A short script featured on the Six-Page Scripts Podcast

1. FIVE YEARS ON MARS
Written by
Anthony Todaro & Chris Keaton

2. EXT. DEEP SPACE
Slow pan over a field of stars. The SUN blazes into view.
JACK (V.O.)
The rats are all dead. I’ve shut
down all experiments in the HAB and
I’m on reserve water supplies.
EXT. SURFACE - DUSK
Flying over red desolate terrain and a rocky range.
In the valley, a row of white domes, HABITATS or HABS, sprout
from the sand like a line of half buried golf balls.
JACK (V.O.)
Where is my supply drop? Mars
Station Forty-Two, out.
A FLARE burns directly at us as the sun descends behind a
geometric rock formations.
INT. HAB - CONTROL ROOM
Unkempt and haggard, JACK CARTER takes his finger off the
button on a TALK BOX attached to the wall. A GREEN light
flashes, indicating the message was sent.
Jack looks to a tall stack of paperback novels lined against
the wall.
JACK
I’m even on my last goddamn book,
Margaret.
He turns to cute little mouse, MARGARET, in a small cage on
the counter nudging at her water bottle.
Empty food trays and crushed water bottles litter the HAB.
Sitting down in his command chair, he picks up a worn
paperback, flips to his dog-eared page and kicks up his feet.
A loud BONG sounds. LIGHTS FLASH and ALARMS RING.
Jack spins in his chair and moves to another computer. He
searches through code menus waiting for the system to load.
JACK
Come on you piece-a-junk!

3. 2.
A faint SCRATCHING sound slowly builds. The alarm still
blasts and the safety strobes FLASH. Jack listens.
JACK
It’s too early for bugs.
SCRATCHING noises consumes the entire HAB.
The walls RUMBLE with the SOUND of thousands of SPACE BUG
CREATURES trying to penetrate the HAB walls.
Jack jumps back to the terminal and types endless code and
finally gets the alarm and strobes to stop.
COMPUTER VOICE (O.S.)
E.M. Pulse engaged. Hostile species
repelled.
The noise fades and Jack melts into his chair relieved.
He leans forward, presses the button on the TALK BOX.
JACK
Sol seventeen-twenty-four. Breech
alert contained... Again. Swarms
increasing.
Jack lets his finger off the button, the light turns GREEN.
He leans back in and smashes the button again.
JACK
And where’s my damn supply drop?
Now, I know each one of you are
literally rocket scientists, but I
want to remind you I will die up
here without water.
He snaps his finger away. The light turns GREEN.
INT. SLEEPING QUARTERS (BEGIN MONTAGE)
Still in his clothes, Jack sleeps on top of the sheets.
Margaret’s cage off to the side, she sleeps soundly.
INT. CORRIDOR
The crushed empty water containers catch harsh shadows from
the late night mood lighting.
2.

4. 3.
INT. AIRLOCK
Dust covers a ROVER VEHICLE’S BROKEN WHEEL. A scuffed EVA
HELMET hangs on the wall above the tattered SPACE SUIT.
A red glow covers it all, a message flashes in red, ‘DANGER! -
EMERGENCY PROTOCOL ONLY - NO ACCESS’.
INT. KITCHEN
A meager ration of food boxes and water containers occupy one
small shelf. All the other large shelves empty.
A calendar on the wall marked with X’s shows when the
supplies run out. Less than a week.
END MONTAGE
INT. CONTROL ROOM
On his messy desk an open hand written journal shows a log of
the daily routine experiments.
Jack types commands and the display pops up live video of a
greenhouse, ‘ARIES AUTOMATED GREENHOUSE’.
Racks Of dying plants with a low meter flashes a red warning,
‘LOW WATER RESERVES’.
He presses the button on the talk box.
JACK
Greenhouse hydration down eighty-
seven percent. Vegetation wilted.
Everything is dying up here without
H2O... Everything.
His finger slides off the button and it flashes GREEN. He
slumps back into his chair, a husk of himself.
INT. KITCHEN
Jack prepares a small meal. He’s down to splitting the few
dinners he has into quarters.
He gives Margaret her tiny share and a few drops of water.
He moves to the calendar and crosses another day off.
3.

