EXT. MAIN STREET - GUYMON - OKLAHOMA - DAY
Brick storefronts line both sides of Main Street, their paint
faded, their windows dulled by dust.
A shopkeeper sweeps at his door. The dust slips back under,
endless.
Signs half-lost in grime: Guymon Drug Co, Harvey Hardware,
Ritz Theatre.
Wind howls between buildings. Awnings flap. Dust ripples over
cars and wagons like a red tide.
Farmers in overalls trade weather news with suited townsfolk.
Children dart between them, handkerchiefs tied over faces.
A diner’s door opens, a waitress hangs a wet sheet across the
frame to keep the world out.
The air itself hums, thick, dry, alive.
SHERIFF ‘JUNIOR’ SMITH, (20’s), boyish, a well pressed
uniform, shiny badge. He drinks from a small flask. He checks
his watch. Puts his flask away, then checks his watch again.
EXT. TEXAS COUNTY COURTHOUSE - GUYMON - DAY
The courthouse looms over downtown, a stone fortress against
a world turning to dust.
Three stories of pale brick, square columns guarding the
entrance like sentries.
Wind whips across the bare dirt lawn. The last of the elm
trees lean, their roots showing.
Junior crosses the street toward it, hat pulled low, dust
cutting across his face. He stops at the steps, staring up.
The building stands clean, solid, untouched, everything the
rest of town isn’t.
He takes another pull from his flask, squares his shoulders,
and climbs the steps.
INT. MAIN HALLWAY - TEXAS COUNTY COURTHOUSE - DAY
The echo of boots on tile. The air inside is cooler, but
heavy — a stillness that smells of paper and dust.
Faded notices line the walls: foreclosure lists, crop failure
reports, missing-person flyers.
Junior stands before the bulletin board, reading without
really seeing. He checks his watch. Again.
Somewhere down the hall, a typewriter clacks — slow,
mechanical, relentless.
He straightens his uniform. The shine on his badge catches
the weak light — a small, stubborn gleam in the gloom.
He exhales, tired already, and moves on.
Genres:
["Western","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
2 -
A Moment of Reflection
INT. COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE - TEXAS COUNTY COURTHOUSE - DAY
The basement hums with old air, thick, dry, recycled through
slow-turning fans that move more dust than breeze.
Rows of oak desks buckle under stacks of yellowed papers. Ink
bottles. A cracked photograph of a family in better times.
Junior sits at one of the desks. His hat in his hands. His
watch ticks loud in the silence.
He glances toward the doorway, no one. He takes a quick pull
from his flask, wipes his mouth, sets it down.
A door CREAKS open.
The CLERK, late 40s, hard eyes, a voice like gravel, steps
out with a pile of forms.
CLERK
Frank Smith.
Junior doesn’t move.
CLERK (CONT’D)
Junior.
He blinks, stands up fast, almost salutes.
JUNIOR
Thought I was seeing the County
Sheriff. Fellow named Patricks.
CLERK
Sheriff Patricks is busy. If you’d
follow me.
She turns before he can answer.
Junior hesitates, glances back at his desk, at the badge
lying there, shining faintly in the dim light, then follows.
INT. CLERKS OFFICE - TEXAS COUNTY COURTHOUSE - DAY
The faint buzz of a ceiling light.
Junior sits at a desk stacked with forms. The pen scratches
slow across the paper. His signature repeats, over and over,
until the sound becomes mechanical.
He stops. The clock ticks.
The Clerk enters, carrying another folder. She doesn’t look
up from it.
CLERK
Done?
JUNIOR
I’ve signed everything. I think.
CLERK
Whatever you missed, Sheriff
Patricks will finish.
Junior unpins his badge. It catches the light, one last glint
of pride. He stares at it a beat too long.
CLERK (CONT’D)
You can leave that for your
successor.
He turns it in his hand, thumb over the engraving.
JUNIOR
What if I wanted to keep it?
The clerk finally looks at him, tired, curious, maybe a
little sorry.
CLERK
Why?
A long pause. Junior doesn’t answer. He places the badge down
gently on the stack of papers.
The tick of the clock fills the silence.
Genres:
["Drama","Western"]
Ratings
Scene
3 -
Survival in the Dust
EXT. RITA BLANCA - OKLAHOMA PANHANDLE - DAY
The horizon burns white. Dust sweeps over a dead land,
cracked soil, broken fences, no movement except the wind.
A Model A bumps along what used to be a road. The Sheriff’s
badge on its door is dulled by sand.
Inside, Junior grips the wheel, a bottle of soda between his
knees. A gust slams into the car, liquid splashes, soaking
his uniform.
He curses under his breath, brakes hard, the tires sliding on
powder.
He steps out into the storm. The sound is like a whispering
ocean.
JUNIOR
Fantastic.
He wipes his legs, squinting through the red haze. Something
moves out there, slow, deliberate.
A figure, knee-deep in dust, digs a cactus from the ground
with bare hands. Layers of cloth and leather wrap their body,
half nomad, half survivor. A scarf hides their face. Goggles
rest on their forehead, lenses tinted the colour of the sun.
They tuck the cactus into a small knapsack beside a bright
green book. Then — noticing the car — they raise a hand in
greeting.
Junior waves back, too late. The figure is already walking
away, vanishing into the glare.
He lowers his hand, embarrassed.
Wind rattles a road sign nearby, U.S. Route 54, pocked by
shotgun holes. The sign creaks, metal scraping against metal,
a lonely rhythm in the silence.
Junior looks past it, another car, half-buried in sand. Its
frame picked clean, ghost of a road where no road remains.
He stands there, caught between past and ruin, until the wind
drives him back into his car.
EXT. EMPTY LAND - RITA BLANCA - OKLAHOMA - DAY
The land stretches to nowhere, cracked earth, the bones of
old crops poking through the dust.
A windmill stands still, its blades rusted and silent.
Out of the heat shimmer, FRIDA CARLSSEN (30s) appears, lean,
steady, wrapped in pale cloth that ripples in the wind.
She moves with the rhythm of someone who’s walked too far to
be surprised by silence.
She stops beside the windmill. Lowers her goggles. The
world’s noise softens.
She unscrews a metal flask, drinks. The water glints like
silver against her dust-caked lips.
A bark breaks the stillness.
BINGO, a scruffy panhandle hound, bounds through the haze,
tail whipping clouds of dirt. He leaps at her, joyful, alive
in a dead place.
Frida crouches, pulls off a glove, and runs her fingers
through his fur, both woman and dog covered in the same fine
layer of red dust.
Bingo whines, licks her hand.
Frida smiles.
The wind picks up, carrying a low hum across the field,
something almost musical.
Frida looks to the horizon. The land answers in silence.
EXT. EMPTY LAND - RITA BLANCA - OKLAHOMA - LATER
The wind has eased. The land lies cracked and silent.
Bingo digs near a small patch of henbane flowers — pale
yellow with dark purple veins, clinging to life in the dead
soil.
The blossoms sway in the dry breeze.
A flicker of colour against a world of grey.
Genres:
["Western","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
4 -
A Grim Discovery
INT. JUNIOR’S CAR - EMPTY LAND - RITA BLANCA - LATER
Junior drives through the haze. On the roadside, Bingo sits
waiting, dust swirling around him.
Junior stops, opens the passenger door.
JUNIOR
Bingo. In.
Bingo jumps inside.
Junior turns to shut the door, and freezes.
Bingo stands there, a human arm clamped in its jaws.
Silence.
Junior stares, then exhales.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
Bingo. Dead.
Bingo growls.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
Bingo. Dead.
The dog whimpers, drops the arm onto the floor. Junior
fumbles, catches it, grimaces.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
Fantastic.
EXT. MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - TEXHOMA - DAY
A solid brick building, its paint blistered and peeling. By
the entrance, two worn signs hang crookedly:
“SHERMAN COUNTY SHERIFF”
“RELIEF OFFICE”
Junior approaches, the severed arm wrapped in newspaper
clutched in his hands.
He glances at the signs, sighs, and steps inside.
INT. SHERIFF’S OFFICE - MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - DAY
Junior sits at a cluttered desk, papers and envelopes spread
out before him.
In the corner, Bingo laps from a metal bowl, tail thumping.
Junior unwraps the arm, now laid carefully on the desk beside
a full envelope.
He pulls a form from a drawer, hesitates — eyes flicking
between the paperwork and the grisly find.
He groans, rubbing his face, then drops his head onto the
desk.
Footsteps.
Bingo whimpers, then barks.
PETER GARRISON (40s) fills the doorway — a giant of a man,
hands like shovels, skin weathered by sun and work.
A shiny Sheriff’s badge gleams on his chest.
PETER
You lost, Sheriff?
JUNIOR
Ex.
PETER
What are you doing in here, Junior?
JUNIOR
Just dropping off some paperwork.
And my badge. Though... maybe
that’s not needed.
Peter touches his badge, proud.
PETER
County Sheriff pinned this on me
this afternoon. Odd you weren’t...
Listen, I don’t want bad blood between us. Hope we’re still
friends.
Junior jumps up, shakes his hand too eagerly.
JUNIOR
Of course. My father...Pops...made
all that trouble. Not me.
PETER
If he comes back, the county’s
clear, he’s wanted.
JUNIOR
You won’t see me helping him.
PETER
Good. Then we’ve got a deal.
Junior hesitates.
JUNIOR
Bingo found something. I’ll take
care of it.
PETER
What is it?
JUNIOR
An arm.
Peter steps back.
PETER
Jesus, Junior. That’s an arm.
JUNIOR
People don’t stop much anymore.
PETER
Still, that’s an arm.
JUNIOR
Not everyone wants to dig six feet
down in this land either.
Peter exhales.
PETER
Junior…
JUNIOR
Just need to file an M.E. Form 1.
PETER
Don’t you even want to know...
JUNIOR
Been doing this four years, Pete.
Learned one thing, just fill the
forms and move on. Nobody wants the
law around here anymore.
Genres:
["Mystery","Crime","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
5 -
Echoes of Authority
EXT. TEXHOMA - OKLAHOMA - DAY
The town lies half abandoned beneath a pale, dust-choked sky.
A handful of storefronts cling to life, a general store, a
feed supply, a gas station with a hand-crank pump.
Signs hang crooked, paint flaking, windows clouded with grit.
A few buildings still breathe, “Donovan’s Dry Store,”
“Krieg’s Gas Station,” “Murray’s Diner,” “Hamilton’s Feed and
Farm Store.”
Most are shuttered.
Only one stays alive: “Dawson’s Bar.”
The street is empty except for a stray newspaper rolling in
the wind.
A ghost town clinging to habit.
EXT. DAWSON’S BAR - TEXHOMA - DAY
The only noise on Main Street, laughter and shouting spilling
from Dawson’s Bar. A few drunks linger outside, boots kicking
up red dust as they trade insults and jokes.
Junior’s car pulls up, horn blaring. The laughter dies. The
men scatter inside like spooked cattle.
One flips him off on the way in, the others laugh nervously.
Junior kills the engine, stares after them, and follows them
into the bar.
INT. DAWSON’S BAR - TEXHOMA - DAY
Dim light filters through dusty windows. A haze of smoke and
cheap whiskey hangs in the air. The bar is packed, farmers,
drifters, and locals escaping the heat and the dust.
Behind the counter, BILLY DAWSON (50s) moves like a snake,
handsome, lean, and slick. A Confederate flag hangs over the
doorway, and behind the bar, a photograph of a Klan rally
glares down over the bottles.
The crowd buzzes, loud, restless laughter, the clink of
glasses.
Junior steps in, brushing dust off his jacket. The chatter
fades just enough to notice him.
JUNIOR
Bottle of whiskey, please.
BILLY
You old enough for that, Sheriff?
JUNIOR
Not the law anymore, Billy.
A ripple of laughter moves through the room. The drunks who’d
been outside breathe easy again, grinning into their glasses.
BILLY
(laughing)
Then take some water with it, son.
Don’t want you drying up on us.
More laughter. Junior forces a smile, embarrassed.
BILLY (CONT’D)
Relax, Junior. Just funning you.
Don’t go rousting my place.
JUNIOR
You’ve got your boy Pete Garrison
to do that now. He’s got your
checks to sign. My last official
job. You’re welcome.
Billy’s smile falters for a beat. The laughter dies down.
Junior takes his bottle, nods once, and leaves.
The bar’s noise slowly returns — louder, meaner this time.
Genres:
["Western","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
6 -
Burdened Silence
EXT. ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - RITA BLANCA - OKLAHOMA - DAY
A modest wooden church stands alone against the barren plain
its white paint long stripped by wind and dust.
Beside it, a small cemetery — rows of rough wooden crosses,
fresh mounds of earth still soft in the sun.
Junior digs a grave, his clothes and face streaked with sweat
and dust. Each shovel strike sounds heavier than the last.
Standing nearby, calm and steady, Frida watches, her scarf
wrapped tight against the wind, Bible tucked under one arm.
Junior finishes the hole, leans on his shovel, breath ragged.
He lifts the arm, wrapped in cloth, and lowers it into the
ground.
Frida bows her head.
The wind hums low, carrying the faint sound of the earth
closing over the past.
EXT. ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - RITA BLANCA - OKLAHOMA - LATER
The wind has died. Dust settles over the freshly covered
grave, turning it the same colour as the land.
Junior, now caked in dirt, stands beside Frida, who holds a
worn Bible in her hands.
They say nothing. The silence feels like a prayer.
Junior tips a bottle of whiskey to his lips, for a man in his
twenties, he looks twice his age.
Frida closes the Bible. The pages flutter in the faint
breeze. Behind them, the church creaks softly, its bell long
gone silent.
The horizon glows dull red, the world still burning somewhere
far away.
THE DUST BOWL
INT. KITCHEN - ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - RITA BLANCA - DAY
The kitchen is simple and worn — rough wood table, rusted
kettle hissing on the stove. Dust drifts in lazy spirals
through a shaft of light.
Frida moves with quiet precision. She takes dried stems from
her knapsack, chops them carefully, and fills a tea infuser.
The kettle whistles — she pours the boiling water, steam
clouding the air.
She sits, the cup before her, opens a green-covered book, and
chews one of the stems.
In the doorway, Junior watches — hat in hand, dust on his
face, curious.
JUNIOR
That smells like juniper. You
brewing gin?
FRIDA
It’s Ephedra.
He steps closer, glancing at the book.
JUNIOR
Good for replenishing water.
FRIDA
How did you—?
JUNIOR
Boy Scout. Back when this town had
Boy Scouts.
She smiles faintly, turning a page.
