A Script for The Broken Heater

by Jamie F. Bell

EXT. PORTAGE AVENUE - LATE AFTERNOON

A desolate downtown street. The wind howls, kicking up a gray, salty slurry from the road.

BEN (30s), bundled in a heavy winter jacket, walks alone. He squints against the grit.

He stops. On the sidewalk ahead lies what looks like a stiff, brown leather glove.

He takes a step closer. The thing on the sidewalk TWITCHES.

Ben looks around. The bus shelter is empty. The street is devoid of cars. An eerie silence hangs under the wind.

He approaches cautiously, his boots crunching on road salt. He leans in for a closer look.

It's not a glove. It's a HAND. Severed cleanly at the wrist. The fingers are pale, the nails blue.

The fingers tap against the pavement.

*Tap. Tap. Tap.*

Ben’s face goes white. He fights back a wave of nausea. He doesn't scream. He just zips his jacket higher.

He backs away, stumbling on a patch of black ice, arms flailing. He catches his balance. No one sees.

He turns and sprints toward a nearby office tower.

EXT. OFFICE TOWER - CONTINUOUS

Ben slams into the revolving door. It’s stuck. He shoves it with his shoulder. With a SCREECH of grinding metal, it gives. He squeezes through.

INT. OFFICE TOWER LOBBY - CONTINUOUS

Ben stumbles into the lobby. The air is warm, dry, smelling of floor wax and stale coffee. The fluorescent lights BUZZ overhead.

The lobby is completely empty. The security desk is unmanned. A coffee kiosk is shuttered.

> Hello? Is... is anyone here?

His voice is small, cracking. It echoes in the cavernous space.

*DING.*

An elevator arrives. Ben jumps. The doors slide open to reveal an empty car. Mirrored walls reflect his own panicked face.

He ignores the elevator and bolts for the stairwell.

INT. OFFICE TOWER STAIRWELL - CONTINUOUS

Ben pounds up the stairs, taking them two at a time. His breath is loud and ragged.

INT. SECOND FLOOR HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

He bursts through the stairwell door into a carpeted hallway. He makes for a glass-enclosed skywalk connecting to the next building.

He freezes.

In the middle of the skywalk stands MARA (20s). She wears a thin, yellow parka. Her dark hair is choppy. She stares out the large window, her back to him.

INT. SKYWALK - CONTINUOUS

Ben approaches slowly. He sees what she's watching.

FROST. It’s crawling up the outside of the glass like a colony of icy insects. A faint scratching sound can be heard.

*Scritch, scritch, scritch.*

> (without turning)

> It wants in.

Ben stops ten feet away.

> Where is everyone?

> Gone.

She turns. Her face is all sharp angles and bone. Dark circles under her eyes. But the eyes themselves are fever-bright.

> Or we're gone. Hard to tell which side of the glass we're on anymore.

> I saw a hand. Outside. On the sidewalk.

Mara nods, unfazed.

> Yeah. It starts with the extremities. The cold takes the pieces it likes first.

She walks toward him, a fluid, predatory grace in her movement. She stops close. She smells of burnt matches and wet wool.

> I'm Mara.

> (jamming his hands in his pockets)

> Ben. I work in the... I work in the building next door.

> Doesn't matter now, Ben.

She reaches out, touches his arm. Ben flinches back as if burned.

> You're... hot.

Mara pulls her hand back, looking at her own palm.

> Sorry. Running high today. The cold makes it worse.

The lights in the hallway FLICKER. Go out. Plunge them into darkness for a beat. Then they BUZZ back on.

The hallway seems longer now. Distorted.

> We have to move.

She looks back at the window. The frost has now completely covered the pane. The glass GROANS, bowing inward.

> Move where? The exits are downstairs.

> Downstairs is compromised. The lobby is already freezing. We need to go up. Or deeper in.

She turns and walks quickly away. Ben pulls out his phone. The screen is dead. He holds the power button. Nothing.

