BLAKE ADAMS (29, rugged, unshaven) coasts into the centre of
Cactus Loop, which appears deserted.
He parks under the shade of a bull nose veranda and looks
around.
Removes his helmet, unties a bandanna to wipe his face and
drinks from a military water bottle.
He stares into the distance.
MONTAGE - BLAKE'S MEMORY
- Family scene - Young Blake fishing with his father.
- Graveyard scene - His parent's funeral.
- An office - Blake reading a will. Looking at a photo.
- Military base. Blake shaking hands with an officer.
- Open road - Blake riding away on his motorbike having quit
the army.
END MONTAGE
A fly buzzes him back to reality.
He starts the motor and zooms off.
As he turns a corner, he almost rams into a tall, rangy,
ponytailed guy.
Across the road another man is collapsed on the sidewalk.
A police car glides past.
An ambulance siren shrills in the distance.
At speed, Blake rides off.
Blake reaches a cliff-edge, stops his bike and scans the
horizon.
Not far to the South, he spots what he's looking for.
He grabs a pair of binoculars from his side-saddle.
He homes in on the landmark.
23.
Takes out a map, studies it.
BLAKE
(to himself)
That'll be it.
Above him, A KESTREL screeches, intent on its prey.
Blake looks up.
The Kestrel plummets.
Blake loses his footing, throws his body against the ground,
grapples, slides down.
His belt lassos a stub of wood, wrenching his pants upward.
He hollers with pain, sways, unable to move.
The bird circles, then settles on the ridge below.
She turns her head to look up at Blake, lets out another
screech.
FREDERICK “FLEABAG” BAGLEY (30s, tall, strung-out) hunches
over a beer.
Sweat-stained clothes. Eyes on the door.
His mongrel, DRUMMER, sprawls on the bar, drooling.
A rifle leans within easy reach.
BARTENDER MICK (50s) wipes a glass. Watching the rifle more
than Fleabag.
MICK
You look like hell, Fleabag.
Sleeping rough again?
FLEABAG
(not looking up)
Mind your own.
Mick moves off.
Fleabag lifts his beer. His hand trembles.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
(to Drummer)
Know what your problem is?
24.
Drummer pants happily.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
You trust.
A beat.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
I used to.
A REGULAR down the bar glances over.
REGULAR
Talking to yourself again?
Fleabag’s hand slides to the rifle. Casual. Possessive.
FLEABAG
Talking to the only thing
that doesn’t lie.
Silence spreads.
A LOCAL WOMAN leans to her COMPANION.
LOCAL WOMAN
(low)
He’s got a gun.
COMPANION
He’s always got a gun.
Fleabag hears. Doesn’t look at them.
Runs a finger along the rifle.
FLEABAG
(quiet, to Drummer)
Kept me breathing, this one.
A beat.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
World’s simple when you stop
expecting better.
Mick returns. Careful.
MICK
Maybe leave it in the truck.
FLEABAG
Maybe I don’t.
25.
The door opens.
FEELGOOD WILLOW (60s) enters.
Fleabag clocks him immediately.
Something flickers — recognition, then something else.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
(under his breath)
There he is.
Feelgood meets his eyes.
Doesn’t approach. Just a small, disappointed shake of the
head.
Sits elsewhere.
That lands harder than words.
Fleabag stares into his beer.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
(to Drummer, quieter)
Wasn’t always like this.
A beat.
He drains the glass. Hard.
The moment passes.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
Doesn’t matter now.
He stands. Energy shifting — focused, dangerous.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
Bloke on the bike saw too much.
He grabs the rifle.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
Thinks he’s got choices.
A thin smile.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
People like that don’t last.
He drops Drummer to the floor.
26.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
Come on.
He heads for the door.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
We’ll find him before he gets
ideas.
Fleabag exits.
Drummer follows.
Silence holds for a beat.
Feelgood watches the door.
FEELGOOD
(quiet)
He knows better.
MICK
Doesn’t act like it.
FEELGOOD
That’s the trouble.
A distant engine ROARS to life.
Feelgood lowers his gaze.
FEELGOOD (CONT'D)
Spirit doesn’t forget.
Mick doesn’t understand that.
But he doesn’t like it.
— ⑥
EXT. CACTUS LOOP MAIN STREET - DAY
BLAKE ADAMS (29, rugged, unshaven) coasts into the centre of
Cactus Loop, which appears deserted.