FRIDA
“There was no sand nor sea nor cool
waves; Earth was nowhere, nor the
sky above…” (beat) Et tomrom av
gapende kaos, gress var det
ingensteds.
Subtitles: A void of yawning chaos. Grass was nowhere.
Frida pours two cups. Junior adds a splash of whiskey to his.
JUNIOR
I’m not staying. I can’t.
FRIDA
You leave, they’ll think you were
involved.
JUNIOR
I signed the paperwork. Idiocy
isn’t a defence.
Silence stretches between them.
Frida takes a sip, eyes distant.
The tea steams between them, the colour of the dust.
Genres:
["Drama","Western"]
Ratings
Scene
7 -
Chaos at the Agri Fair
EXT. TOWN FAIR - TEXHOMA - OKLAHOMA - DAY
A giant banner ripples in the hot wind — “AGRI FAIR 1935.”
The fairgrounds buzz with forced cheer under a pale, hazy
sky. Dust clings to every surface — banners, livestock pens,
even the pies on display.
Junior walks through the crowd, Frida beside him — an odd
pair among the noise.
Farmhands show off cattle and hogs; children chase each other
between pens. Booths overflow with pickles, preserves, and
pies, each labelled for contest judging.
Billy Dawson (50s), sharp suit and sharper grin, works the
crowd — shaking hands, slapping backs, laughing too loud.
Nearby, Frida is stopped by an old woman coughing into a rag.
Frida pulls herbs from her knapsack, handing them over
gently.
FRIDA
Boil it. Then breathe in the steam.
The woman nods, grateful.
Laughter and music rise from a distant stage.
The fair feels bright — but the wind carries dust through
every breath.
EXT. TOWN FAIR - TEXHOMA - OKLAHOMA - LATER
A makeshift stage rises above the crowd, draped in a massive
American flag.
Hundreds of townsfolk gather, farmers, families, drifters,
all squinting into the sun.
At the podium, Billy grips the microphone, voice booming.
Behind him, signs flutter: “NEW MAYOR, NEW TOWN.”
BILLY
Better seeds, better storage,
that’s how we’ll thrive again. No
more corruption. No more banks. No
more Big Frank and Junior taking
our money!
The crowd stirs.
A few jeer toward JUNIOR, standing near the edge with FRIDA.
BILLY (CONT’D)
Now, we all know Junior here was
fooled by that crook of a daddy,
ain’t that right?
Laughter ripples through the crowd.
Junior stiffens. Frida’s eyes lock coldly on Billy.
BILLY (CONT’D)
Bless his heart, that boy’s so weak
he’d lose an arm-wrestle to a
scarecrow.
More laughter.
Junior forces a thin smile.
JUNIOR
You’ve used that one before, Billy.
In the audience, MARY GARRISON(30s) stands with her children,
ARTHUR (10) and FLORENCE (8) baby in arms, smiling at Junior.
Behind a nearby beer stand, Peter, the newly appointed
Sheriff, serves drinks to farmhands beneath a sign: “NEW
MAYOR, NEW TOWN.”
He spots Frida, hurrying over.
PETER
Ma’am, my wife asked for your help,
baby’s sick. Can’t breathe right.
FRIDA
I’ll come.
Later:
Frida walks again with Junior, dust rising at their feet.
FRIDA (CONT’D)
He said not to tell Billy. Thinks
I’m a witch.
JUNIOR
Who does?
FRIDA
Our new Mayor.
A gust of wind kicks grit across the fairgrounds.
Hair lifts with static, laughter turns uneasy.
Children shriek with surprise as their hair frizzes up.
Junior and Frida exchange a startled spark when their hands
brush, a small zap.
JUNIOR
Land’s sake, Sister, that hurt.
She pats his cheek playfully.
He coughs, flustered, watching her walk off with Arthur.
Onstage, Billy keeps preaching to a restless crowd.
BILLY
Strength builds character — and
lucky for you, I’ve got plenty to
spare!
Silence. The charm is wearing thin.
From the crowd, Mary calls out:
MARY
That fancy suit’s got more
character than you, Billy!
Laughter breaks loose.
Billy flashes a venomous grin.
BILLY
Mary Garrison, everyone. Maybe I
shouldn’t be paying her after that.
The laughter dies. The wind doesn’t.
Dust begins to whirl, growing thicker, plates and ribbons
ripped from tables, tents snapping.
Billy curses under his breath as the storm rolls in.
BILLY (CONT’D)
For Christ’s sake...
Junior helps Peter guide people into a tent, shouting over
the roar.
Through the red haze, he spots Frida, walking straight into
the storm.
JUNIOR
Frida! Over here!
She doesn’t hear him.
She’s running toward Arthur, trapped against a truck.
Frida throws herself over him, shielding the boy as the storm
engulfs them both.
Visibility drops to nothing.
Screams vanish under the howl of dust.
Then...silence.
When it clears, the fairgrounds are gone.
Trucks half-buried, debris scattered like bones.
Peter and Junior dig through a drift, uncovering Mary,
gasping for air.
A movement nearby, a mound of dirt shifts.
Frida emerges, coated in red dust, scarf wrapped tight.
Beneath her, Arthur, wearing her goggles, blinks up at the
sun.
ARTHUR
She told me to breathe through my
nose. So I did.
Peter lifts his son into his arms, trembling with relief.
Frida rinses Arthur’s face with water, then chews a cactus
leaf, offers him one.
ARTHUR (CONT’D)
Tastes funny.
BILLY
Don’t eat that, boy! I saw what she
did, dragged him out of safety!
PETER
What are you talking about?
BILLY
She pulled him from the car! Out
into the storm!
JUNIOR
That’s not what happened.
BILLY
No one cares what you saw, Frank
Smith Jr.
Peter steps between them, jaw tight.
PETER
Billy, it’s over.
BILLY
Is it? I know what I saw, and so do
you.
The wind stirs again, a faint, rising hum.
No one moves.
The dust settles, but the damage lingers in every eye.
Genres:
["Drama","Western"]
Ratings
Scene
8 -
Whispers of Resilience
EXT. BARN/ORPHANAGE - ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - NIGHT
The wind has quieted, leaving behind only the creak of wood
and the chirp of distant insects.
An old barn, weather-beaten and sagging at the edges, stands
on the edge of a flat, lifeless field. Once red, its paint
has long since burned away to brown. Over the big hay doors,
a hand-painted sign sways in the breeze:
ZION HOME FOR CHILDREN
The paint is chipped. The word “children” nearly gone.
Lantern light glows faintly through cracks in the wood,
casting thin ribbons of gold onto the dust.
Inside, muffled laughter and soft voices drift out into the
open night, the fragile sound of life still clinging on in a
dying land.
INT. BARN/ORPHANAGE - ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - NIGHT
The barn has been reborn as a refuge.
Lanterns hang from rafters, their glow cutting through the
dark like candlelight in a cathedral.
Rows of narrow metal beds line the open floor, each with a
folded grey blanket and a small pillow.
A potbelly stove ticks and groans at the centre, fighting
back the chill.
Children whisper beneath the wooden ribs of the ceiling,
their voices soft, echoing up into the shadows.
Dust drifts through a shaft of light, falling like snow.
At a table under one of the lanterns, FRIDA sits reading from
her green book.
The children are gathered close, wide-eyed.
FRIDA
Loki, the mischievous god, was
challenged to an eating contest by
a giant...
Her voice carries gently through the room, part lullaby, part
spell, as the storm outside hums against the old barn walls.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
9 -
Whispers of Hope and Fear
INT. BARN/ORPHANAGE - ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - LATER
The storm has passed. The barn is quiet, the air thick with
warmth and the scent of smoke.
The children sleep, curled beneath thin blankets, their
breathing soft and even. Lanterns burn low, throwing long,
gentle shadows across the floor.
In the corner, Frida sits beneath a single lamp, still
reading from her book.
Her voice is barely above a whisper.
A door creaks open.
Junior steps in quietly, removing his hat. He crosses to her
side, drawn by the faint light.
JUNIOR
“Outdoor Oklahoma.” I remember that
book from when I was a kid.
Frida looks up, smiling softly.
FRIDA
Junior, this is your copy.
He chuckles faintly, taking a seat beside her.
JUNIOR
Guess I didn’t remember giving it
to you, Sister...
FRIDA
Frida. The children are asleep. You
can use my name.
JUNIOR
You saved that boy. Don’t let
anyone tell you different.
FRIDA
I know.
JUNIOR
This land’s not safe, Frida.
FRIDA
If I find what I’m looking for, it
could help.
JUNIOR
Help who? This town’s dying. Maybe
it’s time we let it.
Frida studies him, not with anger, but with sorrow.
For the first time, she sees what he hides: fear.
Genres:
["Drama","Western"]
Ratings
Scene
10 -
The Weight of Authority
INT. SHERIFF’S OFFICE - TEXHOMA - MORNING
A pale light seeps through the grimy windows. The office
feels colder now, stripped of warmth, order, or purpose.
Paul sits behind the desk, nursing a tin mug of coffee.
Across from him, Billy flips through paperwork, his tone calm
but dangerous.
The door opens. Two enormous farmhands step inside, broad,
silent, built for work and violence.
Billy doesn’t look up.
PAUL
Who the hell are these two?
BILLY
Your new deputies. Boys, wait
outside.
The men obey, stepping out without a word.
Silence lingers, thick with tension. Billy leans back in the
Sheriff’s chair, owning it already.
BILLY (CONT’D)
Times are changing, Paul. You’re
gonna bring the law back to this
town, and those boys’ll make sure
you do.
Billy smiles, but there’s no warmth in it, just the
satisfaction of a man tightening his grip.
EXT. BIG FRANK’S HOUSE - TEXHOMA - MORNING
The morning sun glares off a two-story Colonial Revival
house, proud and out of place among the dust-choked streets.
Fresh paint gleams on its brick walls, the last show of
wealth in a dying town.
A low stone wall traces the property line.
Beyond it, a detached garage stands open, half-empty, half-
forgotten. Boxes fill the space where a car once slept.
Junior works alone, lifting and stacking boxes into the back
of a truck parked by the curb.
Each box is stamped with old county seals and bank logos —
ghosts of business long gone.
Two farmhands lounge in the truck’s cab, smoking, watching
but not helping.
Junior shoulders the load without complaint, dust rising
around him like smoke.
The house looms behind him — solid, silent, and full of
unfinished debts.
INT. SHERIFF’S OFFICE - TEXHOMA - MORNING
Dee and Dum, the hulking farmhands, sit outside the door,
motionless, blank-eyed, like statues waiting for orders.
Inside, Billy leans back in the Sheriff’s chair, feet on the
desk, a cup of coffee in hand.
Across from him, Paul stands stiff, uncomfortable, pretending
he still has authority.
Billy gestures toward the window where the deputies sit.
BILLY
The days of evictions and handouts
are over. You’re gonna bring the
law back, my way. Those boys’ll
help you see it done.
He rises, stepping closer to Paul — his voice dropping to a
low, measured threat.
BILLY (CONT’D)
We’re done signing over checks to
folks who don’t earn ‘em. We don’t
need pity, or preachers, or that
foreign witch stirring up medicine
in the dirt.
He stares Paul down, eyes hard and flat.
BILLY (CONT’D)
You saw what I saw, Paul. She
pulled that boy out to save
herself. Reads those kids stories
that ain’t from any Bible I’ve
read.
Billy smiles, slow, poisonous, then sips his coffee.
Paul says nothing.
Genres:
["Western","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
11 -
Silent Struggles
EXT. GARRISON FARM - RITA BLANCA - OKLAHOMA - DAY
A weary farmstead clings to the edge of a dust-blown field.
A small wood-framed house, a leaning barn, a chicken coop,
and a lone windmill, its blades rusted still.
The land stretches out in brittle rows of dying wheat.
Each gust of wind snaps stalks in half, scattering them
across the cracked soil.
Through the haze comes Frida, wrapped in pale cloth, her
figure cutting a determined path toward the farmhouse.
In the doorway stands Mary.
Dust streaks her face, but her eyes are steady.
Frida pauses, unwrapping her scarf, patting dust from her
sleeves. The two women move to embrace, then hesitate,
sharing a brief, knowing look instead.
Frida glances down at the baby, its lips are dry, its small
chest tight with coughs.
She kneels, takes a small tin of balm from her knapsack, and
gently wipes the child’s face clean.
Mary exhales, relief softening her posture.
Without a word, they step inside the house.
INT. SHERIFF’S OFFICE - TEXHOMA - DAY
The office feels smaller now, the air thick with smoke and
the weight of control.
Billy stands by the desk, handing a thick envelope to Dee,
who pockets it without a word.
Dum waits by the door, his bulk filling the frame.
The two deputies exit, boots thudding against the hallway
tile. Billy watches them go, then turns to Paul, who stands
uneasily by the window.
BILLY
First order of business, get the
outsiders to move on. We need a
doctor, a real one. And a preacher
who speaks proper English. Not that
strange woman mixing voodoo and
weeds out by the church.
He steps closer, his tone tightening.
Paul looks down, saying nothing.
Billy smirks — satisfied with his own conviction.
INT. BIG FRANK'S HOUSE - TEXHOMA - DAY
The house feels too large for the silence inside.
Morning light filters through lace curtains, soft and
ghostly.
A solid oak bed dominates the room, neatly made, sheets
crisp, pillows aligned like a display of control.
Across the surface, papers are spread in careful chaos:
deeds, mortgages, bank notes, and legal letters.
Junior stands over them, jaw tight, eyes scanning the
wreckage of his father’s dealings.
He gathers the papers in armfuls and drops them into a
steamer trunk.
The metal lock clicks shut, final, heavy.
Junior sits on the trunk, exhausted.
The weight of the house, the silence, and the dust presses
down like a confession.
From downstairs, a telephone rings, distant, sharp,
insistent.
Junior doesn’t move.
The ringing continues.
Genres:
["Drama","Western"]
Ratings
Scene
12 -
Shattered Silence
EXT. GARRISON FARM - OKLAHOMA - DAY
Junior stands outside, waiting. A car approaches fast, dust
billowing behind it.
It screeches to a halt. Paul jumps out, distraught. Junior
grabs him, stopping him from running inside.
Paul collapses into Junior’s arms, a guttural scream tearing
out of him.
Junior holds him awkwardly as the dust swirls around them.
INT. GARRISON FARM - OKLAHOMA - DAY
INT. GARRISON FARM – OKLAHOMA – DAY
Junior enters quietly. A cot in the corner — a dead child
lies still, mouth rimmed with brown dust.
