The Survivalist Page #20

He walks into the forest.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - DAY

Milja walks around the empty cabin. A sense of being

completely alone for miles...

She takes a book from a shelf... the old copy of Alice's

Adventures in Wonderland.

She sees a child's branding on the inside, in carefully

elided red Biro:
'KATHRYN ROCHE, AGE 11'.

She drops the book-

EXT. FOREST - DAY

A SPADE hits the forest floor. It bumps along the ground as

it is dragged by Milja. She keeps her eyes on the trail

ahead, retracing a route from memory.

EXT. FOREST - DAY (LATER)

Milja sits by her mother's body. It is face down in the

dirt where it was abandoned. Milja places her hand on her

mother's neck - she rubs patterns of hair against the cold,

livid skin.

EXT. FOREST - DAY (LATER)

A shovel SLAMS into the dirt. Tough soil in this part.

Milja's face is slick with sweat, smeared with dirt when

she's wiped it with the back of her hand. She could find

softer soil, but she wants the pain.

EXT. FOREST - DAY (LATER)

Kathryn's body lies in the ground, face up, arms crossed.

In death, her skin's lividity almost appears golden.

Milja holds a brilliant, purple-back beetle in her hands.

It scurries around the cage of her fingers. She sets it on

her mother's chest.

Then she slings the first scoop of dirt over the body.

EXT. CABIN, FRONT - DAY

Milja waits on the cabin porch, scanning the perimeter of

the farm. The sun is fading in the sky.

Survivalist emerges from the tree line.

He walks up the plot to the cabin.

He steps past her, not making eye contact.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - DAY

Milja follows him through the doorway. He eats the cooled

food.

SURVIVALIST:

They want to test-bed the seeds,

make sure they're good. Saplings and

beans weren't enough.

MILJA:

That's good, though? Shows they're

for real.

SURVIVALIST:

They're for real all right.

Milja notes his tone. Tense. Brooding.

MILJA:

Two, three weeks then?

He looks at her for the first time.

SURVIVALIST:

And they'll only take one of us.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - NIGHT

They lie in bed, clothed and close for warmth.

SURVIVALIST:

The beans are worth one extra mouth.

That's the way they see it. I

offered everything. The guns. The

tools.

She looks at him, quiet...

MILJA:

What about me?

He meets her glance; a dim echo of Kathryn's offer.

SURVIVALIST:

(shakes)

They're religious. Polygamists, I

think. Perhaps they'd take you as a

wife, but not with me.

EXT. FOREST - DAY

They walk together, eyes pinned to the forest floor as they

scan for food to forage.

MILJA:

We go back. When they've seeded.

Together. We plead. We beg them.

SURVIVALIST:

They're hard people.

MILJA:

They believe. They want to help us.

SURVIVALIST:

They're alive and they believe

because they've done things to stay

alive... they need there to be a

forgiver out there, somewhere.

Survivalist stops. His nostrils suck in deep drags of the

smell. Milja follows, scans the surroundings.

Survivalist c*cks the shotgun.

Survivalist sniffs the source; a patch of wet urine on a

tree.

They scan the three sixty forest horizon - the buzz and saw

of insects and birds - but no slinking shadows, no white of

eye in the gloom.

He makes a pistol sign with index finger and palm - do you

have it with you?

She shakes her head.

He pulls his knife from leg-strap, gives it to her. She

gets used to the balance in her hand quickly.

Survivalist studies branches, the crush of vegetation on

the forest floor. In the dirt, footprints. Bootmarks.

Multiple steps, indentations.

He raises a hand to Milja: two fingers.

He continues scouring the floor. A flurry of footprints on

a bare batch of dirt.

Raises three fingers.

Four.

Stops counting. Looks at her. They know who they are.

She whispers, breath-loud but firecracker loud in the new

silence...

MILJA:

The seeds.

EXT. CABIN, EDGE OF FARM - DAY

Survivalist holds out his mirror:

He can see the RAIDERS ripping up food from the plot. They

are clearer in daylight - the half-camo outfits, perhaps

robbed from soldiers; perhaps they are ex-soldiers. Rough-

hewn tattoos snaking over most of their skin, strange,

amateur piercings - hardy and dangerous in a world of

infections.

One of them has a HOBBLE from the sprung trap in the last

raid.

The leader, WHISTLER is an obese man - a particularly

unnatural sight in this age - and issues directions to his

other men in a shrill, shepherd-like whistle. He directs a

man with a sledgehammer - SLEDGE - to the cabin.

EXT. CABIN, REAR - DAY

Stealth-quiet, Survivalist and Milja run from the tree line

to the back window of the cabin.

Survivalist takes a small multi-tool from his jacket and

begins loosening a screw on the back window's protective

metal grill. Milja keeps watch at one side of the cabin,

knife poised for a quick stab to the throat if needed.

The cabin wood trembles from the relentless, regular

pounding of the sledgehammer.

One screw drops into Survivalist's hand. Two screws.

The sledgehammer BASHES into the front door. Splinters,

cracks appear in the panelling by the lock.

Milja and Survivalist gently remove the metal grating and

set it on the grass. Milja hands him the knife. He grips

the handle backwards and puts his coat over the top to

soften the blow against the glass.

The sledge POUNDS against the tattered door, the binding

wood about to snap...

Survivalist raises and lowers the knife in sync to the

sledgehammer blows.

One. Two...

The front door CRACKS OPEN-

Survivalist SMASHES the window in.

The raider with the SLEDGE bursts inside the cabin.

Survivalist and Milja keep eyes pinned to each side of the

cabin, waiting for any inquisitors.

They can hear main room being ransacked.

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