When she was younger, there had been a boardwalk.
When she was younger, there had been a boardwalk.
CWs: Animal Death, apocalypse, storms, body horror, religious horror, gore, child in peril, Natural disaster, supernatural disaster, eldritch horror, environmental destruction, firearms. misophonia: Wet.
THE BOOK: https://daisymcnamara.com/#gospelofhavennovel
Cast & Crew
Written, directed, edited and produced by Daisy McNamara.
Rachel Pierce was played by Nhea Durousseau.
Naomi Henderson was played by Bailey Wolfe.
James Papa was played by Pacific S. Obadiah
Esther Henderson was played by Elissa Park.
Shiloh Crane was played by Kale Brown.
Rebecca Moore was played by Janine Bower.
Zaley Allen was played by Jordan Cobb.
Sound design was by Derrick Valen.
Script editing by Lee Seguinte and Stephen Indrisano
Music was by Dana Creasman.
Isiah Whitlock was played by B. Narr
Theme song by Skip KD- Find more of their music HERE: https://sealapocalyptic.bandcamp.com/
Cover art by Kalgalen- find their work HERE: https://www.Kalgalen.com/
Thumbnail art by Leslé Kieu
CHAPTER 11: REMEMBER/REFRAME.
Written by Daisy McNamara. Script Editors: Ash Seguinte, Stephen Indrisano.
Content Warnings: Animal Death, apocalypse, storms, body horror, religious horror, gore, childin peril, car accidents.
SCENE 1: COLD OPEN
RACHEL: The Gospel of Haven
CRANE: Chapter 11
RACHEL: Remember
CRANE: Reframe
SCENE 2: RACHEL.
SFX- Rachel wades up to her knees through a flooded boardwalk. Think York Beach. Water, gulls.
RACHEL NARRATOR:
Rachel. Androscoggin County Maine, United States of America.
10 days before Haven was born.
When she was younger, there’d been a boardwalk.
An arcade with a wide open facade. Shops selling towels and t-shirts and the canvas tote bags they always seemed to have at every tourist trap in New England. Cartoon lobsters reaching out of pots with grimaces on their faces plastered every postcard and mug.
She could still see one on a rack that peeked above the water, mildew obscuring the punch line. Pulp floated in the chest deep water, with the occasional sorry baseball cap or T shirt bobbing in the gentle waves.
There was nothing here worth taking. She kept going.
She paused to check the windows as she passed the old fashioned candy shop. It hurt to see it like this. She’d loved it. Sometimes, when Naomi was small and she babysat
they’d drive a little over an hour to the boardwalk. The child had loved to watch the taffy being pulled. When Rachel was worn out by ski-ball at the arcade or picking her up and tossing her into the waves over and over, she’d plop Naomi down in front of the shop window.
Naomi could watch the shining ropes of candy pulled and stretched over and over again for hours. Rachel would sit on a bench behind her with her book and wait until she judged it was time to get home. Then she’d scoop her up and take her inside to pick out 3 pieces of taffy for Each of them. Naomi’s mother would only allow one, but Rachel loved her sort-of-niece as much as any auntie; and what was an auntie for if not to spoil their nieces rotten?
Once they’d each enjoyed their candy, and maybe a milkshake from the soda counter if it was hot, Rachel would tuck the sleepy child into her car seat and drive the winding route home. She had to time it right with the tides, even then. If she left too early and the tide was high, the water covering the road off the little point would come up to the hubcaps on her tires, and she’d have to park by the side and wait until the tide went out. Some people risked it, driving slow through the floodwater. She saw too many of them hydroplane and skid off the road entirely to take such a risk, especially with precious cargo asleep in her backseat.
SFX- Flashback. Rachel driving as a Magical Storm gathers in the distance.
Only once had she taken the chance. An unexpected storm warning had blared over the radio, and there hadn’t been time to turn back and get to a shelter on their side of the bridge. She’d kept Naomi calm by asking her to tell stories about the dinosaurs following their car, and what color they were, and how many teeth they had. Anything to keep her eyes off the clouds gathering in their rear view mirror.
SFX- Rachel cautiously drives into the shallow water. In the background, she asks Naomi to talk about
Rachel had gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white as she cautiously guided the car through the water. Water was still safe to touch, back then, but driving through floodwater had never been a good idea. She kept control. One eye stayed on the rear view mirror, the streaks of pink arcing through the darkening sky a constant reminder of what she was risking by going slow.
SFX- the car hydroplanes.
Naomi kept singing about the bright purple triceratops who was just on their tail until the wheels skidded underneath them and the car spun suddenly to the right.
Rachel: Shit shit shit shit!