MARY wails, clutching the body. PAUL holds her, broken. FRIDA
stands frozen — stunned, horrified.
MARY
Where is he? He’s not here. Is he
in the dust? The soil? The dead
land?
Paul turns to a small bowl burning herbs, smoke coiling
through the room.
PAUL
What the hell is this, Mary?
MARY
It helped. He was breathing, then
he started coughing.
Paul’s rage flares. He storms toward Frida.
Junior steps between them.
JUNIOR
Not now, Paul.
PAUL
Get that woman out of my house!
MARY
I want her to stay.
The room fills with silence, smoke, grief, and wind pressing
at the windows.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
13 -
Dust and Divination
EXT. GARRISON FARM - OKLAHOMA - DAY
Junior carries the small, cloth-wrapped body to his car,
placing it gently on the back seat.
Frida follows, silent. Mary and Paul cling to each other
behind her.
A sleek car roars over the horizon, kicking up dust. It stops
hard, covering Junior in grit.
Billy steps out, sharp suit, smug face.
Junior coughs, rubs his neck.
JUNIOR
I can handle the paperwork,
Billy...
Billy waves him off, eyes on the body.
BILLY
What’s she doing here?
MARY
She was helping. Reading from the
Bible.
BILLY
She ain’t no preacher. Just some
baby-farmer with potions—
MARY
Her medicine...
BILLY
Was it helping?
Billy eyes the tiny body in the car. Frida glares, fierce,
defiant.
BILLY (CONT’D)
The Lord’s work never ends. We
don’t need witches or mystics here.
JUNIOR
I’ll take the body...
BILLY
To the office. Deputies will send
it to Guymon for cause.
JUNIOR
It was dust pneumonia.
Billy ignores him, turns to Paul.
BILLY
Was it?
Frida mutters, low, venomous.
FRIDA
You extort your neighbours with
injustice, and forget the Lord.
Billy freezes, anger twisting his face.
BILLY
You cursing me, woman?
Frida ignores him, studying purple dust swirling on the wind.
She smears it on her palm, sniffs, then tastes.
JUNIOR
Land’s sake, Sister, that could be
what killed the child.
FRIDA
No. It could have saved him.
Henbane.
She wraps her scarf, turning toward the fields.
FRIDA (CONT’D)
Take the child to the deputies. I
need to see where this came from.
She disappears into the red haze.
Junior watches her go, the wind rising around the dead.
Genres:
["Drama","Western"]
Ratings
Scene
14 -
A Moment of Connection
EXT. EMPTY FARMLAND - RITA BLANCA - OKLAHOMA - DAY
A rusted-out car sits half-buried, windows gone, no engine.
Inside, Arthur sits behind the wheel, pretending to drive.
Brown streaks of tears on his face.
Bingo, the scruffy hound, trots up, licking his face before
curling into the shade.
Nearby, the bleached bones of a horse lie in the dust.
A shadow falls over Arthur.
FRIDA (O.S.)
Is that you, Mr. Garrison?
Arthur squints up, Frida stands against the blazing sun,
goggles around her neck, green book in hand.
ARTHUR
What’s your book?
FRIDA
Excuse me?
ARTHUR
What are you reading, Sister?
FRIDA
Better question.
She sits beside him in the ruined car, opens the book.
FRIDA (CONT’D)
These are the old myths of our
people. Your mother’s Scandinavian,
isn’t she?
ARTHUR
Yes, ma’am. She’s Scandi—Scandi…
FRIDA
Scandinavian. Would you like a
story?
Arthur nods.
FRIDA (CONT’D)
Do you know what a Valkyrie is?
He shakes his head - no.
She smiles, begins to read, her voice rising above the wind.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
15 -
Echoes of Grief in Rita Blanca
EXT. EMPTY FARMLAND - RITA BLANCA - LATER
Frida closes her book. The sky burns white.
ARTHUR
They sound tough.
FRIDA
They are.
ARTHUR
Are they real?
FRIDA
Valkyries are everywhere. Do you
not think I am one?
Arthur grins, unsure.
FRIDA (CONT’D)
Hva med moren din?
SUBTITLES: What about your mother?
FRIDA (CONT’D)
Is she not strong?
ARTHUR
Boy, and how.
Frida laughs, the sound small but warm against the dead wind.
FRIDA
Then take Bingo home. He’s probably
missing dinner.
ARTHUR
What are you going to do?
FRIDA
Say it in your old tongue.
ARTHUR
Hva har du tenkt å gjøre?
SUBTITLES: What are you going to do?
FRIDA
Very good. I’m going to stay here —
read awhile.
Arthur waves and runs off with Bingo, vanishing into the heat
shimmer.
Frida leans back in the car, opens her green book, and reads,
the wind whispering through empty fields.
EXT. EMPTY FARMLAND - RITA BLANCA - LATER
A FARMHAND trudges through the dust, leading a gaunt horse.
The animal stumbles, ribs sharp under its hide.
The man stops, raises a shotgun. One merciful shot — the
horse drops.
Blood spills into the cracked soil, trickling through dry
furrows. It pools around a patch of wildflowers — purple and
yellow HENBANE.
FRIDA (V.O.)
“Thanks will weep dry tears for
Baldr’s funeral. Living nor dead, I
get no joy of any man’s son. Let
Hel hold what she says.”
The camera lingers on the blood as it seeps into the earth.
The flowers twitch — almost breathing.
LATER:
Frida walks across the barren land.
Wind howls, dust coils around her like smoke.
She moves forward — calm, determined — a pale figure
swallowed by the storm.
INT. EMPTY FARMHOUSE - EMPTY FARMLAND - DAY
Frida steps inside.
The house is hollow — dust reclaiming everything.
Wind moans through cracked windows.
Drawers hang open, empty.
A sink half-filled with brown water.
She moves carefully, fingertips brushing abandoned walls, as
if reading what was left behind.
The front door creaks — dust drifts across the floor like a
ghost returning home.
Frida exhales, the sound lost in the silence.
EXT. EMPTY FARMLAND - RITA BLANCA - DAY
Frida steps out of the house.
The dead horse lies in the dirt — blood dried to rust.
She kneels beside the patch of henbane blooming near its head
— purple and yellow petals trembling in the wind.
With care, she gathers the flowers into a bundle, wrapping
them in cloth.
Her hands are stained red and gold.
The wind carries the faint hum of flies and faraway thunder.
Frida looks toward the horizon — a speck of light, a promise
— and walks into it.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Western"]
Ratings
Scene
16 -
Whispers of Hope
INT. KITCHEN - BIG FRANK’S HOUSE - DAY
Frida sits at the table, filthy and exhausted. A bundle of
henbane lies before her, purple and yellow blooms against the
drab room.
Junior watches, sipping a Coke. She reaches for it; he stops
her, hands her a fresh bottle from the icebox instead.
FRIDA
My people call it Bulmeurt. Here,
Henbane. The Vikings used it to
make warriors, berserkers, wild
with rage. But that’s a myth. It
clears the lungs. We used it when I
was a child. This could be...
JUNIOR
Hope.
Frida unwraps her scarf, dust spilling everywhere. Junior
flinches, half-laughing.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
Land’s sake, Sister. You’ll get
lost out there one of these days.
FRIDA
(smiling faintly)
Vegur er víða þangað sem fara skal.
SUBTITLES: There is always a way to where one must go.
JUNIOR
Saying clever things in another
language’s cheating.
She laughs softly.
He touches his hair, his face, the dust never leaves.
They sit in the quiet, the flowers between them, glowing like
small embers.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
17 -
A Morning of Despair and Hope
INT. THE KRIEG HOUSE - TEXHOMA - MORNING
A two-room shack. Dirt floor. Dust seeps through every crack.
JENNY KRIEG, (late 20s), tired but beautiful, stirs awake in
bed. Her toddler lies beside her. The baby sleeps in a
suitcase.
A cough — deep, dry. Jenny lifts the baby, pats his back. He
burps up brown muck — dirt.
She wipes his mouth, holding him close.
The wind rattles the windowpanes.
She doesn’t move — just rocks him, eyes wide, waiting for
morning to end.
INT. MURRAY’S DINER - TEXHOMA - MORNING
Quiet.
Jenny sits in a booth with her two children — pale, coughing
softly. At the counter: Junior and Frida, silent.
Behind the bar, Mary pours coffee, her movements weary but
steady. She turns on the tap, it sputters, spits brown water.
She pours a glass and sets it before Junior. He almost
drinks. She snatches it away.
FRIDA
You shouldn’t be here, Mary. You
should be home.
MARY
Pete’s working. Figured I would
too.
(pointing at Jenny)
(MORE)
MARY (CONT’D)
She needs intake papers, medical
care in Guymon. Before it’s too
late.
Frida nods gently. Mary blinks back tears.
JUNIOR
I’ll take her.
Mary gives him a look — half doubt, half gratitude.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
Person needs help.
Frida studies him — quiet approval.
Genres:
["Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
18 -
Desperate Choices
INT. THE KRIEG HOUSE - TEXHOMA - DAY
Jenny sits at her small kitchen table — tired, guarded.
Across from her, Peter counts out a wad of cash.
JENNY
We waited seven hours. Me and the
kids. Then some woman asks if both
were my husband’s.
Peter slides the money across.
PETER
This way you keep the checks. For a
thirty-percent charge, we’ll keep
signing off your need. Saves you
another trip to Guymon.
Junior stands in the corner, silent. Jenny’s toddler tugs at
his trouser leg. Junior swats him away, then, guilty, picks
the child up.
No one speaks.
Outside, the wind scrapes against the boards like
fingernails.
EXT. THE KRIEG HOUSE - TEXHOMA - DAY
Dim light. Empty glasses. Dust hangs in the air like smoke.
Junior sits at the counter across from Billy, who wipes a
glass, smiling that snake-oil smile.
In the corner, Dee and Dum — silent, watchful, armed.
JUNIOR
Thirty cents on the dollar?
BILLY
That’s the rate now. All above
board. Logged proper.
JUNIOR
I could take her checks myself. Get
her the full amount.
BILLY
Like the good old days? How much
you planning to skim this time?
Junior stiffens.
BILLY (CONT’D)
We can’t play favourites, Junior.
Wouldn’t look right, even for a
pretty one like Jenny.
Junior’s jaw tightens.
JUNIOR
That’s not what this is about.
Billy grins.
BILLY
Sure it isn’t. Though I can’t blame
you, she’s a fine woman.
Junior rises, every muscle taut.
Dee and Dum shift, hands near their guns.
Junior backs off, leaves.
Billy chuckles, low and poisonous, as the door swings shut
behind him.
INT. JENNY'S HOUSE - TEXHOMA - DAY
The room is dim, dust motes drifting through the light. Jenny
sits at the table, her children huddled close.
Junior enters quietly, hat in hand. He kneels in front of
her.
JUNIOR Listen — don’t sign anything. You don’t need to. Let
me take the checks to Guymon. The bank there only charges a
little.
He rubs his face, exhausted.
JENNY
Somebody always wants something.
JUNIOR
Ask Mary, if you’re not sure.
JENNY
I can’t bother her — she’s got
enough.
JUNIOR
I meant—
JENNY
Not her baby. Her husband.
He’s sleeping in the cells at night.
Junior looks up, startled — realization creeping in.
Genres:
["Drama","Western"]
Ratings
Scene
19 -
Silent Shadows
INT. MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - TEXHOMA - NIGHT
The building is dark, a hollow shell lit by moonlight through
dusty windows.
A key turns in the lock. Junior slips inside, quiet as a
thief.
His footsteps echo down the empty hall. Somewhere, a fan
hums, slow, rhythmic, like breathing.
He pauses at the Sheriff’s office door.
Takes a breath.
Goes in.
INT. SHERIFF'S OFFICE - TEXHOMA - NIGHT
Dark. Still. A single desk lamp glows over scattered papers
and an empty bottle.
A faint curl of smoke rises from one of Frida’s herbal bowls,
still warm.
Junior steps inside, uneasy.
A soft cough behind him. He turns, Arthur stands in the
doorway, thin and pale, clutching a small bundle.
JUNIOR
Arthur?
Arthur glances toward the hall, then closes the door quietly.
ARTHUR
We can’t go home.
Silence.
INT. CELL BLOCK - MUNICIPAL OFFICE - TEXHOMA - NIGHT
Two small cells, iron bars, rusted brown. A cot, a thin
blanket, a bucket in each.
Mary and Florence sleep in one cell, tangled together under a
wool sheet. Peter sleeps in the other, head bowed, hands
clasped like he’s praying.
In the narrow hall, Junior stands beside Arthur. They watch
the sleeping family in silence.
The oil lamp flickers, shadows moving over the bars like
ghosts.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
20 -
Whispers of Tension
INT. MASTER BEDROOM - BIG FRANK'S HOUSE - TEXHOMA - NIGHT
The big bed is too clean for this town, white sheets, lace
curtains, polished wood.
Arthur and Florence sleep side by side beneath the quilt,
small bodies lost in the vastness.
In the corner, Peter sits in a chair, boots off, badge still
pinned.
He tries to stay awake, watching over them.
His head dips, eyes heavy.
A floorboard groans, like something shifting in the dark, but
it’s only the house breathing.
INT. KITCHEN - BIG FRANK’S HOUSE - TEXHOMA - NIGHT
A kettle whistles softly on the stove. Mary and Junior sit at
the table, coffee between them. The room hums with the sound
of wind pressing at the walls.
JUNIOR
How long’s it been like this?
MARY
Something’s growing out there,
Junior. Frida called it henbane.
Billy says it’s witchcraft. In
Oklahoma.
She laughs bitterly.
MARY (CONT’D)
What’s wrong with these men?
JUNIOR
The land died. They’re looking for
someone to blame.
MARY
At least Big Frank didn’t throw us
out. He just took his cut. Billy
wants everything.
JUNIOR
When did Billy buy the diner? I
thought the bank had it.
MARY
Your daddy sold it to him. Before
he ran. Pete says he went west with
a suitcase of money, and left you
to take the fall.
Junior looks down at his coffee.
JUNIOR
Mary... do you think Pete’ll drive
me to Guymon?
MARY
He’s heading there soon — papers,
checks, the usual. Though Billy
said he wouldn’t be around much.
You don’t see those new deputies
anywhere but that bar of his. You
could take Big Frank’s car.
JUNIOR
Drive that into Guymon? Someone
would repossess it before I parked.
They share a tired laugh.
The kettle hisses louder — steam, dust, and silence filling
the space.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Western"]
Ratings
Scene
21 -
Visions of Destruction
EXT. US 54 (HIGHWAY) - OUTSIDE OF TEXHOMA - NIGHT
The road is mostly dirt, broken patches of pavement glinting
under a weak moon.
