The Survivalist Page #5

She stoops and sinks her fingers in the soil. Feels the

sticky texture between forefinger and thumb.

Milja is left tall poppy exposed... Survivalist gets some

more details from her face - an elegant nose, cheek.

KATHRYN (cont'd)

These could boost your yield.

She throws a packet of seeds to his feet. He crouches and

picks it up, shotgun still at the ready.

He scans the label, searching for an expiry - none on it.

He throws the packet back to her.

She casts her hand around.

KATHRYN (cont'd)

Surely you can spare something...

There seems more than enough.

SURVIVALIST:

That's what-

His voice breaks. He clears his throat, speaks again - a

guttural whisper.

SURVIVALIST (cont'd)

That's what everyone used to think.

Kathryn turns to Milja. They share a private look between

themselves; Kathryn's look asks permission. Her daughter

nods gently.

Kathryn slicks a thumb and rubs a patter of dirt from

Milja's cheek, parting her hair in the process.

KATHRYN:

Then perhaps... perhaps we could

stay the night?

Milja's face is now visible. She has a dangerous beauty.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - DAY

Survivalist stirs yesterday's soupe du jour on the cold

stove. He keeps the shotgun strapped over his shoulder -

and does so at all times with his guests.

Kathryn and Milja sit at his table, their eyes scanning the

room. Seed charts, old agricultural ministry posters. A

mouldy calendar. Milja's nostrils flare at the pungent room

musk.

He sets three bowls on the table, ladles out uneven

portions.

He serves Milja first. She eats as soon as it lands on the

bowl.

Kathryn waits until Survivalist sits - then eats with the

same numb haste as her daughter. It doesn't look like good

grub, but it's the best food the visitors have had in

weeks.

They eat in silence. He still has the shotgun over his

shoulder.

Survivalist stares at Milja, her face mainly hidden under

her long hair. An eyeball looks back at him.

KATHRYN (OFF)

Do you live alone?

Milja snorts in amusement.

Survivalist is distracted, then nods.

KATHRYN:

How long?

The question weighs heavily upon him... he slips into

reflection. As Kathryn speaks, we draw closer to

Survivalist, running through memories, counting on fingers.

KATHRYN (cont'd)

Milja and I have been living on a

commune. Eight days north. It was a

good set-up. While it lasted... we

lost most of our crops in the last

frost. It was the elderly, the

elderly who passed first. We left

when they stopped burying-

SURVIVALIST:

(quiet)

Eight winters.

Milja looks up from her plate.

He clears his throat again and says louder:

SURVIVALIST (cont'd)

Years, eight years.

His guests stare at him.

KATHRYN:

You've been here eight years?

SURVIVALIST:

No, I've been here... eleven. I've

been alone, eight.

KATHRYN:

That's before...

She exchanges a look with Milja.

MILJA:

Who did you live with before?

Kathryn looks at her daughter coolly for an indiscreet

question.

But he looks at Milja and answers.

SURVIVALIST:

My wife. My wife and my son.

They continue eating in silence.

Kathryn scrapes her plate clean with a fork, while Milja

does the same with her fingers. Survivalist notices, and

begrudgingly spoons some more for his guests.

MILJA:

You haven't told us your name.

And he won't.

EXT. CABIN - NIGHT

The light is dying. It is six in the evening; in a world

without a grid this is when the day ends.

INT. CABIN, SEED ROOM - NIGHT

Survivalist opens the door from the main room and leads

Kathryn inside.

This is where she will be sleeping; just enough length on

the floor to do so.

He steps back to shut her in. She reaches a hand out,

blocking the door with gentle force.

She can see Milja over his shoulder; lit by dim stove

light, sitting on his bed.

KATHRYN:

I need to ask you something.

An intimate tone - between you and me.

He releases the door and steps inside. She speaks quietly

in a cabin too small to have private conversations.

KATHRYN (cont'd)

It's a matter of hygiene.

He looks wounded.

SURVIVALIST:

... I haven't been with anyone.

KATHRYN:

That's not what I meant. We don't

have the facilities - nowhere has

the facilities...

SURVIVALIST:

If she gets-

KATHRYN:

Do you understand?

He nods, then steps back and shuts the door.

The lock turns.

Kathryn surveys the space.

Her hands rake shelves, surfaces, looking for loose tools,

devices, anything useful.

She checks the window. It's too small for her to fit

through.

She paces.

She paces and she sits. Lower down, she can see the gap

between the door and the floor. Flickering shadows in the

stove light.

INT. CABIN, MAIN ROOM - NIGHT

Survivalist is standing by the seed room door, looking at

Milja, who sits at the end of his bed. She stares back at

him nonchalantly.

She takes off her shoes with a clutter.

He follows. He clears his shoes neatly and efficiently to

the side of the room. The inveterate disciplinarian.

She pulls off her socks and discards them on the floor; he

puts his in a cloth wash-bag.

She takes off her jumper. He does the same, propping the

shotgun by the stove.

He watches the slim cleft of her chest under her t-shirt.

She takes it off as well, then her jeans, revealing her

worn polyester underwear.

He steps out of his own jeans. He picks and folds them,

finding distraction in the routine.

He looks back at her, standing awkwardly in his thermals.

She taps the space beside her in the bed.

He sits beside her, hands on knees.

She reaches out and touches his beard. He remains stock

still.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes