._ , , . *|, * _ _ -+--+- _. _|* _ || | (_](_) | | (_] (_]|(/, * ._| , , ._ . . . . . _ . . _ _ -+--+- _. |,. . _.;_/*._ _ |*. , _ _| _ _ _| \_|(_)(_| (_](_) | | (_] | (_|(_.| \|[ )(_] || \/ (/, (_](_)(_)(_] ._| ._| ._| A N O V E L B Y M A R T I E " M U R D S " M O O D ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: Chapter 1 Timothy 1:8 ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: (6/4/19 12:23 a.m.) "It's already a dog-eat-dog world, friend. I don't know how much worse zombies could make it." -Lorne Malvo, Fargo (2014) FADE IN: (6/9/23 8:22 a.m.) The bounty hunter's mother used to take her to little prairie churches like this, back before the world stopped turning. Alice Alway stood staring at the remains of the chapel, its skeleton frame just barely holding together a shambling wooden artifice. A dull wind tickled the little white chips of paint folding off the ancient lumber -- like rotting flesh still clinging to the hard white bone. She took a nip from a flask. What's the drink for if not to cloud troubling thoughts? Thoughts that dwell too far back in the past. Back before the drought dried these endless plains and left only dust. It's a goddamn shack out in the middle of Goddamn Nowhere, Colorado. Here you are with a gun at your belt, fire water in your stomach, and a hunch that inside that there church, you'll find yourself a savage little rascal ready to bite your head off, come Hell or high water. So, quit dawdling and march, Alice. Her legs made their way over towards the chapel's entrance. The iron bar keeping intruders out of the house of worship was disengaged from its lock. Alice's hand fell to the cracked white handle of her six shooter and pushed the door open. The church was awakened in dust. Dirt and long-dead skin fell from the steeple ceiling, slowly floating down to the wood planks below, revealing themselves only in the warm shafts of light reaching in through cracked decaying lumber. There sat the savage little rascal: a diminutive adolescent. Her bony shoulders hovered over the floorboards, bobbing over and over as the girl croaked out a sad little whimper. Alice sighed. Her hand fell away from her gun as she moved past scattered pews and doomsday paraphernalia to better view her prey. Her eyes kept steady on the dress. It was stained with mud. Alice wondered: from bending down to catch the last drips of a faucet? Pressing nearer and nearer a slow-forming puddle, so desperate for a drink as to tarnish a relic so fine? Or she just uses the dress to wipe her shit up and down like the beastly thing she is. The girl looked as pitiful as the dress. Emaciated. Muscle and fat sucked dry by the Dust Bowl. A book rest under her arm. The Sun Also Rises. By Hemingway. It's a choice. "Big reader?" Alice asked, hard air pressing against the question. "Um, well I suppose so on account of my daddy reading to me," it said. The girl finally broke her gaze from off the floor to get a better look at her visitor. There it stood: a Nimrod, replete with some, if not all, of the fixings -- a baseball cap to shield their hair; welder's goggles to hide the whites of their eyes; and a handkerchief to disguise their snarl. This one must have been bought on discount; usually, they just hide their identities with a gas mask. This one needs to ask for a raise or consider another line of work. The girl thinks this but also knows better than to proffer such sentiments to Nimrods. After all, as her father told her, nobody with a gun is to be trifled with, not on account of the gun per se, but because only peoples fixing to hurt folks carry them. Like they drawn to it. "Uh, you know, he'd say, 'I done lived it, they done said it better than I ever could,'" the girl shared. The Nimrod just kept standing there, not saying a word. Is this how these things go, the girl thought to herself. Alice tilted her head, to the further befuddlement of the waif. "I, uh, suppose you found him?" the girl said finally. "Mm, that we did," Alice began in a practiced jaunt. "Sweepers found the body of your daddy on a requisite perusal of your premises and later happened upon the fact that the dead man with a bullet in his frontal cortex had an apparent daughter -- legally speaking, a ward -- who found a way to hustle on out of St. Anthony and hide herself in the chapel up here on Sad Hill, whereupon a Nimrod -- myself here -- did discover her. And, lest it go unsaid, I will successfully cash upon that bounty, Ms...?" The smarmy bounty hunter knew her name, Sally figured that much out. She may just be 14 but she's not simple. She couldn't read the book she held so close to her heart, but she listened to her father tell it, and she understood him. He made sure of that. "Sally Charles," the girl said. Sally bit her tongue until tasting iron. She could feel the acid roiling in her belly begging to be expelled at this utter coward. She wondered if this silly costumer even knew of the sports club featured on its hat. Her daddy told her all about them. The Colorado Boulders. And the man who lived in town, Nishio. He used to play third base and bat fourth, which was the best, she remembered her father saying. "Is there any point in explaining myself?" Sally said. "No," Alice said. "That determination's already been made, Ms. Charles." It's not that she didn't expect such an outcome, but when the words hit Sally's ears, she couldn't help but to think of how short everything had been. And how it was all over. She lurched forward, as if pierced through the heart. Her face seized on a silent cry, breath frozen as her body trembled violently. Her brow furled down as if leaning into a well, and tears soon fell. After what seemed to Sally like a lifetime of involuntary movement, the girl gasped for air and projected a pained howl across the chapel. At the sound of Sally's bellowing cry, the bounty hunter fell out of her histrionics, and her hand once more felt the cracked white handle. But realizing late that, as opposed to hearing the announcing cries of a monster, she was instead bearing witness to the death rattle of a teenage girl, Alice fell limp. The bounty hunter sighed into the bandana wrapped around the bottom half of her face, like some kind of scoundrel from the Old West, she thought. She was at once impressed that this meek frame could hold such low octaves and also ashamed to have driven a child into such a stir. The screams put Alice on edge -- while a professional such as she was used to the ejaculations of the guilty, up until this moment, she had not heard what could only be thought of as otherworldly wailing. Her pupils dilated and her mouth became filled with hot saliva. She pulled her bandana down and sucked in the stilted air. The goggles, too, they were moved to the top of her hat so she could wrest herself back. Noticing Alice's shifting, Sally looked over at the bounty hunter and caught her eyes. They both shared auburn irises, the young girl's a decided shade darker while the older woman's framed by labored blood vessels. Alice looked away and focused her attention on a flask of silver tarnish. The woman, sickly pale at this moment, quickly fiddled with the stopper and turned the drink towards her lips -- splintered like the skin of reptiles. A few swallows later, Alice shifted her gaze back to the Indian girl, who struggled to keep her breathing under control. The bounty hunter pushed the flask forward, inviting the girl to take a sip. Sally wiped her face dry and pushed aside her sobbing. "I, uh--" "Your throat must be parched," Alice said before Sally could deliver a proper response. Sally accepted the warm vessel from Alice's hand and unwound the top. "You can't get away from yourself by moving," Alice said just as Sally tipped the flask to her mouth. A second later, she fell into a coughing fit as the acerbic drink inside bit at the back of her throat. "My mother had me read that book when I was your age." Sally's mouth filled rapidly with drool, her body's response to the vile whiskey she just sampled. (3/7/23 4:07 a.m.) SALLY: He seemed quieter. Then one day, instead of reading a stranger's story, he told me one of his own. He fought in the Great War, and it was terrible. He said he woke one night to gunfire. And he believed it to be the sounds of Armageddon, truly. A rifleman in his company joked that God had promised a quieter end to the world. He took solace knowing the Germans he killed escaped all that. ALICE: But then the world stopped turning. SALLY: He thought they might remember. All of it. Forever. He took up gardening for a while -- to distract himself. But the dust killed all that. He was crying. He said it was just that the memories finally caught up to him. He kept saying over and over that he was condemned to live. Over and over. Then he asked me to put him to rest. ALICE: And did you? SALLY: I don't suppose it matters anyways. Shaking her head, Alice grabs her flask and pulls Sally up. The young girl grabs Alice's hand and looks up at her. SALLY (cont'd): Please. Just do it here. Please. ALICE: They'll want a show of it, darling. Alice looks down at Sally's small hand upon hers. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. DENVER STREET -- NIGHT (FLASHBACK) -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice, 20 years younger as a teenager, stands outside an apartment, her face beaten, tears rolling down her cheeks. As snow falls, she pounds on the door but stops suddenly and looks off toward a distant scream. Shocked, she runs away. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. ABANDONED PRAIRIE CHURCH -- DAY (PRESENT) -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= After removing the girl's hand, Alice takes her own swig. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. ABANDONED PRAIRIE CHURCH -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Just as Alice escorts Sally out of the church, a FRIGHTENED MAN rides by on a bicycle. In a state of panic, he crashes to the ground, looks back, and screams bloody murder. He hurriedly jumps back on his bike and darts off. At first reaching for her gun, Alice snickers upon seeing what sent such fear into the man. Her hand falls from the holster as the two head east, calmly following the man. SUPER: Colorado, 1949, 20 years into the Great Tribulations The earth flat, the settlement of St. Anthony sits further in the distance, Colorado's rising sun cresting behind it. It's a modest college town surrounded by a border wall. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. MRS. VIDAL'S HOME -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= An alarm clock blares incessantly, waking MRS. VIDAL, an older Black woman. She rises out of her single cot and cuts the racket. She trades the alarm for a framed picture. The photo is of a young Hispanic man in U.S. Army garb. MRS. VIDAL: You're looking well this morning, Hector. How am I doing? Hmph. Yeah. She exhales and carefully raises her body out of bed. She is certainly feeling her age as she makes her way over to a tiny dresser in the corner of her stuffy little home. From it, she retrieves a dress -- long stained with sweat but still grasping at the sophisticated look of the 1920s. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. ST. ANTHONY STREETS -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= A bit more put together now, MRS. VIDAL walks the streets of St. Anthony, passing scholarly structures and the citizenry. She walks a cobblestone path ending at a ramshackle barn. A CRAFTSMAN sharpens his tools, readying for the day. HUNGRY TOWNSFOLK stand in line to pay for small portions of breakfast from boilers hanging above red coals. A SWEEPER with a dagger knocks on someone's front door. SWEEPER: Mortality check, just gonna pop in. Then, an older Cheyenne man, VIHO, approaches Mrs. Vidal. VIHO: Pardon me, ma'am. I wished to ask if you could spare an old man a minute of your time. I'm sure you're busy. Mrs. Vidal says nothing, but also doesn't shoo him away. VIHO (cont'd): Yes, well, my name is Viho. I am known down by the Grove. I am sure you've seen our little quarter, yes? She obviously has. It need not be said. He should continue. VIHO (cont'd): Of course you have. Small settlement and all. Well, for myself, I've seen you Miss--? MRS. VIDAL: Missus. VIHO: Oh apologies. Missus--? MRS. VIDAL: Vidal. