The American Queen
An hour-long TV drama adapted from And in the Dark They Are Born. A deaf teenager navigates an unforgiving post-blackout America on her rise to power.
Screenplays
EXT. VITRI'S HOUSE - DUSK
SUPER: Waco, Texas
BACK YARD
MARIE (40s, thin, not a speck of makeup) approaches a tiki torch. Aside from the swish of her jacket and the sound of her feet trampling overgrown grass, there is silence. Until...
LANDON (10, in clothes that’d fit an eight-year-old) walks into the back yard with a lantern, toward a picnic blanket that has been splayed on a just-cut patch of grass.
He leaves the back door open; inside is aglow with candle light.
Did you light all of ‘em?
Mmhmm.
Good. Good.
Marie lights the tiki torch--the last one, which completes an outline of the back yard.
(cont'd):
Your dad loves those candles.
Sure he does.
You know, he’ll surprise you if you let him.
Marie walks to Landon. She wraps her arms around him. Kisses the back of his head.
(cont'd):
I love you, kid.
You’ve told me that like ten times today.
Moms have days like that sometimes. Especially when they have one more teeny tiny favor to ask.
Landon looks at Marie like, “What now?” She hands him a piece of paper and a roll of tape.
(cont'd):
Front door, please.
Landon takes off with the lantern toward the open back door.
Of course, mom. Sure, mom. My pleasure.
Landon steps inside the house, offscreen.
Marie crosses her arms and tries to calm a shaky breath. She bites her lip. She tries again. And again. It’s quiet enough that offscreen, we can hear tape RIPPING from its dispenser.
Marie grabs the handle of the manual lawnmower near the picnic blanket and moves it around some, aimlessly.
We hear the front door CLOSE. Seconds later, Landon walks through the back door, holding a small cardboard box whose contents he examines while he walks.
(cont'd):
Didn’t Dad say we’re not supposed to eat this until...
(interrupting):
He did. But we’re just going to eat a couple of things. He’ll understand.
Pretty sure that’s the kind of thing that’ll set him off.
Marie takes a chocolate from the box and puts it in her mouth.
Pretty sure I’ll tell him what’s what.
Landon doesn’t buy it and can’t shrug off his concern.
(cont'd)
(sits on picnic blanket):
Come on, sit with me.
Landon sits on the blanket beside Marie. He pulls a small package of snack cakes from the box and opens it. He hesitates, but eventually takes a bite.
(cont'd):
Good, huh?
(closes eyes):
So good.
Marie goes to take another bite of chocolate but can’t--her hand is too shaky. She sets the chocolate down and watches Landon as he takes another bite of the snack cake.
Let’s do something fun.
Marie takes the snacks and their wrappers and stuffs them back in the box, then lays down on her side.
(cont'd):
You just lay down beside me here.
Landon lies down and Marie adjusts him so he too is on his side.
(cont'd):
Good. Just like we used to lay, huh? (clears throat) Okay. Okay... (lands on the idea) let’s take a minute and think about our favorite days.
Like ever?
Mmhmm. Like ever.
Why?
Because, well... because reflection is good for us, you know? It’s good to think about what we like, what we don’t like... why... where we’ve been... you know what I mean?
Silence, which means Landon understands.
(cont'd):
Okay, I’ll start. My favorite day was... let me see. My favorite day was definitely the day you were born.
That’s original.
Hey, I was in labor for over thirty hours, kid. Thirty hours. And I was just so exhausted by the time you were finally ready to come out. I didn’t think I could do it. But your dad and your Aunt Carmen were rockstars. They cheered me on, they got me to keep pushing, and pushing, and pushing--
(interrupting):
Gross.
(unfazed):
--and then, when I heard you cry, when I heard the sound of your little voice for the first time, it was crazy, Landon, I just felt this mountain of electricity shoot through me. Those thirty hours didn’t matter anymore. None of the hours of my life that had led to that point mattered anymore, not how that moment mattered. It was like time had been altered. Like in an instant (snaps fingers) everything that I’d been was stripped away and formed into something new. I hadn’t known I was capable of that, or that I’d hate myself for waiting so long to give myself permission to feel that. And I didn’t care if I ever slept again, or ate. I just wanted to hold you, and listen to you, to anything you had to say. (kisses Landon on the back of his head). Best day of my life, by far. No contest.
Landon and Marie watch the flames of the tiki torches.
Marie works to keep her composure...to quiet her body, to steady her breath.
(cont'd):
Your turn. Tell me about your favorite day.
I don’t know.
Come on. I know you have one.
The riverboat, maybe?
That was so much fun. Tell me about it. Tell me what it looked like.
You were there.
I know. But just tell me.
It was big, and white, and red, and it had those two black towers--
Smoke stacks.
Yeah. Smoke stacks. And it had that paddle Dad and I liked so much.
Paddlewheel.
Yeah, paddlewheel.
Marie slowly pulls from her jacket a .22 pistol.
I remember you two stood at the back and watched that thing for so long. Hours and hours. I told you about the first time your dad and I went on the riverboat, didn’t I... on our honeymoon?
You’ve told me a hundred times.
Marie smiles.
(cont'd):
Maybe two hundred.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. What did it smell like, sweetie, on the riverboat? What did the birds flying overhead sound like?
EXT. AMERICAN QUEEN RIVERBOAT - AFTERNOON (FLASHBACK)
The riverboat paddles through the water.
Landon leans against the deck railing, looking down at the wake.
EXT. VITRI'S HOUSE - DUSK
Most days it smelled fishy. Which seems obvious. But still.
Marie quietly racks the .22 pistol. She shifts her body so she can angle the barrel at the back of Landon’s head.
(fighting tears):
And did you like that?
Yeah. I did.
Really? You’ve never liked to eat fish.
I know. But this was different.
What else? What about the birds flying overhead...what did they sound like?
EXT. AMERICAN QUEEN RIVERBOAT - AFTERNOON (FLASHBACK)
Two birds fly overhead, through a clear sky.
Mom?
EXT. VITRI'S HOUSE - DUSK
Yeah, sweetie?
Just do it, okay?
EXT. VITRI'S NEIGHBORHOOD - DUSK/NIGHT
The flash of a gunshot douses the street in momentary light, the BANG carrying through the silence for miles and miles.
Seconds later, a second gunshot.
We stay here, with the neighborhood in view, as dusk TIMELAPSES to night.
Below: each house has been stripped of its paint. Windows have been boarded. There’s a gentle glow from the open back door of Vitri’s house. But there’s no light elsewhere... There’s no sound... there’s no movement...
Until it’s dark and we see and hear a single truck driving up the residential street.
We hear the truck park, and its door OPEN and CLOSE.
I/E. VITRI'S HOUSE - NIGHT
A note hangs from the front door. And there on the patio stands VITRI (40s, lean, a bandana wrapped around his nose and mouth), staring at that note. He pulls a 9mm pistol from his waistband and keeps it in his right hand, drawn but not pointed.
Vitri walks to the front door, removes the note and brings it close.
“Join us out back,” it says.
Vitri folds the note and shoves it into the breast pocket of his flannel shirt.
He unlocks several locks and enters the house, shutting and re-locking the door behind him.
Candles illuminate the interior of the house, from living room to dining room to kitchen, all different shapes and sizes and colors.
In the candlelight, we see that Vitri’s face is heavily smudged with soot and dirt.
Just a couple of feet into the house, Vitri notices that the back door is wide open, and that through that door, on the grass of the back yard, is a wavering glow.
Vitri grips the pistol tighter and slowly walks in its direction. It’s ten feet away now...
Six feet away...
Two...
Vitri walks through the back door.
The tiki torches remain lit. Two coyotes weighing no more than fifteen pounds apiece stand snout to snout over a picnic blanket in the center of the yard. Their coats are gone from the belly up, their remaining fur in uneven clumps along their spines.
Their jaws are at work, gnawing, tugging.
Vitri watches in shock. He takes in the sounds: teeth SCRAPING on bone, the LAPPING of blood.
He snaps out of it: aims the 9mm pistol and FIRES as he walks toward the coyotes, once, twice.
Neither coyote appears wounded as they sprint off together, across the lawn and into another, until they blend into the night.
Vitri walks to Marie and Landon. He stands over them before sitting on the grass, beside the picnic blanket.
He takes off the bandana... Stares at them...
Gags.
CUT TO:
TITLES: THE AMERICAN QUEEN
EXT. ST. FRANCIS MEDICAL CENTER, MONROE - DUSK
Among all the wreckage--the gutted vehicles, the looted storefronts, the debris strewn over public transit platforms-- rests one rusted green JEEP.
And at the helm of that Jeep is thirteen-year-old REYN. Acne and grime stretch across her face: products of life spent inside these doors. She stares ahead, eyes alert.
The only sound is of Reyn BREATHING.
There are messages on the Jeep’s dash, written in permanent marker. Small groups of them, in two distinct styles of handwriting. Games also. Hangman. Tic-tac-toe.
But, the passenger seat of the Jeep is empty.
In the backseat: dirty, crumpled blankets; duffel bags; stray magazines; varieties of batteries; empty cans and jars of food; the occasional food wrapper.
In the way back: tires. Two red, five-gallon gasoline jugs-- empty, we know, as they’re tipped on their sides.
Reyn continues staring through the windshield. She stares and stares and stares.
In her hand is a well-worn postcard. On the front: pristine, snowy mountains. “Greetings from Idaho” it says in retro type.
Reyn waves the postcard back and forth... a tic, a search for calm.
Then, Reyn’s eyes soften. She smiles wide. Her shoulders ease in relief.
Reyn puts the postcard on the dash, then opens her door and steps out. In American Sign Language (ASL) (SUBTITLED), she says:
Do you need help?
FRANCINE, (40s, swimming in baggy, tattered clothes), approaches the Jeep, waving off Reyn’s question. She opens the passenger door and heaves a black duffel bag onto the seat. She speaks to Reyn in ASL. (SUBTITLED).