A convoy of five overloaded trucks crawls through the storm,
families, furniture, everything they own.
Dust churns in their wake like smoke.
One truck stops.
The driver squints through the haze, a faint glow ahead.
He points.
A CROSS burns in the field, flames whipping in the wind.
The drivers stare, the fire reflected in their goggles, their
eyes.
The dust thickens until it devours the light.
In the flickering glow stands a lone figure. Frida, wrapped
in her scarves, a large carpet bag at her feet, stuffed with
henbane flowers.
The cross collapses, embers rolling into the brush.
The ground glows purple and gold as the smoke rises.
The dust and flames swirl together, painting Frida in both
colours. She removes her mask, breathes deep, lungs filling
with the herbal smoke.
VOICE (V.O.)
“Brother will fight brother and be
his slayer. Sisters’ sons will
violate the kinship bound.”
Frida looks around — no one there.
The voice continues on the wind.
VOICE (V.O.)
Heller ikke berserkernes medisin.
SUBTITLE: Neither does the berserker’s medicine.
VOICE (V.O.)
“Axe age, sword age, shields are
cleft asunder…”
Tears streak through the dust on her face.
FRIDA
There’s a new God here. This is the
new land.
VOICE (V.O.)
Og et nytt språk.
SUBTITLE: And a new language.
VOICE (V.O.)
English, the tongue of our enemies.
FRIDA
I know how this poem ends. “Wind
age, wolf age, before the world
plunges headlong. No man will spare
another.”
The wind shifts. The cross burns out.
The sky returns, a bleak grey dawn.
Before Frida stands a horse, the same one shot dead before.
Alive. Calm. A hole still in its head.
She approaches slowly, lays a hand on its brow, blood, warm
and wet.
She gasps:
The horse vanishes.
Her hand now stained purple and gold, dust, not blood.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Fantasy"]
Ratings
Scene
22 -
Ashes of Suspicion
EXT. US 54 (HIGHWAY) - OUTSIDE OF TEXHOMA - MORNING
A pale sun rises through the haze.
Peter’s old police car idles beside the charred remains of
the cross, a black skeleton jutting from the dust.
Peter stands over it, hat in hand.
Junior waits inside the car, watching through the cracked
windshield.
Peter kneels, brushes ash from his boots, nothing left but
scorched earth and silence.
He exhales, gets back in.
The engine coughs, catches.
The two men drive off down the empty road, smoke curling
behind them like a ghost that refuses to leave.
INT. POLICE CAR - US 54 (HIGHWAY) - MORNING
The road hums beneath the tires. Ash drifts past the
windshield like black snow.
Junior sips a Coke, a small case resting on his lap.
JUNIOR
Probably kids.
PETER
Yeah. Kids.
But his voice betrays him.
JUNIOR
Could be the Klan. Still a few
around. Though I don’t know who’s
running things since my father’s...
He stops himself.
PETER
Junior... that was Billy.
Junior turns, staring at him, the words hanging heavy in the
cab.
Outside, the horizon burns red with dawn.
INT. CLERKS OFFICE - TEXAS COUNTY COURTHOUSE - DAY
Typewriters, footsteps, paper shuffling.
Light filters through dusty windows, pale and tired.
The same Clerk from earlier smiles tightly at Peter across
her desk.
She wasn’t this friendly with Junior last time.
Junior sits at a smaller table nearby, his case open, papers
spread, pen scratching across a ledger.
He approaches the clerk, careful, polite.
JUNIOR
Can I see these ten files, please?
The clerk looks up, eyebrow raised.
CLERK
Ten?
JUNIOR
Yes, ma’am. Please.
A loud sigh.
She glances at Peter, he smiles, easy charm, and she softens.
The clerk turns, muttering, and disappears into the back
room.
Junior and Peter exchange a look.
Neither speaks, but both know something stinks.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
23 -
Bitter Tea and Fading Light
EXT. ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - RITA BLANCA - EVENING
The last light of day bleeds across the plains. Smoke rises
from a large pot simmering over an open fire.
Frida stirs henbane leaves in boiling water, careful,
precise. Around her, a small camp has formed: a half-dozen
trucks, tents pitched, families cooking supper.
She ladles tea into tin cups, passing them out one by one.
Each person drinks sparingly.
A LARGE OKIE gulps his down, wipes his mouth, and reaches for
more. Frida shakes her head, points to a hand-painted sign:
“NO MORE THAN ONE SERVING.”
The Okie scowls, sneaks a flask beneath the pot, filling it
when she turns away.
Children chase Bingo near the tents. Frida kneels, scratches
his ears, a brief smile.
The sky darkens, firelight flickering on her face.
The sound of laughter, clanking pots, a fragile moment of
peace in a dying land.
INT. KITCHEN - ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - EVENING
Lantern light flickers against the walls. Frida enters,
carrying her half-empty pot of henbane tea. Jenny and Mary
sit at the table, passing a whiskey bottle between them.
Frida sets the pot down, covers it, joins them. Mary slides
the bottle her way.
FRIDA
The children are happy. The men say
they’ll play music later.
JENNY
Men say a lot, especially after
whiskey.
They share a laugh.
MARY
Who taught you that tea, Frida? The
kids sound better already.
FRIDA
My mother. She was Sami, from the
North. She believed in using the
land to heal. My father was a
priest. He said there was only one
God. But she told stories, Odin,
Loki, the old ones.
Mary and Jenny listen, quiet now.
FRIDA (CONT’D)
When the famine came, they left.
Came here, to start again. She died
when I was nine.
Mary reaches across, squeezes her hand.
The kettle rattles faintly on the stove.
Outside, laughter and fiddle music drift through the thin
walls, the sound of people pretending, for one night, that
the world isn’t ending.
Genres:
["Drama","Western"]
Ratings
Scene
24 -
Fleeting Moments of Joy
EXT. ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - RITA BLANCA - NIGHT
A clear night sky, rare, beautiful. The dust has settled for
once.
A large fire crackles in the yard. Children dance barefoot in
the dirt; a man plucks a banjo, another saws a fiddle.
Laughter, clapping, the hum of life returning, if only for a
while.
Families sit around eating, drinking, breathing clean air.
Smoke curls upward, glowing orange against the stars.
FRIDA (V.O.)
This land was so beautiful once. We
kept moving west until my father
stopped, tired, old. Then he died.
Left me a church I wasn’t allowed
to preach in... and six children
who weren’t mine.
She stands at the edge of the firelight, watching the faces,
children, travellers, the broken and the hopeful.
A soft smile crosses her dust-streaked face. For a moment,
she looks like someone who still believes in miracles.
INT. KITCHEN - ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - EVENING
Silence, soft and safe. The fire outside crackles faintly
through the window.
JENNY
Why’d you stay, Frida? You could’ve
sent the children to Guymon.
FRIDA
My father wouldn’t have wanted
that. He believed duty was sacred.
Besides… I made friends here.
MARY
I know you did.
Mary’s eyes glint with warmth, a teasing smile exchanged
between the three.
For the first time in a long time, they almost feel human
again. Outside, the fiddle fades.
Genres:
["Drama","Western"]
Ratings
Scene
25 -
Whispers of Desolation
INT. POLICE CAR - US 54 (HIGHWAY) - NIGHT
The world outside is black, no moon, no stars.
Peter drives, jaw tight. Junior sits beside him, staring into
the dark, a bottle between his knees.
Neither speaks for a long while. The hum of the engine fills
the silence.
Finally:
JUNIOR
He didn’t take any money.
Peter glances over, says nothing.
The road stretches ahead, endless, empty.
EXT. DAWSON’S BAR - TEXHOMA - NIGHT
The town sleeps.
The bar is dark, no drunks out front for once.
Peter’s police car rolls to a stop. He stays behind the wheel
as Junior climbs out, jacket pulled tight against the wind.
Junior glances up at the flickering neon sign, “DAWSON’S.”
He takes a breath and goes inside.
INT. DAWSON'S BAR - TEXHOMA - NIGHT
The place is dead. No music, no laughter — just the buzz of a
single dying light.
A lone Barman wipes down the counter, barely looking up as
Junior enters.
JUNIOR
Bottle of whiskey.
The barman nods, reaches under the bar, sets it down. No
words, no eye contact.
Junior drops a few bills, grabs the bottle, and turns to
leave. The door creaks shut behind him, the only sound in the
emptiest bar in Oklahoma.
INT. KITCHEN - BIG FRANK'S HOUSE - TEXHOMA - NIGHT
The bottle from Dawson’s sits between Junior and Peter on the
table. Two glasses. Half full.
The house groans.
JUNIOR
So I own this house. The cinema. No
mortgages. All clean.
He shakes his head, bitter.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
The diner, the feed store, the dry
goods, he just signed them over to
Billy. Why?
Peter stares at his glass.
PETER
I couldn’t afford the note.
Junior looks up, confused.
PETER (CONT’D)
My farm. Couldn’t make the
payments. Mary found work, but your
daddy, he had me like everyone
else. Took his cut, twenty percent.
Let us keep the land.
He drinks.
PETER (CONT’D)
Billy’s worse. He doesn’t want
people, he wants everything. The
land, the power, the name.
Junior leans forward.
JUNIOR
Then why take the Sheriff’s badge?
PETER
Because when he started taking
half, I didn’t have a choice. He
already owned my farm. Now he owns
the town.
Junior stares into his glass.
JUNIOR
How do we fight back?
PETER
We don’t.
A long silence.
JUNIOR
The bar was empty tonight.
Peter looks up, frowning.
PETER
What?
JUNIOR
Dawson’s bar. Empty. That’s never
happened before.
The clock chimes.
Both men realize, something’s coming.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
26 -
Defiance in the Shadows
EXT. ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - RITA BLANCA - NIGHT
The fire from earlier burns smaller now — just coals and
smoke.
Families sleep in their trucks and tents.
A few stragglers sit close to the dying flames, whispering
prayers, sharing the last of the tea.
Frida tends the pot one final time.
She stirs slowly, humming an old Norwegian hymn under her
breath.
A child stirs beside her, coughing softly, the sound fading
as the medicine takes hold.
Frida touches the child’s forehead, relieved.
She looks up at the stars, faint through the haze, and closes
her eyes.
FRIDA (SOFTLY, IN NORWEGIAN)
For alt som var, takk. For alt som
kommer, ja.
SUBTITLE: For all that was, thanks. For all that will be,
yes.
EXT. EMPTY FARMLAND - RITA BLANCA - OKLAHOMA - NIGHT
Torches flicker in the dark a ritual in motion.
White robes. Pointed hoods. Thirty figures move in formation
beneath a blazing cross.
At the podium: Billy, robed in purple. His voice cuts through
the wind.
BILLY
This is our land, our faith, our
blood!
The crowd roars. Flames roar louder.
In the distance — the faint hum of an idling police car.
Inside, Peter grips the wheel. Beside him, Junior stares at
the scene, hollow.
PETER
You need to leave, Junior. This
isn’t your fight.
Junior steps out anyway, the wind taking his breath.
Through the dust, Frida stands alone on the horizon, watching
the cross burn. Her flask glints in the firelight.
Junior walks over to her.
JUNIOR
It isn’t safe here.
They stand together — small, defiant shapes in the firelight.
Back at the podium, Billy spreads his arms.
BILLY
The law returns to the hands of men
who built this land! No more
witches. No more bankers. No more
thieves.
The crowd erupts. Hoods rise. Leaflets scatter like ash.
Junior picks one up, his father’s name stamped across it. He
stares into the smoke, the fire reflecting in his eyes.
FRIDA (QUIETLY)
“Hatred stirs up conflict, but love
covers over all wrongs.”
Wind swells. The cross collapses, sparks devoured by dust.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
27 -
Morning Tensions at Zion Lutheran Church
EXT. ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - RITA BLANCA - MORNING
The sun rises through a veil of dust. Junior and Frida, bone-
tired and filthy, trudge back to the church.
Peter’s police car is already parked outside.
Mary bursts from the doorway, panic in her voice. Peter
chases after her.
PETER
Mary, wait...
MARY
Frida...she’s gone. Jenny’s gone.
FRIDA
What?
MARY
Last night. She must’ve gone with
the Okies.
FRIDA
Where are the children?
INT. KITCHEN - ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - MORNING
A single oil lamp burns. Dust filters through the air.
Frida, Junior, Mary, and Peter sit around the worn table.
PETER
What do we do?
JUNIOR
My father...he just ran. What if he
didn’t?
MARY
What are you saying?
JUNIOR
I’m saying I need proof.
Mary studies him, then softens, almost a smile.
MARY
No longer the Sheriff, suddenly
starts Sheriffin’.
She pats his hand.
FRIDA
I’m staying.
MARY
Us too.
PETER
Mary, this is dangerous.
MARY
Peter Garrison, this is our land.
Rita Blanca’s ours. I’ll be damned
if we leave it to Billy Dawson and
whatever he’s planning.
FRIDA
The children are safe here.
MARY
My children have a home. With us.
PETER
You sure?
MARY
Yes. We stay.
Frida nods.
FRIDA
The children will need breakfast.
MARY
There are Okies out there, some
stayed, some left.
FRIDA
They’ll all leave soon. I need
to...
MARY
You need to sleep.
Frida exhales, beaten but grateful.
INT. FRIDA’S BEDROOM - ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - MORNING
Soft light filters through the cracked window.
Frida sleeps soundly, her breathing shallow.
In the corner, a small metal bowl burns, thin tendrils of
purple and yellow smoke curl through the air.
The haze drifts toward her bed, wrapping her face like
incense. She stirs but doesn’t wake.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
28 -
Confronting the Past
INT. MASTER BEDROOM - BIG FRANK'S HOUSE - TEXHOMA - MORNING
Junior stands before a heavy oak wardrobe. Dust drifts in
shafts of light cutting through the half-open blinds.
He opens the doors — the hinges groan. Inside: neatly folded
clothes, boots lined like soldiers, a half-empty bottle of
whiskey.
Junior reaches deeper, pulls out a small lockbox wrapped in
newspaper. He sets it on the bed, wipes away dust, and flips
it open.
Inside:
– a pistol, well-oiled
– stacks of bank ledgers
– envelopes marked with names: DAWSON, GARRISON, MURRAY
– a photograph: Frank and Billy shaking hands beside a
church.
Junior stares at it, his jaw tightening.
He closes the lid, exhales, and pockets the pistol.