5. 4.
JACK
(to Margaret)
My five years is up in one hundred
sols. Supply drop is a thirty sols
late and we have enough food and
water for less than a week. Say
your prayers.
He throws the marker against the wall.
EXT. SURFACE - DUSK
Gold sunlight bounces off the tops of the exposed HABs. A
time lapse shows the shadows grow long.
INT. CONTROL ROOM
Jack runs through his daily routine. He’s sallow and beaten.
INT. KITCHEN
The shelves are now empty, rations totally depleted. He
rummages through cupboards.
JACK
Eureka!
He holds up a protein bar like a trophy.
INT. REC ROOM
Jack sits with his feet up. He reads his last trashy romance
novel as he nibbles on the bar like a mouse, savoring what’s
left. Still in her cage, Margaret also nibbles at her crumbs.
INT. CONTROL ROOM
On the desk next to an empty water bottle, Jack reads through
data and what seems to be a calendar. Margaret’s cage off to
the side.
A SHADOW JUMPS from the other side of the room. He whips
around, his eyes bloodshot, but there’s nothing there. He
shakes his head.
Jack rubs his eyes. He’s delirious. He’s dying.
BEEP, the display suddenly flashes, ‘INCOMING MESSAGE- 30
MINUTES REMAINING’. Jack taps the progress bar.
4.

6. (MORE)
5.
JACK
(to Margaret)
Better be about our supplies.
He pops the last bite of the bar into this mouth. He grabs
for the bottle to wash it down, but its empty. Jack crushes
it and tosses it near the others.
INT. REC ROOM
Jack flips through his journal to the start. The page reads,
SOL 0004. He shakes his head and reads a passage.
JACK (V.O.)
Day four, I mean sol. Still getting
used to that. Finally stopped
throwing up. Waking up from six
months of hibernation was like
kicking heroin in a goddamn
hurricane... Glad that’s over. Five
years of this food is really gonna
suck.
INT. OFFICE - DAY (FLASHBACK)
A healthier looking Jack, dressed in a cheap suit taps his
knee fighting nerves.
He sits across from the FLIGHT MANAGER, a female middle
management type in a low rent office space.
Jack looks around, no corporate or government logos. Even the
pictures of the astronauts are generic.
JACK
Who’s backing this again?
She doesn’t look up from the paperwork.
FLIGHT MANAGER
I’ve been reviewing your jacket.
Test pilot on the way up and
then...
JACK
I can explain... About the money-
She shuts the folder and looks up.
FLIGHT MANAGER
We don’t care, Jack. Since you’ve
made it to me you’re in.
(MORE)
5.

7. FLIGHT MANAGER (CONT'D)
6.
A test pilot with a less than
honorable discharge is better than
a pristine engineer who will
crumble under the pressure.
(beat)
You get half the money up front,
half when you complete the mission.
If something were to happen, it
will go to your family.
JACK
My daughter. It’ll go to my
daughter, not her mother and
‘Greg’.
END FLASHBACK
INT. CONTROL ROOM
A series of HIGH PITCH ALARM BEEPS sound. A display reads,
‘INCOMING MESSAGE COMPLETE’. A crackly video plays.
A tall SCIENTIST with a fake smile speaks directly to camera.
DIRECTOR
Hello and thank you for your
continued efforts at station forty-
two.
JACK
My supply drop. What about the
drop?
DIRECTOR
You’re helping change the world!...
We’ve logged recent breech
protocols in your zone so we advise
taking proper precautions to
prevent more swarms.
JACK
What about the goddamn drop?
DIRECTOR
We wish you continued success and
want you to know we appreciate your
hard work.
JACK
You assholes.
FLIGHT MANAGER (CONT'D)
6.

8. 7.
DIRECTOR
Please contact us with any concerns
or updates at your leisure. Take
care and thank you.
JACK
I’M DYING UP HERE!
He rips the display down and SMASHES it to the floor.
On a rampage he heads for the corridor but stops when he sees
the TALK BOX on the wall. He smashes the button.
JACK
You bastards are going to let me
die?
(almost a whisper)
Well, I’m going to take all your
precious data with me... And
everything else.
Jack takes his finger off the button, the light flashes
GREEN.
He looks at the TALK BOX in silence for a moment then PUNCHES
it in rage as he storms out holding his hurt hand.
The TALK BOX, ASKEW, dangles on the wall.
INT. KITCHEN
Jack scours every shelf and cabinet. He double checks every
water bottle on the floor like a drug fiend.
He stumbles around half dead.
Jack spins his head chasing shadows. He’s hallucinating and
tries to shake it off.
INT. CORRIDOR
Jack’s pace slows as he floats down the hallway, using the
walls to help balance himself.
INT. CONTROL ROOM
Jack slowly types code. He chases another shadow, realizes
he’s losing it.
7.