Did you see anything?
Reyn shakes her head.
Francine unzips the duffel bag and pulls from it three TIME magazines that she hands to Reyn.
Thanks, Mom!
Francine smiles at Reyn flipping through the pages. She pulls from the duffel bag an unused SYRINGE. Its contents are rust- colored. Francine sets the syringe on top of the marker- covered dash and moves the duffel bag from the passenger seat to the back seat.
Reyn’s eyes deflate as she looks up from the magazine and sees the syringe.
Francine sits in the passenger seat and shuts the door. She pulls a shoelace from her pocket. She glances at the postcard on the dash.
Put that thing away.
Reyn shoves the postcard into a new issue of TIME, then slides the magazines under the driver’s seat, on top of the rest of her collection.
Seems like it was a good haul.
They better like it this time.
Reyn starts the Jeep. The gauge shows that half of a tank of fuel remains.
Reyn pulls away from the curb, revealing what the Jeep was parked in front of: a ST. FRANCIS MEDICAL CENTER sign, half- covered by overgrown grass.
Francine ties off her arm with the shoelace.
EXT. MONROE OUTSKIRTS - LATER
The Jeep drives through the empty city, and merges onto Highway 20.
EXT. HIGHWAY 20 - NIGHT
The Jeep snakes through a gauntlet of vehicles strewn across the highway. Some vehicles are missing tires.
Some have been flipped. Some have had their paint stripped, their windows broken.
The Jeep passes a distance sign; “SHREVEPORT 14,” it says beneath streaks of yellow spray paint.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT (DRIVING)
Reyn grips the steering wheel tight.
Francine is curled into the passenger seat, blissed out.
EXT. HIGHWAY 20
The Jeep continues through the gauntlet of vehicles, speeding up once it reaches an open stretch of highway.
Within a tree hanging over the highway, ZURI’s (30s) eyes appear in the night and follow the Jeep as it passes beneath.
More sets of eyes appear across all of the trees... YELLOW- MASKED LOOKOUTS.
Zuri climbs down the tree with the utmost ease. Over her face she wears a yellow neck gaiter. On her back is a bow and quiver of arrows. Slung to her side is her sleeping ten-month- old baby, MILES.
The other Yellow-masked Lookouts emerge from the trees on each side of the highway. Twenty-five in all: men, women, and children. Many are topless. Some wear jeans, others wear shorts, skirts... any article of clothing they wear has been dyed yellow.
Each of their faces is concealed by variations of YELLOW MASKS. One woman wears a mustard-colored surgical mask; a child wears a gas mask splattered with goldenrod paint.
Each adult carries light weaponry: a bow, a knife, a machete, a hatchet, or some variation thereof.
One child, four years old, starts a game of tag with another child of similar age. They horse around until a tall man in a leather mask redirects them.
Zuri walks after the Jeep with the other Yellow-masked Lookouts.
EXT. YELLOW-MASKED CAMP - NIGHT
A large fire burns near a shelter under construction, fifty feet from the shoulder of Highway 20. The shelter stands twenty feet tall and twenty feet wide, but its skeleton extends over 300 feet in length--a longhouse.
Thirty YELLOW-MASKED EXTRAS continue to work on the shelter, tasks away from the fire guided by torches and lanterns.
Other Yellow-masked Extras gather around the fire, standing, or sitting on tree stumps. One man stirs a cauldron over the flame, steam billowing past him and into the sky. He waits for a woman to dump a container of paint shavings into the cauldron, then continues stirring. After he stirs, he ladles the cauldron’s contents into empty containers, which he then passes to another man, who proceeds to fill empty, yet unclean syringes.
Whatever their task may be, all Yellow-masked Extras (from beneath their own specific masks) turn their eyes toward the Jeep as it pulls up.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT
Reyn parks on the side of the highway. She takes a deep breath as she watches Yellow-masked Extras surround the Jeep.
One child standing in the headlights waves at Reyn. Reyn hesitates at first... she looks to Francine to see if she’s watching (she isn’t)... but then quickly waves back.
Reyn shakes Francine’s shoulder. Francine comes back to the present.
EXT. YELLOW-MASKED CAMP - NIGHT
JOHN (30s) and TREV (30s) emerge from the shelter. Leaders, they’re escorted to the Jeep by Yellow-masked Extras.
John is tall, shirtless, his torso fit. He wears a sleek yellow mask made of carbon fiber, upon which black serpents have been painted.
Trev is shirtless as well; he’s taller than John, brawnier, furrier. He wears a marigold welding mask with black specks on its cheeks shaped like teeth. In his hand is a semi- automatic PISTOL.
Yellow-masked kids playing nearby accidentally kick their tattered yellow ball onto the path, right in front of John.
Trev walks over the ball.
John stops. The kids approach.
I'm sorry, Chief.
John casually flips the ball in the air with his feet, into the hands of the Yellow-masked Kid.
(waves off apology):
Save a spot for me in the morning match, yeah?
The Yellow-masked Kid nods emphatically. Annoyed, Trev waves John forward.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT
Reyn stares at the pistol in Trev’s hand. She waves to get her mother’s attention. In ASL (as they always will be when they speak, unless noted), SUBTITLED:
They have a gun.
Francine nods.
(cont'd):
What do we do? (beat) Mom, what do we do?
John and Trev walk within ten feet of the Jeep.
Roll my window down. Shut the car off.
Reyn obeys. The headlights go out. The taillights go out. There’s only moonlight, and the light from the flames throughout camp: the fire, the torches, the lanterns.
ALL SOUND FADES, until we’re experiencing the world as Reyn does and SOUND IS GONE ENTIRELY.
Not a word, not a breath.
Reyn looks at Francine, who turns toward the open passenger window, through which all that can be seen is John’s torso. Francine’s mouth moves. Her hands move. She speaks, and speaks, and speaks.
Reyn glances through the windshield at the Yellow-masked Extras. Some laugh at something... a joke, a remark. Others stand rigidly, posturing.
Reyn looks back at her mother, at the passenger window. John crouches so that his masked face is visible, rather than his torso. His mask moves with his mouth as he speaks. Through the holes in his mask his eyes can be seen. Dark but soft, gentle-seeming.
Trev walks along the front of the car, looking at Reyn as he gets closer and closer to the driver’s side. The pistol looks so small in his hand.
Reyn tracks him with her eyes. Francine shakes her head.
John stands. Says something that makes Trev stop. Trev turns to argue...
Francine turns to Reyn. Signs (SUBTITLED):
Stop looking at them, Reyn. Don’t look at either of them anymore. Do you understand?
Reyn nods and keeps her eyes down, on the dried blood stain on the driver’s seat. The stain is small, faint, positioned right in front of her groin, a months-old product. She keeps her eyes on the stain... and the stain keeps its eyes on her until...
She glances up to see Trev walking back toward John, shaking his head.
John crouches once more at the passenger window. He and Francine talk.
John points to the shelter behind him. Francine shakes her head and points behind her, toward the Jeep’s back seat. John turns to consult with Trev. Trev nods, and John rises. They walk to the back doors of the Jeep.
Francine turns to Reyn.
This will be over quickly. Please, keep your eyes closed.
The Jeep’s interior light TURNS ON as Francine opens the passenger door and steps out.
Reyn quickly raps her knuckles on the dashboard. Francine doesn’t want to look at Reyn, but she eventually does.
What’s happening? Where are going?
Just keep your eyes closed.
Reyn reaches for her mother, but it’s too late. Francine shuts the passenger door. The Jeep’s interior light TURNS OFF.
The Jeep’s interior light TURNS BACK ON when Francine opens the back passenger door. Reyn turns.
(cont'd):
Turn around! Close your eyes!
Reyn turns around but does not close her eyes. She spots Zuri as she pushes her way to the front of the crowd. They briefly make eye contact.
In the rearview mirror Reyn watches Francine hand the duffel bag to a Yellow-masked Extra standing outside of the Jeep, who then walks the duffel bag away, toward the fire.
John and Trev step into the Jeep and sit down. They’re naked, save for the masks still over their faces.
Francine then enters the Jeep, naked. She climbs over Trev’s lap, to the middle seat, and sits. She finds Reyn’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
(cont'd):
Lock the doors. Close your eyes. Please.
The Jeep’s back doors shut. Its interior light TURNS OFF.
Reyn watches as Francine’s eyes leave the rearview mirror, as Francine starts having sex with John and Trev.
Reyn looks away, through the windshield, out the driver’s side window. Small crowds of Yellow-masked Extras close in while others hang back...and others walk away entirely, into the night, upset with what’s unfolding in front of them.
The Jeep SWAYS as the backseat sex intensifies. Reyn locks the doors. Closes her eyes.
INT. REYN’S HOUSE - AFTERNOON (FLASHBACK, NO SOUND)
Reyn (11), well-dressed, clean, slowly walks along the wall of the upstairs hallway. The walls are old; the carpet is old; the house is tidy but just old, on the cusp of descent.
Reyn turns down a secondary hallway that leads to the primary bedroom. It’s there, in the corner closest to the window, that Francine sits, at her vanity, her back to the hallway.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT (NO SOUND)
Reyn keeps her eyes shut. The Jeep sways.
INT. REYN’S HOUSE - AFTERNOON (FLASHBACK, NO SOUND, CONT’D)
Reyn continues walking, stopping at the doorway of the primary bedroom seconds later to watch her mother put makeup on. Francine’s hand is steady, her face full, healthy, alive.
She watches for seconds, until Francine finds Reyn in the vanity mirror’s reflection.
(smiling into the mirror):
I love you.
I love you, too.
Francine frames her face with her hands.
(into the mirror):
Do you think he'll like it?
Reyn smiles, nods.
Francine turns to Reyn. Her eyes widen with excitement.