*CRACK!*

A spiderweb fracture shoots across the skywalk window.

Ben runs after her.

> Wait!

INT. SHOPPING MALL FOOD COURT - CONTINUOUS

They hurry through an empty, silent mall. The food court is a tableau of sudden departure. Trays on tables with half-eaten food. Spilled drinks dried to the floor.

> (panting)

> Why are we the only ones left?

> Maybe we're not. Maybe we're just the only ones warm enough to matter.

She stops at a shuttered jewelry store. She places her palm on the metal security gate. The metal HISSES. Steam rises from her fingers.

Ben stares, wide-eyed.

> What are you?

> (whispering)

> Cold. I'm just cold, Ben. Like everyone else. I just... handle it differently.

She turns and keeps moving.

INT. ANOTHER SKYWALK - CONTINUOUS

This bridge is older, draftier. The wind HOWLS outside, shaking the structure.

> Don't look down.

Ben looks down. Sections of the carpeted floor are gone, replaced by thick, cloudy panes of glass. Through them, he sees not the street, but a swirling vortex of snow and fog. An endless white void.

He sways, dizzy.

> I think I'm gonna be sick.

Mara grabs his collar and yanks him forward.

> Don't fall in. The glass isn't real. It's just ice thinking it's glass.

They scramble across to the other side.

INT. BANK TOWER LOBBY - CONTINUOUS

They burst into a grand lobby with marble floors. It’s frigid. Their breath plumes in the air.

> It's inside. It's already here.

The shadows on the floor are wrong. They stretch from the base of pillars, unnaturally long and thin, like grasping fingers reaching for them.

> (softly)

> Run.

They sprint across the polished floor. Ben slips, his knee slamming hard into the marble. He scrambles back up, pain shooting through his leg.

They reach a stairwell door. Ben rattles the handle.

> It won't open!

Mara shoves him aside. She grabs the metal handle with both hands, eyes squeezed shut. Smoke curls from under her palms. The handle glows cherry red, then white-hot.

With a GROAN of melting metal, the lock gives way. Mara kicks the door open.

INT. BANK TOWER STAIRWELL - CONTINUOUS

They fall into the concrete stairwell. Mara leans against the wall, gasping, pale and drained. Her hands tremble.

> (panting)

> You burned it.

> Takes a lot. To get that hot. Takes... energy.

> You okay?

She looks at him. Her eyes are dark, hungry for a split second. Then it passes.

> Hungry. I'm okay.

> We need a place to hide. Somewhere warm. Mechanical room. Top floor.

They start climbing.

INT. MECHANICAL ROOM - LATER

The ROAR of fans and HUM of boilers is deafening, but the air is blessedly warm, thick with the smell of oil and hot metal.

Ben and Mara are slumped against a large, vibrating yellow machine, soaking in the heat.

> (a whisper)

> We're safe here.

Mara sits beside him, her shoulder brushing his. She’s not searing hot anymore, just pleasantly warm.

> For a while.

> What was that? Back there? The door?

> I told you. I handle the cold differently. Some people freeze. Some people burn.

> I've never seen anyone burn a door lock.

> You've never seen the city try to eat you before, either. Rules change when the weather turns.

A moment of quiet between them.

> My name is Ben. I work in IT. I have a cat named Buster. He’s probably starving right now.

A faint smile touches Mara's lips.

> Buster? Really?

> He's a fat tabby. Not very original.

> I don't have a cat. I move around too much. Cats need... stability. I don't have that.

> You have it right now. We're stable. We're sitting against a giant heater.

She lets out a short, dry laugh.

> This isn't stability, Ben. This is a pause. The cold doesn't stop. It just waits.

> (a beat)

> Why did you stop for me? In the hallway? You could have kept running.

> I don't know.

> Maybe I needed a witness. If I vanish, I want someone to know I was there.

> I see you. I see you, Mara.

She turns to him, her eyes searching his face.