INT. JUNIOR'S BEDROOM - BIG FRANK'S HOUSE - MORNING
The room mirrors his father’s, smaller, tidier, still haunted
by the same shadows.
Junior opens the wardrobe.
Inside: a neatly folded white robe and hood, the insignia of
the Ku Klux Klan.
He stares. Frozen.
His reflection in the wardrobe mirror, a young man trapped
between inheritance and shame.
A beat.
He reaches in, pulls the robes free. The fabric flutters like
a ghost caught in sunlight.
Junior’s jaw tightens.
EXT. BACKYARD – BIG FRANK’S HOUSE – LATER
A metal garbage can burns. Flames curl and snap.
Junior drops both sets of robes, his father’s purple, his own
white. The fire eats them alive.
Ash drifts into the wind, black flecks against a blood-red
dawn. Junior watches, face unreadable, until the last scrap
turns to smoke.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
29 -
Whispers of Hope and Dread
EXT. GARRISON FARM - RITA BLANCA - MORNING
A thin sun pushes through the dust.
Peter’s police car pulls up to what’s left of the farmhouse,
half-buried, ghostlike.
Mary steps out first, skirt whipping in the wind.
Arthur and Florence follow, Bingo bounding between them.
The family stands silent, taking it in, their home, swallowed
by red earth.
Then, a flicker of colour.
At the corner of the house, henbane flowers push through the
dust, fragile, defiant, alive.
Mary kneels, brushes one gently.
MARY
It’s growing back.
Peter stares at the blooms, hope and dread tangled on his
face.
INT. FRIDA’S BEDROOM - ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - MORNING
Muted light spills through the cracked window. Dust drifts
like smoke.
Frida lies still on the bed, eyes open, unfocused.
Her skin pale, lips dry. A faint shimmer of henbane smoke
curls from a small metal bowl beside her.
The haze thickens. A whisper moves through it, a voice not of
this world.
VOICE (V.O.)
Oaths are broken. Kin fight kin.
All bonds fall away.
Frida blinks, trembling.
FRIDA
This isn’t the end. It can’t be...
The shadow of a horse fills the doorway, still, silent, a
gaping wound in its head.
Frida’s voice cracks.
FRIDA (CONT’D)
It hurts too much.
The smoke deepens, purple and gold, wrapping around her like
fog.
VOICE (V.O.)
The henbane blooms in blood. Death
feeds the soil.
Frida weeps, her tears white against the ash.
The horse is gone. Only the smoke remains, swirling,
whispering, alive.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Supernatural"]
Ratings
Scene
30 -
The Flask of Madness
INT. SHERIFF’S OFFICE - TEXHOMA - DAY
A harsh beam of sunlight cuts through the blinds, slicing the
dust-filled air.
Billy sits behind the Sheriff’s desk, calm, coiled, a man
who’s found his throne.
Flanking him: Dee and Dum, twin hulks in pressed uniforms,
faces blank, badges gleaming like false gods.
Across from them, a Large Okie grips a dented flask, Frida’s
medicine.
Billy snatches it, sniffs, drinks. His face twists. He spits
it onto the floor.
BILLY
What the hell is this? Poison?
The Okie shrugs, nervous.
LARGE OKIE
She gave it to the kids. The
travellers too.
BILLY
Locals?
LARGE OKIE
I don’t know the locals here. I’m
from Goodwell.
Billy tosses him a few bills, a dismissal and a warning.
BILLY
Then head back there. Forget what
you saw.
Dee and Dum escort the man out.
Billy watches them go, then raises the flask again. This
time, he drinks deep.
His breath quickens. Eyes flare wide, colour flooding his
face.
Dee and Dum return. Billy’s grin is strange now, fevered.
BILLY (CONT’D)
Burn it. Out where you lit the
first cross.
The deputies nod.
The camera lingers on Billy’s face — trembling, alive with
something between revelation and madness.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
31 -
Smoke and Shadows
EXT. HENBANE FIELD - RITA BLANCA - DAY
The wind carries the hiss of gasoline.
Dee walks through the tall henbane, sloshing fuel from a tin
can. The flowers shimmer, purple and gold against the dead
earth.
Dum flicks a match.
A heartbeat, then fire.
Flames race through the field, devouring colour and life
alike. Smoke coils upward, thick, strange, luminous.
The men cough, but keep laughing, drunk on the sight of it.
They breathe it in, deep. The smoke fills their lungs,
staining their faces with streaks of violet and yellow.
The fire grows wild. The wind turns.
They drop the can, staggering back, high on heat and fumes,
eyes wide, mouths open in wonder.
Behind them, the henbane burns on, a living storm of colour
and smoke that refuses to die.
EXT. A MILE FROM TEXHOMA - DAY
Dust swirls across the endless flat.
Dee and Dum stumble through it, laughing, eyes glassy, lungs
full of smoke.
The world wavers, colours bending in the heat.
A dust cloud rolls toward them, alive, humming.
They don’t move. Just stare, awestruck, grinning like fools.
The storm swallows them whole.
Electric crackle. Dee’s metal cross sparks against his chest,
he yanks it off, cursing.
Dum laughs. Dee hits him.
They brawl, fists, blood, madness.
The dust roars around them, turning every blow into thunder.
Then... silence.
The storm passes. Both men stand still, panting, dust-caked,
purple and yellow stains across their faces.
They look at each other, and laugh.
The henbane field burns in the distance, flames coiling
skyward like a signal no one will answer.
INT. FRIDA'S BEDROOM - ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - DAY
Frida sleeps, face pale against the pillow. A faint noise —
shouting, distant.
Her eyes snap open. The trance is gone. She blinks, breath
quick and shallow, the world returning in fragments, light,
sound, wind.
She rises, crosses to the window.
FRIDA’S POV: Outside, people moving, shouting, smoke rising
on the horizon. A dark column twisting into the sky, the
henbane field on fire.
Frida grips the window frame, eyes wide with dread.
The reflection of the smoke rolls over her face. Violet and
gold fading into black.
EXT. ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - RITA BLANCA - DAY
The camp stirs in the rising heat.
Frida watches from the steps, silent, alert.
Around her, Okie families pack their trucks, children running
between tires, women hanging washed rags like flags of
surrender.
Men scrub their faces with tin pails of brown water.
Babies cry, dogs bark, life grinding on in the dust.
Then, a murmur ripples through the crowd.
Heads turn toward the horizon.
A black column of smoke twists upward, vast, alive, devouring
the sky.
Frida’s face hardens.
The people stare, unsure whether to fear it or follow it.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
32 -
Smoke and Mirrors
INT. JUNIOR’S BEDROOM - BIG FRANK’S HOUSE - DAY
Junior lies sprawled on his bed, boots still on, dust on his
face. He stirs, blinks awake, shielding his eyes from the
light cutting through the blinds.
He sits up slowly, the weight of exhaustion heavy in every
movement. Smoke drifts through the open window, distant,
acrid.
Junior exhales, realizing it’s not a dream.
He drags a hand over his face, then stands, silent, steady,
already too late.
EXT. MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - TEXHOMA - DAY
The sky glows sickly, half sun, half smoke.
Billy stands on the courthouse steps, staring toward the
horizon.
A vast cloud of black and gold churns in the distance, the
henbane field burning out of control.
Ash drifts past like snow.
He mutters under his breath, half fury, half disbelief.
BILLY
Idiots.
He turns, jaw tight, the fire reflected in his eyes, the look
of a man watching his own sins rise into the sky.
INT. MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - TEXHOMA - DAY
Billy strides down the hallway, past empty desks and
flickering lights. He enters a small room, a lone mimeograph
machine rattles on the table, churning out fresh leaflets.
Ink smears across his hands as he snatches one mid-print. The
paper reads:
“KEEP OKLAHOMA CLEAN — ROOT OUT THE WITCH.”
He studies it, a grim smile.
Outside, thunder rumbles, or maybe it’s the fire.
Billy feeds another stack into the machine.
Each sheet hits the floor like a drumbeat, propaganda in
motion, the rhythm of control.
INT. FRANK'S BEDROOM - BIG FRANK'S HOUSE - TEXHOMA
Paperwork all over the bed. The trunk has been emptied.
Junior is staring at it.
Junior looks into a mirror across the room.
JUNIOR
You’re never going to see it.
You’re not smart enough. You’re not
good enough. You’re an idiot.
Junior sweeps the paperwork into the trunk.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
“He’s got a million-dollar smile
and a ten-cent brain behind it”.
Right Dad?
He closes the trunk.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
“I told my son to follow his
dreams; he got lost on the way to
bed”. Right Dad?
He pushes the trunk under the bed.
He sits on the bed.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
“If brains were dynamite, the kid
couldn’t blow his hat off”. Good
one Dad.
Junior is crying now.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
“He says he’s takin’ after me. I
told him to stop, I can’t afford
the lawsuit”. Very funny.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
33 -
Smoke and Shadows
EXT. GARRISON FARM - RITA BLANCA - MORNING
Peter stands in his field, cigarette trembling between his
fingers.
A black plume swells on the horizon, the henbane fields
burning.
He kneels, scoops a handful of dirt. Dust slips through his
fingers like ash.
The sun dims, turning red, fading behind the smoke. Shapes
vanish in the haze. The world blurs to nothing.
Peter squints toward the fire, the wind rising in a low,
endless moan.
He covers his mouth, reaches for a handkerchief, nothing.
Panic flashes.
He turns and runs for the house, the smoke already chasing
him down.
INT. ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - DAY
Dim light filters through cracked stained glass. Smoke drifts
through the air like ghosts.
Frida kneels before a small altar. A metal bowl burns, herbs
and seeds curling into flame. She breathes the smoke in,
trembling.
Outside, the wind moans through the walls, a low, distant
roar. The sounds of children crying and yelling.
Frida opens her eyes. They glint gold in the half-light.
She whispers in Norwegian, soft, melodic, ancient:
FRIDA
Lyse var de, og fryktinngytende å
se, kampens møyer, de falnes
utvelgere; og over slagmarken red
de med stormens hastighet.
SUBTITLE: Bright they were, and terrible to behold, maidens
of battle, choosers of the slain; and over the field they
rode with the speed of the storm.
Her words merge with the wind, a prayer, a spell, a warning.
The bowl flares, light washing over her face. Then darkness
returns.
Silence.
Frida exhales, calm, resolute, the dust still rising around
her like ghosts.
INT. BARN/ORPHANAGE - ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - DAY
Children and adults eat in quiet murmurs. The wind outside
howls, a door SLAMS open.
Frida bursts in, eyes blazing, energy humming through her.
Dust swirls around her boots as she strides forward,
clutching a small book with a bright green cover.
She scans the room, faces lift, forks freeze.
FRIDA
Children. With me. Now.
A beat, the urgency in her tone cuts through confusion.
The children rise, uncertain but trusting, gathering close as
Frida herds them toward safety.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Supernatural"]
Ratings
Scene
34 -
Descent into Darkness
INT. KITCHEN - BIG FRANK’S HOUSE - DAY
Empty bottles crowd the table, a silent battlefield.
The radio plays a slow, mournful tune through static.
Junior sits alone, red-eyed, unshaven. His badge and gun rest
before him, gleaming under the weak daylight.
He pours another drink.
The glass trembles slightly in his hand.
A tear slips down his cheek, he doesn’t bother to wipe it.
He stares at the badge. Then drinks again.
The music fades to static.
INT. HALLWAY - BIG FRANK’S HOUSE - DAY
Junior stands at the foot of the stairs, motionless, a beer
hanging loose in his hand. The house is still, dust floats in
shafts of dull light.
He stares upward, unblinking. The floor creaks somewhere
above, or maybe it’s the house breathing.
His gaze drops to the front door. A single leaflet lies half
shoved beneath it, the corner flapping in the draft.
Junior hesitates, then bends to pick it up.
A headline screams back at him in bold, black ink:
“BABY FARM IN RITA BLANCA – CHILDREN IN PERIL.”
His hand tightens around the paper.
The beer slips, shattering on the floor.
INT. DAWSON'S BAR - TEXHOMA - NIGHT
The bar’s alive again, packed with smoke, sweat, and noise.
Glasses clink, boots scrape, laughter curdles into whispers.
In the corner, BILLY holds court, calm, venomous, his words
cutting through the haze.
Two FARMHANDS lean in, leaflets in hand, faces half-lit by
the jukebox glow.
BILLY
She’s killing those children with
that poison. Same way the Garrison
baby died. I saw it. With my own
eyes.
The men exchange uneasy looks.
FARMHAND #1
What the hell’s a baby farm, Billy?
Billy glares, his smile sharp as glass.
BILLY
It’s how she makes her money.
Federal cheques, meant for the
dead, the gone, the lost. She
registers those orphans, keeps the
cash, kills the proof.
FARMHAND #2
I get Federal money. Keeps me
alive, Billy.
Billy slams his glass down, hard.
BILLY
And you think you’re the problem?
No, she is. Her. The witch in that
old church.
A beat. The crowd murmurs, tension thick as smoke.
FARMHAND #1
You need to lay off the booze,
Billy.
Billy laughs, low, dangerous.
The room doesn’t laugh with him.
He leans back, eyes glittering under the neon hum.
The leaflets flutter across the table — “BABY FARM IN RITA
BLANCA — CHILDREN IN PERIL.”
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
35 -
Unraveling Secrets
INT. LIVING ROOM - BIG FRANK’S HOUSE - DAY
Junior stands before his father’s old rolltop desk — the
command post of a man who ran an empire on lies.
The desk gapes open: a rotary phone, stacks of faded
correspondence, and a massive ledger, heavy with secrets.
Junior pours himself another drink, hand shaking.
He opens the book. Pages and pages of names blur together
through the whiskey haze.
JUNIOR
“He called it tax relief. I call it
creative accounting.” Good one,
Pops.
He flips another page. Stops.
CLOSE ON: a name — Moses Murray — $15 WPA payment.
JUNIOR (SOFTLY) (CONT’D)
Even the afterlife’s got a claims
department.
He stares, broken laughter turning to anger.
He grabs a pen, starts scrawling names onto a notepad — dead
names, ghost wages.
A phone rings offscreen, sharp as a gunshot.
He freezes.
INT. GARRISON FARM - RITA BLANCA - DAY
The phone rings, sharp, ghostly.
Mary wipes her hands, crosses the quiet kitchen, and lifts
the receiver.
A burst of static. A hiss. Nothing.
She waits, brow furrowed.
The line crackles like something trying to speak through the
wind.
MARY
Hello?
Only more static, a whisper of voices that aren’t there.
She presses the phone tighter to her ear.
The silence deepens.