(cont'd):
Sounds like your dad's here.
Reyn turns and RUNS down the hallway, and RUNS down the stairs, to the house’s entryway. She turns the corner and there stands CARL. Carl is in his 40s, grey in his beard, and wears a bandana over his hair. He’s beaming as Reyn JUMPS over the last three remaining stairs and SPRINTS to hug him.
In Carl’s hand is a bouquet of flowers. The outside of the tag secured to the bouquet says, “Happy Anniversary”.
Still hugging him, Reyn tilts her head so she can stare up at her father’s face. Carl looks down at her and smiles. They speak in ASL, too (SUBTITLED).
I missed you today.
How could you not?
Carl laughs. He lets go of the hug. He hands Reyn the bouquet while he takes off his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack by the door. Beneath his jacket is his oil-splattered chef’s coat.
Reyn smells the bouquet.
Beautiful.
Carl quickly turns around to look at the staircase. He taps Reyn’s shoulder so that she can do the same.
Reyn turns to see Francine descending the stairs. She wears a gorgeous dress and heels.
Reyn and Carl are captivated.
Francine’s mouth moves... she’s speaking. Reyn looks to her father, whose mouth moves, too. They speak to one another as Francine steps off the staircase’s last step.
Carl takes the bouquet back and starts toward has stopped in the middle of the room.
Francine continues to speak. As she does, she twirl, at which they all laugh.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT (NO SOUND)
Reyn’s eyes are closed. The Jeep SWAYS, and BOUNCES, and SHAKES, in part because of the rough sex in the Jeep’s backseat, but more so because a few Yellow-masked Extras SLAP their hands on the Jeep’s hood and quarter panels, beating it like a drum. Others ROCK it from side to side.
Reyn opens her eyes.
DRE and YERRICK, two wiry and opportunistic Yellow-masked men in their early 20s, stare through the driver’s side window, directly at Reyn. They start trying to open the door.
In front of the Jeep, Yellow-masked Extras dance, stomping left-right-left-right-left, arms flailing.
Zuri approaches and SHOVES Dre and Yerrick away from the Jeep.
EXT. YELLOW-MASKED CAMP - NIGHT
SOUND RETURNS as Dre and Yerrick gather themselves. They speak over the chanting of the crowd.
What the fuck?
Can't you see that she is terrified?
Terrified of every inch we’re about to give her.
Every inch.
Jostled awake by the action, Miles starts crying.
Dre draws a knife.
I don’t care who his father was. Put your hands on me one more time, Zuri, and I’ll stick this whole fucking knife in your throat.
Dre advances toward Zuri, but ARRA (a towering, muscular woman in her 20s) steps between, her tomahawk drawn. She’s a whole head taller than Dre, bulkier in every way.
Before you do that, you’ll have to get through me. And we all know how that’ll go, don’t we?
Fuck off, Arra.
This has nothing to do with your big ass.
When a little pissant like you talks to a woman like her with such disrespect, it has a whole lot to do with me. Have you forgotten who this woman is?
Zuri walks off as she works to quiet Miles.
(O.S., to Zuri):
It’ll be handle and all, bitch, count on that.
(O.S.):
Handle and all!
Yeah, yeah, yeah, time for you to go find someone who’ll actually want the two inches you have to offer.
Zuri continues walking. In the background Arra shoves Yerrick and a quickly-dissolving scuffle breaks out.
(to Miles):
And I will see it coming from miles away.
Zuri walks by the Jeep. Briefly, she makes eye contact with John through the Jeep window, which slows her down. But then she keeps walking past the crowd, into the night, shushing Miles all the while.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT (NO SOUND)
Reyn turns and finds Francine’s eyes among the flesh in the backseat.
Francine can’t sign from her current position, so she mouths to Reyn:
Close. Your. Eyes.
Reyn turns back around. The shaking of the Jeep intensifies. She closes her eyes and everything GOES BLACK.
STAYS BLACK
(WITHOUT SOUND)
INT. JEEP - NIGHT (NO SOUND)
A glimpse of Carl.
TO BLACK
(WITHOUT SOUND)
A glimpse of Carl and Francine hugging.
Slow-dancing.
Laughing.
TO BLACK
(WITHOUT SOUND)
INT. JEEP - NIGHT
OVER BLACK...SOUND SLOWLY RETURNS... Car doors opening and closing; a fire crackling; the unzipping of bags; indistinct voices and their indistinct chatter.
Reyn opens her eyes. The interior light of the Jeep is on. Yellow-masked Extras no longer surround the Jeep. Some wander about, chatting with one another, while others have returned to their tasks.
Francine, clothed, extends her arm across the center console. In her hand is a bowl of soup. Reyn takes the steaming bowl and watches her mother pack eight cans of food into a stray canvas bag, alongside a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and then place that canvas bag in the backseat, beside their now- emptied duffel bag, six one-gallon milk jugs of gasoline, and a bundle of loaded syringes.
As Francine steps toward the passenger door, a Yellow-masked Extra approaches. He hands Francine a folded piece of paper and Francine quickly stuffs it into her jacket.
(Speaks to Extra):
Thank you.
The Yellow-masked Extra nods and turns around. Francine sits, adjusts herself in the passenger seat and shuts the door. The interior light begins to go out; she looks exhausted, broken.
But then, right before the light entirely goes out, she opens the door again so her hands are lit and visible.
(Signs to Reyn):
They asked for you, and I wouldn’t let them. I’ll never let them. Okay?
Reyn nods. Francine shuts the door. The light goes out. Francine stares ahead. Reyn reaches to put her hand on her mother’s hand, but Francine pulls away. Francine sobs.
(cont'd):
Just drive, please.
Reyn nods. She turns the Jeep around and drives away from the Yellow-masked Camp, back toward where they came.
EXT. HIGHWAY 20 - NIGHT
From her position in the tree, Zuri watches the Jeep pick up speed. She hums “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole to Miles.
Below, she sees Arra approaching her own tree. They make eye contact. Nod.
Zuri starts to whisper sing to Miles.
(whisper singing):
Someday I’ll wish upon a star / Wake up where the clouds are far behind me / Where trouble melts like lemon drops / High above the chimney tops that’s where you’ll find me, oh / Somewhere over the rainbow / Bluebirds fly / And the dream that you dare to / Oh why, oh why can’t I?
The Jeep takes a curve offscreen.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT (DRIVING)
Francine ties off her arm and readies a syringe. Reyn glances from the road to the syringe and back.
Francine injects the entire syringe. It takes only seconds for the effects to take hold: dead eyes, a tiny grin, limp limbs.
Reyn watches her mother ease the syringe out of her arm and grab for another one from the bundle.
(driving):
Mom, stop.
Francine doesn’t see Reyn’s hands. Reyn RAPS her knuckles on the dashboard. Slowly, Francine turns her head.
(cont'd)
(driving):
Too much.
(speaks):
What do you know?
(driving):
Too much.
(driving):
I’ll only do some of it, calm down, would you?
Francine ties off her other arm and inserts the needle. Frustrated, Reyn watches as she injects just under half of the second syringe.
Francine blisses out, but only for seconds before her breathing becomes labored. The labored breaths becomes gasps for air.
SOUND CUTS OUT.
Reyn has no idea that Francine is having trouble breathing.
Reyn has no idea that there’s any trouble at all... until Reyn sees Francine convulsing.
SOUND COMES BACK.
EXT. OVERPASS, MONROE - NIGHT
The Jeep comes to a SCREECHING halt, among abandoned vehicles.
Reyn hurries out from the driver’s side and to the passenger side. She opens the door.
As Francine convulses, Reyn waits for the perfect moment to pull the syringe out of her arm...
And there it is: out the syringe comes.
Then Reyn grips Francine’s arm and pulls her out of the Jeep. Francine crashes onto the asphalt.
Reyn grabs from the glove compartment a bundle of rubberbanded tongue depressors. She takes one from the bundle and forces it between Francine’s teeth. Then, Reyn rolls her mother onto her side and holds her there, waiting this out...
She holds...
And holds...
Until Francine loses consciousness.
INT. VITRI’S HOUSE - DAWN
Three framed photographs hang on the wall over the staircase, draped in sunlight coming in through the open back door.
The first photograph: Vitri and Marie on their wedding day.
The second: Vitri and Marie standing on the deck of a riverboat. On the boat’s side: AMERICAN QUEEN.
The third: Landon as a baby.
We stay on these photographs as offscreen there are FOOTSTEPS. Labored BREATHING. The THUD of a dead body being dropped on the floor.
Vitri enters the frame, bandana around his neck, and then walks offscreen, up the staircase.
More of Vitri’s FOOTSTEPS, becoming gradually distant, muffled. The sound of him OPENING and CLOSING drawers. The sound of him STRAINING...to reach, to grab. The sound of latches being UNLATCHED.
The sound of paper UNFOLDING.
Silence as we still stay on the photographs.
Vitri’s footsteps draw nearer, until he walks back into the frame, an orange pistol case in his hand. We follow as he walks through the kitchen, to the:
LIVING ROOM
Vitri shuffles past Landon and Marie, whom he has placed on the floor. He sets the pistol case on the coffee table and sits on the couch.
You’ve always been good at hiding things, so I’m gonna guess you wanted me to find this.
Vitri pulls a note from the pistol case.
(cont'd)
(reading):
In case things get worse. With love, Carmen.
Vitri folds the note and puts it into his shirt pocket.
(cont'd):
That’s just great. (rubbing his tired eyes). I thought we’d turned a corner. I thought that for the first time in a long time we were on the same page. But... I guess not. I guess... you know what I thought of first, when I saw that pistol case, when I read your little note on the door? You know who? Dr. Johansson. I thought about all those times she’d looked me in the eye and told me that it was me who wasn’t communicating directly... But you know what... (stands, paces) It’s... it’s fine. It’s fine that you saw no way out. I wish you would’ve talked to me, but it’s fine. It’s fine. I understand. But why him? We weren’t without hope, Marie. Landon wasn’t without hope.