NAOMI: (Child shrieks)
RACHEL NARRATOR:
Rachel could barely make out the girl shrieking over the sound of the wheels as she yanked the car back onto the road, cursing steadily under her breath.
Almost there, almost there-
SFX- Car leaves the water, starts to accelerate.
She could have wept when her wheels touched solid ground. Cautiously she stepped on the gas; picking up speed once they were in the clear.
Rachel called over her shoulder.
RACHEL: “You okay back there, honey?”
RACHEL NARRATOR: Naomi’s voice was stern.
NAOMI: “Mommy says you shouldn’t say words like that.”
RACHEL NARRATOR: Rachel huffed out a laugh.
RACHEL: (Shaky laugh) “You shouldn’t. I’m sorry.”
RACHEL NARRATOR: Some of the fear must have crept into her voice, because Naomi was immediately contrite.
NAOMI: “It’s okay, Auntie Rachel. I won’t tell.”
RACHEL NARRATOR: The sky in the rear-view was orange now, and green, with bobbing orbs of ball lightning dancing through the storm. But it was also dwindling behind them as she stepped on the gas.
The sigh of relief that she’d let out was not at all put on.
RACHEL: “Thanks, kiddo. I really appreciate that.”
SFX- Storm fades out.
RACHEL NARRATOR:
They’d made it home in time, that night. Rachel had closed and locked the door of the storm shelter fifteen minutes before the winds had ripped through their town like tissue paper, bringing down 3 trees and warping an unfortunate horse who hadn’t had the good sense to follow his owner into the safety of the barn. The poor beast has ended up in a twitching mass of meat on the ground. Half its body had turned into clear quartz. You could see what was left of its organs pumping desperately as the creature tried and failed to breathe its last.
They shot it and buried it far away from town, where the warp wouldn’t leak out and taint farming soil. Horses didn’t do well; when the storms came.
That had all been a very long time ago.
SFX- Back to the boardwalk
The candy shop was completely underwater, just like the rest of the boardwalk. Rachel tried to push down her disappointment. She’d hoped she could find one of the big gallon bags, tripled wrapped against moisture, to bring home for Naomi and Esther. It would have been a lovely treat, a little piece of childhood. But the doorframe had partially collapsed. Entering the building would have meant ducking so low her waders would have filled completely. She didn’t trust the seawater on her bare skin anymore. She could manage exposure, but once the rain got into it, you never knew.
She sighed and turned away. James offered her a sympathetic smile.
JAMES: “It was a nice idea.”
RACHEL NARRATOR: Rachel shook her head. She shouldn’t have come here at all. The memories hurt more than she’d expected. James didn’t force the conversation. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, then pointed
JAMES: “I think the pharmacy looks okay. We could look.”
RACHEL NARRATOR: Rachel tilted her head back to survey the skies. Clear, completely. The one radio station still operating out of Portland had promised safe weather. No winds, no rain. But she still checked. Predicting the weather had been more art than science for a long time.
RACHEL: “Okay. Let’s check it.”
RACHEL NARRATOR:
They’d made out okay. The sales floor of the pharmacy had been looted, but the locked cupboards behind the counter were still intact. The doors showed signs of a failed attempt to force them, but the looters hadn’t come prepared. Not like them.
SFX- James cuts into the lock.
Rachel kept an eye out while James cut into the lock. What they were doing was technically illegal. But laws really only applied when the country was intact. The larger cities still had enough people to have a vestige of government. But out there on the fringes, there weren’t enough people left that cared enough about the value of property to reinforce laws about stealing. Besides, a trashed and flooded town was uninhabitable. Anyone who’d lived here had taken what they could when they left and they weren’t coming back.
SFX- Rustling as they loot it.
Once the cupboard was open, James swept everything inside into his pack. Naomi and Esther would sort what was useful when they returned. Rachel filled hers with whatever cases of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant had escaped both the looters and the sea. When they couldn’t carry anymore, they headed back to the ATVS. The road home was longer than it was when she was young, and you didn’t want to get caught outside after dark.
SFX- On the road Ambiance. ATV engines.
The small community of Stark Hill had once been close enough to the city to be convenient- at least by Maine standards. On the coast of Massachusetts where she’d grown up, an hour and 15 minutes drive was doable, but annoying for a commute. That was back when the roads had been maintained and more than half the bridges had not collapsed. Now it took three hours for their four wheelers to pick through the wreckage of the highways towards home. Even with the gas tanks modified to carry more fuel and spare cans, the vehicles range was limited by the amount of gas they could carry. Rachel preferred to walk or ride bikes for supply runs, but the roads to Gull Point were so bad it had been deemed worth the fuel expenditure. If they’d been on a bike, she’d have considered trying some of the other towns on their way home, seeing if anyone was willing to barter supplies. But they didn’t have the gas to spare.
