The Survivalist Page #4

EXT. FOREST - DAY

An AXE chops through wood. Survivalist hitches a boot

against the stump, pulls out the axe-blade.

He SMASHES the axe in again. The wood splits completely

this time.

This is slow, wearying work.

Another piece, holding it in place...

He SLAMS the axe.

His setting hand SLIPS.

His chopping hand is already raised, ready to harry more

wood.

The axe wavers above his wrist. The adrenaline of the near

miss translates into something else...

He considers the cut. He raises the axe.

Bird chatter. Sun corridors. A breeze against the young

leaves.

Slowly... he lowers the axe.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - NIGHT

Survivalist pushes firewood through the grill of the stove.

He takes the now marbled and dog-eared photos of the girl

from his pocket.

Tears them into pieces. Throws them inside the grill.

Survivalist stares at the torn fragments of the woman's

features, lain on wood kindle. He lights them.

They warp and curl in the heat of the flames.

SLOW FADE TO:

EXT. FOREST - DAY

Grey light. Survivalist makes a fresh track through the

forest. (He avoids making regular tracks which might leave

a trail).

He reaches the stream - his clothes lain on rocks.

Crouching, he holds up a white shirt.

Something strange; in this light, it almost seems pink.

His gun is up, elbow raised to keep the range good and

wide. His back finds the bank. He glances and aims, doing

visual clearance of his surroundings.

He swings gun behind him.

No movement, except the water at his feet and the sway of

the trees.

He stands there listening. He can hear the birds. They're

here. No one else is.

His gaze drifts upstream.

...

Higher in the forest, the stream as his guide, he moves

tree to tree for cover. Slow, cautious progress.

A clearing ahead. He can see some torn clothes on the silty

bank. Fabric stamped into the ground with heavy boot marks.

His eyes lock on SOMETHING in the stream:

The red ribs of a devoured human carcass rise into view. A

bird pecks them free of remaining flesh, revealing the

ghastly white bone beneath.

Survivalist sinks back into the forest.

EXT. FARM'S EDGE, TREES - NIGHT

Dark branches obscure the cabin below, marked out in stark

moonlight.

This is the Survivalist's view; he is high in the trees,

shotgun at the ready, hidden behind a maze of branches.

His eyes drift - he's been here a while.

He takes out the lighter and cups a flame in his hand. He

burns his palm - already red and blistered.

A wince of pain... but it gives him the juice he needs for

a few more minutes of concentration.

FADE TO:

EXT. FOREST - DAY

The dull, metallic teeth of the mantrap, half-hidden under

the foliage.

TITLE OVER:

Spring

Foliage rustles nearby. The sound of footfall.

A MACHETE tucks back the foliage and bares the teeth of the

trap. The blade gently taps the metal.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - DAY

Survivalist's eyes are open.

He's awake. He doesn't remember waking.

The window clicks.

He looks, hand slipping towards bed-partner gun.

Through the window, he sees: the mute background of forest

tree line and pale morning sky.

Perhaps an insect tapping off the glass.

His hand draws away from the gun. He continues to stare

nonchalantly at the distant tree line, warped by grime on

the glass.

A small stone clicks off the window.

He GRABS the gun, ROLLS out of bed,

He BOLTS through to-

INT. CABIN, SEED ROOM - DAY

Survivalist runs to the the back window, scans the back

garden.

Grass, the near forest; otherwise clear.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - DAY

He pulls a raincoat over his naked body and pockets a

handful of shells.

Another STONE clicks off the window.

He slings the shotgun strap on, pushes his back against the

cabin wall.

He steals a glance outside.

Two figures, murky behind the smeared glass. An older WOMAN

holding that machete, and a TEENAGE GIRL crouching beside

her, picking up stones.

He pulls his head back, opens the shotgun breech. A shell

in each barrel.

He LOCKS the gun.

EXT. CABIN FRONT - DAY

The front door unlatches and sways open. Survivalist

emerges, both hands on lowered shotgun.

The Woman is stooped at the bed, fingers in the soil. At

the sight of the gun, she stands - the Girl rushes behind

her for cover.

Survivalist lets the door open wide and knock against the

wood. Nobody lurking behind it.

He takes a small hard mirror and holds it out the door. He

scans the left side of the cabin, the right... CLEAR.

He retreats back into the cabin, and returns his aim to the

ground in front of the two strangers.

The Woman sets the machete in the dirt. She is middle-aged,

hair preternaturally greyed. Her daughter, face masked by

feral dark hair, can't be above eighteen.

WOMAN:

My name is Kathryn and this is my

daughter Milja. We have been

travelling for some time.

He doesn't introduce himself. His eyes scan the tree line

behind them for shadows, figures stalking in the dark.

KATHRYN:

We found the traps you laid. Perhaps

you should put up warnings. But

then, of course, you'd be telling

people you were here.

Kathryn forces a smile on her worn, once-pretty face. He

looks at her blankly.

KATHRYN (cont'd)

We are running low on supplies,

gathering what we can in the

forest... would you be able to spare

some of your crop?

He shakes his head.

KATHRYN (cont'd)

Don't expect you to simply give it

away. We can offer something in

exchange.

On cue, Milja unstraps her rucksack, opens it for her

mother. Survivalist strains to see Milja's face, but it

remains obscured by long shanks of hair.

Kathryn takes out a velvet bag. Inside is jewellery, gold

bracelets, chains. Milja eyes a ring - a groom's; it holds

a significance for her beyond its craft.

Survivalist shakes his head.

KATHRYN (cont'd)

One of these days, it will be

valuable again. Very valuable.

He remains impassive. Kathryn puts the jewellery back in

the velvet bag.

Milja takes a pair of "AA" batteries from the rucksack,

hands them to Kathryn. She offers them.

Survivalist shakes head again.

KATHRYN (cont'd)

The real treasure then.

She takes out some plastic bags. They are filled with

seeds.

KATHRYN (cont'd)

We have legumes, brassicas. Strong

varieties.

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