Vitri walks to Landon. He kneels beside him and runs his hand through his hair. Kisses him on the forehead.
Then, Vitri stands. He stares at his dead wife.
(cont'd):
I’m going to drive to Tallahassee, you know. I’m going to find your sister, I’m going to sit her down, and I’m going to tell her what you did. I’m going to tell her what she helped you do. And then, I don’t know. I don’t know what happens next. Maybe I’ll kill her. Or maybe I’ll give her a hug. I don’t know.
Vitri walks into the kitchen and looks through cupboards until he finds a small bottle of lighter fluid. Upon returning to the living room, Vitri opens the bottle’s top and douses Marie with it, but not Landon.
(cont'd)
(V.O.):
I just don’t know.
He continues to the kitchen, squeezing the bottle of fluid as he goes. He starts up the stairs, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing. From the middle stair he arcs the stream of lighter fluid up and over the top stair.
Momentarily, he stops. He stares at the third photograph on the wall--the photo of Landon as a baby--and eventually takes it off of its hook.
Back down the stairs Vitri goes, to the kitchen, where he places the photograph into an open backpack on the counter. He walks to the fridge and pulls from its door a handwritten note that says, “Carmen’s new address: 872 East Juniper Grove, Tallahassee, Florida.” Marie’s handwriting; the same that’d been on the front door note.
He places the note into his pocket. From the drawer to the right of the fridge, Vitri takes matchbooks and lighters, shoving them all into his pockets. He tosses pill bottles from the same drawer into his backpack, zips the backpack shut, and slings it over his shoulders.
Vitri takes one step toward the living room, but stops. Looks at his wedding band. Studies it.
Quickly, he takes the band off and sets it on the counter. And there it sits, staring back at Vitri...
... just as quickly as he’d set it down, Vitri grabs the band and places it back over his finger.
He backs his way into the living room once more, continuing his dousing of the floors and furniture with lighter fluid. He reaches the front door and stares at his family one last time before opening it and backing his way out.
He arcs lighter fluid onto the overgrown lawn.
I/E. VITRI’S TRUCK - LATER (DRIVING)
Vitri drives his truck down a residential street. Through the truck’s back window a thick stream of smoke billows into the sky... his house, on fire.
I/E. VITRI’S TRUCK - LATER (DRIVING)
The land looks sick: waves of yellows and browns and greys. Trees empty of leaves. Shriveled crops.
In the sunlight, Vitri looks just as sick as the land. His skin is pale, clammy, smudged with dirt. He squints his heavy, heavy eyes.
Vitri’s truck passes abandoned homes and their properties.
It passes the “LEAVING WACO” sign.
An eighth of a tank of gas remains. Two pistols lie on the bench seat of the truck: the black 9mm and the silver .22. Vitri’s full backpack sits on the truck’s floor.
Vitri’s eyes largely stay on the road but occasionally drift down, to the note he’s taped over his gauges. He looks exhausted.
(patting his cheek to keep himself awake):
Eight-seven-two, east Juniper Grove. Tallahassee, Florida. Talla- hassee, Flor-i-da. Eight-seven-two, east Juniper Grove.
Ahead in the road is an incline. Vitri accelerates. The truck struggles.
(cont'd):
Come on, come on, come on.
Vitri grits his teeth. The engine REVS.
Vitri growls victory as the truck surmounts the hill.
(cont'd):
Eight-seven-two, east Juniper Grove. Eight-seven-two, east Juniper Grove. (to the photo) I’m coming to you, Carmen. I am. Coming. To you. (whisper sings) You come and go, you come and go, Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon.
EXT. RURAL ROAD, EAST TEXAS - LATER
Vitri’s truck runs out of gas.
Vitri stuffs each pistol into his waistband, then reaches across the seat to grab his backpack. From the dash he takes the note and into the backpack’s front pocket it goes.
He situates the bandana over his nose and mouth, shuts the truck door and starts walking on the shoulder of the road.
EXT. OVERPASS, MONROE - DAWN
Reyn sits in the passenger seat of the Jeep, door open, interior light on. Francine still lies on the road, unconscious.
Reyn stares ahead until she sees her mother stir. She steps down from the Jeep.
(babbles):
Glenwood. Gotta save all them babies. Take us to Glenwood, Reyn. Gotta go to Glenwood.
Reyn works hard to help her mother stand.
(cont'd)
(speaks):
You hear me, baby girl? Glenwood!
Skinny as Francine is, her dead weight is too much for Reyn. They tumble to the asphalt. Reyn stands, and stares down at her mother; Francine has urinated, and Reyn now has urine on her hands.
Why won’t you help me!? Mom, please! Just help me.
Francine turns to her side and shuts her eyes.
Reyn kneels beside Francine and SCREAMS as she shoves her in the back.
Please just help me.
Reyn shoves Francine’s back once more. Starts crying.
Then, she lies down on the asphalt, behind Francine. She drapes her arms over her mother and sobs into her back.
EXT. OVERPASS, MONROE - LATER
Francine still lies on the asphalt, asleep.
Reyn sits in the driver’s seat of the Jeep, her door open, looking over the messages on the dashboard. She focuses on a small group of them, beside finished games of Tic-tac-toe: in Reyn’s handwriting it reads, “Go to Dad?” and in Francine’s handwriting the response reads, “Fuck him”.
In response to that, in Reyn’s handwriting, “No one else.”
Francine pushes herself off of the asphalt. Wobbly, she makes her way to the Jeep. Reyn makes no move to help her. Francine sits in the passenger seat and touches her hand to her head, where she’d scraped it on the road.
Without looking her way, Reyn hands her a canister of water.
Thank you. (beat) You okay?
No. Are you?
No. (beat) I’m sorry.
Reyn nods, her eyes still forward.
(rubbing her temples) Let’s go to Glenwood.
We were there two days ago.
I just want to look at something.
Look at what?
Francine shuts her door.
Just drive, Reyn.
Reyn SLAMS her door, turns the Jeep on, and drives them away from the overpass.
I/E. JEEP / GLENWOOD REGIONAL HOSPITAL - MORNING
Reyn parks the Jeep in the ambulance lane. Francine stares out the passenger window at the hospital entrance. Annoyed, Reyn raps her knuckles on the dashboard to get her attention.
This is it, right?
Francine nods. She takes a swig of water, then reaches for an empty duffel bag from the backseat. Before opening the door and exiting the Jeep, Francine puts on a sweatshirt, then her jacket.
Shouldn’t take long. I picked it pretty clean last time.
Reyn nods. Francine shuts the Jeep door and walks toward the hospital entrance: a gaping hole in a once-automatic glass door.
Reyn looks at the Jeep’s clock: 6:57am. She sighs and shuts the Jeep off.
Before stepping through the hospital entrance dozens of feet away, Francine turns around. She faces the Jeep and finds Reyn’s eyes.
(cont'd):
I love you.
(as fed as up as she is...):
I love you, too.
TIME PASSES
On Reyn’s lap is an issue of TIME Magazine. September 19th, Peace at Last” the front cover says, with the subtitle: “How the U.S. Navigated the Iranian Conflict”.
Pictured on the cover is a battleship. On the topmost deck, service members hold their arms high in celebration. In the distance is the coastline, an elevated city with clay buildings aflame, thick grey streams of smoke unraveling into the sky.
The issue is well worn. Reyn flips through its pages quickly, in search of something.
When she doesn’t find it, she shakes her head, and swaps the “Peace at Last” issue with another issue of TIME from beneath the driver’s seat. This issue’s front cover says, “What Apocalypse?”. April 14th, Pictured is an enormous drill under construction, with a “Vance Steel” logo on its side. The drill is so big that the people working on it look like ants on a log.
But there it is, what Reyn has been looking for: the postcard. “Greetings from Idaho”. Reyn keeps the postcard in her hand and returns the issue atop the rest of her collection beneath the driver’s seat.
Reyn looks at the front of the postcard, but soon flips it over. On the back, letters written carefully: “I love you, Reyn. I’m sorry. XOXO. Love, your father.”
I/E. REYN’S HOUSE - MIDDAY - FLASHBACK
Reyn stands at the mailbox, staring at the same postcard for the first time.
NEIGHBORS pack their vehicles. They go in and out of their houses at a pace just slower than chaos.
Reyn turns from the mailbox and walks up her driveway, staring at the postcard all the while. She climbs the porch steps and enters through the front door.
The lower level of the house is bright, with all of the blinds open. Nothing is out of place. Nothing is being packed into suitcases or boxes.
Reyn walks upstairs, where all blinds are closed, and into the primary bedroom. In the corner is Francine’s vanity. And in the bed, covers to chin, lies Francine.
Reyn hands the postcard to her.
Where’d you get this?
The mailbox.
Mail’s still coming?
I guess.
Francine shakes her head as she hands the postcard back to Reyn.
I know what you’re thinking and the answer’s no.
Why not?
Just no.
All I’m saying is that there’s a place where we could go, away from here.
What’s there to say we’d be better off in goddamn Ida-whatever? What’s there to say he’s even there?
Can’t be worse.
The lights will come back on soon, you’ll see.
I think it’s time for us to go.
Did I ask for your input?
Frustrated, Reyn turns around and walks out of the bedroom, down the stairs and back into the light.
(O.S.)
(cont'd)
(speaks):
Life isn’t about running away, baby girl. It’s about holding on. Just wait. You’ll see. Just watch. You’ll see.
I/E. REYN’S HOUSE - NIGHT - CONTINUE FLASHBACK
NO SOUND as Reyn sits on the living room floor and reads from an issue of National Geographic, words and images lit by candlelight and flashlight.