Stark Hill had been midsized. It was large enough to support two pharmacies, an urgent care, a Tractor Supply, and a small downtown trying for quaint and landing on kitschy. Now that everyone who could had moved within distance of the last remaining storm shelter, the vintage boutiques of downtown had been converted to sleeping quarters.
Rachel could see Esther standing outside Secondhand Steals, shading her eyes as she squinted at the approaching ATVS. As always, a little tightness in her heart eased at the sight of her. That lasted until she was close enough to see the look on Esther’s face.
SFX- Rachel stops and gets off, James drives away.
RACHEL NARRATOR: She pulled up in front of the store, waving James on when he paused. He gave her a joking salute and kept going towards the town hall. Esther waited till she’d hopped off the four wheeler and slung off her pack before enveloping her in a tight hug. Rachel returned it, nerves starting to rise.
RACHEL: “Hey, hon, what’s going on? I wasn’t gone that long.”
RACHEL NARRATOR: Esther released her with a sigh.
ESTHER: “The wind picked up while you were out, and the radio’s just been spitting fuzz. I was worried.”
RACHEL NARRATOR: Rachel cocked her head to one side. Esther Henderson had been part of her life in one capacity for another for twenty years. When they’d dated, she had slept by her side. When they split, she’d shared coffee and beers after work with her. When Pete had died, she’d held her hand from her hospital bed as she wailed so long Rachel thought her throat would just plain give out.
And yet somehow Esther still thought she could lie to her.
She raised her brows, and Esther sighed.
ESTHER: (Sighs) “It was worth a shot.”
RACHEL: “Was it?”
ESTHER: “No.”
RACHEL NARRATOR: Esther ran a hand through her hair.
ESTHER: “It’s about Naomi. We need to talk.”
SCENE 3: CRANE.
SFX- Dying Haven interior. Occasional tremor, distant sounds.
CRANE NARRATOR: Crane. 3rd level, south corridor. Haven. 3 days after Haven died.
Crane was beginning to accept that they’d fucked up.
Not by participating in a coup, betraying their leader and friend. That wasn’t the mistake.
The mistake was not doing it sooner. They’d been too cautious, waited for the moment when Rebecca’s actions were unforgivable. That moment meant that their takeover came far too late to fix things.
Lesson learned. Act quickly.
If they survived, they’d be sure to take it to heart.
Haven was a maze. The lanterns were out, and the small fires that had been left to burn when one fell from the walls had long since smoldered into nonexistence. They kept theirs turned down low, trying to conserve the oil. They didn’t know the next time they’d be able to find a storage closet.
Crane wasn’t sure how long it had been since Haven began to die. They’d slept three times when the exhaustion became too much to ignore. It hadn't been for long until the last one, when they’d holed up inside the crumpled remnants of an apartment that still had a functional bed.
Three or four days, maybe. So far they’d been able to subsist off the food in people’s pantries and the water leaking from broken pipes. That wouldn’t last long. There was no way any of the filtration was functioning, and the faucets were starting to seep a redder, thicker liquid. It wasn’t unfiltered blood. Not yet. But it would get there soon.
Crane didn’t intend to be within Haven when it did. They’d sat in the archival chamber beside Rebecca, reading the notes of Naomi and her colleagues. The outside world hadn’t been somewhere you could live long term in a group, sure. But a single person, moving alone and able to shelter from the storms that had ravaged the surface might be able to manage.
They were probably kidding themself. The surface was scorched earth in Naomi’s day. Who was to say there had been any recovery at all? The scriptures claimed that of all of humanity, the only survivors had been the citizens of Haven.
The scriptures were written by one woman and her team who, if everyone stayed inside Haven, would have thousands of people under their control. If she’d been greedy or power hungry, that would have been a strong motivator to lie about the outside world.
Crane didn’t know what Naomi had been like. If she was the kind who would betray those she trusted to take power for herself. Not everyone was strong enough to be able to do that.
But she was strong enough to build a community on her own that survived for 200 years, so Crane was willing to risk betting on it.
And to be completely honest. What did they have to lose?
The passages were quiet. Haven still moved occasionally, but the massive shakes of its death throes were in the past. The everyday thrums and sloshes of its biological functions were muted. The green pus of the infection that had heralded the end of days was everywhere, and now paired with the sickly tang of rotting meat as the god Crane scurried through died by inches. The scent of decay was thick enough to choke on. Occasionally, they heard voices in the distance. Screams. The pounding of feet. Strange noises they couldn’t name. By the time they reached the source of the sound, there was never anything there.