INT. HALLWAY - BIG FRANK’S HOUSE - DAY
Junior grips the phone, pacing beneath a flickering bulb. The
house creaks around him, empty, echoing.
JUNIOR
It’s dead people, Mary. He was
claiming money for the dead — the
dispossessed. A whole town on
paper, five hundred souls, when
there’s barely...
He stops, listening to the static, eyes wet with fury.
The weight of the revelation settles in.
INT. GARRISON FARM - RITA BLANCA - DAY
Mary holds the receiver close, straining to hear.
JUNIOR
...three hundred left.
The line CRACKS then goes dead.
Mary lowers the receiver, hand trembling.
She stands alone in the kitchen, a woman listening to ghosts.
INT. HALLWAY - BIG FRANK’S HOUSE - DAY
The receiver slams into the cradle, hard enough to echo
through the empty house.
Junior stands there, chest heaving, staring at the phone like
it’s betrayed him. Whiskey spills across the desk, crawling
toward the ledger.
He wipes his mouth, eyes glassy with rage and grief.
JUNIOR
Goddamn it, Pops...
A page from the ledger flips on its own, names fluttering.
More ghosts.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
36 -
Shadows of Innocence
EXT. GARRISON FARM HOUSE - RITA BLANCA - EVENING
Golden dusk settles over the plains.
Arthur and Florence chase each other across the yard,
laughter and dust rising together.
Bingo barks, darting between them, full of life.
Mary steps onto the porch, soft smile, apron dusted with
flour.
MARY
Alright, inside, before I lose you
to the dark.
The children groan but obey, Bingo trotting after them.
At the door, Peter lingers. He lights a cigarette, exhales
slow. The wind carries the smoke east.
Bingo stops, ears pricking, a low whimper.
Peter frowns. The dog stares into the fields, uneasy.
PETER
What’s wrong, boy?
He squints toward the horizon, nothing but still air and
setting sun.
Bingo retreats, whining, pressing against his leg.
Peter exhales again, flicks the cigarette, and heads back
inside.
In the fading light, five silhouettes watch from the
distance. Tweedle Dee, Tweedle Dum, and three Klansmen.
They stand perfectly still as the sun dies.
INT. MAIN HALLWAY - GARRISON FARM HOUSE - NIGHT
The kerosene lamp swings, its light slicing through dust and
smoke.
Dee and Dum rampage through the house, smashing furniture,
hurling crockery, laughing like boys breaking toys.
A table crashes. A picture frame shatters.
CLOSE ON: a porcelain doll tumbling to the floor, it lands
with a sickening thud, splattered in blood.
The laughter dies.
For a moment, all is still, until a floorboard creaks.
Arthur’s small silhouette slips out the back door, unseen.
Dee wipes his mouth, panting.
He grins.
EXT. GARRISON FARM HOUSE - NIGHT
The world burns quiet.
Arthur crouches behind a tractor, Bingo pressed tight against
him. His small hands smear blood across his face as he wipes
away tears.
Out front, Dee, Dum, and three Klansmen stand around a
bonfire, bottles in hand, laughter broken and mean.
Their robes are soaked red.
They peel the bloodied cloth from their bodies and toss it
into the flames.
The fire eats everything, clothes, evidence, mercy.
Arthur stares, frozen. Bingo whimpers softly.
Then...a look between them.
They run.
Into the night.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
37 -
Morning After Reflections
INT. LIVING ROOM - BIG FRANK'S HOUSE - NIGHT
Junior slumps in his father’s armchair, dead drunk, the lamp
casting a weak amber glow. Empty bottles litter the floor
like fallen soldiers.
In his hand, not the bottle. That lies empty beside him. He
clutches his Sheriff’s badge, thumb tracing the edge.
The fire’s out. The house groans, old wood settling.
Junior’s head tilts forward, eyes half-open, lost between
waking and oblivion.
EXT. MURRAY’S DINER - TEXHOMA - MORNING
Frida stands outside the diner, its neon sign dark, the
windows shuttered.
She checks her watch, frowns.
The street is silent. No laughter, no footsteps, only the
wind.
Across the road, the Municipal Building looms, windows
cracked, flags still.
Frida studies it for a long moment.
Then she starts walking, steady, deliberate, her figure small
against the empty town.
INT. LIVING ROOM - BIG FRANK'S HOUSE - MORNING
Sunlight cuts through the dust, streaking across the clutter.
Junior slumps in his chair, mouth open, a thin line of drool
glistening.
Frida steps in, surveying the wreckage of bottles and
ashtrays. She smirks, nudges an empty bottle toward his
boots.
FRIDA
Morning, Sheriff.
JUNIOR
(grumbles)
Go away.
She laughs, a sound too alive for this dead room. He stirs,
squints, then catches her smile.
She holds up a bottle of Coca-Cola like a peace offering.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
How do you do that?
Frida tilts her head, puzzled.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
Be here. Just...be here.
She smiles softly, and suddenly, tears glint in her eyes.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
Land’s sake. Do I look that bad?
She laughs again, shaking her head.
FRIDA
The diner’s closed.
INT. JUNIOR'S BEDROOM - BIG FRANK'S HOUSE - MORNING
Junior stands before a cracked mirror, buttoning his shirt.
He pauses, winces, the fabric scraping over scars.
Frida steps into the doorway, stops. Her breath catches.
His back is a map of pain, whip scars, burns, old welts.
She coughs, startled. He turns. Both freeze, embarrassed,
exposed.
FRIDA
I didn’t know.
JUNIOR
Why would you? I don’t make a habit
of getting naked in front of nuns.
FRIDA
I’m not a nun. Lutherans don’t have
nuns. Not sure I’m even a Lutheran
anymore.
A silence. Soft, awkward, almost human.
JUNIOR
We need to go to Guymon.
He finishes dressing.
She watches him go, something unspoken lingering.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
38 -
Dark Revelations and Bureaucratic Tensions
INT. DAWSON’S BAR - TEXHOMA - MORNING
The bar is almost empty, stale air, stale whiskey.
Billy sits in the corner, framed by sunlight slicing through
the blinds.
Before him, on the table. A pink hat box.
He opens it.
Inside: MARY GARRISON’S HEAD.
Silence. Then Billy laughs, a soft, incredulous sound that
turns into a cackle.
BILLY
Jesus... this is... well, it’s a
bit much, boys.
Dee and Dum laugh nervously. Billy lifts the head, studies it
like a prize, then places it gently back in the box.
He drinks deep from his whiskey.
BILLY (CONT’D)
No... no, this could work. But you
idiots, you’d better clean up your
mess. Send two of the boys back.
Burn that goddamn farm to the
ground.
He slams the glass down, grinning.
BILLY (CONT’D)
I know what we can do with this.
Smoke curls from his cigarette as the jukebox sings softly in
the corner, a hymn warped by whiskey and sin.
INT. CLERKS OFFICE - TEXAS COUNTY COURTHOUSE - DAY
One fan, one clerk, one thin thread of bureaucracy left.
Frida and Junior stand before the Clerk from before, a severe
woman with dust settling on her ledger.
CLERK
I can’t let you have that, Junior.
You’re not law enforcement.
JUNIOR
Still county comptroller. My dad
made sure of that.
CLERK
You’re what?
JUNIOR
Comptroller for Texhoma. He listed
me for every job that came with a
paycheck.
She narrows her eyes.
CLERK
Accounts are the bank’s concern.
JUNIOR
Don’t need accounts. I need death
certificates, and where the
government cheques are landing.
A pause. The air thickens.
CLERK
Are you telling me there’s a baby
farm? Here?
JUNIOR
Something like that.
The clerk studies him, disgust and pity tangled together.
CLERK
You were a useless sheriff not to
see it. No wonder they think you
were in on it.
JUNIOR
Idiocy’s not a defence.
CLERK
“He’s got less sense than a nickel
in a payphone.”
Junior almost smiles.
JUNIOR
Yeah. That was one of my father’s
favourites. Funny right.
CLERK
No, Junior. It wasn’t funny then.
Isn’t funny now.
She softens, just slightly, and pats his hand.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
39 -
A Moment of Reflection and Ominous Intrusion
INT. SHERIFF’S OFFICE - MUNICIPAL OFFICE - DAY
The office is empty.
Desks stripped bare. Files scattered like old bones.
The only sound, the slow creak of the front door.
Frida and Junior step inside, carrying Big Frank’s ledger and
a handwritten list of names.
They pause in the silence, two lost people walking through
the remnants of a lie.
FRIDA
No one left to keep the peace.
JUNIOR
There never was.
He sets the ledger down on the desk. The dust shifts.
They exchange a look, wary, tired, resolute.
Then they start their work.
INT. SHERIFF’S OFFICE - MUNICIPAL OFFICE - LATER
The silence feels almost sacred. Frida and Junior sit at an
old desk, sharing sandwiches.
FRIDA
Once a week I used to come here. It
was peaceful. We’d sit and just...
be. You didn’t talk. I didn’t talk.
The world outside was gone. That’s
why I stayed. After the pastor
died. After the dust came.
JUNIOR
So this room, it takes you
somewhere.
FRIDA
You do.
She smiles. He does too.
JUNIOR
My father. The scars...
She moves to him, gently takes his hand. They sit together in
silence. Fragile, human, almost safe.
Then...
SOUND: The front door creaks open.
ARTHUR (O.S.)
Sheriff! Sheriff Junior, are you
here? Sister Frida?
They turn.
In the doorway stands Arthur, covered in dust and blood,
Bingo at his side. Frida gasps. Junior freezes.
FRIDA
The diner’s closed.
The line lands like a prayer. Or a warning.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
40 -
The Haunting Discovery
EXT. GARRISON FARM - RITA BLANCA - DAY
Junior’s car tears through the dust, engine howling against
the wind. It skids to a stop.
He and Frida step out, the air thick with silence. The land
feels hollow, watching.
Junior stares at the open door.
He raises a hand, stopping her.
JUNIOR
Stay by the car. Watch the storm.
Honk if it turns ugly.
He reaches inside, straps on his gun belt. The weight settles
like an old sin.
Frida hesitates, eyes on the house — the open mouth of
something long dead.
Junior steps forward, swallowed by shadow.
INT. GARRISON FARMHOUSE - RITA BLANCA - DAY
The house is drowned in dust. Every surface wears a grey
shroud, the stove, the dishes, the quilt. Silence hums like
static.
Junior steps inside, shotgun ready. His boots leave shallow
prints in the powder.
A kerosene lamp sits on the table, its glass rimmed with
brown soot. Beside it, bottles, overturned chairs, a party
gone wrong.
BAM!
The door slams in the wind. Junior spins, gun raised,
nothing. Upstairs, the wind rattles a child’s window.
He moves room to room, careful, breathing dust. The first
door creaks open: a child’s room, empty but peaceful. Toys
half-buried in grit.
The second door sticks. He shoves it. A click.
A shotgun trap jerks on a string — misfires.
Junior exhales, heart pounding, and pushes the door open.
Inside: Mary and Florence, seated on the bed. Both headless.
Florence’s head rests neatly in her lap.
Junior can’t move. Can’t breathe.
Outside, the wind grows, the walls trembling.
A car HONKING, distant. The room darkens as the dust storm
hits, swallowing everything.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
41 -
After the Storm
EXT. GARRISON FARM - RITA BLANCA - DAY
The dust storm hits like a wall of noise. Junior staggers out
of the house, scarf over his mouth, eyes stinging.
The world turns white. Then red. Then nothing.
He coughs, spits mud. The wind howls, tearing at his coat. He
collapses to his knees.
A figure cuts through the storm, Frida, spectral, unshaken.
She hauls him up, dragging him back inside.
From the doorway they watch the world vanish, fences
splinter, shingles lift, debris spinning.
The car outside takes the brunt, metal denting, glass
shattering, swallowed by sand.
Then, silence. The storm moves on, swift and merciless.
Frida and Junior push into the open again. The car is half-
buried.
JUNIOR
I’ll get something to dig us out.
He runs to the shed, finds a shovel, a rake. Stepping
outside, he stops.
Before him, a dead horse, blanketed in dust.
Beside it, a shape.
He brushes away the sand. Peter’s headless body.
Junior stumbles back, trembling.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
Jesus Christ...
He staggers to his feet, dazed, and lurches back toward the
car. Frida’s already digging, relentless.
He joins her, hands shaking. She doesn’t look up.
JUNIOR (HOARSE) (CONT’D)
They’re all dead...They’re all
gone.
He takes a pull from the whiskey bottle in the car.
Wind stills.
Only the dust moves.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
42 -
Tension in the Stillness
EXT. MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - TEXHOMA - DAY
The sun burns white over the quiet town.
Arthur sits on the steps of the Municipal Building — freshly
scrubbed, hair damp, clean clothes clinging to his small
frame.
He sips from a glass bottle of Coca-Cola.
For a moment, everything feels still — too still.
He watches the street: dust gliding low across the pavement,
a horse-drawn cart creaking past, the distant hum of engines.
Arthur squints against the glare.
ARTHUR
Alle grÃter mye for tiden.
SUBTITLE: Everyone cries a lot these days.
He takes another sip.
Arthur looks up. Across the square, the flag outside the
courthouse snaps in the gust.
EXT. GARRISON FARM HOUSE - RITA BLANCA - DAY
Junior and Frida crouch by the car. He turns the key.
Nothing.
The engine coughs, sputters, dies.
He tries again, metal grinding against hope.
Frida wipes grit from her eyes. Another sound, faint,
distant, an engine.
Junior looks up.
A black car appears through the haze, rolling slow, too
steady to be a friend.
He grabs Frida’s arm, pulls her toward the house.
INT. MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - TEXHOMA - DAY
Arthur, small and focused, sits cross-legged on the floor,
sketching in the dirt with a broken pencil.
Outside, faint at first, comes the sound of voices.
Then louder.
CHANTING - “WHITE POWER! WHITE POWER!”
The rhythm shakes the glass.
Arthur freezes, pencil hovering mid-line. His drawing, a
crooked sun above a crooked house, trembles under his shaking
hand.
He looks up toward the window, light flickering across his
face like firelight.
The chanting grows, the sound of boots and hate.
Arthur drops the pencil.
The dust settles around it like ash.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
43 -
Shadows of Fear
EXT. GARRISON FARM HOUSE - RITA BLANCA - DAY
A single car rolls through the haze, its engine low and
steady.
It stops in front of the farmhouse.
Two men step out, Klansmen, their hoods off but masks on.
One lean, one obese. Both dressed like farmhands.
The Lean Klansman carries a gas can.
He tips it slightly, liquid sloshes inside, heavy and final.