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. JOHN EVANS HALL -- CONTINUOUS -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The two near an old stone academic hall for education. VIHO: Pleased to make your acquaintance. MRS. VIDAL: I need to go. VIHO: Of course, I have a brief inquiry. I was hoping to speak with you later at my home in the Grove. When you can. Sticking out like a stain on white linen, the young scamp ODA panhandles out front the prestigious hall. ODA: Excuse me, madame. My name is Oda. Could you please spare a few moneys, I am afraid I am short for breakfast. Mrs. Vidal shakes her head without making eye contact and hurries up the stairs away from both Viho and Oda. ODA (cont'd): Bitch. She heard that half-whispered remark. At the top of the stairs, she turns around to look at the child. She instead looks past the road to the toothpick shacks of the Grove. She then locks eyes with Viho. Feeling some guilt now, Mrs. Vidal looks down at her feet and retreats into the building. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. JOHN EVANS HALL -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Entering a hallway, she finds the prim KELLY signing into a ledger. Mrs. Vidal walks over to add her name to it as well. KELLY: Can you believe that child out there? Mrs. Vidal smirks and shrugs her shoulders. KELLY (cont'd): His parents must be degenerates down at the Grove. I'd be so embarrassed seeing my son out there panhandling. Mrs. Vidal nods, hoping the conversation would end. KELLY (cont'd): That's the problem, isn't it? Sharing space with Godless things. You know, I heard about this ship docked in San Francisco. $5,000, takes you to some island without any of those monsters. Her ears perk up as she fills her name into the ledger. KELLY (cont'd): Sure won't catch me giving my savings to some layabout over such prospects. MRS. VIDAL: Hm. Nice perfume. Smells expensive. The woman carries on down the hall before Kelly can respond. ***************** **OFFICE -- DAY** ***************** As Mrs. Vidal enters into an office filled with desks and WORKERS, a pompous man in his 20s, HAROLD, signals her. HAROLD: Honey, I need the border charter from last month, pronto. Understood? MRS. VIDAL: Yes, sir. HAROLD: Don't let your ass dawdle, sweetie. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. FARMHOUSE HALL -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice, once again concealing her visage, leans against the staircase of an elegant farmhouse, her skin covered up. Down the stairs comes MILTON FREED, properly priggish and in his middle-ages as well. Each word out of his mouth is dripping with an exaggerated, phony Southern drawl. MILTON: Quite a shame, quite a shame. Our nation has seen so much loss, and yet it still necessitates you able-bodied bounty hunters. One would pray the imminent coming of Christ, Jesus Lord, would bring an end to such selfish and vile acts such as murder. Alice doesn't need the sermon. She heads upstairs. MILTON (cont'd): I'm Milton Freed, by the by. I don't often congregate in these parts but-- ALICE: His children were never too fond of playing nice, Mr. Freed. A fact that a little old apocalypse won't change. *************************** **FARMHOUSE OFFICE -- DAY** *************************** Upstairs, Alice enters an office to find the COMMODORE, a gregarious firecracker ready to shoot off at any moment. COMMODORE: Alice Alway! The boisterous man rushes over and slaps Alice's shoulder. COMMODORE (cont'd): Well done on the bounty, Ally, you've once again done the Nimrods proud! ALICE: Appreciate it, Commodore. Friend of yours, Mr. Freed? COMMODORE: Ah, no. Just another Protestant that thinks the end of the world is just what the doctor ordered. So, where did you find the little bird? The Commodore begins shuffling through a file cabinet. ALICE: A short bit outside the town gates. COMMODORE: How'd the feather-hearted bitch manage that? Rat in the guard post? ALICE: No, too poor to bribe one. Afraid to say she went mute after confessing. COMMODORE: It's hard enough to govern without someone undermining our border. Don't need random nesters coming in and out of this place without us knowing. Tell you what, you look into it: find the son of a bitch that's getting through our defenses, and I'll pay you out the same as a normal bounty. ALICE: My pleasure. She did say she was considering Mater as her destination. A dismissive cackle from the Commodore. COMMODORE: The red ain't too bright, is she? Mater's locked up tighter than a chastity belt. No one in, no one out. Alice takes a swig from her flask. COMMODORE (cont'd): Should be careful with the drink, girlie, it'll melt your brains. Alice touches her ear and inspects her fingertips. ALICE: Not yet, it would appear. Concluding an exhaustive search, the Commodore grabs a letter and hands it over to Alice. ON THE ENVELOPE Sally Charles ON ALICE ALICE (cont'd): Always appreciate the work, Commodore. I've need of some .38s whenever your next shipment arrives. Only have the six in the chamber. Alice turns to leave but the Commodore grips her arm. COMMODORE: I'll see you at the judgment, right? ALICE: I'm not so sure, Commodore. COMMODORE: Hey, come now, don't make me beg. Cherish the fruits of your labor! Alice hesitates. COMMODORE (cont'd): You know what you do is right. That ward deserves what's coming. You help us keep our faith in an American way of life. Persistence in our beliefs, like President Hoover said. And I'm sure you'd have a whole litter of kiddies if you could. But you make us strong in other ways. Please, come feel the town's appreciation of you! Alice chews her lip as she nods in reluctant agreement. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. MATER CHURCH -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The church is as if Jesus went on a playdate with Uncle Sam. The POPULACE is overwhelmingly white, with litters of kids. Despite a haughty air about them, the congregation still wears threadbare clothing like everyone in Colorado; though, the further back from the front, the worse off they look. The packed house lift their arms to heaven and speak in tongues toward a red, white, and blue emblazoned cross. Standing near it is a middle-aged priest, GREGORY CALDWELL. GREGORY: Yes! Yes, my children! Let Him hear your voices. Praise to the Heavens. The congregation quiets down as Gregory speaks further. GREGORY (cont'd): Folks, I knew me a man of statistics once -- course, 'twere before our Mater came to be. What you'd call a man of science. Now, me and him, we jostle about our faiths, mine in the Lord, his in numbers. But something happened to him. Sees, his poor boy, bless his heart, got caught in one of them black blizzards we see more and more of nowadays. Sad sight, it was, him coughing up spoonfuls of dust. Well, with the times how they are, he comes to me for help, but I knew the boy would fade away soon. However, he did not arrive at my door for that. No sirs, he came because he knew the power of the Lord surpasses this brief mortal life -- beyond anything a doctor could ever hope to do. So, I assured my friend that he needn't be sorrowful. These Great Tribulations are only temporal; a moment in time before the arrival of our savior. While it marks the difficult road ahead -- a road that was brought on by our transgressions against the Holy Father and His gifts bestowed to us -- it is also a time for renewal, regeneration, redemption. As Lazarus once did, so too will His children be resurrected into the sky. Praise God! The crowd bursts into adulating cheers for the sermon. However, one citizen, far in the back with other dirty peasants, stands silently: the weary vagabond MATTHEW. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. MATER CHURCH -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Matthew is among the first to leave mass. He jogs away. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. MATER STREETS -- CONTINUOUS -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The tramp comes upon a main street. He jogs past the sights. Mater is an idyllic paradise for a certain sect of people. KIDS in the street play stickball together. A SERVER offers a line of HUNGRY PEOPLE bowlfuls of stew. LOST SOULS stand around a portrait of the city's mayor. JACK WILSON looks like any other old white man lying on his deathbed, but these indigents praise him like the Lord himself. Matthew turns down an alley adjacent to a meat market. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. MEAT MARKET -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Matthew, huffing and puffing, arrives as if he won a race, standing triumphantly at the back door of the meat market. The door opens and out comes a prim-and-proper BUTCHER. More VAGRANTS emerge from behind Matthew. They form a line. MATTHEW: First to arrive, first to arrive, my good man! Hoo baby, I needed that sweet stuff all through service, I tells ya. Indeed. I need that hooch, those suds, that nectar of the Gods! Yes, friendo, I need a drink, please! Expecting the outburst, the Butcher promptly lets Matt in. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. MEAT MARKET -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= At the front, Matthew sees dusty blankets covering the windows, though slips of light reach in. Sitting at a table, he finds Gregory, fresh from his sermon. The holy man holds a bottle. GREGORY: Matthew. Fancy seeing you here, my child. Come! Have a sit with me. This is an unexpected turn for Matthew, who clearly expected to be out of the shop by now. However, he obliges and sits. Gregory waits, studying the drink. The Butcher watches them. MATTHEW: Sir-- GREGORY: Matthew. Strong name. The name of an ally of Jesus Christ, the Savior. I tells you what, I'd be thankful to be given that name. Alas, I was not. Now, that name belongs not to a man of God but to this no-good drunk before me. MATTHEW: A drunk? No, sir! You are mistaken. Gregory signals the Butcher, who walks over to accept the bottle. He then smashes it across Matthew's face. While the drunk falls to the ground, Gregory sits adjusting his cuffs. Matthew shrieks in agony. Gregory lets him go for a moment. GREGORY: Have you thought about the damage you have done to yourself, my child? The drink is outlawed for a reason: it kills the mind, the soul, the body. Blood pools off the whimpering Matthew. A tinge worried, Gregory directs the Butcher to move Matthew to his chair. GREGORY (cont'd): I'm awful sorry our friend here had to hurt you like that. But Matthew, it's the only way you'll learn! That doesn't comfort Matthew. He's dead. He knows it. GREGORY (cont'd): Boy oh boy, that nicked you good, hm? Rest assured, my son, I wouldn't have you put to the sword just yet. MATTHEW: Why? Gregory regards Matthew as ungrateful. Still, he continues. GREGORY: I can smell the rot on your breath, Matthew. Your liver is dying. I'd have you sees a friend of mine. Matthew looks up at Gregory -- grateful. MATTHEW: Thank you. Thank you, sir. Gregory motions the Butcher, who sternly pulls Matthew away. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. ST. ANTHONY MISSION -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice heads inside the ramshackle barn down in town. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. ST. ANTHONY MISSION -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice enters the town's mission, a place of worship and medicine located in the barn. An ABBOT tends to the upkeep of a wooden altar, spotting Alice between the pews. ABBOT: Welcome, child, were you interested in confessing sins before service. ALICE: I fear the rains will return before I taste absolution, dear Abbot. No, I am here to inspect your supplies. ABBOT: It's not meant to be used that way. Feisty. Alice wasn't expecting that. Now, to shut it down. ALICE: And you're not meant to tie them up like little freak pets. But on this day, blind eyes shall remain closed and deaf ears unstopped. Right? The Abbot wears the defeat plainly on their face. ABBOT: Quickly, the service begins shortly. Alice heads to the back of the mission, past the altar, but stops a moment to ask one other quick question of the Abbot. ALICE: Oh! Say, have you heard anything about citizens getting past the border undetected by the guards? ABBOT: Sorry, but why would I know about this business? I suggest you go-- ALICE: Yeah, yeah, to administration. Before she walks on, Alice is struck by an intrusive memory. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. POVERTY CAMP -- NIGHT (FLASHBACK) -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Around 15 years earlier, Alice sits in a camp with a DYING MAN. He's struggling to catch his breath. Asphyxiation. Other DUSTY CAMPERS surround the two, tears in eyes, hats at hearts. Alice holds the man's hand with a resigned look. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. ST. ANTHONY MISSION -- DAY (PRESENT) -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice comes to and rubs her temples after the memory. Nope. ***************** **CELLAR -- DAY** ***************** Alice steps down into the cellar, finding boxes of medicine, a few wine casks -- and a WEARY FIGURE chained to the wall, a bag over its head. The standing figure quietly hisses. Alice carefully moves to the cask and fills her flask. She can't even finish before she starts drinking and refilling. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. ST. ANTHONY GROVE -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Situated away from the stone college buildings at the center of the settlement, the Grove is made up of unsteady shacks, ragged tents, and makeshift hovels in the dusty dirt. Under the late afternoon sun, Mrs. Vidal enters as a fight nearly sets off between some RESIDENTS and a few DEPUTIES, unmasked unlike the Nimrods. The deputies are paying close attention to a Japanese man in his late 50s, MR. NISHIO. MR. NISHIO: Stay out of my house, damn you! Leading the deputies seems to be a man in his 20s, JONATHAN. JONATHAN: You call that a house, boy? Coming to separate the group and quell tensions is Viho. VIHO: Sir, what is the meaning of this? A deputy with fiery eyes, NELSON, juts his palm into Viho's chest, stopping his movement -- and setting a tone early. NELSON: Stay back, red. Jonathan pushes his group back. JONATHAN: Hey, hey, hey, we can talk to Viho. MR. NISHIO: They are breaking into my home! The kerfuffle calms for a moment. JONATHAN: Just doing a check of his house. It's been routine for years, gramps. VIHO: Routine for the sweepers, not for deputies. Unless given cause-- NELSON: The bastard's given plenty of cause! JONATHAN: Shut up! Let's move out, boys. And Viho, get your tribe under control. VIHO: You were once a part of this tribe. Some of the other deputies chuckle, embarrassing Jonathan. The young man sneers at Mr. Nishio as he departs. Nelson glares at Jon as the authorities huff off. Mrs. Vidal, stark in her clean clothing, approaches Viho. He takes notice of her presence and waves her to follow him. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. VIHO'S HOME -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The two enter the sparsely furnished shanty, closing the door behind them. Viho opens a window to let in light. VIHO: If only we could go a day without a disturbance in our home here. First we start to see the Commodore's debt collectors. Hmph, collecting a debit burdened on us upon setting foot on the Commodore's supposed property. Inevitably, we see the town deputies arrive, as you are now quite aware. Soon enough, the sweepers find a body and a signal goes up for the intrepid bounty hunter association to collect. After a pause, Mrs. Vidal gives Viho an understanding nod. VIHO (cont'd): Thank you for coming, Ms. Vidal. MRS. VIDAL: Missus. VIHO: A thousand apologies, it must have slipped my mind. Mrs. Vidal. I am grateful to see you here at my home. I knew: I sensed in you true virtue. Mrs. Vidal is unaffected by the compliment and awaits Viho. VIHO (cont'd): John Evans Hall. I'm to believe it is home to the administrator's office? The learned woman isn't giving up anything. What's he want? =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. JOHN EVANS HALL -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice enters a side entrance into a busy hallway. To her right, a darkened door. She sidles over to it, peers in. VIHO (O.S.): Yes, well, I'm more interested in a fellow resident of the hall, ma'am. *********************** **STORAGE ROOM -- DAY** *********************** Alice sees rows of shelves blanketed with dust and junk. Hidden away and situated on a comparatively neat table, she sees a small, elegant manual printing press. Out of use. VIHO (O.S.): A printing press. Waiting for use. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. VIHO'S HOME -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Vidal nods, not wanting to hear the rest of the proposition. VIHO: You may be able to help us here in the Grove, Mrs. Vidal. The deputies consider any complaint tantamount to sedition. They have silenced us time and time again, and I fear the rest of the settlement isn't aware. But you-- MRS. VIDAL: I'm sorry, but I must decline. VIHO: What? But please, this would help-- MRS. VIDAL: Help? Help me stick out, Viho. I have enough trouble as is without you lot staring at the colored woman every morning. I must decline. I apologize. VIHO: There is risk, of course, I would not deny that. But please, I believe it is more than worth the trouble. Mrs. Vidal turns to leave. MRS. VIDAL: I won't tell anyone about this meet. I hope you extend the same courtesy. VIHO: Please, we cannot be erased by them. MRS. VIDAL: Viho, respectfully? They were erasing us far before the end of the world. And with that, she departs. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. GREGORY'S HOME -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= A vase containing a carefully maintained flower. Flowing curtains. A bellowing fireplace. The home of Gregory is as fine as one could hope for during a decades-long apocalypse. The man himself enters, not bugged by a thing in the world. GREGORY: Everybody, Daddy is home! Tending to things are BONNIE and KURTIS, a Chinese couple. Their two small children, the older EMMA and the younger ROBERT, bound up at the sound of Gregory's voice. GREGORY (cont'd): How are you today, children? EMMA: Good, Daddy! GREGORY: Get into any trouble, young Robert? ROBERT: No, Daddy. GREGORY: Well, you ought to now and again. A boy needs the spirit of adventure! Kurtis looks decidedly uncomfortable but keeps quiet. EMMA: Robert didn't feel so good today. GREGORY: Why, what's the matter, my son? BONNIE: Just feeling tired, right Robert? Gregory ignores Bonnie. KURTIS: Nothing to worry yourself over, sir. GREGORY: Sees, it is my worry, Kurtis. While you work for me, your children live in my home and deserve the best care. Now you say he's tired. A panacea is just a few short footsteps away. And with that, Gregory is off to a medicine cabinet. GREGORY (cont'd): On top of that, Kurtis, I promised young Robert a trip to see the mayor. And I would never break a promise. ROBERT: Please, can I go, Father? KURTIS: But sir, I-- GREGORY: It's good for the boy, Kurtis. Seeing a real man of integrity and strength like Mayor Wilson. Robert will be a strong man just like him. He may even one day lead us here in Mater. Ho ho, to think! BONNIE: He is strong, sir. But-- GREGORY: Ah, here we are. A sniff or so of some laudanum should do the trick. A vial of opium rests in Gregory's hand. KURTIS: He just needs rest. Gregory has had enough with Kurtis' whinging. He walks over, calmly in command. After all, he is legally in control. GREGORY: Kurtis. Am I not the patriarch of this household? Answer me plainly. KURTIS: Why, yes, sir, you are. But I-- GREGORY: And do I, by the laws of this here country, own the deed to your life? Kurtis is wounded by the statement of unfortunate fact. KURTIS: Yes, sir. GREGORY: And by those very same laws, do I not have in my legal possession your boy? It's becoming too painful for Kurtis. He simply nods. GREGORY (cont'd): Look up and answer me, boy. KURTIS: Yes, sir. GREGORY: Had you not been caught on illegal territory belonging to Mater, we wouldn't be having this discussion. But actions breed consequences. Come. Robert, feeling uneasy after the argument, walks over. Gregory doesn't kneel. He simply hands over the vial. GREGORY (cont'd): A drop of that, my son, and we will be off to Mayor Wilson soon enough. Gregory begins walking over to his separate bedroom. GREGORY (cont'd): Kurtis. Fetch my mail, will you? Kurtis dips his head low. He can't look at Bonnie. KURTIS: Yes, sir. I will be off now, sir. As soon as the door closes, Gregory turns to the woman. GREGORY: Bonnie. Come assist me with a task. The two children retreat to play as Bonnie answers the call. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. ST. ANTHONY GROVE -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Late in the day, Alice enters the Grove, passing by oil drum fires. RESIDENTS sleep or drink in the warm orange light. The dry face of an elderly Japanese woman -- MRS. NISHIO -- catches Alice's eye. She stops for a moment to share a gaze. Then, the older woman launches a gob of spit on Alice's boots. The bounty hunter looks down, the mucus smearing into mud. Alice spits into the woman's wrinkled face. She then waits. Nishio, defeated, looks down at her feet. Alice moves on. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. SALLY'S HOME -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= She arrives at an empty shack. The solitary window is smashed in and painted on the door is the word, "Savage." =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. SALLY'S HOME -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice jimmies the door open and enters the vacant home. A few blankets strewn across the floor -- bloodstained. Bits of scorched paper rest next to a rusted cooking pot. A standing cabinet for the little kitchenware in the abode. Alice creeps towards the cabinet and searches every crevice of it -- nothing. She upturns the blankets -- nada. Alice then bangs her heel on the floor below -- tap, tap, boom. Alice kneels and pulls up a loose floorboard to find miscellaneous paraphernalia. A wig. Lipstick. And a journal. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. SALLY'S HOME -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice steps out of the home and looks across St. Anthony. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. ST. ANTHONY STREETS -- NIGHT (FLASHBACK) -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Around a decade earlier, Alice stands before an inferno in the middle of St. Anthony, a bottle of barley in her hand. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. SALLY'S HOME -- DAY (PRESENT) -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice winces at the memory. She tilts the flask back but is greatly dismayed to taste the last droplets of the wine. She reacts by throwing the flask through the broken window. Realizing how futile that was, she returns to retrieve it. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. FARMHOUSE -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The deputies Jonathan and Nelson stand outside the farmhouse of the Commodore, as beautiful outside as it is inside. Mr. Nishio emerges from town, a baseball cap in his hand. NELSON: Now, what have we here? You lost? MR. NISHIO: Please. I do not intend to fight. JONATHAN: That's too bad for you, chink. MR. NISHIO: I am looking for my boy. Have you-- JONATHAN: First you hate us, now you need us. Mr. Nishio stands waiting to be allowed to speak. After a moment to show who is in control, the two let him proceed. MR. NISHIO: My son, Oda, he spends his time-- JONATHAN: That little smart ass is out front John Evans Hall -- illegally, mind you. MR. NISHIO: He is not there now. I have searched the town. I fear he is missing. NELSON: Well, with eyes like that, no wonder you lost him. How can you even see? The two chuckle at Mr. Nishio's expense. MR. NISHIO: To Hell with this. He's off; why wait? The two feign disappointment. NELSON (yelling): Oh, don't go! I have a railroad that needs building. Please, come back! JONATHAN: Hmph. Jap son of a bitch. NELSON: Heh. Strong words coming from a Grover like yourself, Johnny. Nelson slaps Jonathan's shoulder. Jonathan understands it's a joke but is visibly annoyed at the term "Grover." =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. GREGORY'S HOME -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Gregory's private bedroom is furnished with a sizable bed and various honors and awards displayed on a mantel. Gregory has Bonnie sit on his lap. Both are fully clothed. GREGORY: Golly, my dear, I thought about you all during mass. A sermon read by the children lit my heart up. Ephesians. About a lady's place in a man's life. Oh, how I adore these moments making love with you, Bonnie. Deep breaths. BONNIE: Gregory, honey, I-- GREGORY: Oh, if only I could have your hand in marriage. And call Robert my son. BONNIE: It would break Kurtis' heart. GREGORY: Oh, to Hell with Kurtis, woman! BONNIE: Gregory. GREGORY: I apologize, Bonnie. I just want you to myself. It just makes legal sense. Bonnie, never betraying her true thoughts, leans close. BONNIE: Gregory, honey, I think Robert ought to stay home on account of his cough. GREGORY: I could pluck out those beautiful pearls you call eyes. Swallow 'em up. Gregory's breathing gets heavy. BONNIE: He can be a fragile boy. I worry. GREGORY: That boy of mine has the world in the palm of his hand. Shucks, when I was his age, 'bout the only thing I knew my way 'round was my pecker. Sinful. Repugnant. Robert is none of those. BONNIE: But Gregory-- GREGORY: You and me and the boy. Why, it could all be so simple. Yes, it could be so simple. I'm the head of the home. The patriarch. I have freedom. I'm free. Gregory gasps in orgasmic relief. He white-knuckles his chair as he huffs out each pulse under the weight of Bonnie. After he's through, he pushes the woman off his lap. GREGORY (cont'd): Retrieve my casual dressings. I will take Robert to Mayor Wilson now. Go. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. AMOS' CLUB -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Back on the more gilded streets, Alice marches towards a two-story speakeasy bustling with activity. A PLASTERED OLD MAN hobbles out of the club and expels his guts on the dirt. She heads for the back, where she finds a door with a sliding peephole. Sounds of big band jazz, led by a MALE SINGER, and bedroom ecstasy float in the air. MALE SINGER (O.S.): It's alright to stumble and regret the mistakes you made/But don't act puzzled and think we'll forgo pride for your sake Alice pounds on the door. A YOUNG WOMAN whips open the grill and peers out to find the Nimrod. YOUNG WOMAN: No entry here, go to the front. ALICE: Not here for that, darling. Go and fetch Amos. Many thanks. The Young Woman huffs and shuts the peephole. MALE SINGER (O.S.): Don't think we forgot what you said/Know that we hope you end up dead As the music concludes, AMOS slithers out of the door. A walking bottle of cologne with a shit-eating grin, Amos rubs his inner thigh slowly. AMOS: Mm mm. My little bearcat. Have you finally succumbed to your feelings? ALICE: Does that rusty thing even work? AMOS: You could always find out yourself. ALICE: Tonight, Amos, I must pass. For you see, I come on different business. AMOS: Baby, I'm busy enough as is without a Nimrod knocking on my backdoor. It's the night of a judgment, thank you. Amos tries to close the door, but Alice's boot stoppers it. ALICE: The judgment of one of your whores. AMOS: What are you getting at? ALICE: Sally Charles worked here, no need to deny. AMOS: So be it, I ain't got nothing to do with that Dumb Dora getting herself pinched for murder. Just another nester from the slums, that's all. ALICE: Not so sure about that, Amos. I found that little waif outside the town gates. And she didn't tip anyone off. AMOS: And what, pray tell, do I care about that. Just another worker, after all. ALICE: Well, she's not the type that gets the okay to exit St. Anthony, is she? So, who else would she go to if not you? AMOS: How could you make such accusations? I'd never disobey the big cheese. ALICE: Sure, like you haven't figured out a way to ship your girls out after a particularly strong seed? Nine months off the job ain't good for business. AMOS: You're aware that my business and the money it brings in is greatly enjoyed by our Commodore. Now, if you would please excuse me, I need to tend to other affairs outside indulging the delusions of a shrill, insensate, good-for-nothing cocksucker Nimrod. Amos kicks Alice's foot out of the jamb and slams the door. The set is over. MALE SINGER (O.S.): Anyway, we were The Retrotones, thanks for having us! Fine. She makes her way toward the front, pocketing her headgear and tossing her coat to the side of the building. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. AMOS' CLUB -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The speakeasy is lively with gossip, laughter, and music. COUPLES drink and flirt, WAITRESSES wearing top hats and long-tailed coats pour out champagne, and a female singer, MORGAN, stands on stage preparing with INSTRUMENTALISTS -- reed, brass, percussion. Alice makes her way past a staircase and arrives at the bar, where she pulls out a bundle of cash -- well enough for a bottle of whiskey. The band finishes setting up and starts into a moderate yet somber composition. MORGAN (singing): I lost my way five minutes back/I'll reassure you without you knowing/I say not to worry, we'll get on track/The fact is I'm not sure where I'm going A TIPSY WOMAN well past her limit sits focused on slow breaths in and out, in and out, to stave off vomit. The band whips into the chorus, which feels like the start of a building crescendo that ends before truly launching. MORGAN (singing): Strap in honey, the road gets rough/We'll find our way with just some luck A ROWDY BUNCH play the knife game. One player accidentally jams a dagger into their knuckle but laughs in reaction. MORGAN (singing): Sure enough, we end up nowhere/And now you're mad, and I get that/And we'll argue, and I'll pretend to care/And you'll point out all that I lack A HORNY MAN, pantomiming a zombie, slowly chases an equally HORNY WOMAN up the stairs. She mocks terror all the way up. Back to the building chorus. MORGAN (singing): Strap in honey, the road gets rough/We'll find our way with just some luck The band keeps at this crescendo, building and building. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. JOHN EVANS HALL -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Jonathan and Nelson stand smoking on the steps of the hall. JONATHAN: So, where do you think this kid's at? NELSON: What, that Grover in you coming out? Jonathan spits at the remark. NELSON (cont'd): You want to knock me out don't you? It's a free country. Go ahead. Jonathan side-eyes Nelson. He ain't gonna do shit. NELSON (cont'd): See, problem is, you don't realize I'm trying to help you. You think them chinks and darkies care about you? You're nothing but police to your old pals. They can't see past that. So, to Hell with them, Johnny. Jonathan keeps quiet, feeling like any other word he speaks might knock his status down another peg during the lecture. NELSON (cont'd): Say, why don't you prove your worth? JONATHAN: What? NELSON: That Nishio prick. Kick that Jap's ass. JONATHAN: Without provocation? NELSON: (mockingly): "Without provocation." Stop being such a nance. Be a man for once. Jonathan considers the proposition silently. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. AMOS' CLUB -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Milton, taking the air, is crashed into by MANCO, a Pueblo girl in her late teens who wears her hat tipped low. MILTON: Oh, do pardon me, young lady. Manco skitters away before Milton can get a glimpse of her. MILTON (cont'd): I do forget with my -- well, then. As Manco heads into the club, she passes by EMMA RODRIGUEZ, 16, who stares off into nothing as her leg violently bobs up and down. From the entrance emerges another wiry teen, ISAAC BROCKHAUS, 17. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. AMOS' CLUB -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Manco steps inside the club and makes her way to the bar. The young woman waves for a shot and takes a seat a few over from Alice. The tension of the music climbs ever higher. MORGAN (singing): And we'll wonder where it all just went/All this wasted time that we have spent MANCO (to Alice): Hey old timer. Got a smoke on ya? Alice downs mouthfuls of her drink, eyes steady forward, ears uncaring to whatever the girl happens to say. MORGAN (singing) (O.S.): Just staring off thinking where's our place/Don't coast here just for my own sake MANCO (cont'd): Quite the talker. ALICE: Did you intend to start a conversation with a request? MANCO: A goddamn friendly request, sure. Alice cocks her eye at Manco. MORGAN (singing) (O.S.): But if you do, I'll be right here/No I won't leave, no you needn't fear ALICE: What's your name? MANCO: What's it to you, Nimrod? Alice smirks. Clever girl. MORGAN (singing) (O.S.): And you'll look to me, and I to you/You'll think, how'd I end up with this fool ALICE: I think you better reconsider hitting the bottle so hard next time. MANCO: I'm as awake as I've ever been my whole damned life, Alice Alway. The bounty hunter whips her head around as a slight terror grips at her heart. ALICE: How do you know-- No time to further inquire, though, as the wily Amos emerges from the back of the bar and makes his way up the staircase. After a final glance at the mysterious teenage girl -- who looks surprised that Alice is leaving so soon -- the bounty hunter stands from the bar and begins tailing the pimp. As Morgan's voice winds breathlessly, the levee just about breaks from the rest of the ensemble. MORGAN (singing): But maybe that's alright and that's okay/It'll all make sense, you're sure one day =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. STAMPEDE GROUND -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Jonathan sits in the empty bleachers surrounding a stampede ground. A MALE NIMROD sporting a gas mask joins Jonathan. He begins speaking with the Nimrod, as if he's begging him for a favor. Without speaking, the Nimrod puts out his hand. Jonathan pulls out a few dollars and hands the bundle over. MORGAN (singing) (O.S.): Something half-settled in your brain/Just enjoy the sights while on this train =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. AMOS' CLUB -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= At the top of the stairs, Alice turns to see Amos closing a door behind him. Out of sight from the patrons on the lower level, she puts her Nimrod headgear back on and marches ahead to Amos. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. MR. NISHIO'S HOME -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The Male Nimrod, standing at the back of Nishio's home, spots a woman leaving, presumably Mrs. Nishio. He moves. MORGAN (singing) (O.S.): 'Cause those thoughts'll chase you to the grave/And maybe that's not such a bad thing =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. MR. NISHIO'S HOME -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The Japanese man stands smoking, lost in thought, when the Male Nimrod makes his presence known and breaks his trance. Nishio says nothing, barely moves. He knows what's coming. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. AMOS' OFFICE -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice enters the room, pulling the door closed behind her. Also inside the room is an older woman named SILKY. MORGAN (singing) (O.S.): Might not be the best once it's through/Least we killed time, just me and you Amos turns startled, a bare-backed baby in a blizzard. AMOS: No, back off, I'm warning you. Amos attempts to reach over for a letter opener, but Alice grabs him before he can. She then tosses him to the ground. SILKY: What are you doing? Oh Jesus, stop! The band explodes into a climactic finale. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. MR. NISHIO'S HOME -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The Nimrod rains down fists on to Mr. Nishio, who tries his best to resist. But the strikes keep hitting over and over. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. AMOS' OFFICE -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice pummels Amos with fists, his face bloodied, bruised. The club owner yelps but his business is doing an excellent job of drowning him out. Patrons in other rooms moan with pleasure. The music from below is chaos. SILKY: Stop, stop, stop, please, please! ALICE: How are you moving the girls out!? AMOS: I don't know what you want! Stop! =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. MR. NISHIO'S HOME -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The Nimrod throws Mr. Nishio to the ground and takes a short break. The Japanese man writhes in pain. He tries standing. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. AMOS' OFFICE -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice stops and lets Amos catch his breath. She awaits. AMOS: I swear, I don't know. I don't know. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. MR. NISHIO'S HOME -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The Nimrod continues with the beating, strikes turning wet. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. AMOS' OFFICE -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice moves to resume the attack, but then Silky speaks. SILKY: Stop! Stop it, I'll tell you, dammit! Alice holds her fist for the moment. She turns to Silky. ALICE: What? SILKY: God, you animal. ALICE: You want next? SILKY: He don't know shit. The girls come to me when they start feeling the sick. Alice lifts herself off Amos. The tavern owner lays prone. ALICE: Get on with it then. SILKY: You light a candle at the top of the burnt chapel in town and wait a day or so. Not good enough. ALICE: It really needn't be this difficult. SILKY: You think they advertise themselves? They'll leave a message. Follow it. ALICE: Where do they get it taken care of? SILKY: Please, some of these girls, they're just not ready to bring a life to the world's end. They know the Commodore forbids it, it's sacrilegious, but-- ALICE: Think of it as insurance. Making sure everything you're telling me is true. SILKY: Some drunk doc living in a dugout half a day west of town. Girls bring a bottle with them and he fixes them. Satisfied, Alice moves towards the exit. ALICE: You look smart enough to know what happens if nothing comes of this, hm? SILKY: You know you got the smell of death on your breath, right? It's vile. ALICE: Yeah, and you got the smell of young pussy all on you. How's that going? SILKY: To Hell with you. ALICE: And also with you. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. AMOS' CLUB -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Walking back down the stairs without her Nimrod gear, Alice looks over to the bar. The stranger is gone. She then exits. The two teenagers Emma and Isaac stand at the back of the venue together. ISAAC: So, that could have been better. EMMA: Well, it's done at least. ISAAC: Kellen can fill in while we audition people. We still got shows scheduled. EMMA: Kellen can play drums? ISAAC: No, but he'll do it if we tell him. And we can live without trombone. Emma considers it and nods in agreement. ISAAC (cont'd): May I ask: do you want to continue? EMMA: What? Obviously, Isaac. ISAAC: So, what do you get out of this? EMMA: I wanted to start a band. Like you. ISAAC: No, but like-- Isaac takes a moment to consider his words. He looks up to the band performing: Morgan singing her heart out. ISAAC (cont'd): Like, I want to go on tour, more than anything. More than losing my v-card. Which, by the way, thanks for helping with me and Morgan's anniversary. EMMA: Ew. You're welcome, I guess. ISAAC: But come on, what's this all about for you? Trying to get fucked? EMMA: No! I don't know. I just wanted to play guitar and then, here we are. Emma wants to say something but clearly seems embarrassed. EMMA (cont'd): It's dumb, but I guess, like, when I listen to the Self-Righteous Twerps, it makes me want to be in a band. I guess, if I could do that, you know? ISAAC: Well, what about Mafruha? EMMA: Dude, not so loud. ISAAC: Oh my God, she can't hear. A DORKY TEENAGE GIRL wearing a white T-shirt markered with "The Retrotones" stands watching the current performance. EMMA: Not Mafruha. Not a fan that asks for fucking autographs from a local band. Just, like, someone like me, I guess. He nods. It's an okay answer, though Emma doesn't think so. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. MRS. VIDAL'S HOME -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Mrs. Vidal sits on her bed and nervously smokes a cigarette. She looks over to the photo of Hector and stares longingly. MRS. VIDAL: Old fool. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. DENVER OFFICE BUILDING -- DAY (FLASHBACK) -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Twenty years earlier -- in 1929 -- a younger Vidal arrives at a bustling office building in the center of Denver. She wears that same dress pulled from her closet, possessing a luster that will be lost in the coming decades. After a quick once over herself, she enters the building. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. CORNER OFFICE -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Vidal sits alone in what would be a luxurious office if not for the mountains of newspapers and overflowing ash trays. A radio whimpers on the desk. RADIO COMMENTATOR (O.S.): Call me politically incorrect, but this housing crisis is not the fault of the banks but with immigrants and low-income lending. EDWARD HAWKINS, a young man in his early 30s with recessed eyes, briskly opens the door and enters. He faces outward. EDWARD (yelling): When you swing by city hall later, tell Stapleton I'm not impressed with the handicap. You tell him that! Ha! The virile journalist shuts the door to his office. EDWARD (cont'd): Sorry to keep you waiting, miss. He reaches his hand out to shake Vidal's. MRS. VIDAL: I appreciate your time, Mr. Hawkins. EDWARD: Gah, call me Edward. Edward retreats to his desk, snapping the radio off, and pulling a cigar from a drawer. EDWARD (cont'd): So, what can I do for you, Ms. Vidal? He redirects his attention to the tobacco. MRS. VIDAL: Well, I know the paper has much news to cover, but -- well, it's about my husband. Uh, late husband. EDWARD: Oh, I am sorry to hear that. MRS. VIDAL: Thank you, kindly. He was a veteran of the Great War and-- EDWARD: We lost too many men in Europe. MRS. VIDAL: Actually, sir, he-- EDWARD: Edward. MRS. VIDAL: Right. Edward. Well, thankfully he made it back to our shores. Soon after, though, he died of natural causes. His name was Hector. Her hand moves into her purse and pulls out a photo. She hands it over to Edward, who reluctantly accepts it. EDWARD: Obits are for the recently passed. MRS. VIDAL: Oh, no, it's -- The military, they had told Hector that his acts during the war met the standards of a medal of honor. But something went wrong, they told us papers got mixed around and he died without receiving-- Edward puts up his hand. EDWARD: I apologize, Ms. Vidal, but I don't see a story here for us. Sorry. Edward motions to the door. Vidal, rather stunned, stays. MRS. VIDAL: Are you certain, Edward? EDWARD: Sir. MRS. VIDAL: It's just that, with the protests for earlier bonuses and-- EDWARD: Oh, now you want us to go against Coolidge? Ma'am, I'm sorry, but-- MRS. VIDAL: No. Edward tilts his head. How dare this Black woman, he thinks. MRS. VIDAL (cont'd): No, I want a reason why-- EDWARD: You think the people of Denver give a shit about the supposed injustices of a spic? Are you daffy, woman? MRS. VIDAL: So, you're a coward then, Mr. Hawkins? EDWARD: If we so dare report on ol' Hector, I get a Molotov cocktail through my window. I won't forfeit my child's safety to pick a fight with the Klan. Edward again motions to the door. Vidal bites her tongue. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. DENVER OFFICE BUILDING -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= As she exits, Vidal pulls a cigarette from her purse. Before she can light it, however, a crash catches her attention. A Ford has smashed into a light pole. A BLOODIED MAN pours out of the car and into the streets. Nearby CITIZENS gasp. A DETERMINED WOMAN follows the body out. Mrs. Vidal's eyes open wide and frightened at the sight. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. MRS. VIDAL'S HOME -- DAY (PRESENT) -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= A knock comes at the door, interrupting Vidal's thoughts. A sudden terror comes over her. After another knock, she flicks the dart away and walks over to the entrance. Mrs. Vidal pulls the door slightly ajar. A second later, she whips it open for Viho. MRS. VIDAL: You coming around looks suspicious. Viho walks in, a bitter anger bubbling under the surface. VIHO: They beat Mr. Nishio. Mrs. Vidal shakes her head confused. VIHO (cont'd): The Japanese man that was getting harassed in the Grove today. His son Oda went missing. Mr. Nishio went to the deputies but they turned him away. Then a Nimrod paid a visit. The nurse in the Grove said the missus can't stay at home in case he turns. Mrs. Vidal presses her eyes closed. MRS. VIDAL: Oda. He asked me for meal money. VIHO: You know that Nimrod will face no consequences. And the rest sleep. She lets out a heavy sigh and thinks. Then she glances over at Hector, as if for guidance. Viho notices. VIHO (cont'd): Your husband? Was he lost in the war? MRS. VIDAL: He died in America. Perturbed, she shakes her head. MRS. VIDAL (cont'd): How much? VIHO: Pardon me? Mrs. Vidal knows very well that he understands her meaning. VIHO (cont'd): Money? That's what you care about? MRS. VIDAL: The dead didn't kill capitalism. Don't figure we'll have any better luck. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. GREGORY'S HOME -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Gregory and Robert exit the home as Kurtis arrives. KURTIS: No mail today, sir. GREGORY: Kurtis, come. Walk with me, boy. Robert, run along ahead. We shall follow from behind, son. Robert carries on forward while the two walk closely behind. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. MATER STREETS -- CONTINUOUS -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Kurtis keeps his head low. Gregory looks down on him. GREGORY: Kurtis, I have us a plan. Listen: I, as your owner, buy out my own share of your life. "Well, sir, what's that mean," you might ask? Simple enough. I pay you a few hundred and you move on with your life away from us here. KURTIS: What -- thank you, sir! Thank you! I must tell Bonnie and the-- GREGORY: Well, no, Kurtis. You misunderstand me, boy. What I meant was I pay you to go away from me and my family. His family? Kurtis doesn't know what to say. GREGORY (cont'd): Fact is, Robert is my son and Bonnie is my lover. Maybe he ain't my blood, and Bonnie ain't my wife, but they're all I've got in this world, and I do not intend to share with you, Kurtis. KURTIS: You can't do this. GREGORY: Watch your tone, boy. Kurtis stops his walking and turns to Gregory. KURTIS: I'll kill 'em. I won't let you. GREGORY: You see, Kurtis. The money was me being nice. I own your whole savage family and I'll do what I damn well please with them. As a matter fact-- Gregory signals to a GUARD. The gun-toting man approaches and grabs Kurtis by the arm without any asking needed. GREGORY (cont'd): I'm off to introduce Mayor Wilson to my son. Escort him to the jails. KURTIS: You will pay, Father Gregory! GREGORY: Yes, that's what the money is for. Robert stops his advance and looks behind. The Guard escorts his angered father away. Gregory walks over to the boy. GREGORY (cont'd): Oh, he'll be right back, son. Come. We have a short detour ahead of us. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. MATER HOSPITAL -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Matthew lies on a metal gurney, his twitching, ravaged face upturned to the ceiling as PROFESSOR BLACK tends to him. A man with piercing eyes and steady hands, Professor Black, 40s, stitches up a surgical incision made at the abdomen. On a metal tray behind the professor: a pockmarked liver. Gregory enters the surgical room alone. He greets Black. GREGORY: How goes our boy, Professor Black? BLACK: He yet lives. No thanks to you. Gregory cackles as he inspects Matthew's bloodied face. GREGORY: Ah, he doesn't seem to mind anymore. Plenty of opium 'round these parts. BLACK: The work is difficult enough without tending to face lacerations, Gregory. GREGORY: Settle yourself, Professor Black. What's done is done. He breathes. Gregory pauses a moment to gauge Black's reaction. Not much. GREGORY (cont'd): He will survive the procedure, yes? BLACK: We shall see. GREGORY: Listen, professor. I'm aware the science takes time, yes? But-- Gregory is unsure how to proceed. He lets loose. GREGORY (cont'd): I can't sleep no more. Hell, I can barely get a piss going, but I still get up just the same. Might as well. Legs are swollen like a tick, too. It just -- it ain't my time. It can't be. It ain't how the Lord willed it. BLACK: In two days time, we shall see if Matthew lives or joins the Lazarus. It's not the answer Gregory wants. He moves to the exit. GREGORY: He must be punished regardless. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. STAMPEDE GROUND -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The Commodore heads into the stands surrounding the grounds, the bleachers filled with the TOWNSFOLK. The sun touches down in the western horizon, bathing the vicious audience in soft light. He walks up to a central luxury suite and surveys the field. Alice -- masked -- and her captor Sally stand next to a closed pen at the far side of the field. Sally glares ahead steadily. The Commodore gestures for attention from the crowd. COMMODORE: Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Sally Charles stands accused of murdering her caretaker, Alfred Tanner. Have you come to a decision? Without hesitation, Alice escorts Sally out to the center -- to a wooden pole with an elevated, horizontal foothold. TOWNSFOLK (chanting): Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! Alice helps Sally stand on the foothold. She ties the girl's hands behind her back and to the post. Alice then exits. COMMODORE: Ms. Charles, you have been found guilty by a jury of your peers. I've the mind of our beloved President Roosevelt: The only good Indians are not simply the dead Indians, but nine out of every 10 are. Ms. Charles, you are no exception, as you've broken our rules, not unlike your ancestors. Alice arrives in the Commodore's suite. He nods to her. COMMODORE (cont'd) (to Alice): I appreciate your womanly charms in comforting the child down there. The crowd boos Sally, who maintains her rigid countenance. COMMODORE (cont'd) (to audience): Ms. Charles I sentence you to death by a lawbreaker who once stood where you do now. May God grace his mercy for a soul much worthier than yours. The crowd cackles and jeers as the pen opens. Horror crosses Sally's face. Shambling out of the pen is an UNDEAD HUMAN -- hazy eyes, drooling mouth, bloody sores all about its skin. SALLY: Please, please no, it's not my fault, it's not my fault. Please help me! God help me! Daddy! Help me, Daddy! Her screams fall on indifferent ears. The crowd howls and applauds as the undead monster lurches closer to Sally. Alice looks down at her feet, gripped by a sudden fascination with her boots. But she can't stopper her ears. The creature finally reaches Sally and digs its teeth into her soft stomach. She screams her death rattle. Gushes of blood blanket the dirt below. The crowd joyfully eats it up. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. JOHN EVANS HALL -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Mrs. Vidal approaches the rear of the building at day's end. With no soul around to see, she sneaks inside using a key. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. JOHN EVANS HALL -- CONTINUOUS -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Passing through the hallway, she dips into the dark side room. ****************************** **STORAGE ROOM -- CONTINUOUS** ****************************** Vidal moves past rows of shelves towards the printing press. She sits down at the desk and opens one of its drawers. She pulls out a fountain pen, inkwell, and parchment paper. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. STAMPEDE GROUND -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The crowd erupts as Sally's guts fall to the dirt. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. STORAGE ROOM -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= After letting out a deep sigh, Vidal begins writing. ON PAPER Realize citizens that the Commodore is not infallible. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. STAMPEDE GROUND -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The Commodore cackles along with the crowd as Sally dies. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. STORAGE ROOM -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Her pen moves swift, as if she'll be swooped up in a moment. ON PAPER Will we slavishly welcome the beatings of the Nimrods? =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. STAMPEDE GROUND -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice finally looks up to see the consumption occur. However, the dying sun shines too brightly in her eyes. She can barely make out Sally beginning to convulse postmortem. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. STORAGE ROOM -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= As Vidal reaches the end, she firmly presses a final line. ON PAPER Every nation deserves the government it endures. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. STAMPEDE GROUND -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The sun sets on the crowd. Manco, the Pueblo girl, looks up at the suite from the stands. Alice is but a silhouette. In no time at all, Sally awakens as an undead monster. Fin. Manco -- vengeful -- watches as the silhouette takes a swig. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. STORAGE ROOM -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Using the machine, she pours on ink and operates the crank. As Vidal works, darkness falls. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. MAYOR WILSON'S OFFICE -- NIGHT -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= A stone building with elegant fixtures throughout its lobby. ******************** **HALLWAY -- NIGHT** ******************** Father Gregory and his "son" Robert arrive at a set of imposing wood doors. GREGORY: Now you hear this here, Robert. Robert looks up to Gregory. The man remains standing. GREGORY (cont'd): This man. This man here. Gregory has a toad in his throat. He perseveres through it. GREGORY (cont'd): I trust this man with my life. Every fiber. And by extension, Robert, that means I trust him with your life. And your life is worth a lot to me. Treat him as the American patriarch he is. Gregory lets out a heavy sigh. This means a lot to him. GREGORY (cont'd): Are you ready, my son? Robert nods faithfully. Gregory smiles and proceeds to open the set of elegant doors. They enter as father and son. ******************************************* **MAYOR'S PERSONAL QUARTERS -- CONTINUOUS** ******************************************* Staring out his window overlooking Mater is JACK WILSON. Bald. Grey. A heavy breath. An aggressive gate from behind. GREGORY: Mayor Wilson, I'd like to introduce-- Jack turns around. His face sags and moans. He's undead. Gregory stands aghast. Then he looks down at Robert. He grabs the boy, then exits, closing the door behind him. ************************* **HALLWAY -- CONTINUOUS** ************************* Gregory is in shock. But his focus again turns to Robert. The boy stands confused. He didn't get to meet Mayor Wilson. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. STORAGE ROOM -- NIGHT -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Under an orange glow, Vidal finishes her work: a stack of pamphlets. Now she awaits, taking hurried, anxious drags off her cigarette as she listens to the debauchery outside and stares at the soft candlelight. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. BURNT CHAPEL -- NIGHT -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice shambles her way up to the abandoned St. Anthony building, expelling her guts into the dirt before entering. The chapel's bell tower is scalable and reaches into the sky. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. BURNT CHAPEL -- NIGHT -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice climbs a winding set of stairs to the top of the tower, where she finds a box of candles and candelabras. She sets a single candle on the window sill. She puts a cigarette between her lips, pulls out a matchbook, and rips a match out, leaving only two left. She lights the cig, takes a drag, and uses it on the candle. Economical. Sudden exhaustion comes over Alice as she smokes. She stares at the flame as it flickers back-and-forth in the breeze. She then peers over the edge of the tower. Black nothingness below. She leans further and further, as if being beckoned. Jump, Alice thinks. She commits her body for but a moment. Her cigarette takes a dive, falling and falling. Her senses return just then. She gasps for air and pushes herself away. She falls backwards to the floor. She wipes her weary eyes and blankets her head in her hands, rocking back-and-forth. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. ALICE'S HOME -- NIGHT -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Manco slinks into the dank one-story house, furnished with a water-damaged cot at the far end, a carved-up desk in the center, and dozens of stale whiskey bottles along the walls. Manco walks over to the desk and opens a drawer, as if she's already familiar with its contours. She pulls out a matchbox and sets a closely situated wax candle alight. Then she removes a world-weary journal and begins reading. (10/14/14 3:09 p.m.) It was just about time now. The light of his graying eyes glistened in the dark by a dying flame -- the bitter orange glow of the gas lamp only accentuated the swallowing black surrounding the emaciated man. A wheeze followed every sip of his tin cantina; the cold kiss of the metal cracking the dead skin of his lips with every drink. Copper coated his throat -- a soothing spice to go along with the day-old meat trapped in his filling. He stood but only for a moment as his knees buckled under the weight of the nickel-plated revolver holstered at his waist and sparse bandolier. The man's serrated, black nails clawed at the stone floor, as his body let out a meek whimper. Nearly succumbing to the freezing nothingness coiling around his neck, he suddenly felt the soothing warm touch of morning. The first glimpse of sunlight anointed the barren tomb; a fitting finality to the thin man's crusade. Yes, it was nearly time now. On his knees, moist eyes shut, he breathed in the untainted air seeping into the damp chamber -- a gully to the west, a languorous, pleasant wind that threatened to choke the man out of this existence. All the temporal things, the tangible things, the living things. As he heard the pinging hinges of the sepulcher's cracked door, he found his seat at the wood table centered in the crypt. It was time. The short man entered but took but a step into the catacomb. The dogged, drawn face at the table looked upon the accoutrements of the short man. "Boy, you dress awful fancy for a man that takes stead in a grave; one as rank is this," the thin man said. The short man nearly fell to his image. "Frank...How...How the fuck?" He began edging towards the exit. "Here's the thing Jimmy: to get paid, I need to bring you in alive, but to tell you the truth, I'd want nothing more than to end you right here." Jim took a step back towards the entrance of the tomb, but a quick glimpse of Frank's handgun cemented the short man in place. "I, of course, wouldn't waste a bullet from my gun. And being in the state that I find myself in, I can't very much overpower you. What I can do is outrun you, we both know that. Feeling improvisational, I'd hold you down while I chew out the ligaments in your knees to assure you never walk again and proceed to pick apart your limbs like a kebab, you remember them?" Jim shrunk in his pompous clothing as Frank walked towards the jamb he stood in, pausing for a moment to stare intently into his wavering eyes. "You've seen the work of cannibals, right?" Jim's eyes filled with tears, his mouth trembling something fierce -- a barebacked child caught in a blizzard. "What you usually see in those cases -- the legs go first, but trust me, that meat lasts. From there it's the arms, but the fun doesn't end there. The posterior, the nose, the eyes, the lips; I miss hotdogs as much as the next guy, you know Jimmy?" Frank's face held a grimace, holding on hope to get a chuckle out of Jimmy. "But here's the thing, Jimmy. We can't really spare another human life can we? We can't afford to lose somebody else in these present conditions. It's why I'm here today; a question I've to ask." Jim's skin turned pale and translucent; a picturesque statue quietly displayed in the doorway. "Why?" Nothing. "Answer me! Why?!" Jim drew no breath. "Why did you fucking kill her?!" "She was pregnant," Jim wept out. "She was fucking pregnant! The thought...How could we? She was at the ledge, I just pushed." Frank was taken aback; a beat of sincerity before wrapping his fingers around Jim's neck. "You see it as poetic? Her body torn apart on the dirt roads my nephew travels? That was the right call?!" The tears in Jim's eyes pooled and dried in a moment of eerie tranquility. "Yes," he whispered. ... Frank's legs whimpered as he climbed the wooden stairs of the ranch turned coliseum. Blood-thirsty jeering began to ring out as he came upon the second story. A dying sun embraced the thin man in a warm glow -- an illuminated, dusty visage of a redeemer. Curiously, Jim more so resembled a savior: tied to a cross three feet off the ground in the middle of the crippled arena surrounded by an audience eagerly awaiting his penance. Frank's name shot across the open-aired room, putting him into a sort of dizzy. "You fucking nut! For a minute I thought we'd seen the last of you!" The back of Frank's eyes stung as a red-cheeked man came into focus. "Sorry, it took longer than expected, Mark," Frank eked out, his eyes tearing up from the smell of dead flesh below. "He proved difficult to track down, but I eventually sniffed out his hiding place." "Way on the outskirts of the village, I heard," Mark replied walking over to a drawer behind a pseudo-throne. "You must've had a fun conversation with that fucker on your way back, huh?" A pit in Frank's stomach threatened to knock him on to his back. "Yeah, sure," he mumbled out. "Boy, that fucker? Shit, had I gone, I'd 'ave shot the fucker on the spot, fuck the bullets, you know. I'd 'ave fucked him up, I would." Mark finally lifted a small white envelope from the desk, the phrase "JIM -- $1,000" scrawled upon the front. "Thanks for this bounty, mayor, I appreciate it," Frank said as he grabbed the package and began walking away. Seeing this, Mark leapt to grip Frank's arm. "No, no, fucking, you have to stay for this, come on," Mark begged. "You fucking love these things, I fucking know you do!" An eternity passed Frank between moments as a building chant from the crowd came into earshot. "Yeah...Yeah, alright," Frank softly let out. Mark cackled as he walked towards the edge of the floor to address his audience. "NOW IT'S TIME! NOW IT'S TIME! NOW IT'S TIME!" the crowd screamed in unison. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," Mark yelled with a sneer as he was met with uproarious applause. "Have you made your decision?" "GUILTY! GUILTY! GUILTY!" "Then it is so," Mark said, a smile running across his face. "Jim Ackerman, you have been found guilty by a jury of your peers for the murder of your wife, Dorah Ackerman. I sentence you to death. May God grace his mercy for a soul worthier than yours." The crowd exploded with laughter as the sun began crawling behind the horizon. A quake reverberated through the floor boards below Frank's boots as a gate opened. A fissure of disbelief swept across Jim's face, as if he believed he had found himself in a nightmare. As reality set in, Jim bellowed out a cry as tears rushed down his face. The crowd welcomed his terror. Frank appeared content staring down at a hole in his boots. A small laceration on the side of his foot had begun bleeding. Pounding feet on the wood floors echoed inside the arena as Jim's screaming pierced the dawn. Wincing at the pain, Frank finally looked down at the ceremony. As Jim watched his intestines fall out of the gash in his abdomen, the zombie began work on the murderer's crotch -- an apparent highlight based on crowd reaction. Frank, stone-faced and silent, looked into Jim's eyes as the dying man looked up at the village's savior: a symbol of the justice remaining in this world. (3/7/23 4:07 a.m.) =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. ALICE'S HOME -- NIGHT -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Manco exits the home in a hurry. She upchucks on the street. Gathering herself, she looks up to see a slight glow in the black: The candle in the chapel's tower signaling someone. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. STORAGE ROOM -- NIGHT -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The night is silent. Vidal takes a deep breath and stands. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. ST. ANTHONY STREETS -- NIGHT -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Walking close by a row of houses, Mrs. Vidal slows near one home and slyly slips a pamphlet through its front door. She continues on, her head on an unending swivel. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. ALICE'S HOME -- NIGHT -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice stumbles down the silent road and arrives at her home. She smells something rank -- then looks down. A pile of vomit. PLASTERED OLD MAN (whispering) (O.S.): Every nation deserves the government it endures. We deserve it. I do. Me. Alice looks up toward the elderly man aimlessly wandering. PLASTERED OLD MAN: Every nation deserves the government it endures. We deserve it. I do. Me. The man begins whimpering, holding his head, becoming angry. PLASTERED OLD MAN (cont'd): Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up. Alice ignores the man and heads inside her home. PLASTERED OLD MAN (cont'd): We deserve it. Oh God, I deserve it! =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. ALICE'S HOME -- NIGHT -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice falls to her knees, exhaustion having already taken hold. She rubs her weary head. Then she looks at her hand. Purple, bloodied knuckles. Alice rises and walks over to her desk. She opens a drawer and searches. Nothing. She's confused. Then she looks on top of the desk itself. A journal open halfway. She realizes a candle has been left lit. She looks puzzled. ON JOURNAL To Mrs. Gwen Griffith: ON ALICE GWEN GRIFFITH. The name causes Alice's hands to tremble. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. STAMPEDE GROUND -- DAY (FLASHBACK) -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= A few hours before, Alice stands with Sally next to the pen. The forlorn undead hisses to itself as it awaits its meal. ALICE: I know you don't want to hear me say another word, it being the end here. But I have to ask a question of you. I wouldn't ask if it didn't matter. Sally stares ahead, trying to block out the noise. ALICE (cont'd): You ever hear the name Gwen Griffith? The undead bangs against the pen, ready for showtime. A tear drops from Sally's eyes. She forces herself to remain stoic. ALICE (cont'd): I'll ask again, Sally-- SALLY: Please stop. Alice would like to oblige, but... ALICE: I can't. I wish I could, but I can't. Sally chokes back her anger and sadness, wipes a tear away. SALLY: No. ALICE: No what? SALLY: No, I don't know Gwen Griffith. Jeez. Sally is exasperated by Alice, who glowers. COMMODORE (O.S.): Ladies and gentlemen of the jury-- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. ALICE'S HOME -- NIGHT (PRESENT) -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice collapses to the ground and falls into a deep sleep -- or coma. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. BURNT CHAPEL -- NIGHT -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The candle still burns at the top of the bell tower. Manco enters. The teenage girl pulls out a paper note from her pocket. She kneels down and slips it under the box of candles. Manco takes a deep breath, as if comforted by the darkness. She then pulls out an eloquent wood-handled pocket knife. She folds it out and feels the blade against her thumb. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. AMOS' CLUB -- DAY (FLASHBACK) -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Manco runs into the neglectful Milton Freed. As Manco walks away from the religious man from Mater, she tucks his knife into her sleeve. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. AMOS' CLUB -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Manco stares off at Alice as she climbs the stairs after Amos, confused by the bounty hunter's sudden departure. She rubs her sleeve between her finger and her thumb, plainly unsure of herself. Then, out of the corner of her eye, Manco spots the Young Woman behind the bar staring at her other wrist. Manco looks down: her sleeve is failing to hide burn marks. The teenager whips the cloth down and departs from the bar. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. BURNT CHAPEL -- NIGHT (PRESENT) -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Manco points the knife at her wrist and pulls back the sleeve. The letter "V" is branded on her soft skin. MANCO (to herself): You know what this is, Alice Alway? After a moment, Manco shakes her head in embarrassment. MANCO (cont'd): Stupid. Start over. Manco furrows her brow, becomes serious. However, fearing eavesdroppers, she must whisper, killing the gravitas. MANCO (cont'd): You seen these before, Alice Alway? That's right, it means "vagrant." Dammit, you sound like an idiot. She gives up the formality. It's not working. MANCO (cont'd): Hey Alice, you're a goddamn bitch. Manco closes the knife and blows the candle out. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. MEAT MARKET -- NIGHT -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Gregory sits and speaks to an UNSEEN LISTENER. GREGORY: I knew me a man of statistics once -- 'course, 'twere before all this here. See, he told me that our idea -- uh, conception of randomness, well it's all out of sorts. See here, boy tells me that statistics is all just about expectations -- says, to know what could happen so as to know what is possible. See, he intended to find a means of taking our fraught lives and make it make sense. See purpose in every minute detail. I hears that, I says, "Sir, where you see arithmetic, I see the Lord and His guiding grace." Gregory wipes his feverish brow with a handkerchief. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. ALICE'S HOME -- NIGHT -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alice lies face down on the floor; St. Anthony's terror finally put to rest. ON JOURNAL To Mrs. Gwen Griffith: GREGORY (O.S.): Imagine, if you will, a bullet falls without reason from the sky and lands itself inside a man's skull, killing him dead. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. DENVER STREET -- DAY (FLASHBACK) -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Teenage Alice, her face bruised and bloodied, bangs on the door of an apartment building. Tears fall from her eyes. But then, she looks toward a distant scream. A HORDE OF UNDEAD parades after her. Terrified, she runs. GREGORY (O.S.): A spot of bad luck, you'd figure. Not I! For as children of God, are we not meant to read into it? To take a lesson from it? And in doing so, discover our destined path? =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. MEAT MARKET -- NIGHT (PRESENT) -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Gregory pauses and peers down on to the Unseen Listener. GREGORY: So, what's the deeper reason to you seens whatcha seens? Well, you sure are teaching me a darn hard lesson. I was sloppy. I shouldn't have brought you. And I own that. Your father will be upset with me, but aforementions. You know, folks go to a college round near. They learning from teachers on how best to teach folks. Something, ain't it? What's more, you at the age of, what? Five? Six? You're already a master -- a virtuoso -- in the field. The man rises and begins walking away. GREGORY (cont'd): A friend of mine will be around soon to take care of you. Have a blessed journey to the resurrection, my son. A black bag is pulled over Robert's head. OVER BLACK A struggle ensues, with sounds of strained whimpering being met with the creaking of a chair. A final attempt at a breath from the boy. Then nothing. Footsteps patter away. Silence. Then a small rustle. More and more movement from the corpse, it sounds like. The rustling crescendos until its a fevered tremble. A banging -- the chair against the floor. Hissing and writhing and guttural screaming. A metal tool is removed from a table a few yards away. Footsteps approach. And then the black bag is removed. BACK TO SCENE Gregory watches as the Butcher approaches the UNDEAD ROBERT. In the Butcher's hand: a pair of pliers rusted with blood. GREGORY (cont'd): It'll all be over soon, Robert. Robert snaps at the Butcher, but the man is able to grip the boy by the throat. He then begins pulling out its teeth. GREGORY (cont'd): Careful with him, now. After completing the removal, the Butcher pockets the teeth and moves to untie the boy. However, Robert jumps and knocks the chair over. He lays on his side, hissing at both men. GREGORY (cont'd): Come now, behave, Robert. The Butcher returns to Robert and unties the boy. As soon as he is free, the boy crawls over to Gregory and puts his bloody gums on Gregory's shin. The priest laughs. He kneels down and grips the boy by the shoulders. GREGORY (cont'd): It is, I, Robert! Your father! Robert lunges at Gregory, but the priest accepts it as a hug. Robert's attempts at biting could be mistaken for kisses. GREGORY (cont'd): My son. You're my son. Forever. CUT TO BLACK. ******************************************************************************* (6/4/19 12:23 a.m.) EDITOR'S NOTE: The following is a transcript of a video edited by Martie "Murds" Mood. Title: How Religion Fits Into The Last of Us -- strummerdood Description: Free Palestine -- The Past Didn't Go Anywhere (2007), a pamphlet by April Rosenblum Visibility: Public Restrictions: - Date: Jul 9, 2013 Views: 4,950 Comments: 34 Like (vs. dislike): 175 (96.7%) Hey, I'm strummerdood or Matt or whatever, I don't know. Did you play The Last of Us? No? Then don't watch this video because I'm going to spoil everything. I'll give you, like, three seconds to leave. So, the design of The Last of Us is very much informed by that old adage of survival of the fittest, which emerged from the Darwin theory of natural selection. Everything from the gameplay mechanics to a lot of the character decisions all revolve around outlasting your fellow man. However, I believe the narrative subtext has a very obvious religious connotation that helps give the story's climax a bit more punch without superseding the amazing relationship between Joel and Ellie. But let's backtrack to what Joel says to Tess when they arrive at the initial Fireflies drop-off point early in the game. TESS: You've got to get this girl to Tommy's. He used to run with this crew, he'll know where to go. JOEL: No, no no, that was your crusade. BOARD: Crusade: An organized campaign concerning a social, political, or religious issue. This didn't pop on my radar until my second playthrough, as the word could be used as offhandedly as yelling "Jesus Christ" or "Oh my God," but consider what Tess says in this moment to see the gravity of that word. TESS: Guess what, we're shitty people, Joel, it's been that way for a long time. JOEL: No, we are survivors. TESS: This is our chance to-- JOEL: It is over, Tess! BOARD: Question: Why is Joel taking this journey? The infection clearly has her thinking of the afterlife, and the terrible things she's done since the outbreak. It's something that comes up later when Sam is infected. With Ellie, he considers whether or not people are still conscious after they've been infected with the virus, his older brother Henry believing the souls pass on. SAM: Like in heaven. During the Pittsburgh chapter, Henry makes certain Sam knows not to arbitrarily steal anything, just the bare minimum to survive. SAM: We only take what we have to. HENRY: That's right. Of course, Ellie is a damn klepto, so she steals the toy robot for Sam. However, he rejects it, likely thinking it will compromise his soul's chance to pass on. It's apparent from the fate of the two brothers and the notes gleaned from the site of Ish's hideout that maintaining morals in this world is ill-advised. To further reinforce this notion, you have Joel's brother, Tommy, who is a pretty upstanding guy throughout the game. However, it's revealed during a conversation that Tommy went through a dark period with Joel to survive. TOMMY: I got nothing but nightmares from those years. JOEL: You survived because of me. TOMMY: It wasn't worth it. BOARD: Fun Fact: The Book of Joel by the Israel prophet calls for national repentance in the face of God's judgment that brought with it locust and drought. So, going back to the original question: Why is Joel going through all this? Maybe this "crusade" will act as some type of redemption for Joel; to erase away his dark past and prove his humanity. It becomes a far more tangible idea after he leaves Tommy's community with Ellie. Also, consider Ellie and her origins. We know she has a mother who was close friends with Marlene, but what about the father? Not a single word is spoken about him. Isn't it a little strange that in a game so focused on a perceived father-daughter relationship, no one ever mentions or even inquires about Ellie's father. What, did she fall out of the sky or something? BOARD: Fun Fact: Ellie means "light" in Greek...or some variation of the word, I don't speak the damn language. So, during the final chapter, you arrive in Salt Lake City, a heavily Mormon community. Your destination: St. Mary's Hospital -- i.e. the Virgin Mary. Ellie is held up as the savior to mankind by the Fireflies, who challenge believers to look for the light. Her sacrifice could very well save the human race, and she's essentially dying for the sins of man. I mean, Jesus Christ, it's pretty obvious. But where is Joel's place in all this? The idea of predestination emerges in the Winter chapter with David... DAVID: You see, I believe that everything happens for a reason. ...and continues on into the Spring sequences with Marlene. JOEL: Maybe it was meant to be. It's brought up frequently that everything is happening for a reason. Ellie even believes in a moment of survivor's guilt during the conclusion that it was her time to leave this world. ELLIE: I'm still waiting for my turn. But as you probably know, Joel kinda gets in the way of that. Joel embracing his dark side becomes far more apparent when Ellie steals the photo of Sarah, and Joel delivers one of the more significant lines of this story. JOEL: Well, no matter how hard you try, I guess you can't escape your past. Though his original motivation may very well have been about redemption, Joel realizes that, like his watch, he can't fix his shattered past. So, instead, he chooses to save Ellie. It plays into one of the game's key influences, Cormac McCarthy's novel The Road. Though they share numerous similarities, one really poignant one comes from a quote early-on in the book. "He knew only that the child was his warrant. He said: If he is not the word of God God never spoke." BOARD: "He knew only that the child was his warrant. He said: If he is not the word of God God never spoke." The only reason the father from The Road doesn't commit suicide is because he sees protecting his son as a mission from God. The same could be said of Joel, as well as the various characters you meet on your journey -- namely, Henry and Frank. JOEL: You keep finding something to fight for. In this way, Joel lost his soul, his life, or whatever you want to say, for Ellie. But I know personally, I only took a brief beat before laying waste to the doctors in the room. And you know what, Joel really has a personality shift afterwards -- as if he was born again. I mean, in his perspective, was this redemption? Did he find peace in laying waste to the Fireflies? It would appear so, wouldn't it? BOARD: Born Again Christianity often involves a personal relationship with Jesus Christ...like Mos Def in that one season of Dexter. It goes along with the connection Adam Sessler made with Don Quixote, who creates this reality for himself away from the real world. I mean, just check out these eye charts in the hospital. (ON SCREEN: "RUN YOU R NEARLY THERE DON'T QUIT!") The conclusion was so special for me because everything came into focus all at once and just plowed me over. People perceive plot twists as some radical reality being revealed, but this is far more potent: subtextual elements that skew the values and motivations of the character. Of course, if we want to get weird and make stupid assumptions and connections -- and really it's why you've made it this far through the video, right? -- then is it possible that Joel's violent rampage was the very thing that was meant to be? In Christianity, in order to receive salvation, you must repent for your sins, but the player's only seen the worst of humanity. Was it fate that Joel denied this gift and allowed evolution to take place? Uh, maybe? Thing is, this is all speculation. The whole thing could just be about two survivors helping each other stay alive in this world, and if it is, it's still a masterpiece. BOARD: Trivia: A changeling is the offspring of a fairy who is substituted for a human child. Ellie, who Joel perceives as his surrogate daughter, remarks in Bill's town that she hates fairies.