Crane hadn’t found any other survivors yet. When the shakes had begun, they’d been knocked unconscious in the chaos. They’d woken some time later to find the esophagus chamber deserted. A few corpses scattered throughout the room, but there was not a living soul to be seen. In the days that followed, this pattern had held. The first day, they’d called out for survivors as they walked. By the second -what they thought was the second- they walked in silence.
They’d been a fool to leave the esophagus at all. If there was a way out of Haven, a passage that was meant to connect to the outside world was it. But they’d been stunned and disoriented. They’d wanted to find their people and make a plan to get them all out of here.
Their people. Crane couldn’t stop a wry smile. They sounded like Rebecca. She was obsessed with people. Haven was a sum of the Body and its citizens, a problem with one is a problem with all, that was her motto. Crane had left her to it. She was good at that sort of thing, and if she handled that, they could be left alone to work. They didn’t need to bother with the messy, unpredictable, unstable variables that came from adding human beings into the equation.
Now the people were gone somewhere, somehow, and all they could think about was how they’d failed several times over. They hadn’t saved the God. They hadn’t saved the congregation. They probably couldn’t even save themself, and if they did, what would they do then?
SFX- Flashback. Pre collapse.
Shiloh Crane had spent their entire life climbing the ladder. From childhood, they’d wanted to be at the head of things. Not for prestige or popularity. Shiloh had never cared what other people thought about them. But to have a say in how things worked. They had ideas for improving the hydroponics, the design of ceiling tiles, purifying the fat that created oil for Haven’s lanterns.
Dr. Ezra Moore, the surgeon-priest when they were growing up, had dismissed most of the younger Crane’s ideas. He was a traditionalist. The systems worked. Crane had tried to explain that something functioning didn’t mean it couldn’t be improved, but had been brushed aside.
So Crane had set their sights on Ezra’s daughter. Deacon Rebecca Moore was a couple years older than they were, and being groomed as her father’s successor. She was smart, personable, and most importantly, flexible. She worshipped her father, but she was more open to ideas than he was.
SFX- Cathedral.
Shiloh had never been very good at making friends. They were blunt, often grouchy, and uncaring of the nuance required to avoid offending people. They considered several strategies for how to best approach the older girl, before deciding to take the most direct route possible.
They waited until she was sitting alone in the pews after service to sit down beside her with their notebook.
CRANE: “Deacon Moore, do you have a minute?”
CRANE NARRATOR: She’d smiled that practiced smile that would become familiar to Crane in the years that followed.
REBECCA: “Of course. What can I do for you?”
CRANE NARRATOR: They’d flipped open their notebook to show a sketch, clearly labeled in neat handwriting, of a new design for a water filter.
CRANE: “The water filtration system in sector three is inefficient. They’re having to run blood through three, four times to get it drinkable. I have a workaround. I told Dr. Moore-“
CRANE NARRATOR: her eyes narrowed and they changed course-
Crane: - “but he’s so busy with the congregation we didn’t have time to really discuss it.”
CRANE NARRATOR: Rebecca had extended her hand for the notebook. She scrutinized the sketch carefully, nodding once.
REBECCA: “Okay, I see. And what do you want me to do about it? The systems we have in place work. They’re there for a reason. My father-“
CRANE NARRATOR: Crane’s frustration had boiled over, and they’d snapped without thinking.
CRANE : “I want you to listen, so we can make things better! Haven could be so much more efficient at nutrient transfer than it is, if we’d be willing to actually TRY something new-“
CRANE NARRATOR: They shut their mouth, aware they may have gone too far. Rebecca studied them. Her pale blue eyes met theirs.
REBECCA: “You want to make things better. “
CRANE NARRATOR: Her voice was conversational. Measured. Crane gestured around them to the ribs of the chamber. They pointed at one behind the altar, where a carving of Naomi stood with her hands raised, scalpel in one and pen in another.
CRANE: “The people who made Haven didn’t just find a solution that worked well enough and stick with it. They experimented, they improved. I think we should be following that example, instead of sitting on our asses.”
REBECCA: ( Laughs)
CRANE NARRATOR: Rebecca laughed. Crane started. They hadn’t expected that.
REBECCA: “Sorry, sorry.”
CRANE NARRATOR: Rebecca apologized.
REBECCA: “I’m not used to people being that honest. Most of the time, if someone wants a favor they try and cozy up to me. You’re the first one who’s yelled.”
CRANE NARRATOR: Crane scowled.
CRANE: “I’m not asking for a favor. I’m asking you to decide what you think is better for Haven.”
