THE BOTANIST

After a new subspecies of humans have drunk the planet dry, a botanist rushes to find a way to keep her captors alive before the drought kills them all.

Teaser

INT. JANE'S KITCHEN - DAY

A droplet of water falls down from a pipet... landing on the browning leaf of a stumpy succulent sat in the windowsill.

DR JANE ASHMORE (30s), an English Rose with thorns to boot, leans close to study the plant. She checks from all angles.

She stands up and SIGHS. Whilst wiping her hands down her olive coloured jumpsuit, she turns to face the dining table:

-- There, where dinner should be, lies a corpse.

Jane looks into the man's cold, dead eyes staring up at her ceiling. She frowns... then pops a cushion under his head.

She uses scissors to cut open his already ripped shirt, walks her fingers up his bulging ribs and to his sternum. The corpse's taut skin barely moves under pressure.

JANE

Sorry.

Jane stabs the scissor blade into his breast plate, dragging it across - attempting a bootleg Y-incision. Dark blood oozes out the cut as she plunges her hands inside him.

In the hallway, visible through the archway to the kitchen, a young girl races down the stairs: ELLA (13). She throws a black bomber jacket over her own standard issue jumpsuit.

Jane pops her head up, eyes Ella near the front door -

JANE (CONT'D)

Where are you going?

Ella checks her hair in the hallway mirror.

ELLA

Molly's.

Jane tugs her hands from the man's torso, her arms coated in brown blood all the way up to her elbows.

JANE

No darling, not tonight.

ELLA

But you'll be busy with that thing.

Jane gives her a look only mothers can give.

JANE

Take off your jacket and come help me.

Ella crosses her arms but takes a few steps forward...

ELLA

I ain't touching it.

Jane smiles as she plunges her hands back inside.

Ella stands right where she is - arms still crossed.

JANE

Oh, come on. Don't be silly. I know they're scary when they're alive

but this one certainly can't hurt you.

Ella takes a few steps in. She leans over... besides the hole in his chest, he does look peaceful - like he's taking a nap.

JANE (CONT'D)

You know... this might be the first autopsy of a homo terras - right

here in our kitchen. Isn't that exciting?

Ella doesn't seem to think so. But she inches nearer, her eyes fixed on the dead man.

THUMP! Ella almost falls over as the living room wall shakes.

ELLA

What was that?

Jane's calm. She puts on a content smile.

JANE

You know what? Go to Molly's, okay?

ELLA

You sure?

Jane holds her bloody hands out the way and gives Ella a kiss on the head.

JANE

Just be safe.

Ella nods then heads out the door... Jane drops her smile.

She glares down the lens of the security camera on the wall, filming her from above a plain door.

THUMP! -

INT. SURVEILLANCE ROOM - DAY

- A tennis ball BOUNCES off the wall of a dark, compact room.

Feet on the desk, a man in forest-green uniform CATCHES it:

-- LOUIS (35, grafted), a soldier with more muscles than brain cells, watches her through a monitor.

INTERCUT SURVEILLANCE ROOM / JANE'S KITCHEN

Jane glares back - well aware of him watching her.

Louis CHUCKLES, throws the ball... A pale hand CATCHES it:

-- ARNOLD (50), a gaunt man with the haunting grace of an dying ballet dancer, lurks behind Louis.

ARNOLD

Do not play with her. Louis sits up, taps on the keyboard.

LOUIS

Sorry, sir. No problem, sir.

Arnold's green eyes peer at Jane like a bug under a glass. He holds a button on the keyboard... his voice crackles through the speakers in the kitchen -

ARNOLD

Doctor Ashmore. Sitrep. And quickly.

Through gritted teeth -

JANE

Water scarce. Situation... still shit.

ARNOLD

I provide you with a fresh corpse and you have nothing more to say?

JANE

Sir. I've been in the lab all day. I just got back, got him open -

ARNOLD

Your excuses bore me. My superiors grow restless.

Jane looks down at the open cavity, the mess she's made on her dining table. Then, she notices... the corpse's heart is iridescent... red with shimmers of green.

JANE

What happens if I can't save them?

ARNOLD

You will doom us all - grafted and humans alike.

She drops her bloody hands to the side.

ARNOLD (CONT'D)

Fix it Dr Ashmore. Failure is a slow death for us all.

EXT. DESERT CAMPSITE - DAY

Under an orange sun, HENRIK HOLM (60s, human), a silver fox in head-to-toe homemade survival gear, packs up his tent.

He stands on a cliff edge, staring out to the desert ahead. Former derelict buildings crumble where cities use to bloom.

He leans over the precipice to see beneath -

EXT. DESERT - DAY

A scorpion scuttles through rows of bare feet.

A silent HORDE of thousands stand... thousands of something that were once people.

Now, they are 'grafted' beings.

With decayed clothes that hang from sickly thin bodies, The Horde spreads out for miles in every direction.

They stand with sunburnt, taut skin and open mouths, staring up to the sky... waiting for the rain that isn't coming.