They study the house.
Windows boarded. Silence absolute.
The Obese one spits, nods to the door.
The Lean one starts up the steps, can in hand.
The sunlight glints off his belt buckle, a small cross carved
into it.
Inside, shadows shift.
A faint creak of floorboards.
The wind picks up again, whispering through the dry grass,
carrying dust and the scent of gasoline.
INT. MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - TEXHOMA - DAY
Arthur stands at the cracked window, small against the empty
room.
Outside, a dozen Klansmen march down Main Street, white robes
glowing in the sunlight, boots thudding in unison.
They gather in front of the building, forming a circle around
a wooden cross.
Arthur’s reflection trembles in the glass, a child staring at
men who believe in fire.
He whispers, voice barely audible.
ARTHUR
De dreper folk.
SUBTITLES: They kill people.
His breath fogs the glass. The chant rises outside, a rhythm
of hate and heat and dust.
Arthur steps back, trembling.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
44 -
Storm of Hatred
EXT. MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - TEXHOMA - DAY
The street shimmers with heat and dust.
A dozen Klansmen stand outside the building, robes bright
against the red haze.
A makeshift podium is dragged into place.
Billy steps up, purple robes, cone loudhailer in hand, eyes
glittering with messianic rage.
Behind him, in the second-floor window, Arthur watches, a
ghost framed in sunlight.
Billy straightens his notes, lifts his head.
BILLY
(booming)
Many of you will soon hear terrible
things have befallen our town, the
Garrisons...the new Sheriff...
murdered in their beds.
Gasps ripple through the onlookers.
Curious townsfolk drift closer, pulled by spectacle and fear.
BILLY (CONT’D) (CONT’D)
By Junior Smith, and his witch
whore. People who don’t belong.
People who kill children. Who
poison this land!
The crowd stirs, anger mixing with confusion.
Dust gusts through, rattling windows.
Arthur presses his hands to the glass, trembling.
Billy spreads his arms like a preacher at the end of the
world.
The wind lifts his robe, the flag, the dust, everything
moving, alive, unholy.
INT. MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - TEXHOMA - DAY
Arthur’s small hands tremble on the windowsill.
Outside. The Klansmen, shouting, their white robes rippling
in the wind.
He flinches with every chant.
He jerks back, panic rising.
Arthur darts across the office, boots slipping on the dusty
floor. He grabs the handle of Junior’s office, pulls,
stumbles inside.
SLAMS the door. Breathing hard.
He leans against it, eyes wide, chest heaving.
The muffled roar of the crowd bleeds through the walls, the
rhythm of hate against thin plaster.
Arthur locks the door.
For a moment, he’s safe.
INT. SHERIFF’S OFFICE - MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - DAY
Arthur sits at the desk, small against the vast, empty room.
Sunlight flickers through the dust, catching on the bright
green book before him.
He opens it carefully, like it might burn his hands. His
voice trembles as he reads aloud, ancient words cutting
through the silence.
ARTHUR
Then the wolf bit off his hand...at
the place now called the wolf-
joint. Thus Tyr is one-handed...
That is foul.
His voice fades.
He turns a page, eyes scanning strange runes, his lips moving
faster, as though the words could protect him.
Outside, the faint echo of chanting returns, a dull throb
beneath the sound of his breath.
Arthur grips the book tighter, the green cover bright against
his shaking hands.
EXT. MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - DAY
The heat warps the air. Billy grips the loudhailer, sweat
glistening on his neck.
BILLY
This is a time for the white race
to say—enough is enough! Enough of
the banks!
The crowd howls back, fists, flags, dust.
He raises a hand. Silence falls.
BILLY (CONT’D) (CONT’D)
Enough of the masks.
A few hesitant cheers. Confusion.
Wind picks up, sheets of dust slithering across the street.
The curious townsfolk start to drift away, uneasy.
The Klansmen tighten their ranks. Goggles snap into place,
their white masks now insect-like, alien.
BILLY (CONT’D) (CONT’D)
This is the evil our land faces! It
wasn’t here before the Jews came,
ploughing, poisoning, mortgaging
this soil! Then Frank Smith robbed
from it, and the Northern witch
cursed it!
The wind surges, rattling signs and shutters.
Billy’s words echo through the storm, twisting, unholy,
swallowed by the dust.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
45 -
Chaos at Thurgood Farm
INT. THURGOOD FARM - RITA BLANCA - DAY
Frida stands at the window, watching two strange men approach
through the haze. Both masked. Both wrong.
JUNIOR
Don’t open any doors.
He moves toward the back, too late. The men burst in,
dragging him outside. A blur of fists and dust. Junior
fights, breaks free, dives back into the house.
The door slams open. Obese and Lean storm in.
BOOM.
Junior fires. Lean drops, dead before he hits the floor.
Obese tackles him, a violent tangle, fists thudding, breath
and blood. Junior is losing.
Then Frida lunges. A scream, animal and pure. She beats Obese
savagely. Again, and again, until his face caves beneath her
fists.
Junior hauls her off. She thrashes, snarling, her eyes wild,
like she might turn on him next.
Obese stirs, coughing blood. He rises, stumbles forward.
BOOM.
Junior shoots again.
Obese drops.
Frida stares down at him, trembling, grinning, teeth red.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
Frida!
She blinks, the trance fading. Kneels beside the body. Rips
open his shirt, a bullet wound oozes dark and steady.
Blood pools, creeping toward her knees.
He chokes once, twice...then stills.
Frida looks at her hands, slick with blood, trembling, almost
beautiful in the light.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
46 -
Echoes of Fury and Grief
INT. SHERIFF'S OFFICE - MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - DAY
Arthur sits at the desk, the green book open before him.
Sunlight flickers through the blinds, dust swirling like
smoke.
He reads aloud, voice small but sure, like a prayer he
doesn’t understand.
ARTHUR
Their rage was seen as a gift from
Odin. Smoking or eating henbane
could bring visions, strength,
madness, invulnerability.
His finger traces an illustration — a wild-eyed Viking, mouth
open in a silent scream.
Then another image, a henbane plant, pale and poisonous.
Arthur studies the picture, lost in it.
Outside, faint thunder rolls through the air.
He looks up, eyes wide.
The book flutters open to a blank leaf, except for one word,
scrawled in ink: “FURY.”
Arthur stares, whispering it under his breath, as if saying
it might make him brave.
INT. THURGOOD FARM - RITA BLANCA - DAY
Frida sits in the corner, knees pulled close, eyes fixed on
the two dead men sprawled across the floor.
Blood drying black against the boards.
Junior stands over her, face pale beneath the dust.
He bends, helps her to her feet.
JUNIOR
They were here to do bad, Sister.
Frida... you were protecting me.
Frida doesn’t answer.
Her breathing is shallow, her gaze still locked on the
bodies.
INT. SHERIFF'S OFFICE - TEXHOMA - EVENING
Junior sits slumped at his desk, the green book open before
him. The pages ripple in the soft draft, the words staring
back like witnesses.
The door creaks. Frida steps in, hair damp, eyes red from
crying. She hesitates, then crosses the room.
FRIDA
It feels strange...watching a
little boy sleep in a cell.
JUNIOR
He’s safe there.
He opens a drawer, pulls out a bottle of whiskey. Pauses.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
Henbane?
No response.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
Bulmeurt?
A shudder from Frida.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
A gift from Odin.
Frida looks down, silent, tears welling again.
He sets the bottle back without drinking, crosses to her.
Gently touches her face.
She breaks. He holds her while she cries, small, gasping sobs
swallowed by the dust and quiet.
For the first time in forever, no one speaks of death.
Only breathing.
Only holding on.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
47 -
Ghosts of the Night
INT. MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - LATER
Moonlight leaks through the blinds, stripes of silver cutting
across the dust.
Frida lies awake on a narrow cot, staring at the ceiling.
Across the room, Junior sleeps on the floor, one arm over his
chest, his breathing shallow.
Frida rises quietly, bare feet on cold tile.
She slips into the bathroom, closes the door with a soft
click.
The flare of a match.
A thin curl of smoke.
She inhales, slow, practiced, desperate.
Her reflection in the cracked mirror wavers through the haze,
eyes glazed, face hollow, beautiful and ruined.
She exhales.
Then returns to the office, moving like a ghost.
Instead of the cot, she lies down beside Junior on the floor.
He shifts in his sleep, instinctively wrapping an arm around
her. She closes her eyes, her head on his chest.
He wakes, eyes open, listening to her breathe.
The faint smell of henbane clings to her hair.
INT. SHERIFF'S OFFICE - MUNICIPAL OFFICE - LATER
Junior stirs awake on the floor. Frida sleeps beside him,
still, calm, fragile.
Her fingers are stained yellow and purple. Henbane.
Junior exhales, quiet disappointment more than anger. He
rises, moves toward the cells.
Behind the bars, Arthur lies curled up, half-awake.
ARTHUR
I miss my mom and dad.
Junior kneels.
JUNIOR
My ma was mean. My pa too. Still...
I miss ‘em sometimes.
He reaches through the bars, offering Arthur the green book.
ARTHUR
It’s kind of violent.
JUNIOR
So were our people. All of ‘em.
Arthur studies him, unsure, but comforted.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
48 -
Shadows of Despair
INT. CELLS - MUNICIPAL OFFICE - LATER
Arthur sleeps in the cell, curled under a thin blanket.
Junior sits nearby, the green book open in his lap, a half-
empty whiskey bottle by his boot.
His voice drifts softly through the dim light.
JUNIOR
They lashed out and tore enemies to
shreds... They ate the henbane,
strength, invincibility... madness.
A sound.
Frida steps from the shadows, pale and hollow-eyed.
FRIDA
I know now to hold reverence not
for love... not for peace or
beauty... but for hatred. For pain.
JUNIOR
I don’t know what that means. I
just read the word madness.
She looks at the bottle beside him.
He lowers it to the floor.
JUNIOR (CONT’D)
It’s not the same.
FRIDA
But it is. I can’t feel God’s love
anymore. Can you? What do we do
now?
JUNIOR
This is too much. I thought it was
just stealing money. We get
everyone at the church... and we
head for Guymon.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
49 -
A Fragile Dawn
EXT. ZION LUTHERAN HOUSE - RITA BLANCA - MORNING
Dawn breaks pink and turquoise across a clean horizon. The
dust has settled.
A herd of cows drifts past, slow and aimless. Two horses
drink from a trough, water clear for the first time in weeks.
Chickens burst from their coop, shaking off the dirt like
survivors.
Arthur walks Bingo along the plain. The boy laughs as the dog
chases rabbits through the grass.
For a moment... peace. The land breathes again.
A soft title fades in: “April 14, 1935.”
INT. SHERIFF'S OFFICE - MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - MORNING
Frida wakes on the narrow cot. Light seeps through the
blinds, soft, golden, impossibly still.
She rises, bare feet brushing dust from the floor. The slow
creak of the old building breathing.
FRIDA
Junior?
Her voice drifts through empty halls, no answer.
EXT. MAIN STREET - TEXHOMA - MORNING
The town breathes again.
Frida walks through the sunlight, eyes searching for Junior.
No masks today, faces bare, hopeful.
Men shovel mounds of dust into bins. Women scrub sheets in
tin tubs, the sound of washboards crisp in the air. Children
in their Sunday best march in a line, old gas masks slung
like toys over their shoulders.
Windows open. Rugs beaten. Laughter returns, brittle, almost
foreign.
Frida pauses, watching the ordinary beauty of it all, the
illusion of normal.
A farmhand cleans a horse’s nostrils, humming. Dust still
clings to everything, faint, stubborn.
Frida looks to the horizon, the sky impossibly clear, the
kind of calm that never lasts.
Genres:
["Drama","Western"]
Ratings
Scene
50 -
Bittersweet Farewell
EXT. BIG FRANK’S HOUSE - MORNING
Frida approaches the house, knocks once. No answer.
She peers through the window, a quiet room, the air unmoving.
She tries the handle. It gives.
The door creaks open.
INT. JUNIOR’S BEDROOM - BIG FRANK’S HOUSE - MORNING
Junior folds shirts into a worn kit bag. He picks up a few
keepsakes, a photo, a pocketknife, a sheriff’s badge, studies
them, then sets them back down.
He exhales, shoulders heavy.
Frida appears behind him. She wraps her arms around his
waist, holds him close.
He shudders, tears he can’t hide.
He turns to face her.
FRIDA
I want to stay with you. But I
can’t. I have...
A pause. Then she kisses him, soft, brief, final.
FRIDA (CONT'D) (CONT’D)
Duties. The children.
She kisses him again.
JUNIOR
When all this is over... I could
use a job.
Frida laughs, a sound too fragile for the silence that
follows. They hold each other a moment longer.
Neither says goodbye.
EXT. ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - RITA BLANCA - DAY
Okies and travellers arrive with smiles, laughter,
handshakes, clapping backs.
Children dart between wagons, chased by scolding mothers.
Men point to the sky, lick their fingers, testing for wind.
None. Only still air and false peace.
The children from the orphanage run to join the visitors,
their laughter bright against the quiet churchyard.
For the first time in months, it feels like a Sunday again.
But the horizon shimmers, a mirage waiting to break.
INT. ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - RITA BLANCA - DAY
Farmers, travellers, children, faces flushed from laughter,
dust still on their clothes, fill the pews.
A woman fans herself with a hymnal.
Two men share a cigarette by the doorway.
A baby cries; its mother shushes it quiet.
For the first time in months, the church feels alive again.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
51 -
The Storm of Silence
EXT. MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - TEXHOMA - DAY
Two masked men move quickly across the square, faces hidden,
hands full of paint cans and clubs.
They throw black paint against the white walls, thick strokes
spelling out anger, not words.
CRASH.
A club smashes a window. Glass rains down, sparkling like
dust. They don’t speak. One paints, the other destroys.
The sound carries, hollow, sharp, wrong, cutting through the
quiet day like a warning.
INT. SHERIFF'S OFFICE - MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - DAY
Under the desk, Frida holds Arthur tight. The boy trembles,
face buried against her arm.
Glass shatters outside. Boots on pavement. The sound of paint
splashing, men shouting through masks.
Frida pulls him closer, her breath shallow. Dust drifts down
from the ceiling, soft as snow.
The office door rattles. She freezes.
Silence.
Then footsteps moving away. Frida exhales, eyes glistening in
the dim light. Arthur’s small hand clutches hers, refusing to
let go.
EXT. MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - TEXHOMA - DAY
Fresh black paint stains the white walls: “GRAFT”. “CORRUPT”.