SOUND FADES IN as outside there are SHRIEKS and GASPS. Cars STARTING. Doors CLOSING. Metal SCRAPING metal.
Unaware, Reyn casually flips a page.
Francine hustles down the stairs.
(speaks):
Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.
She steps into Reyn’s peripheral vision and waves her arms.
(signs):
We have to go.
Where?
(speaks):
I have no idea. (signs) Go, now.
I asked you where.
We have to go right fucking now, Reyn!
Francine sprints into the kitchen. Reyn jogs after her. Francine snags the Jeep’s keys while Reyn looks for things nearby to grab. She spots the postcard from her father magneted to the fridge.
(cont'd):
Come on, girl, come on, come on, come on!
Reyn grabs the postcard and follows her mother through the back door and toward the Jeep parked in their driveway. The neighborhood is in flight. Neighbors hurry everywhere. They toss things into the backs of their vehicles. They SQUEAL their tires as they take off toward whatever’s next.
Up the street Reyn sees six MASKED EXTRAS walking through a neighboring front yard and to the side of a large home. Masks of all different shapes and sizes and colors. She watches some BUST windows and climb through, tossing items of interest out. She watches others RAPPEL from the roof and SCRAPE paint from the house’s siding.
Across the street from that home: another team of Masked Extras does the exact same thing.
(cont'd):
Goddammit, Reyn, come on.
Francine walks to Reyn, grabs her by the shoulders and directs her to the Jeep. They climb in.
Francine starts the Jeep and STOMPS on the gas pedal to back out of the driveway.
INT. JEEP - MORNING
Reyn waves the postcard back and forth, like she always does; a tic, that same search for calm.
EXT. GREENWOOD REGIONAL HOSPITAL - LATER
A lone pigeon bobs down the sidewalk, pecking at debris as the breeze tumbles it by. The way it moves hints at injury, the majority of its weight on one leg.
The pigeon stops and thrashes its head in a series of diagonals. After the thrashing has calmed, off it goes again, chasing the debris.
INT. JEEP - LATER
Reyn sighs... Reyn bounces her leg... Reyn taps her fingernails on the center console... She turns the Jeep’s keys enough to see the time it shows on the clock: 9:13.
She can’t keep her worried eyes off of the hospital’s entrance.
INT. GLENWOOD REGIONAL HOSPITAL - LATER
SOUND FADES OUT as...
Reyn warily steps through the entrance and comes to two forking hallways, each of which is strewn with loose stacks of DEAD BODIES.
There’s a small path between stacks to walk upon, an arm here and there to step over. Syringes strewn down each path.
Reyn VOMITS. Once she gathers herself, she shields her mouth and nose with the neck of her sweatshirt, then walks down the path of the left hallway: the hallway that holds more light.
Head up, eyes up, she passes examination room after examination room, each with their door partially open, with shotgun holes where doorknobs once were.
Reyn tries to peek in one room, but can’t open the door; on the other side, multiple bodies have been stacked against it.
She advances and opens the door of the next room. Jars that once held tongue depressors and cotton balls are shattered on the ground. Fingernail marks on the cushion of the exam table. No bodies, no people, no sign of her mother.
Reyn continues down the hallway. At the hallway’s end, adjacent to a pair of elevators, is a doorway cleared of bodies. Gone is the floor directory that once hung beside it.
Reyn opens the door and dim light from the hallway seeps into the dark stairwell, a breath long enough to see the staircase, and wide enough to see that ten feet from the bottom step squats... a GLENWOOD SCAVENGER... a naked man with his back to Reyn. He is emaciated, and his eggshell skin, scraggly hair and massive beard make it hard to tell his age.
Diarrhea SPLATTERS onto the tile beneath him, onto the blue and pink baby blankets wrapped around his feet. The Glenwood Scavenger twists at the torso, rotates his gaunt face toward Reyn. Deep within that beard are his lips, and those lips are moving, saying something.
But Reyn focuses on the bloody scalpel in the Glenwood Scavenger’s hand, and...
She lets go of the door and SPRINTS up the stairs, away from the light. SPRINTS-SPRINTS-SPRINTS, the stairwell growing darker and darker as she goes, as she tackles another flight, her hand dragging across the wall, hoping to find a door handle.
Once she does, she quickly FLINGS the door open and steps into a hallway just as dark, save for a haze of daylight at its end. Fewer bodies line this hallway, but they’re there.
Again, Reyn extends her arm to the wall and feels her way forward, through the darkness, picking up her pace as she becomes acclimated. Every few steps, she turns around to see how close the Glenwood Scavenger really is. She steps faster and faster, until...
she TRIPS on a bedpan. Liquid SPLASHES onto her neck, onto her sweatshirt, and Reyn GAGS. She fights through it, quickly stands and sprints to the hallway’s end.
Light at the end of this hallway, Reyn discovers, comes from the windows of an adjoining hallway. On those windows, on the bits of walls between, are streaks of blood. Red handprints.
Reyn finds an intact floor directory by the door marking another stairwell. There are four floors. She’s on the third.
Reyn looks closer at the handprints, at the streaks. Still slick. She follows the handprints to the floor. There are more bloody handprints on the tile, more streaks.
Reyn follows the trail down the hallway, which grows thicker as she approaches an open door. She looks up. To the left, behind a wall of glass, are premature newborns still bundled in their blankets, some faces nearer to skeletons than others but most like mush, flesh caving in. Some lie in bassinets, while others lie in giraffe beds or incubators... untouched, in rows, save for two that are on the ground, naked, their blankets covering the feet of the Glenwood Scavenger.
The trail of blood extends further into the room, past the first row of babies, past the second, and proceeds into a curve, which Reyn follows.
There, at the end of it, lies Francine, curled. There’s blood all over her neck and chest, smeared across her face.
Reyn hurries to her mother. There are multiple punctures to her neck and lower throat. The Glenwood Scavenger is no surgeon; bleeding out took time.
Reyn taps Francine’s shoulder. She places her hand against her cheek. She spots in her mother’s hand a folded, blood- smeared piece of paper--what she’d been given by a Yellow- masked Extra. She grabs it, unfolds it, and discovers that it is a road map of the United States.
A route from Louisiana to Idaho has been shaded.
Reyn looks from the map, to the floor, to the blood, to her mother’s face, to the hoisted babies, to the glass enclosing all of this. Her mouth quivers at the weight of it all.
But, as she sees the presence of the Glenwood Scavenger fracture the light in the hallway, she knows her last moment with her mother has come to an end.
Reyn kisses Francine on the head and, map still in hand, sprints out of the room, back into the hallway and to the door of a different stairwell. She opens the door and is gone.
The Glenwood Scavenger limps past several seconds later, scalpel still in hand, and opens the same stairwell door.
The door closes.
I/E. MEADOW - MORNING (SOUND RETURNS)
John, wearing his mask, sits on a tree stump within a clearing, surrounded by wild grasses and flowers. Feet from him is another tree stump. Empty.
He stands and adjusts the empty tree stump so that it’s closer to the one he was just sitting upon. He moves it a little further away. Then back again. There, just right.
Offscreen, we hear FOOTSTEPS, GRASS SWISHING, CHATTER.
John sits as a Yellow-masked Extra escorts Zuri, who has Miles slung to her side.
There’s my sweet boy.
Miles coos. Zuri lifts Miles from the sling and hands him to John.
John bounces Miles on his knee. Bounces and bounces. Miles puts his hands on John’s mask. John gently brings Miles’ hands down, away from the mask.
(cont'd)
(laughing):
No, no, that stays on. (to Yellow- masked Extra) You’re dismissed, thank you.
The Yellow-masked Extra nods, then turns and walks away.
Zuri slides the neck gaiter off of her nose and mouth, then her bow and arrows.
Won’t even let your nephew see your face now?
Zuri sits on the stump John just adjusted. John sits as well, and helps Miles stand on his knee.
The mask comes off only in private and only after sundown. You know that better than anyone.
There was only one rule that Abner and I couldn’t settle upon for chief, and that was it. ‘It makes you less human,’ I’d say. (with deep, imitative voice) ‘But it sets a tone, Zuri, don’t you see?’ A silly tone, that’s what it sets. Idiotic.
(to Miles):
Your father was no idiot now, was he?
Don’t you fill his head with that, don’t you dare. I did not say that. I do not think that, and I sure as hell don’t want my son growing up convinced that I do.
Okay. Fair enough. (beat) I’d be lying, though, if I said that lately it felt like I knew what you were thinking at all, sister.
Here it comes.
We used to meet like this once a week, sometimes twice. And now it’s come to this...to me summoning you.
To my favorite place in the world, no less.
(points):
You used to catch frogs right over there, I remember.
(points elsewhere):
And you used to flap your wings like the birds over there.
Such suckers for the sentimental.
I do still love it here.
Can that be expected moving forward...the summoning?
What does it matter? I’m here.
You’re my sister. It matters.
Zuri breaks eye contact.
Miles starts fussing. John hands Miles to Zuri so she can nurse him.
Look, after everything went dark, Abner and I were just as lost as anyone else. We didn’t know how to live in the new world, but we felt in our bones that chaos wasn’t the answer. So we sought order. We found none. So we created it, and the people--our people--responded. They too had been lost. They too had spent months wandering. And they too were ready to take their faces out of it and put their hearts into--this, into creating a tribe that was as kind as it was strong. We worked together to make sure each and every move was done with intention, from the land upon which we live, to the colors that we now wear.
I was there, Zuri, nearly every step of the way. Do you forget that?
No. I know you were. I remember the morning you showed up; you were covered in ash.
Baton Rouge burned hot.
It did. The soles of your shoes had melted. I remember. And I remember how dedicated you were from the start, how eager you were to help.
Zuri switches Miles from one breast to the other.
(cont'd):
Which is why I’m eager to hear how you’ve come to justify your recent behavior.
My recent behavior?
Pointless raids on the Reds...
