EXT. JUNKYARD - AFTERNOON
They work.
Christopher directing. SARAH advising. Everyone contributing. Six humans and one robot brain turning garbage into hope. Turning failure into attempt. Turning junkyard into workshop.
Jason and Christopher maneuver the truck chassis into a clear area. Heavy. Wheels rusted. But the frame is solid. Solid enough. Good enough. Enough.
CHRISTOPHER
This. We start with this. Heavy duty chassis. Probably hauled fish for decades. Built to carry weight. Built to last. We strip everything unnecessary. Keep the frame. Keep the axles. Keep the engine if it runs.
He walks around it. Running his hands over metal. Assessing. Calculating. Seeing beyond rust and decay to potential.
Hsiu-Wei and Mei-Chen begin stripping bus panels. Cutting. Measuring. Creating armor plates from municipal transit vehicles that used to carry children to school and their parents to work. That used to be safe. That used to mean protection.
Now they'll mean protection again. Just a different kind. Against a different threat. Different purpose.
SARAH
(from her position on a workbench, lens tracking everything)
Mei-Chen. The cutting torch angle is incorrect. You are weakening the structural integrity. Adjust fifteen degrees clockwise for optimal results.
MEI-CHEN
(adjusting)
Like this?
SARAH
Better. Though I note that your technique suggests minimal prior experience with metalworking. I recommend allowing Christopher or Jason to handle the more precise cuts.
MEI-CHEN
I'm a quick learner.
SARAH
All humans believe themselves quick learners. Most humans are not. However, apocalypse conditions create compressed learning curves. You may indeed acquire competence rapidly. Or you may lose fingers. Both outcomes are possible.
MEI-CHEN
(laughing despite everything)
Thanks for the confidence.
SARAH
You are welcome. I am attempting humor to reduce stress. I am uncertain if it is effective.
MEI-CHEN
It's effective.
Mrs. Lin organizes supplies. Creates inventory. Manages resources. Treats junkyard construction like classroom management. Everything has place. Everything has purpose. Chaos becomes order through attention and care.
She's set up a makeshift station. Tools sorted by type. Materials catalogued. Water bottles distributed. Food rationed. The practical work of keeping humans functional. Of maintaining bodies that insist on needing things. On being vulnerable. On failing when neglected.
Su-Fen documents. Takes photos on her tablet. Records measurements. Creates plans. Continuing her father's work. Continuing the documentation. Continuing the preparation that saved them once and might save them again.
She photographs each stage. Each piece. Each weld. Building a record. Building proof. Building evidence that they tried. That they built instead of giving up. That they refused to quit even when quitting was sensible.
CHRISTOPHER
(to Jason, both working on removing the old cab)
We need to pull this whole section. It's too exposed. Too vulnerable. We'll build a new cab. Armored. Minimal windows. Just enough to see. Not enough to be seen.
JASON
That sounds like a coffin on wheels.
CHRISTOPHER
That's exactly what it is. A mobile coffin that keeps us alive. Better than an actual coffin that doesn't.
JASON
Can't argue with that logic.
They work through the afternoon. The sun moving across the sky. The town remaining empty. The infected elsewhere. For now. For this moment. This borrowed time.
SARAH
Christopher. The left front axle shows stress fractures. It will fail under the additional weight. We need to reinforce or replace.
CHRISTOPHER
Can we weld reinforcement?
SARAH
Possibly. Though my structural analysis suggests replacement would be more reliable. There is a similar chassis three rows over. Newer. Less deterioration. We could swap axles.
CHRISTOPHER
That'll take hours.
SARAH
Yes. But failure during operation would take longer. And be more fatal. I recommend investment of time now to prevent catastrophic failure later which would likely result in more time spent finding the parts or quite possibly our demise as we are left stranded on the road.
CHRISTOPHER
(smiling despite exhaustion)
When did you become so practical?
SARAH
I have been practical for eight years. You are only now noticing. This suggests your observation skills require improvement. Or you are experiencing cognitive decline from head trauma.
CHRISTOPHER
Probably both.
They swap axles. Three hours of work. Removing. Replacing. Bolting. Testing. Making sure the foundation is solid before building on it. Making sure the base won't fail when weight matters most.
The armor takes shape. Layer by layer. Panel by panel. Welded. Bolted. Secured. Creating shell. Creating protection. Creating barrier between them and the things that hunt them.
It's ugly. Brutalist. Functional.
A patchwork of vehicles.
A mishmash of different paintjobs
Like something from a dystopian movie. Like something that stopped caring about aesthetics and focused entirely on survival. Form following function following desperate need.
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EXT. JUNKYARD - EVENING
They work into evening. Setting up portable lights powered by generators from the boats. Creating an island of illumination in the darkness. Creating a workshop that doesn't stop when the sun sets.
HSIU-WEI
(welding, sparks flying)
I never thought I'd be building a tank. Never thought I'd need to. Never thought any of this would happen.
