The Survivalist Page #2

Some foraged food - berries and nuts in a cracked jar.

Survivalist sets these aside for himself.

Then he finds the plastic wrapped mushrooms. He inspects

the fresh white incisor marks on one. It gives him pause.

He notices the vomit at Forager's side.

Forager follows his eyeline.

The botanical name is amanita phalloides...

Survivalist tosses the mushrooms to Forager's side.

... but the more colloquial name is Death Caps.

Forager retches. He shoves fingers deep in his mouth.

Retches more. Thick spittle sticks to his lips. Nothing of

substance.

The forest murmurs. The jaws in his leg a distant memory.

Forager gasps for air.

Then his breath slows.

Past the shock. A muscle somewhere, deep down, the one

that's kept him straining with every sinew to stay alive,

relaxes a little. Winding down.

Survivalist puts everything back in the bag. He takes it

with him and he starts back up the hill.

He pauses. Stoops and picks up something.

He tosses Forager's knife back to him.

...

The trees are black fractals against the deep blue sky. The

sounds of the forest night; owls, buzzing insects, swaying

trees. And beneath it all, the low, fading rasp of the

Forager.

This could be the first night. Could be the second.

Forager's vomit splattered face stares up into space. Even

in the dim starlight, the lividity of his skin is ghastly

and visible.

With a sudden decisiveness, he reaches with the knife and

cuts hard. He looks away from the pumping artery and

focusses on the sky above.

You can really see the stars in this world; no light

pollution to block them out. They seem bright and close

enough to touch.

He looks up into the sky - into us.

Some personal irony comes to mind, and he grins.

MATCH CUT TO:

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - DAY

Daylight on Survivalist's face, staring at the ceiling -

into us.

Thinking of the task at hand.

He gets out of bed, military-discipline. He unbuttons his

thermal one-piece and steps under his 'shower' - a basin

beneath a nozzled pipe from the solar panel heated water

above. He rubs the water on his skin. No soap, obviously.

He dresses; two pairs of socks, patched and sown. Jeans.

Shirt over the thermals, black polo-neck jumper over the

shirt.

He eats cold food direct from saucepan on his metal hob. A

mash of turnips and potatoes. It looks neither tasty nor

nutritious, judging from his skin in the morning light.

Winter means fallow eating.

He looks out the window, glass with makeshift cling-film

insulation. His gaze drifts downhill, past his farm plot.

He turns to the wall, lined with tools on hooks. Stainless

steel - worn, but well maintained; spade, shovel, rake,

hoe, hand tools.

EXT. CABIN, FRONT - DAY

Survivalist emerges from the cabin holding a shovel, the

shotgun strapped over his shoulder. (Unless otherwise

specified, he always carries the shotgun with him).

He walks due west, towards an off-plot piece of land.

EXT. THE HEAPS - DAY

Survivalist sinks the shovel into soft, damp earth. He

begins digging a foot deep trench adjacent to the other two

buzzing compost heaps. The trench is too shallow for a

grave.

EXT. FOREST - DAY

Survivalist threads through trees, bending to pick twigs,

small branches, stones.

EXT. THE HEAPS - DAY

Returning to the heaps, he drops his gatherings into the

half-filled trench.

Now he's patting it down with soft, loose earth.

EXT. FOREST - DAY

The Forager's body is still in the trap, gallows grin now a

deathly grimace.

Browned blood spattered on dark clothes; bright red blood

on the Forager's cheeks stands out. Been picked at -

perhaps Survivalist's approach scared off a creature of the

forest.

Survivalist strips the body.

His thumbs hook under the man's greasy underwear and pull

them off.

He raises the Forager's jumper to his own chest; a fit.

EXT. FARM PLOT - DAY

Survivalist drags the naked body, backside covered in mud,

along the periphery of the crops.

EXT. THE HEAPS - DAY

He drags the body into the filled trench.

Shovels soil over it.

EXT. THE HEAPS - DAY (LATER)

It's beginning to get dark. Survivalist pats down the fresh

heap.

Although the other two heaps are in various states of

decomposition and atrophy, the new compost heap is

uncannily similar in dimensions.

He unbuttons his jeans.

A patter of piss christens the heap.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - NIGHT

Survivalist slams the cabin door. Locks several bolts.

He takes the Forager's belongings and crouches by the

stove. He opens the King James Bible.

An inscription on the first page:

'For Mark, from your loving mother'.

He rips the page out and lights it with the plastic

lighter. A short burst, conserving fuel. He uses it to

light the chopped wood in the stove. Flame light suffuses

the chamber.

Survivalist stands and lifts a wooden board by the wall.

EXT. CABIN, FRONT - NIGHT

The warm light of the flame-lit windows is stark in the

gloomy forest; one by one they are blacked out.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - NIGHT

Survivalist continues through the Forager's personals in

the stove light.

A bundle of very high denomination sterling notes. He burns

them.

A torch with dynamo handle. He winds it; the LED bulb comes

to life. He sets it aside.

Inspecting the dead man's jacket now. Pockets empty. He

feels the material...

He pulls a bundle of photographs from inside the seam.

Elastic band-tied family snaps... the Forager with family.

A perma-tanned wife. In-laws. Barbeques.

In some, a camera-shy young woman hiding at the periphery,

hand blocking lens, or back to camera. He flicks through

them, tossing them into the fire as he goes.

A solo picture of the young woman; a put-on smile as she

relents to the sprung-upon camera, pretty but not

beautiful.

He sets it aside and thumbs through the other photographs -

finds two more of her.

He tosses the rest into the stove. His face is bright in

the flame-flare, staring into her image.

FADE TO:

EXT. FARM PLOT - DAY

Survivalist digs over a stretch of barren winter plot.

He stamps shovel into dry topsoil, tipping it into a trench

and creating a new cavity in the process. He works

backwards, turning the soil along a given strip. It's hard,

heavy work.

He scoops compost from a wheelbarrow and layers it over the

broken earth.

A piece of yellow-white bone juts out of the soil.

His shovel slices it deep into the ground.

EXT. STREAM - DAY

Survivalist sets damp clothes on bare branches to dry. He

dips a heavy bucket in the stream and fills it.

EXT. CABIN - DAY

Survivalist climbs a ladder against the cabin wall. He

hoists the water bucket in one hand.

At the roof, he tips the water into a funnel for his solar

heating panels.

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