The Survivalist Page #3

EXT. THE HEAPS - DAY

Survivalist squats near a tree, reading the King James

Bible.

He squints at the text. The strange language, world, rules,

laws.

He tears a page off.

Wipes.

INT. CABIN, SEED ROOM - DAY

Survivalist lifts a shoebox into the light of the rear

window. Inside are rows of small envelopes.

He flips through the handwritten crop names; Marrow, Leek,

Comfrey, Runner Bean... Onion.

He pulls it out.

Survivalist sets a measuring stick across a large, soil-

filled seed tray.

He lays seeds across the soil at regular intervals.

He fingers seeds into the soil.

He lifts the seed tray to a lower surface. Unbuttons his

flies.

Waits.

Nothing comes out.

Idling, he looks around the seed room walls. Old, yellowed

agricultural posters. Plant guides. Nutrition charts.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - DAY

Survivalist shuffles to the table top, hoisting his

trousers with one hand, chap still out.

He downs some water direct from a jug.

As he sets it down on the table, he sees the photographs of

the woman. His gaze holds on it.

INT. CABIN, SEED ROOM - DAY

Standing over the seeds again.

Not a drip.

He flexes his penis vainly.

His expression changes, a different kind of frustration

emerging.

With some hesitation, he takes out the picture of the young

woman from his shirt pocket.

He flexes his penis more.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - DAY

Survivalist scrubs cum off his hand in a basin.

He walks through to the seed tray again.

After a moment's hesitation, a post-coital piss begins to

patter.

EXT. CABIN - DAY

Heavy rain slides down the roof onto the ground in front of

the cabin.

Survivalist, in slicked raincoat, digs drainage trenches

down the incline of the farm plot.

Water floods down the trench and splashes against his

shovel.

...

The rain has stopped.

Survivalist sits in the doorway, a blanket cloaked over

him, shivering in the cold. He spits on his hands and rubs

them warm.

...

It is near dark. Survivalist looks into the dark blue of

the sky. He goes inside. Through the doorway, we can see

him tear a page out of the bible, using it as fire kindle

for the stove.

He closes the door and blocks the windows out. Smoke

emerges from the chimney, almost imperceptible against the

deep blue of the sky.

MATCH FADE TO:

EXT. FARM PLOT - DAY

The sky, day-lit but overcast.

On the soil below, Survivalist is on his knees,

methodically weeding the ground with a hoe. He creeps

across the narrow walkway, and keeps his boots anchored in

the air to avoid spreading soil from one bed to another.

He finds a hard root-weed jutting out of the soil next to

his potatoes.

He takes a hoe from his side and cuts at the weed. He pulls

at the split end, but finds the deeper root keeping it in

place. It is a complete bastard to take out.

Survivalist pulls the root again... tight. It cuts into his

fingers.

He grunts and lets go. The root hangs limp in his fingers.

He idles, looking up at the trees.

Heavy breath and the sound of birds.

He leans forward and pulls it again...

A hand touches his shoulder.

He STARTS, rolls forward onto the soil.

He spins and brings up the gun into...

EMPTY SPACE.

No one there.

He tilts the gun around - strains neck and gets back onto

his feet. Tense, trigger aware.

He breathes out the shock.

Then he kneels again - a quick look around...

With renewed vigour, he tugs at the root. Sods spill as his

red-raw grip finds purchase.

EXT. FOREST - DAY

Survivalist runs his hand along bark. He looks at a young

tree near the edge of a clearing.

He checks the angle of the trunk and uses a slicked thumb

to test the wind.

His axe SLAMS into the bark.

He cuts an angle into the side facing the clearing, where

the tree will fall.

EXT. COLD FRAME - DAY

Survivalist uses a hand-trowel to create sinks in the soil.

He gently presses the sprouted onion seeds into the sinks,

careful not to damage the roots.

INT. FARM, FOOD STORAGE BIN - DAY

Darkness, split by blinding light as the heavy wooden lid

is opened. Survivalist gazes in on-

Bags of vegetables, strings of dried onions, dried garlic,

dried herbs.

He hoists out a bag of potatoes.

EXT. FARM, FOOD STORAGE BIN - DAY

Survivalist lays the potatoes out on a plastic sheet. He

sorts through them, sniffing them closely.

He ponders on one - squeezes it. Rot. He chucks it aside.

He works intensely, and doesn't seem to notice a figure

standing in the woods nearby.

He finds a slug nestling on the underside of a potato. He

picks it off and sets it on the ground.

His hand freezes.

He looks over his shoulder. Studies the Figure... a GAUNT

LADY, black eyes etched out above stark cheek bones.

Survivalist shows no surprise.

Slowly... with effort... he turns away from the Gaunt Lady,

and returns to working on the potatoes.

FADE TO:

EXT. FOREST - DAY

Survivalist carries a basket in a clearing near dead trees.

He reaches behind a rotting trunk... picks a troop of

small, red mushrooms.

EXT. FOREST - DAY (LATER)

Survivalist thumbs small shrooms into his mouth, one by

one.

He is lying with his back hard against a tree. He is slow

and methodical, chewing them slowly. His expression is

drowsy and still; he stares into the dark corridors between

the illuminated trees. A gentle breeze makes the presence

of the forest felt.

He stretches out his hand and spans fingers against the

glittering forest light. Light breaks and hides behind his

tilting hand.

Everything is now sufficiently vivid...

He takes the dog-eared picture of the woman from his shirt

pocket. He loosens his trousers, staring at her.

Her details - the water in the background - the scruff of

her shirt - almost seem alive.

His breath becomes heavy and rhythmical through his

nostrils. The photo trembles with the beat of his other

hand.

It stills.

The Gaunt Lady stands some distance away in the clearing,

staring. Survivalist ignores her, and returns focus to the

photo.

The image is now grey and inanimate.

Survivalist looks up; The Figure is suddenly closer, eyes

wide open, her gaze unyielding.

Survivalist stands and hoists his trousers.

EXT. FARM PLOT - DAY

Survivalist sits on a garden stool and looks at the picture

once again. His breath grows heavier.

The Gaunt Lady stands nearby.

Survivalist tries to continue, fixing eyes on the vivid

picture-

He stops. He stands and waddles towards the cabin, trousers

at ankles. The Gaunt Lady's gaze follows him.

INT. CABIN - DAY

Lying on the bed, holding picture above him, Survivalist

strains to get himself aroused.

The Gaunt Lady ambles up the farm, stepping into view

beyond the door frame.

Survivalist grunts, gets up and SLAMS the door.

BLACK:

FADE UP:

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