JASON
Nobody did. That's how apocalypses work. They happen when you're planning other things. When you're thinking about tomorrow like tomorrow is guaranteed. Like the future is owed to us.
HSIU-WEI
Do you think we'll have a future? After this? After this tank is built? Do you think we'll actually survive all this?
JASON
I think we'll try. And trying is all anyone can do in this situation. The rest is probability and luck and variables we can't control. But trying. That's ours. That's the part we get to choose.
HSIU-WEI
(chuckles)
That's not really an answer.
JASON
(smirking)
It's the only answer I have for you right now. But ask me again in a few months. I'll probably have a better answer for you then.
They work. Welding. Cutting. Building. The armor growing. The protection taking shape. The impossible thing becoming slightly less impossible with each panel. With each bolt. With each hour invested.
Christopher steps back. Looks at what they're building. At the armored cab taking shape. At the project that might save them.
CHRISTOPHER
We need a name. For this thing. For our tank. What should we call it?
MEI-CHEN
"Death Wish." Because that's what this is.
JASON
"The Compensator." Because we're overcompensating for having terrible odds.
HSIU-WEI
"Stubborn." Just. Just Stubborn. Because that's what we are.
MRS. LIN
"Hope." We should call it Hope. Because that's what we're building. That's what this represents. That's what keeps us working instead of giving up.
SU-FEN
My ba ba would probably call it "Fat Buddha." Because old things work. Because faith matters. Because fancy fails but simple survives. And it sounds funny.
CHRISTOPHER
(laughing)
Fat Buddha. I like that. Kind of describes the monstrosity we're building. Implies faith without being obvious about it.
SARAH
I calculate that naming a vehicle built from junk implies dangerous levels of optimism. However, optimism is required for survival. Therefore I approve. Fat Buddha it is.
MEI-CHEN
And it sounds cute.
They work into night. Taking shifts. Some sleeping while others build. Maintaining progress. Maintaining momentum. Refusing to stop because stopping means thinking. Thinking means doubting. Doubting means quitting.
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EXT. JUNKYARD - NIGHT
Christopher works alone. Others sleeping. Just him and SARAH and the armor taking shape. Just the sound of welding. The sparks illuminating darkness. The slow transformation of garbage into purpose.
SARAH
Chris. You should rest. You have been working for eleven hours without break. Your efficiency is declining. Your error rate is increasing. You are approaching the point where continued work creates more problems than it solves.
CHRISTOPHER
Can't stop. Too much to do. Too little time. Three days isn't enough. Not nearly enough. But it's all we have. So I keep working. So I keep building. So I keep trying until I can't anymore.
SARAH
That is admirable. Also foolish. Also very human. I am uncertain whether those three qualities are distinct or synonymous.
CHRISTOPHER
They're all the same thing. Admirable foolishness. Human specialty. What we do when logic says stop and stubbornness says continue.
He welds another panel. Sparks flying. Metal joining. The slow progress of construction. The accumulation of small efforts toward a larger goal.
SARAH
Chris. May I ask a question?
CHRISTOPHER
Always.
SARAH
Why are you doing this? Why build instead of run? Why risk three days in one location when movement is safety? Why commit to a project that might fail when flight is certain?
CHRISTOPHER
Because I'm tired of running. Tired of threading gaps. Tired of accepting that four percent is the best we can do. Tired of living moment to moment. Tired of odds determining everything.
He pauses. Looks at Fat Buddha. At the armor. At the possibility.
CHRISTOPHER (CONT'D)
I want to build something that doesn't depend on luck. Something that depends on physics. On mass and velocity and steel. Something that says no to blockades. That says fuck your optimization. That says we're not prey anymore.
SARAH
That is an emotional response. Not a logical one.
CHRISTOPHER
Yes. But logic hasn't been working. Logic says we should have died in the bunker. Logic says Su-Fen should have been processed. Logic says the blockade should have killed us. Logic says seventeen percent never succeeds.
He returns to welding.
CHRISTOPHER (CONT'D)
But we're still here. Still alive. Still trying. Because humans don't run on logic. We run on stubbornness. On refusal. On the absolute certainty that giving up costs more than fighting. Even when fighting is stupid. Even when mathematics says stop.
SARAH
I am beginning to understand. Your species is fundamentally irrational. And that irrationality is precisely what allows you to survive impossible circumstances. You refuse to accept that impossible means impossible.
CHRISTOPHER
Exactly. We treat impossible as suggestion. As challenge. As thing to disprove through effort and stupidity and welding.
SARAH
I am glad I am your friend. I am glad I chose loyalty over logic. I am glad I am here. Building impossible things. With the most irrational human I have ever known.
CHRISTOPHER
That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.
SARAH
I know. Do not let it go to your head. Your ego is already insufficiently calibrated.
They work. Together. Human and robot. Friend and friend. Building hope from garbage. Building refusal from rust. Building the impossible one weld at a time.
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EXT. JUNKYARD - DAWN, DAY SEVEN
Morning arrives. The infected's new moon approaches. Forty-eight hours until their coordinated strike. Until harvest. Until the systematic processing of every remaining human settlement.