He parks under the shade of a bull nose veranda and looks
around.
Removes his helmet, unties a bandanna to wipe his face and
drinks from a military water bottle.
He stares into the distance.
MONTAGE - BLAKE'S MEMORY
- Family scene - Young Blake fishing with his father.
- Graveyard scene - His parent's funeral.
- An office - Blake reading a will. Looking at a photo.
- Military base. Blake shaking hands with an officer.
- Open road - Blake riding away on his motorbike having quit
the army.
END MONTAGE
A fly buzzes him back to reality.
He starts the motor and zooms off.
As he turns a corner, he almost rams into a tall, rangy,
ponytailed guy.
Across the road another man is collapsed on the sidewalk.
A police car glides past.
An ambulance siren shrills in the distance.
At speed, Blake rides off.
EXT. COASTAL BUSHLAND - DAY
Blake reaches a cliff-edge, stops his bike and scans the
horizon.
Not far to the South, he spots what he's looking for.
He grabs a pair of binoculars from his side-saddle.
He homes in on the landmark.
23.
Takes out a map, studies it.
BLAKE
(to himself)
That'll be it.
Above him, A KESTREL screeches, intent on its prey.
Blake looks up.
The Kestrel plummets.
Blake loses his footing, throws his body against the ground,
grapples, slides down.
His belt lassos a stub of wood, wrenching his pants upward.
He hollers with pain, sways, unable to move.
The bird circles, then settles on the ridge below.
She turns her head to look up at Blake, lets out another
screech.
INT. CACTUS LOOP PUB - DAY
FREDERICK “FLEABAG” BAGLEY (30s, tall, strung-out) hunches
over a beer.
Sweat-stained clothes. Eyes on the door.
His mongrel, DRUMMER, sprawls on the bar, drooling.
A rifle leans within easy reach.
BARTENDER MICK (50s) wipes a glass. Watching the rifle more
than Fleabag.
MICK
You look like hell, Fleabag.
Sleeping rough again?
FLEABAG
(not looking up)
Mind your own.
Mick moves off.
Fleabag lifts his beer. His hand trembles.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
(to Drummer)
Know what your problem is?
24.
Drummer pants happily.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
You trust.
A beat.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
I used to.
A REGULAR down the bar glances over.
REGULAR
Talking to yourself again?
Fleabag’s hand slides to the rifle. Casual. Possessive.
FLEABAG
Talking to the only thing
that doesn’t lie.
Silence spreads.
A LOCAL WOMAN leans to her COMPANION.
LOCAL WOMAN
(low)
He’s got a gun.
COMPANION
He’s always got a gun.
Fleabag hears. Doesn’t look at them.
Runs a finger along the rifle.
FLEABAG
(quiet, to Drummer)
Kept me breathing, this one.
A beat.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
World’s simple when you stop
expecting better.
Mick returns. Careful.
MICK
Maybe leave it in the truck.
FLEABAG
Maybe I don’t.
25.
The door opens.
FEELGOOD WILLOW (60s) enters.
Fleabag clocks him immediately.
Something flickers — recognition, then something else.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
(under his breath)
There he is.
Feelgood meets his eyes.
Doesn’t approach. Just a small, disappointed shake of the
head.
Sits elsewhere.
That lands harder than words.
Fleabag stares into his beer.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
(to Drummer, quieter)
Wasn’t always like this.
A beat.
He drains the glass. Hard.
The moment passes.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
Doesn’t matter now.
He stands. Energy shifting — focused, dangerous.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
Bloke on the bike saw too much.
He grabs the rifle.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
Thinks he’s got choices.
A thin smile.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
People like that don’t last.
He drops Drummer to the floor.
26.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
Come on.
He heads for the door.
FLEABAG (CONT'D)
We’ll find him before he gets
ideas.
Fleabag exits.
Drummer follows.
Silence holds for a beat.
Feelgood watches the door.
FEELGOOD
(quiet)
He knows better.
MICK
Doesn’t act like it.
FEELGOOD
That’s the trouble.
A distant engine ROARS to life.
Feelgood lowers his gaze.
FEELGOOD (CONT'D)
Spirit doesn’t forget.
Mick doesn’t understand that.
But he doesn’t like it.