CRANE NARRATOR: They brandished the notebook.
CRANE: “Stay as we are, or keep improving?”
CRANE NARRATOR: Rebecca had smiled. A genuine smile this time.
REBECCA: “Okay, Shiloh. Let’s see what other improvements you’ve got in mind.”
SCENE 7: CRANE AGAIN
SFX- Out of cathedral.
CRANE NARRATOR:
There has been plenty. Some Rebecca liked, others she hadn’t. Even the ones she and Crane had agreed upon had been a hard sell for her father. They took every suggestion they were able to push through as a victory. They hadn’t been popular in their first years in seminary but Rebecca had changed that. She was always surrounded by people, and she dragged Crane alongside her. When she ascended to the priesthood after her father’s death, she’d kept Crane at her side.
Rebecca had told them she valued their honesty. Others would sugarcoat, try and curry favor or positions for their friends and family. Crane didn’t. They valued the work, and they didn’t see the point in lying for her approval. Over the years, she’d come to rely on them for that.
It had made it easier, in the end.
It hadn’t been long after the final infection began when they’d realized she’d need to be removed.
She was slipping up. Crane and the others covered for her, but it was starting to show. And her decision making became erratic. She ignored the obvious solutions, demanded time be diverted from curing the infection to keeping up the pretense that everything was as usual and devoted herself to kissing babies and shaking hands instead of focusing on the actual problems. Crane had tried to reason with her to no avail.
So, they stopped reasoning with her. They told her what she wanted to hear. They wheedled her into resting more so they could work uninterrupted. They’d spent years watching her charm the congregation and her deacons into whatever she wanted. Now they put all that learning into practice.
It hadn’t been as hard as they’d expected to arrange the final coup. Half the clergy had thought she was losing it. The other half were convinced by her idiotic attempt to close the airways that she had created the catastrophe they were currently plodding through. And she’d had the generosity to have a shouting match with them about it in the middle of the hallway, so that everyone knew that they had tried to stop her.
Elijah had spread the word throughout the clergy. The die hards who wouldn’t have stood for it were assigned to other duties so that the deacons remaining in the esophageal chamber when they’d finally pulled it off were the kind who valued preserving Haven over loyalty.
And Crane had stood there, watching the woman whose trust had raised them higher than they’d ever have been able to achieve on their own, as they ripped the last vestiges of her heart from her chest and stomped on it.
It had hurt.
It had twisted in their gut as they looked at her.
But the guilt couldn’t be mistaken for regret.
It had to be done. They couldn’t have gone on like that. It was for the good of their people. They needed to save Haven.
SFX- Crane stumbles over a corpse.
Crane stumbled as their foot caught. When they lifted the lantern, they saw that they’d tripped over the foot of a corpse. A man, still warm. His body cavity had been opened as if by a scalpel, and his internal organs completely removed.
As Crane studied the empty corpse, they couldn’t suppress a chuckle.
Save Haven. Save their people.
Yeah.
Crane had fucked that one up.
SCENE 4: ZALEY
SFX- Summer Maine ambient, evening. Farmhouse ambiance.
ZALEY NARRATOR: Zaley. Androscoggin County, Casco Province, Republic of the United Coast. 2 days after things changed.
It was getting cooler. Not truly cold. High Summer in Androscoggin county gets very warm indeed, and even a couple hours after sundown, it was still above 70 degrees. Still, she knew her guest got weirdly chilly, and the spare jacket was still on the hook.
They weren’t in the living room. The snarl of blankets and pillows on the couch was unoccupied by anyone but Macy, who let out an annoyed meow at being disturbed when Zaley entered the room.
They weren’t in the kitchen, or her room. She peeked in her father’s room, to no avail. She opened the door to Pop’s office, but he was on the phone with somebody and mouthed “later” at her when she tried to ask through mime where they’d gone. Zaley rolled her eyes and closed the door again.
Dad was supposed to be mending fences in the back field today. He’d been gone for hours, so that was out.
Zaley circled the yard. Not in the garden. Couldn’t see them in the fields.
She was starting to get worried when it occurred to her to try the attic. It was the warmest place in the house, since there weren’t any windows up there. And even with her dad’s borrowed sunglasses, sunny days still hurt their eyes.
The attic smelled of dust and heat and moths. No mice. Macy took care of those. The bare bulb was so dim she squinted, but she could make out a pale shape curled up between the boxes of old clothes and stacked books.
ZALEY: That you back there? I thought you might be getting cold.”
ZALEY NARRATOR: She lifted the coat.
ZALEY: “Aren’t you cramped, back there? Claustrophobic?
ISIAH: “No, it's okay. I don’t mind small spaces.”