I wouldn’t call them pointless...
(interrupting):
...the dumping of resources into a shelter that won’t even hold half of our people...
There are plans for...
(interrupting):
...and then last night’s heroic display: fucking a junkie in front of her deaf daughter.
(clears throat):
It was commerce. Trade.
But you had to do that out in the open?
She insisted we do it there. I offered the shelter, she said no. I offered a tent, she said no.
When our people named you chief they did it because they saw something in you that they recognized. Something familiar, yet something only you could lead us toward. Hope. Joy. Happiness. But listen to me, John, when I say this: all those kids that love you, all those kids that adore you, they saw you do that. And how do you think women are feeling this morning, knowing behavior like that is now to be expected? How do you think it feels for them all to now have to look over their shoulders? (beat) This is not what Abner and I created. This is not how Abner led. And if he were here...
(interrupting):
Well, he’s not here. (beat) Abner is dead, and so is the vision the two of you shared.
Zuri goes to speak but stops herself.
(cont'd):
It was a beautiful vision. Gorgeous. Built upon a foundation of admirable ideals. And one that gave hope and purpose to many people in desperate need of it. For that, I, and so many others, are grateful. Truly grateful. But things have changed. The world has changed. Our land has changed. (points to the meadow) Save for tiny pockets just like this, the soil has turned. The game is sick. What once was swamp is becoming desert, and from those harsh conditions new enemies are sprouting, enemies whose tactics and capabilities far surpass that of the Reds. And it’s not just the planes we’ve seen over Shreveport-- these enemies extend far beyond that, and we know not what they look like, what they sound like, or how they move. Only that they are strong, and that they are insatiable. That is what our people face, Zuri. And the reality of the position to which I, not you, was elected following Abner’s death, is that I must do everything in my power to ensure our people have a future at all. If those sage eyes of yours really cannot see what lies ahead, then perhaps it’s time to appoint a new Head Lookout.
I heard Trev wanted the two of you to fuck the daughter, too.
(sighing):
I was never going to let that happen.
You say that now.
Trev may be my closest friend...
(interrupting):
And second-in-command.
...but we are not one and the same.
I should hope not.
All these years later, you’re still so hard on him, so unforgiving.
What has he done that’s deserving of forgiveness?
He cares deeply for our people.
Trev cares only for Trev, and that has been true since he was in diapers.
So...what? You’re suggesting I remove Trev’s status? Exile him? Have our people stone him to death? What?
I’m suggesting you do some self- reflection and get your shit together.
Tell me: how much longer do you intend to stay here?
What?
It’s all over your face; it’s in your voice; I see it; I hear it...You intend to leave. For months I’d chalked it up to grief, but now I understand that it’s much more than that, much more, that your grief has spilled over...into boredom, into anger. And beyond that, deeper than that, deep down in your gut, you’re full of resentment. So I ask again, how much longer do you intend to stay here? (Zuri’s silence is answer enough) Where will you take Miles?
(resigned, having been caught):
I don’t know. The gulf, maybe.
John stands. He paces.
(cont'd):
Or the mountains.
Far away then.
Yes, John. Far away.
Is there anything I can do to change your mind?
Raise my husband from the dead.
John’s mask reveals soft eyes.
(cont'd)
(misty-eyed):
You must hate me right now.
John crouches beside Zuri. Miles continues nursing.
If you must go, then you must go, and you should do so knowing that you’ll be protected as far as our eyes can see. But hate? No. There’s anger. Yes, a swell of it. I don’t want you to leave. It’s selfish of me, but I don’t. Trev isn’t as terrible as you make him out to be. He has thoughtful ideas for our people. He has visions, strategies. But he also isn’t you. (Looks at Miles) And without him, I’ll have far less joy in my life. Far, far less. But I know that it doesn’t matter what I want, and maybe that’s what makes me angriest. No, I don’t want you to leave. Of course I don’t. But perhaps you are right to do so. Perhaps you have outgrown this tribe, or it you. Because these people are not your people. Your people have deserted. Your people have starved. Your people may be kind, but they are weak. Unfit. And those that aren’t, those that have evolved as the world has demanded, those people are my people. They are strong, they are resilient, and they are adaptive. I take great honor in leading them. If there comes a day where your mind and your heart change, where you once again see this tribe as your own, you’ll be welcome within our territory, with open arms. Until that day, though, as Chief I order you to never speak to me again the way you’ve spoken to me today. If you do, or if I discover that you’ve breathed dissent into shared air, I promise you, sister, I will take your bow, and I will take your mask. I will raise Miles as my own and force you to wander this world, colorless and alone. Are we clear?
Zuri nods.
(cont'd):
Say it, Zuri. Are we clear?
Clear.
John lifts his mask enough to kiss Miles on the top of his head. He quickly pulls the mask back down and stands.
Zuri, still nursing Miles, watches John walk out of the clearing and into the wild grass, out of sight.
EXT. RURAL ROAD, EAST TEXAS - MIDDAY
Vitri walks on the shoulder of the road. The sun is high, searing. Vitri’s bandana has become a makeshift covering of his neck and forehead.
EXT. FIELDS, EAST TEXAS - LATER
Vitri walks through field...
...after field...
...after field.
EXT. CATTLE PEN - LATER
Vitri holds the bandana over his nose and mouth as he approaches the pen. Inside the pen: dead cattle. Eight in all, at different stages of decay. Picked off by starvation, based on those stages, on the sizes of their stomachs. Nearest to Vitri is the bull, head at an angle, one horn plugged into the dirt.
He crouches to get a better view of the bull.
EXT. FIELDS, EAST TEXAS - LATER
Vitri walks through more fields... .
..and more fields...
...and more still.
EXT. RURAL ROAD, EAST TEXAS - LATER
Out of breath, Vitri takes the pistols from his waistband and sets them in a wedge of shade provided by a hickory tree. He sets his backpack beside them and opens its largest pocket.
Inside: cans of food, bottles of water, a toothbrush, a spoon, granola bars, a change of underwear, a change of socks.
He grabs a mostly-eaten apple near the bottom of the backpack. He takes his canteen from its pocket on the side and takes just a sip.
Vitri takes a seat and with his pocketknife cuts a slice from the apple, eating it while surveying his surroundings. He contemplates eating another slice but thinks better of it.
As he goes to put the apple back, he nudges his backpack over. Small candles spill out. Vitri grabs them and goes to put them back into the bag, but stops.
He brings them close, breathes them in. Again, and again.
I/E. VITRI’S HOUSE - DUSK - FLASHBACK
BATHROOM
Those same candles burn on the bathroom counter. The shower is on. Marie stands behind a fogged shower door, beneath the water. “Big Bird in a Small Cage” by Patrick Watson plays from a speaker on the shower wall.
FRONT DOOR
Vitri stands on the porch, facing the front door. He’s heavier than he is in the present, his hair shorter. Clean- shaven. Wearing a tucked-in button-down shirt and holding a leather bag. His nametag is still on: “VITRI,” it says. And beneath it: “MANAGER”.
He takes a deep breath, then opens the door.
ENTRYWAY / LIVING ROOM / KITCHEN
Vitri closes the door behind him. In the living room, Landon plays a video game.
Hey.
(without looking away from the screen):
Hey.
How was school?
Fine.
Any homework?
Little bit.
Vitri looks at his watch.
(to himself):
Translation: a lot. (to Landon) Ten more minutes, then it’s crunch time.
Mom said I could play until 5:30.
(sighs):
And where is she?
Shower.
Vitri sets his bag in the kitchen and as he walks up the stairs...
(just can't help himself):
Ten minutes, kiddo!
As he reaches the top, he hears the music from the bathroom, though muffled. He hears the shower. Vitri presses his ear to the bathroom door. Listens to Marie hum along.
Vitri knocks.
(O.S.):
Landon?
It’s me.
(O.S.):
Come in.
Vitri opens the door. He looks at the candles on the counter. Searches for something to say.
We’re with Marie as she stares at the shower door, waiting.
Volume, down.
The speaker turns its volume down.
(cont'd)
(O.S.):
I’ve been thinking a lot about the other night.
What about it?
(O.S.):
What happened. The lies. My lies.
Yeah?
(O.S.):
How you must have felt.
I told you how it felt, V. It was scary. It was like the person I’ve been married to for sixteen years had vanished.
(O.S.):
I know.
Silence.
And then footsteps. Vitri opens the shower door. Marie partially covers herself; she’s too surprised to react in any other way.
(cont'd):
I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.
Marie eases. Vitri takes in her naked body.
Clothes and shoes still on, Vitri steps into the shower, shutting the door behind him.
He and Marie smile at how soaked he’s getting.
(cont'd):
I don’t want to fight you anymore.
They embrace beneath the water, swaying to the music.
Marie closes her eyes. They sway, and sway, and sway. And then...
The power goes out.
EXT. RURAL ROAD, EAST TEXAS
Vitri sobs.
He curls into the fetal position, clutching those candles. There’s a violence to his sobbing, a growl, a moan...
EXT. RURAL ROAD, EAST TEXAS - LATER
Vitri walks in silence. His eyes are red, swollen.
EXT. FIELDS, EAST TEXAS - AFTERNOON
Vitri stops when in the distance he hears an ENGINE. Vitri pulls the 9mm pistol from his waistband and drops to a crouch. From his position--at the crest of a gradual incline– Vitri sees a large beige Suburban turn onto the gravel road nearest to the field in which he crouches, 150 yards away.
Vitri watches as, without shutting it off, a stocky man exits the Suburban and walks up a path just off the road, away from Vitri’s position.
After a moment of contemplation, Vitri conceals his nose and mouth with the bandana, rises from his crouch and SPRINTS across the field between he and the Suburban.
