The Survivalist Page #16

... SNAPS

... Her FALLING hand

... GRABBED by Survivalist.

He's holding onto a branch with his other hand, with hardly

any foothold.

A torch beam flashes through the branches. They sway and

rustle in a gentle breeze.

Sweat beads on Survivalist's forehead glitter in the

bounced torch light...

But the torch-bearer hasn't seen anything, and his torch

beam sinks to ground level again.

Survivalist manages to lift Milja to within an arm's grasp

of another, stronger branch... she gets a handhold. Then

her foot finds some purchase.

They wait in the trees.

Milja, cat's eyes reflective, looks at Survivalist, fixated

on the raiders destroying the crop, shotgun ready.

Her stare is broken by a distant CLAP and clatter.

A male SCREAM echoes in the night...

Torches angle downhill, where a static beam shines through

the trees, discarded by its carrier.

A few converge and follow the screams to source downhill.

Kathryn leans towards Survivalist.

KATHRYN:

(whispered)

Bigger game?

He keeps his eyes on the torches pouring over the land.

Hands dipping into the earth, pulling and packing produce.

MATCH FADE TO:

EXT. FARM PLOT - DAY

The farmland is wrecked; torn-up, ransacked, clods of earth

pattered along the walkways of the beds.

Survivalist walks along the banks of the trampled soil. The

seed bed has been half-pulled up trying to find edibles.

Kathryn checks the other beds, seeing what's still below

earth, what's salvageable.

Milja clears some of the damage.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - DAY

Kathryn and Survivalist step inside to inspect the cabin.

Ransacked:
tossed bed, pulled out shelves, scattered books.

The articles of Linda Tallis, torn on the ground.

But their eyes are drawn to the back wall... all the tools

still on their hinges.

In the tumult of the cabin... completely out of place.

EXT. CABIN, SIDE - DAY

Survivalist and Kathryn lift a tarpaulin from boxes at the

side of the farm. They are covered in a moist, peat-like

substance. Root vegetables underneath.

SURVIVALIST:

What's still in the ground, and

this... we got about six weeks... if

we ration, we forage.

KATHRYN:

Six weeks? Catch crops won't be

ready for eight, nine at least.

SURVIVALIST:

Would have been enough for one.

KATHRYN:

You should have saved the cherries.

Gallows humour.

Survivalist lifts a potato out from storage. He sniffs it,

turns it round:
a WIREWORM coils on the underside, slinking

back into a burrow-hole. He pinches the end before it

escapes and pulls it out.

SURVIVALIST:

They'll be coming back.

He crushes the worm in his hand.

SURVIVALIST (cont'd)

That's why they left the tools. When

we've grown more food... they'll be

back.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - DAY

Thin portions of stew are divided between the three of them

by Survivalist.

They eat in silence: a pall of quiet desperation has fallen

over the room.

EXT. FARM PLOT - DAY

The damage has been cleared. The three are planting seeds

at intervals. Methodical, but with quiet urgency.

MATCH FADE TO:

Several weeks later. Tender leaves from root plants are

pricking out of the soil.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - DAY

Milja serves a foraged meal. Mushrooms, nuts, some spuds

from stores to fill it out.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - DAY (LATER)

The door to the seed room is open; Kathryn lies on the

ground, holding her knees.

Milja's head rests on the table. She looks up -

Survivalist, standing on the bed and holding the roof,

running his fingers along the grooves of wood.

SURVIVALIST:

What sort of mushrooms were they?

EXT. STREAM - DAY

Milja inspects her period rag. She turns it, again and

again:
it is clean.

Disconcerted, she puts it back in her underwear.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - DAY

Survivalist hand sweeps across the bed.

He wakes more fully; he is alone.

EXT. CABIN, FRONT - DAY

A pool of watery sickle on the ground.

Milja is on her hunkers, staring at it, holding her

stomach.

SURVIVALIST (OFF)

You OK?

She turns; Survivalist stands in the doorway. He leans over

her shoulders, squares up the vomit.

SURVIVALIST:

The hunger... we need to try and

forage more.

She nods, then stands and wipes her mouth with the back of

her hand.

INT. CABIN - DAY

Survivalist is bare-chest, inspecting himself with a hand-

mirror.

Ribs stark against tight skin.

EXT. FOREST - DAY

Survivalist slots a single shell into the breach of the

shotgun. His actions are slow and leaden.

He stalks through the forest, looking up at the brown

leaves hanging onto bare branches...

... A shutter of movement

He swings the gun up.

A CROW moves between branches.

He follows it.

It leaps, flies to another tree.

Survivalist follows the crow, moving quiet as he can not to

startle.

He sees the crow resting on a branch. He raises his shotgun

to eye the shot - but it's not very clean, branch and

straggling autumn leaves in the way.

He starts sidestepping to get a cleaner angle.

A SNAP - somewhere else in the forest.

His gun pivots down and around...

Kathryn's hunched figure, back to him, in the distance. She

is crouched at one of the mantraps, which she has set off

with a stick.

She rubs a mash of berries against the trigger of a poacher

trap. She sets a bed of hazelnuts on top it, using the mash

as a loose adhesive.

He walks towards her, his steps still hunter quiet in the

familiar forest.

She opens the jaws of the trap again, trying to reset it.

Survivalist is a few metres from her now, sight unseen. She

struggles with the stiff mechanism, trying to lock it open

in place.

She is prone - a kick and her head would lock in the jaws.

She gasps as she reaches for the locking mechanism of the

jaws...

Her head turns - she looks at him.

He lowers the gun quickly and pitches in. They reset the

trap quickly.

She is so tired she can only sit beside it, hunger having

drained her of endurance.

He inspects the bait.

KATHRYN:

A bit of meat... we could make it.

With the protein.

SURVIVALIST:

Traps are too big. Only thing I've

caught in there walked on two legs.

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