVALIST:

Use the seed beds first.

MILJA:

It's warm enough now. They don't

need nursing, and it's faster.

SURVIVALIST:

You're doing it wrong.

He steps down onto the foot ledge.

SURVIVALIST (cont'd)

Use the beds.

She ignores him and continues. His eyes crease at the

bright light - but the breeze feels good against his sweaty

skin.

SURVIVALIST (cont'd)

Use the beds.

He's saying it again, but more to himself. The breeze,

Milja in front of him, the bubbling hob behind. A strange

sense wafts over him... of place. His hand waves, absent-

mindedly, eyes still looking towards the distant light.

FADE TO:

EXT. FOREST - DAY

Milja and Kathryn trudge through the forest.

They find what they're looking for; the gnarled, rotting

body of the Snatcher.

A moment's surveying, then they instinctively divide the

labour. Milja pulls boots off the body. Kathryn takes off

his jacket. She hesitates for a moment... unclips a WATCH

STRAP from his wrist.

They begin dragging the body along the forest floor.

EXT. THE HEAPS - DAY

The three heaps are silhouetted in the dying light.

MATCH FADE TO:

Four heaps now silhouetted against a bright sun, the oldest

depleted from composting on the farm.

TITLE OVER:

SUMMER:

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - DAY

Late afternoon light flows from the open door to the

bookcase. Kathryn slots her own humble collection in

amongst Survivalist's - one book is a child's copy of

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.

She runs her finger along the dusty spines of the

bookshelf; plant dictionaries. Herbals remedies. A first

aid guide.

Her finger stalls - one book out of place on a shelf of

practical civilisation. Its title is blood red against

frayed black canvas:

"COVENANTS WITH DEATH"

Kathryn pulls it out - finds it illustrated with a skull

and skeletal hand holding a scroll.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - DAY (LATER)

Kathryn sits reading through the book. It is anti-war

treatise published in 1933, full of photographs of World

War I.

Bodies and remains. Before and after executions. Hanged men

and women. Death-locked faces in repose, victims of the

trench, blast-hit corpses hanging broken-backed from trees.

She turns the pages; incurious, unaffected.

There is a final section, a cut black ribbon over the pages

to warn the reader: 'inside is worse'.

Inside is Armenia. Pyramids of bodies, limb stacks,

gloating Turks standing astride them. Endless rows of

skeletons, shot children, mother and baby spiked on

bayonets.

Kathryn reaches the back cover, nonchalant; she flips to

the front and looks for an inscription. None, but a strange

panel of pale paper. The original paper is yellowed, the

fresh paper white.

Her fingers feel the paper. Detect a contour.

Her nail pricks back the edge of the paper, revealing

newsprint underneath.

EXT. CABIN, THE FARM - DAY

Survivalist walks towards the cabin. He is surer on his

feet - a faint hobble in his gait the only echo of his

injury.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - DAY

Kathryn spreads the newspaper and magazine clippings are

spread across the table. Kathryn inspects them - a mix of

subjects, publications.

She notices the writer's name is the same: LINDA TALLIS.

A shadow over the page; Survivalist stands in the doorway,

blocking the afternoon sun.

He steps over her shoulder and looks at the cuttings. He

doesn't recognise what they are at first...

Then his face turns.

He grabs the papers and starts ripping them apart.

She stands and touches his arm.

He continues, binding and pulling them.

He clumps the clippings together and begins ripping them

apart.

Kathryn stands, taken aback.

He keeps ripping them - now quartered, resisting his

opposing hands.

She touches his shoulder.

KATHRYN:

Don't.

He twists the paper again.

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