When he’s within twenty yards of the vehicle, Vitri slows to a trot. And then to a walk, until he’s within arm’s reach of the driver’s side of the Suburban. The windows are open. Its body is rusted. There are dents, evidence of accidents. But no one is inside. There are no dead bodies, no weapons, no wood.
Vitri looks across the dirt road, at the path the man took. Behind the trunks of dead trees, Vitri can make out a freshly- painted sign that says “Hardware”. No signs of the man.
Vitri peers through the open SUV windows once more. Empty aluminum cans are strewn across the floor of the backseat. There’s a small metal can of gasoline.
Hanging from the rearview mirror is an air freshener and a faded, locket-sized picture of an elderly woman, its connecting string tangled.
Offscreen, the “Hardware” door CREAKS open and shut.
Vitri drops to a crouch near the back tire on the driver’s side of the Suburban, 9mm drawn.
He listens for the FOOTSTEPS on the gravel over the idling of the Suburban... locates them... coming directly at the Suburban’s passenger side, and then around the front bumper.
Vitri, still crouched, hurries his way to the back bumper, remaining out of sight.
The Suburban’s engine continues to IDLE.
Vitri crouches further and further, until he’s nearly on the ground. He looks beneath the Suburban. He sees large boots, worn and scuffed.
Vitri tries to control his breathing as he angles his arms for a clear shot.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT (DRIVING; NO SOUND)
The map is placed beside the Jeep’s gauges. A quarter tank of gas remains. The two red, five-gallon jugs are positioned on the floor of the passenger seat. On top of the seat is a note, which says: “I’m going to Idaho. I need gasoline. Please.”
EXT. HIGHWAY 20 - NIGHT
The Jeep weaves in and out of the same string of abandoned vehicles, past the same SHREVEPORT 14 sign.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT (DRIVING; NO SOUND)
Reyn takes a curve at a high clip of speed, but slows the Jeep as she spots the first pair of yellow-masked eyes, halfway up a tree.
EXT. HIGHWAY 20 - NIGHT
Zuri peers down from her tree, with Miles on her hip. Once she sees that Reyn drives alone, she hustles to the ground.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT (DRIVING; NO SOUND)
The Yellow-masked camp comes into view. Reyn slows the Jeep as she nears the shelter. Her hands tremble.
EXT. HIGHWAY 20 - NIGHT
Zuri hurries after the Jeep. Seconds later, the rest of the Lookouts reach the ground, including Arra.
EXT. YELLOW-MASKED CAMP - NIGHT
Yellow-masked Extras leave what they were doing to create a gauntlet around the Jeep, just like before. The same masks, the same torsos, the same tattoos, the same children horsing around, the masks they’ll grow into sliding all over their faces as they play.
New though is that against the shelter leans a motorcycle, flanked by tires, by assorted metals, by stacks and stacks of batteries and panels.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT (DRIVING; NO SOUND)
Reyn creeps forward as the gauntlet of Yellow-masked Extras closes in. She sees John and Trev emerge from the shelter. She takes a deep breath.
In the crowd, Reyn spots a MASKLESS BOY, four years old--the only one not wearing a mask. His face is deformed; his nose is small and flat; his eyes point inward.
Zuri walks along the driver’s side of the Jeep, making gestures with her hands that Reyn does not understand.
The gauntlet closes in further.
Reyn presses the brake. She takes another deep breath. Swallows what little saliva her mouth is producing. Her hand shakes as she reaches for the gearshift.
She can’t stop staring at the Maskless Boy. John and Trev get closer.
And Reyn’s foot slips.
The Jeep moves forward and runs over the foot of a YELLOW- MASKED CHILD.
The Jeep continues just a few feet before Reyn can press the brake.
The gauntlet shifts as the Yellow-masked Child falls to the ground, holding their foot. Some Yellow-masked Extras jog to the rear of the Jeep to tend to the child still on the road.
The Jeep starts to rock as Yellow-masked Extras angrily shove it from side to side.
EXT. YELLOW-MASKED CAMP - NIGHT
Zuri tries to get between the gauntlet and the Jeep.
Stop! Stop! It was an accident!
The gauntlet doesn’t listen and rushes past, and through, Zuri. Yellow-masked Extras bump into Miles. Miles starts to cry.
Zuri steps through the crowd, away from the Jeep.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT (NO SOUND)
Reyn turns to see one Yellow-masked Extra hit the passenger window with a crowbar. Another Yellow-masked Extra whacks their own crowbar against the driver’s side doors.
John steps in front of the Jeep. A Yellow-masked Extra steps forward and hands John their long-handled ax. The gauntlet, almost in unison, takes one step back from the Jeep.
EXT. YELLOW-MASKED CAMP - NIGHT
Zuri steps through the gauntlet, toward John.
It was an accident. You know it was a fucking accident!
Cause one of us pain, cause all of us pain. You know that.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT (NO SOUND)
Terrified, Reyn watches Zuri scream at John; watches John take his hand off of the ax’s handle and wave her forward, as if daring her to drive. But Reyn doesn’t. She’s frozen.
John power steps toward the Jeep, drawing momentum as he lifts the ax and brings its edge down on the Jeep’s hood.
Reyn instinctually ducks.
But the ax’s blade is stuck. Both of John’s hands are on the handle. His foot is on the bumper for leverage as he tries to pry it out of the Jeep.
Reyn stomps on the gas pedal.
John’s face slams onto the Jeep’s hood. Yellow-masked Extras dive out of the way as Reyn accelerates the Jeep through the gauntlet and off, down the highway, away from the camp.
John lifts his head. The right side of his mask is cracked. One plastic shard is deep into his cheek, a slim streak of blood trailing to his neck. But he remains, ax handle palmed, his grip strong enough not just to simply hold on, but to advance himself up the hood, toward the windshield.
Bursts of muzzle flash from the gauntlet fill each rearview mirror: guns being fired at the Jeep.
Reyn swerves the Jeep in an attempt to free herself from John. But it doesn’t work. She slams on the brakes. John slips momentarily but soon regains his grip. Through the crack in his mask, John gives Reyn the tiniest of smiles. He says something... shouts it.
Reyn presses the gas pedal further, harder. The steering wheel shakes in her hands.
More muzzle flashes in each mirror.
Reyn jerks the Jeep left, then right. Further, harder.
John’s grip is slipping...
Left again, right again, harder, sharper...
And down goes John, beneath the Jeep, legs first. The Jeep’s tires climb over his body.
EXT. YELLOW-MASKED CAMP - NIGHT
The gauntlet of Yellow-masked Extras watches John get run over. They MOAN and HOLLER in disbelief, then disband, chasing after the Jeep.
Zuri stays back, watching in shock. Trev steps forward, alongside of her.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT (DRIVING; NO SOUND)
The ax still sticks in the Jeep’s hood. There are more muzzle flashes in the rearview mirror as the gauntlet chases on foot.
Reyn finally lets out her breath, and then she’s hyperventilating.
INT. HAMMER’S HOUSE - NIGHT
HAMMER (40s, a good ol’ East Texas boy) holds a lantern over living room bookshelves caked in dust.
On the coffee table rots old food.
In the doorway of the connecting bathroom is an excrement drum with the lid partially off.
Dozens of car air fresheners hang from the walls and bookshelves, air fresheners of all scents: from spearmint to vanilla to coconut.
From one shelf Hammer pulls a cheap, half-completed book of crossword puzzles. Then another.
He searches a nearby shelf of hardback books and pulls from it a romance novel.
Hammer stuffs the books into his coat pockets and walks toward the kitchen, his steps loud, clomping, the soles of his boots--the same boots we saw near the “Hardware” Suburban- -scuffing the kitchen’s faux linoleum.
He opens a drawer near the dead fridge and pulls from it a few pieces of candy. He stuffs the candy in his jeans pockets and walks out the door. But he doesn’t shut it...
Hammer re-enters the kitchen and hurries to the same candy drawer. He extracts from it an entire pocketful of candy.
EXT. HAMMER’S HOUSE - LATER
Hammer walks across the yard, past the beige Suburban, and into the barn.
EXT. HAMMER’S HOUSE - LATER
The barn is illuminated by lanterns.
Vitri sits on the barn floor, against a wall, bandana loose around his neck.
We hear Hammer’s footsteps as he makes his way toward Vitri from offscreen. He walks to Vitri and hands him the crossword book and a pen. It takes him a moment longer to dig the romance novel out from his jacket. He hands it over.
You’ll have to forgive me, Freddie... I’m no reader, and my ma’s taste in books, well, it’s always been dogshit.
Hammer and Vitri smile. Vitri takes the book. On its cover, a buff man holds a thin woman in his arms.
(cont'd):
I imagine it can get mighty lonely out there on the road, so figured dogshit would be better than nothin’.
I appreciate that.
Hammer hands Vitri candy from his pocket.
You sure you’re good here in the barn? I meant it when I said you can take my bed for the night. I really don’t mind.
No, no, I’m great out here, Hammer. Thank you, for everything.
Hammer pops a hard candy into his mouth, then turns and makes his way across the barn aisle. He eases himself and his lantern to the floor, against an old stable door.
Shit, I’m the one who should be
thankin’ you.
EXT. FIELDS - AFTERNOON (FLASHBACK)
Vitri stands next to the idling Suburban, bandana over his nose and mouth, pistol drawn. Pointed at Hammer.
Hammer stands feet away, his arms in the air. He’s frozen. Within seconds, he urinates on himself.
(V.O.)
(cont'd):
You should’ve just killed me there. Deserved it, being that careless.
Vitri softens his draw, until his arm is slack and the pistol is by his side.
INT. HAMMER’S BARN - NIGHT
(cont'd):
Lucky for me that the one person I
run into out there is a good man, a moral man, a loyal officer of the law passing through east Texas. All the way from Santa Fe, by god.
Vitri nods. He clears his throat. Clears his throat again, creating more seconds for his brain to shore up the lies... or avoid them...