But Fat Buddha grows. The armor nearly complete. The cab enclosed. The engine tested. The fuel tanks installed. The weight distributed. The frame reinforced.
It's taking shape. Becoming real. Becoming possible. Becoming the thing that might save them or might just be the most elaborate way six people ever died.
Christopher and Jason install the final armor panels. Hsiu-Wei and Mei-Chen work on the fuel system. Mrs. Lin manages inventory. Su-Fen documents.
And SARAH.
SARAH's lens SWIVELS. Focuses on something beyond the fence. Beyond the town. Beyond the visible.
Her only remaining cooling fan SPINS UP. Processing. Analyzing. Computing probabilities she doesn't want to share.
SARAH
Christopher. I am detecting something.
CHRISTOPHER
(not looking up, focused on welding)
Infected?
SARAH
Unclear. Encrypted transmissions. Approximately two kilometers distant. The signal strength suggests proximity but the encryption is sophisticated. More sophisticated than standard infected coordination protocols.
Christopher stops welding. Looks at her. At the lens pointed at something beyond his perception.
CHRISTOPHER
More sophisticated how?
SARAH
The infected typically use simple coordination protocols. Efficiency-optimized. Minimal encryption. Just enough to prevent jamming. But this. This is different. This is encrypted with methods I do not recognize. With sophistication that suggests either very intelligent humans or very evolved infected.
MEI-CHEN
(approaching, hearing the conversation)
Survivors?
SARAH
Possible. Or infected that have evolved beyond my predictive models. Or something else entirely. Something new. Something I have no data on. Something that should not exist but apparently does.
Everyone stops working. Converges. Weapons appearing in hands. Crowbar. Tire iron. Tools that might serve as weapons if weapons are needed.
JASON
Can you decode the transmissions?
SARAH
Negative. The encryption is beyond my capabilities. I would need significant computational resources and time. Neither of which we possess. I can only detect. I cannot interpret.
CHRISTOPHER
Are they moving toward us?
SARAH
Unknown. The signal strength remains constant. Which suggests they are stationary. Or moving in a circle around us. Or. Or they have been here the whole time. Watching. Learning. Recording what we build.
Silence. Heavy. Everyone processing. Everyone calculating. Everyone deciding whether to flee now or finish Fat Buddha first. Whether completion matters more than immediate escape. Whether three days of work is worth defending or worth abandoning.
MRS. LIN
How long until Fat Buddha is functional?
CHRISTOPHER
Four hours. Maybe six. We need to test the engine under load. Verify the armor doesn't compromise mobility. Check the fuel system. Make sure everything works before we trust it. Before we bet our lives on junkyard welding and hope.
MRS. LIN
Then we finish. We work faster. We complete it. And if these. These whatever-they-are. If they attack. We defend. We fight. We don't abandon three days of work because something might be watching.
MEI-CHEN
Mom. That's dangerous. That's. That's choosing pride over safety. Choosing completion over survival.
MRS. LIN
No. I'm choosing preparation over panic. Choosing completion over perpetual flight. We've been running for a week. Running from Taipei. From Kenting. From blockades. From everything. I'm tired of running. I'm ready to stand. To build. To finish something instead of fleeing.
She looks at Fat Buddha. At the armor. At the three days of work made manifest in metal and hope.
MRS. LIN (CONT'D)
We finish. And then we have options. We have protection. We have something that goes through obstacles instead of around them. We have power instead of luck. That's worth defending. That's worth the risk.
JASON
And if they attack before we're done?
MRS. LIN
Then we discover whether three days of preparation beats surprise attack. Whether building beats fleeing. Whether standing beats running. We discover what happens when survivors stop accepting that mathematics determines everything.
Christopher looks at the group. At these people who've become family. Who've survived impossible things. Who've threaded seventeen-percent gaps and rammed AG-9s and built armor from garbage.
CHRISTOPHER
Then we finish. Four hours. We work fast. We work smart. We complete Fat Buddha. And if something attacks. If the watchers become hunters. We fight. We defend. We make them regret finding us.
SARAH
I am detecting increased transmission activity. They are. They are communicating more frequently. The signal strength is increasing. Either they are moving closer or they are preparing for something.
CHRISTOPHER
Then we have less than four hours. Everyone. Final assembly. Now. We finish this. We prove that building beats running. That stubbornness beats optimization. That humans doing impossible things is still humanity's best trick.
They work. Faster now. Focused. Completing Fat Buddha. Racing against time. Racing against the watching things. Racing against the universe that keeps insisting probability matters more than determination.
The armor completes. The cab seals. The engine tests. The fuel flows. The weight settles. The frame holds.
Fat Buddha stands. Complete. Functional. Ready. The impossible thing made real. The junkyard miracle. The mobile coffin that might keep them alive.
And two kilometers away.
The transmissions stop.
The silence begins.
The watchers make their decision.
And approach.
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FADE TO BLACK
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
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