> You're not afraid of me?

> I'm afraid of the hand on the sidewalk. I'm afraid of the glass floor. You? You're the only warm thing in this entire city.

Mara exhales, a long, shuddering breath. She reaches out and takes his hand. He doesn't pull away. Her grip is strong, grounding.

> (whispering)

> Hold on to that. Don't let the cold inside your head. That's how it gets you. It makes you think you're alone.

> I'm not lying down.

He squeezes her hand. They sit in the humming warmth.

> (softly)

> Ben? Do you hear that?

Ben listens. Over the machinery, a faint sound.

*Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.*

It's getting louder. It's coming from the large metal ventilation shaft directly above them.

Ben looks up. The metal grate on the vent is vibrating.

> (whispering)

> It's in the vents.

Mara is on her feet, pulling him up. Waves of heat begin to shimmer in the air around her.

> It found the heat source. It's tracking the warmth.

The grate rattles violently. A screw POPS out, pinging off the floor. Something white and amorphous presses against the slats from inside.

> We have to go. Now.

> Where? We're at the top!

> The roof.

She points to a maintenance ladder in the corner.

> Are you crazy? It'll be freezing!

> Better than being trapped in a box with *that*.

She drags him to the ladder.

EXT. ROOFTOP - CONTINUOUS

Ben shoves open a heavy maintenance hatch. The wind hits him like a physical blow, a shrieking wall of ice and sound.

He pulls himself onto the gravel roof. He looks out.

The city is gone.

Below them is not Winnipeg, but a swirling, bottomless gray void. They are on a concrete island floating in an ocean of white.

Mara scrambles up beside him, slamming the hatch shut and standing on it.

> It's coming up the ladder!

> (yelling over the wind)

> We're trapped! Mara, look! There's nothing out here!

She grabs the front of his jacket, pulling him close. A faint, orange light radiates from under her skin. She is beautiful and terrifying.

> Trust me. I can burn it away. But I need a spark. I need something to hold onto.

> What do you mean?

> I need you not to let go! No matter what happens. No matter how hot it gets. Do not let go of me!

The hatch at her feet BUCKLES upward with a loud BANG.

> (screaming)

> Okay! Okay!

She wraps her arms around him in a fierce embrace. The heat is instantaneous, shocking. Like hugging a furnace. Ben gasps, but he holds on, burying his face in her shoulder.

> Close your eyes!

He squeezes them shut. He feels a massive surge of power, a HUM that vibrates through his bones. The heat intensifies to an unbearable degree.

The world turns white. A searing, silent, hot white.

Then, nothing.

EXT. PORTAGE AVENUE - DAY

Ben groans. He's lying in dirty, wet slush.

He opens his eyes.

The street is alive. Cars rush past. People hurry along the sidewalk. A bus rumbles by. It's a normal, miserable, beautiful winter afternoon.

He scrambles to his feet, looking around wildly.

> Mara?

A man in a suit sidesteps him, annoyed. Ben checks his phone. It works. 5:25 PM. It all felt like a dream.

Then he looks down at his feet.

In the slush, there is a perfectly round circle of bone-dry pavement.

In the very center of the circle sits a single, small, yellow feather.

He picks it up. It's warm to the touch.

He clutches it tight in his fist and looks up at the skywalk bridge above him.

For a fleeting second, he sees a silhouette against the glass. A figure in a yellow jacket, watching him.

Then she's gone.

About This Script

This script is part of the Unfinished Tales and Random Short Stories project, a creative research initiative by The Arts Incubator Winnipeg and the Art Borups Corners collectives. Each script outlines a potential cinematic or episodic adaptation of its corresponding chapter. The project was made possible with funding and support from the Ontario Arts Council Multi and Inter-Arts Projects program and the Government of Ontario.

These scripts serve as a bridge between the literary fragment and the screen, exploring how the story's core themes, characters, and atmosphere could be translated into a visual medium.