9. 8.
He notices the TALK BOX on the wall is crooked from his
earlier punch. He examines it, pushes at it, and then pries
down on it with all his weight.
It POPS off with a crack.
A single household 120v plug is plugged into a home style
socket on the wall behind the box.
He looks at the back of the talk box and it’s just a simple
switch to turn a light on and off.
There is no speaker. There is no mic. The TALK BOX is fake
and COMPLETELY HOLLOW.
INT. CORRIDOR
Stunned, Jack runs to another TALK BOX and tears it off.
Another common plug, the box also hollow. He’s confused.
INT. CONTROL ROOM
Angry, Jack erases experiment data in chunks. Suddenly, a
list of messages he’s not yet received appears. He plays one.
DIRECTOR
Happy Holidays! You’ve made it to
your final Christmas. We want to
thank-
He stops it, looks at the dated labels with confusion.
JACK
Huh? These are dated in the future?
Realization crosses his face. He stops typing, stands up, and
slowly backs away. He looks around paranoid.
JACK
Rat. I’m the rat? I’m their rat.
Enraged, Jack balls his fists.
INT. AIRLOCK
Jack looks at the scuffed SPACE SUIT and the BROKEN ROVER.
JACK
If I can get to Aries Greenhouse I
might be able to survive on what
water it has left. It could work.
8.

10. 9.
BEGIN SERIES OF SHOTS:
- He pushes the button for the AIRLOCK door to OPEN.
- He steps into the airlock, reaches for the SUIT.
- He locks the HELMET in place.
- He looks at the inside of the HAB one last time.
- He presses the airlock button and the door steams CLOSED.
END SERIES OF SHOTS
INT. AIRLOCK
Jack examines the BROKEN WHEEL of the ROVER. It’s toast.
Suddenly, the SOUND OF SWARMING BUGS SCRATCH THE WALLS as
Jack prepares the OUTER HAB DOOR.
Jack’s eyes wide with fear as he stares at the OUTER DOOR
then back to the control room. Next to the door he spots a
slightly exposed group of wires from under a wall panel.
He REMOVES the wall panel and the SCRATCHING GETS LOUDER.
Jack TEARS AWAY an inner cover to find A GIANT SPEAKER
blasting the SOUND OF SCRATCHING.
Jack yanks the cable and the scratching stops in that
speaker. He lets it dangle and pulls off another panel.
THE WALLS ARE ROWS AND ROWS OF SPEAKERS. Jack stands back,
mortified.
He SMASHES a big red button to open THE OUTER BAY DOOR but
nothing happens.
Jack shakes his head, grabs a large TIRE TOOL near the ROVER
and slowly PRIES OPEN THE DOOR just enough to escape.
He’s now completely exposed to the sandy surface. Jack stands
as a silhouette in the bay door looking out.
EXT. SURFACE - NIGHT
Jack walks carefully into the darkness.
9.

11. 10.
INT. CONTROL ROOM
The empty control room. Smashed display. Margaret’s empty
cage. The dangling talk box. LEDs flicker.
EXT. SURFACE
Jack suddenly stops walking. He’s far out, can’t see the HAB
DOOR and unsure of his location. In a panic Jack climbs a
small dune. He looks around.
JACK
Where in the hell am I? I should
see it by now.
An alarm in the suit sounds.
COMPUTER VOICE
Oxygen critical! Oxygen critical!
Jack switches the vocal alarm off, they’re replaced by a
series of beeps. He struggles to breathe. His eyes WIDE. Jack
runs his hands over the helmet desperately gasping.
He takes one last gasp and looks to the stars. He grabs the
clasp on the EVA Helmet.
JACK
I’m sorry.
He YANKS it and his helmet comes off and hits the sand.
WHOOSH! He takes a deep breath and waits for death. He almost
drops to his knees but stays up.
He exhales and quickly inhales again. He’s breathing without
his mask. Jack stands baffled. He spins around trying to make
sense of this, to get his bearings, but he can’t see the HAB.
He squints and sees something, hard to make out. TWO TINY
LIGHTS slowly approaching. They wind around and get BIGGER,
CLOSER AND BRIGHTER.
They’re headlights to a semi-truck off in the distance. Jack
realizes he’s on Earth and drops to his knees.
He cries out in a mix of rage and relief.
Margaret pokes out of Jack’s suit. She nibbles at his five-o-
clock shadow wishing it were cheese.
FADE TO BLACK.
10.