Well, lucky for me that the one person I run into after weeks on the road is as hospitable as they come.
Hold on now, don’t paint me out as a saint just yet. I don’t even know if I have the gas to get you all the way to Shreveport, much less Tallahassee.
Any distance will be just fine, Hammer.
Ma will appreciate the drive, that’s for sure, the change in scenery. You saw her earlier. Won’t know it by lookin’ at that blank face of hers, but I guess that’s the kind of shit I cling to nowadays.
What happened to her again?
Who the hell knows. Woman is stubborn as a mule; you’d have to twist both of her arms to go to the doc long before everything went dark. And now, well you know, good luck finding a doc, much less a doc with the right tools. (beat) I love her. I really do. And we get by. But goddamn is it tough, being depended upon like that, in a time like this.
I can imagine.
Fifteen months since the blackout now? Sixteen?
Nineteen. Nineteen months.
No shit. Time flies when all you have to do is survive, doesn’t it, Freddie?
Vitri nods. He puts a hard candy in his mouth.
(cont'd):
Anyway. She’ll like the drive in the morning. She’s always been fond of Shreveport. Fun town. Unrecognizable now. Red territory.
Red territory?
Hammer stares at Vitri.
Oh. You’re serious.
Vitri nods.
(cont'd):
Fella passing through told me that there are bands of ‘em as far west as Tucson, so I’d just assumed...
Vitri adjusts his posture. He clears his throat and goes to speak...but can’t find any words.
(cont'd):
Maybe the guy was a fuckin’ quack though, I don’t know.
What are they?
They’re nasty is what they are. Real fuckin’ nasty. Last time we went to Shreveport, there we were, approachin’ the outskirts of the city from the west, and on a hill alongside the highway they’d strung three poor bastards through the trees. Tied ‘em up with chicken wire, it looked like. I didn’t know what it meant, but they’d positioned them all just so...real meticulous, you know...and painted their bodies yellow, head to toe. Like some art exhibit. Meant somethin’. No idea what though. By the time we’d come upon them, they’d been dead for a few days, and the birds had made a mess of everything, but into each of their stomachs had been carved, “Hero.”
How’d you know it was them who did it?
They’d painted the trees red. Every branch. Every leaf. They mark the shit out of everything. Their clothes, their masks, overpasses, road signs. Red this, red that, it’s all marked. A tribe, I guess, is what you’d call ‘em.
Did you talk with any of them?
Oh god no, we high-tailed it out of there. Seein’ what I saw, I get the sense the Reds ain’t talkers.
Hammer watches Vitri get lost in thought.
(cont'd):
Don’t worry. We’re not gonna even get close to ‘em. We’ll get you on a clear path around the city, you hear?
Vitri nods.
(cont'd):
You just think of what’s beyond Shreveport. Think of scoopin’ up that wife of yours in Tallahassee and heading straight to the Gulf for a swim.
That sounds great.
How long have you two been married?
Eleven years.
Now that’s something to be proud of. Eleven years is no fling.
No, it’s not. You ever been married?
Never. Close a couple of times, but no cigar.
Sorry to hear that.
Every now and again my mood’ll sour if I let it, but it is what it is. Pickin’s are slim these days, you know? What am I gonna do? (beat) What’s she like, your wife?
Vitri thinks for a moment. He grins.
She has straight blonde hair. Legs for days. And her shoulders, Marie hates her shoulders--that’s her name, Marie--but I’ve loved them since we met. A few years after college. They’re broad, but not too broad, you know? Strong. But graceful.
Huggin’ shoulders.
Exactly. (chuckles) I’ve never heard that before. I like that a lot, and she would too. (beat) And she’s funny. God is she funny.
How so?
She’s quick. Witty. But she’s also a prankster. Even at our age, she lurks behind doors and corners, just to jump out and get me all rattled.
Hammer chuckles.
Sounds like that may have rubbed off on someone.
(laughing):
Yeah, maybe!
Gol-ly, lurk behind a man’s truck and rattle ‘em right into pissin’ his pants. Hell of a prank, that.
Vitri laughs harder.
And slowly the barn goes silent as Vitri falls back into thought.
EXT. AMERICAN QUEEN RIVERBOAT - DUSK (FLASHBACK)
Marie stands on the deck of the American Queen. She wears a strapless white dress.
The river moves behind her, the wake from the boat fanning out.
She smiles.
(V.O.):
And her smile is gorgeous. Electric.
INT. HAMMER'S BARN - NIGHT
She sounds perfect.
She is. She really is.
How was it again that the two of you came to be so far apart when it all went dark?
Vitri breaks out of his trance.
What was that? Oh, yeah. She just happened to be visiting her sister in Tallahassee when it happened.
Damn. Shit luck. But you waited to travel there...until now?
I wanted to wait out the chaos. Make sure the way was as safe as possible.
But you two been talkin’ this whole time?
Vitri shakes his head.
(cont'd):
I was gonna say, “How’d you two crack it,” but Jesus Christ... if that ain’t the saddest damn thing I’ve heard in a while. Its’ had to have been absolute hell.
Hasn’t been easy. I think a lot of people can say that these days. But it really hasn’t.
Hammer pushes himself off of the barn floor and extends his hand.
Well then it’ll be even more of an honor to get you closer to your Marie.
EXT. YELLOW-MASKED CAMP - NIGHT
CAMPFIRE
Yellow-masked Extras sorrowfully make their way to the campfire.
Trev drags a makeshift platform across the grass.
SHELTER
Away from the Yellow-masked Extras congregating around the fire, Zuri stands with Miles over John’s dead body, which has been lain upon stacked planks of wood.
CAMPFIRE
Trev steps onto the platform. He clears his throat.
Quiet down, everyone, quiet down.
Most of the crowd listens and turns their attention to Trev. But there’s still some CHATTER.
(cont'd):
Shut the fuck up! (as crowd quiets) Look, I wish I had the words that John would have for a moment like this. But John--our dear chief--is gone...gone. Onto the next.
Arra joins the crowd.
SHELTER
With one hand, Zuri removes John’s mask. She stares at her brother’s face.
(O.S.)(cont'd):
Though it might not seem like a death suited for a man like him, this was not a bad death, not by John’s standards. He loved us. He loved every single one of us. He loved this land. He loved this tribe. To die defending all of it is a good death. A good, good death.
CAMPFIRE
(cont'd):
But that does not mean that it’s a death to swallow, that it’s a death to roll over and accept. As I speak, that pathetic deaf mute is putting more and more distance between her and us. And while we all know the dangers of what lies ahead for her in the lands of those red-masked savages to the west, it’s our duty to avenge the death of our fallen leader.
The crowd swells with excitement; Arra does not.
SHELTER
Zuri stands over John.
I’m so sorry.
(O.S.):
I want that little cunt brought back here alive, and I need one volunteer to do it! Not you, Z, there’s no way she comes back alive if you go. Same goes for you, Yerrick. (shouting as CHATTER swells) One volunteer is all! One! I cannot send everyone into that kind of danger! I will not!
Zuri places John’s mask back over his face. She wipes her eyes.
(O.S.):
Just one!
I/E. HAMMER'S HOUSE - NIGHT
The sky is clear. The sound of crickets on the air.
Hammer sleeps.
INT. HAMMER’S BARN - NIGHT
Vitri lays on his side, wide awake, staring at a barn wall. A candle burns near him. Both pistols lay before him on the barn floor.
He stares and stares, exhausted yet not at all nearing sleep.
EXT. HIGHWAY 20 - NIGHT
There’s a rusted sign on the shoulder of the road that reads, “SHREVEPORT 3”.
With a flat tire, the Jeep drives past the sign and continues on, down the highway.
INT. JEEP - NIGHT (DRIVING; NO SOUND)
Both of Reyn’s hands are on the steering wheel, fighting the pull from the flat tire. John’s ax remains in the hood of the Jeep. She frequently checks her rearview mirrors, but there’s only the night.
EXT. HIGHWAY 20 - NIGHT
The Jeep continues, until all of a sudden its remaining three tires POP, all at once. The Jeep’s brakes are SLAMMED, but the Jeep VEERS off the side of the road, offscreen, and CRASHES down a hill...
Until it comes to a rest. Once it does, under the moonlight there’s silence, save for the sounds of the Jeep breaking down--fluid DRAINING, metal GRATING--settling into its new existence.
Offscreen is the sound of a Jeep door OPENING and CLOSING, the sound of labored BREATHING, of legs moving through the tall grass the Jeep just plowed through.
Reyn surmounts the hill and walks on screen with a slight limp, her forehead bloody. She walks to the tire strip that blew her tires and crouches to examine it. Painted red, she sees.
Offscreen, in the distance, we hear a high-pitched ENGINE growing near. Reyn cannot hear it, of course, but within seconds she shifts her eyes, from the tire strip to the highway she just traveled. And those eyes grow wide: she sees a lone headlight coming her way.
We remain at the top of the hill as, still limping, Reyn hurries back down, through the tall grass and to the tipped Jeep. She opens the passenger door and under the Jeep’s interior light, wiggles her way in to quickly rummage through what belongings are within reach.
Offscreen, the sound of that ENGINE grows louder by the second.
Reyn crawls her way out of the Jeep with a backpack in her hands. She shuts the door; the Jeep’s interior light fades. Under the moonlight, we see Reyn hurry into the nearby woods. We remain at the top of the hill, panning up as Reyn advances through the woods and is offscreen, behind the trees.
The ENGINE grows louder, and louder.
Through the tops of trees, the silhouettes of Shreveport’s buildings come into view.
Offscreen, now at the tire strip, the lone engine slows to an IDLE, its headlight pointed into the night, revealing pine trees whose tops have been marked with red spray paint. There are footsteps as the driver dismounts an enhanced motorbike and examines what happened on the highway.
Miles BABBLES as Zuri walks onscreen and peers down the hill.