Two Klansmen raise a wooden cross. They set it alight. Flames
climb fast, snapping in the wind.
The air changes, a low growl building in the distance. Dust
begins to swirl.
The fire bends sideways, flames licking the ground. Wind
tears at the robes, the flags, the sky itself.
The burning cross groans, then snaps, collapsing in a storm
of sparks.
Dust surges over it, swallowing the fire whole.
The town falls silent.
The first breath of Black Sunday rolls in.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
52 -
Inferno of Betrayal
INT. KITCHEN - BIG FRANK'S HOUSE - TEXHOMA - DAY
On the table: Junior’s badge, his gun, his proof. Symbols of
a man caught between guilt and blood.
Junior sits across from Billy, who lounges with a smirk. Two
Klansmen flank him, Dee and Dum, silent and stupid.
JUNIOR
Didn’t want this job. My pops gave
it to me so I could sign county
checks. Never upheld the law a day
in my life.
Billy chuckles, leaning forward.
BILLY
“What’s the difference between a
dead politician and a dead outlaw?
People actually show up to mourn
the outlaw.” Your daddy told me
that, week before I shot him.
Two more Klansmen enter, grab Junior, and douse him with
whiskey.
BILLY (CONT’D) (CONT’D)
Imagine it — he kills the Garrisons
‘cause they knew he was a thief.
Then gets drunk and dies in a fire.
Billy rises, turning to leave with his men.
BILLY (CONT’D) (CONT’D)
You always were an idiot, Junior.
Or is it Big Frank now, now that we
both know your daddy’s dead?
He exits. The remaining Klansmen beat Junior bloody, fists
dull and rhythmic.
They drag him down the hall, past men lighting the curtains,
the walls already catching.
On the floor nearby, Mary’s severed head, eyes open, watching
it all.
Smoke thickens.
Hell begins.
INT. GARAGE - BIG FRANK’S HOUSE - TEXHOMA DAY
Engines rumble.
Billy’s men pile into their cars, laughter sharp and ugly
through the smoke.
Billy stands last in the doorway, watching the flames crawl
along the walls, bright tongues licking at paint, curtains,
memory.
He lights a Molotov, throws it back inside.
Glass shatters, the house ignites.
The men roar off, tires spitting dust and fire.
Billy’s car lingers a moment, his eyes fixed on the burning
house in the mirror.
He smiles.
The sky above the flames turns the colour of rust.
INT. HALLWAY - BIG FRANK’S HOUSE - TEXHOMA - DAY
Smoke rolls in from the kitchen, thick and grey. Junior hangs
limp between two men. Another pair take turns beating him,
dull, methodical.
Blood drips onto the floorboards. The wallpaper blisters as
the fire creeps closer.
A framed photo crashes to the ground. Glass shatters.
The men don’t stop. Neither does the smoke.
Junior spits blood, tries to breathe. Somewhere behind the
haze a scream, faint and rising.
The sound of hell coming home.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
53 -
Valkyrie of Texhoma
EXT. BIG FRANK’S HOUSE - TEXHOMA - DAY
Frida sees the smoke rising.
She leaves Arthur in the car, engine idling, dust swirling
around them.
Then she runs, skirts whipping, eyes wide, toward the fire.
From behind a crumbling wall, she spots Billy and his two men
slipping out the back, laughing, coats flapping in the wind.
She ducks, waits. Watches them go.
Silence returns, broken only by the crackle of flame.
Frida turns back to the car, breath shaking.
She digs through her bag, trembling hands finding a small
tin.
Inside: Henbane.
She hesitates.
Then eats it, ravenous, desperate, eyes closing as it burns
down her throat.
The world tilts. The wind rises.
Frida stands in the open yard, smoke and dust curling around
her. The storm gathers.
Something ancient wakes inside her.
INT. HALLWAY - BIG FRANK’S HOUSE - TEXHOMA - DAY
Flames crawl up the staircase. Smoke fills the hall. Junior
lies broken, coughing blood. The Klansmen circle, their fists
slowing, tired of the beating.
One drops his Sheriff’s badge beside him.
A SNAP.
Another man collapses, neck twisted clean.
The others turn, and freeze. Frida stands before them. Teeth
yellow and violet. Eyes wide, pupils blown, irises gone. The
henbane has her now.
One charges. She moves like lightning, breaks his face,
throws him into the flames.
Two more attack. They pound her, she doesn’t feel it. She
smiles. Steps forward.
Then, she bites. Tears a man’s cheek off.
Screams in his face.
The last two stumble back, dragging the wounded one, into the
fire, vanishing with their own screams.
Frida turns to follow, but a faint groan stops her.
Junior.
She drags him out, limp, bleeding, lays him by the car, then
charges back inside.
From the flames, her voice, then the screams of dying men.
Outside, the sky turns black.
Birds scatter, a frantic storm of wings.
Junior, bloodied and dazed, looks up. The wind howls like a
living thing.
Through the dust, Frida appears. Her dress torn, hair wild,
eyes blazing. She carries a severed arm.
JUNIOR
What did you…?
FRIDA
Menn bestemmer ikke hvem som dør i
kamp. Valkyrier gjør det.
SUBTITLES: Men don’t decide who dies in battle. Valkyries do.
She lifts Junior, shoves him into the back seat. Slides
behind the wheel.
The car lurches forward, flames and dust in the rear view.
Frida tosses the arm out the window.
It vanishes into the storm.
EXT. MAIN STREET - TEXHOMA - DAY
A dozen Klansmen, robed in white, march through town.
Wind howls between buildings. Ash and grit whip their hoods,
their crosses bending in the gale.
Townsfolk scatter, doors slam, trucks roar to life. A line of
cars and tractors forms, choking the street in dust and fear.
Behind them, Big Frank’s house burns, flames swallowed by the
rising storm.
Smoke, fire, and dust fuse into one monstrous wall.
The town disappears.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller","Action"]
Ratings
Scene
54 -
Storm of Despair
EXT. RITA BLANCA - DAY
A caravan of headlights cuts through the haze, broken beams
flicker in the dark. Trucks. Tractors. Cars. Refugees from
Texhoma. They follow Frida, her taillights leading them into
the storm.
Beside the road, a farmer mends a fence, oblivious. He waves,
smiles — static crackles blue along the wire. He looks up,
and freezes.
A black wall of dust rolls toward him. He runs.
Wind tears the world apart. He pulls a bandana over his
mouth, the storm rips it away. It slaps the wire, sparks
ignite.
The farmer collapses, coughing blood and grit. Crawls. Fails.
Lies still.
The storm buries him alive.
Ahead, the caravan vanishes into Black Sunday.
EXT. ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - RITA BLANCA - NIGHT
Headlights flicker through the storm. Cars grind to a halt
outside the church, half-buried already in dust.
Refugees spill out, coughing, clutching bags, guns, and
children. The wind screams like a dying animal.
Frida and Arthur drag Junior toward the rectory. He’s barely
conscious, face swollen, blood crusted black.
Inside, shadows move, families huddled under blankets,
passing tin cups of water. Someone prays. Someone else sobs.
Outside, the horizon disappears.
The storm is no longer approaching.
It’s here.
INT. FRIDA’S ROOM - ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - NIGHT
A small, immaculate room, books stacked, clothes folded, a
cross above the bed.
Smoke drifts, yellow and violet, curling from an incense
burner in Frida’s hand.
She circles Junior, broken and bandaged on the narrow bed.
His breath shallow, his eyes unfocused.
FRIDA
Breathe. This will help.
Junior exhales, slow, dazed.
His grin is wrong, dark, violent.
Frida brushes his hair, her touch tender, almost holy. The
smoke thickens, sweet and poisonous.
She leaves him in the haze, eyes half-open, body limp, the
henbane burning beside him.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller","Action"]
Ratings
Scene
55 -
Storm of Hatred
INT. DAWSON’S BAR - TEXHOMA - MORNING
Whiskey fumes. Sweat. Smoke.
Billy sits at the centre table, flanked by two bodyguards.
Around him, a dozen Klansmen, robes filthy with dust and
blood, drink and holler.
Billy stands, dragging a makeshift lectern to the centre of
the room. He slams it once, the wood splinters. Silence.
BILLY
Brothers and sisters of the Klan...
Tonight, we cleanse Texhoma. For
the white man and woman of
Oklahoma.
A cheer erupts. Bottles crash. The windows rattle under the
weight of the storm.
Outside, the dust swirls, gathering. Inside, the men drink,
drunk on purpose and hate.
They believe they’re safe.
They believe the storm can’t reach them.
INT. BACK OFFICE - ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - MORNING
The world outside is a scream of dust and wind.
Inside, stillness.
Boards hammer shut across doors and windows. Men shout.
Children cry. Nails bend. Wood cracks.
Frida kneels in the half-light, hands clasped, eyes wide. Her
voice trembles between prayer and confession.
FRIDA
I fear it... but the Henbane, it’s
like sunlight through my soul. And
it burns. Makes me angry. So angry.
If God is ending this world, then
maybe my rage is His doing.
Static sparks flash outside, leaving shadows in the storm.
Headlights fade to a dull, dying glow.
The storm slams the walls, hissing, screaming, rattling the
world apart.
Frida stares into the chaos. Tears cutting through the dust on
her face.
The Valkyrie has arrived.
EXT. MAIN STREET - TEXHOMA - DAY
A howl of wind swallows the town. Through a slit in boarded
windows, Billy watches Texhoma vanish.
Cars choke, sputter, die. Families huddle in cabs already
half-buried. Roof tiles spin like blades. Power lines snap.
The storm devours the first floors of buildings, light fading
behind curtains of sand.
Billy turns from the window, sits in his corner booth. He
unrolls a bundle of land deeds, trembling hands smoothing
them flat.
BILLY
All we have is will... what else is
there? I own all the land.
He stands on the table, manic, preaching.
BILLY (CONT’D)
This is it! The end of the world!
Armageddon itself! God’s taken
Texhoma, and we will rise from its
ashes! For the true white race!
A roar erupts. Glasses slam. Men cheer.
Outside, the storm begins to thin, light seeping back through
the dust.
Billy’s eyes gleam, as if he believes he ended the storm.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
56 -
Resilience Amidst the Storm
INT. BARN/ORPHANAGE - ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - DAY
Children huddle in the dark, faces buried in blankets. A few
adults clutch them close, whispering prayers no one can hear.
Sand seeps through seams, drifts over shoes and knees. The
air turns thick, choking, like breathing through dirt.
A candle flickers. Dies.
Only the sound remains, the storm, pounding like God’s own
heartbeat.
INT. ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - RITA BLANCA - DAY
The church groans under the weight of the storm. Men wrap
themselves in rags and bandanas, goggles fogged with sweat
and dust.
Wind howls through every seam, a metallic shriek. Boards
quiver. Nails scream.
One man peers through a crack in the boarded window. His face
drains white. He stumbles back, retching.
Others take his place, one by one, they look, and recoil.
A window explodes. A wave of sand blasts through. Instant,
violent, burying the men where they stand.
The wind roars through the church, a sacred space collapsing
into chaos.
EXT. ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - RITA BLANCA - DAY
The earth ripples like water. Sand moves in waves, swallowing
the land. Fences twist. Shingles spin. The storm devours
everything.
Human shapes stagger through the haze. Electric arcs crackle
in the black air, flashes of blue lightning.
Through the chaos, Frida glows. Her skin burns red and raw,
eyes bleeding violet and gold. Each cough spits blood into
the wind.
She lifts a fallen woman, half-dead, and carries her toward
the barn. Others see her, stunned, and follow her light.
Inside, hands pull the survivors in. Frida turns back into
the storm. Again. Again.
By the time she collapses, she’s carried dozens to safety.
Her breath rattles, body shaking, skin shredded by grit.
Arthur kneels beside her, praying in Norse and English:
ARTHUR
She sees, rising a second time,
Earth from the ocean, eternally
green... Please wake up.
Frida stirs. Her eyes open, no longer white.
Yellow. Violet. Alive.
FRIDA
Who taught you that prayer?
Arthur holds up a small green book.
ARTHUR
You did.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller","Supernatural"]
Ratings
Scene
57 -
Judgment Day in Rita Blanca
EXT. RITA BLANCA - MORNING
The storm is gone.
What’s left looks like another planet, a flat ocean of dust
and bone.
A truck convoy crawls through the wasteland, two trucks and a
car.
The road is gone, buried beneath dunes of ash.
Dead cattle and horses lie half-covered, their shapes
ghostlike in the morning light.
Inside the trucks, Klansmen sit in silence.
Their white robes are mud-stained, crusted, brown.
Not a patch of skin shows, Bedouins of the apocalypse, faces
hidden behind hoods and welding goggles.
They ride through the ruins of their own making, and for the
first time, they look small.
INT. ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - RITA BLANCA - DAY
The church is half-buried. Sand drifts cover the pews like
graves. Hands dig. Coughing. Crying. Silence between gasps.
A woman claws at the dust, unearths her husband’s hand.
Another pulls a child free, sobbing, holding him close.
Light pierces the windows, slashing through brown haze. The
storm has passed.
What remains is stillness, and the faint, steady rhythm, of
digging through the dead.
INT. FRIDA’S ROOM - ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - MORNING
Junior wakes, bruised and aching, but alive. Light spills
through dust-streaked windows, the storm is over.
Across the room, Frida douses the last of the burning
henbane. Her face is ash-streaked, her hands trembling.
FRIDA
Hva så du?
SUBTITLE: What did you see?
JUNIOR
The truth.
She kisses him. He pushes her away — eyes hollow, haunted.
JUNIOR (CONT'D) (CONT’D)
What I saw... it wasn’t a dream.
He glances at the burning ember of the henbane, then at her.
Her eyes, pure white again.
FRIDA
I couldn’t stop.
Her body seizes, she collapses, convulsing. Junior grabs her,
holds her, whispering to calm her, but her breaths come
jagged, desperate.
FRIDA (CONT’D) (CONT’D)
So much... anger...
Her body stills. Breath fades. Junior cradles her, limp, dust
settling around them.
In her hand, his sheriff’s badge. He takes it. Pins it to his
chest.
OFFSCREEN: Bingo Barks.
Junior looks out the window. The Klan is here.
He stands, broken, bleeding, unarmed.
But ready.
EXT. ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - RITA BLANCA - DAY
A semi-circle of armed Klansmen faces the church. At their
center stands Billy, flanked by his bodyguards, one hand
clutching a stack of land deeds like scripture.
The church doors creak open. Junior steps out, bruised,
unarmed, badge gleaming on his chest.
He stops halfway down the steps. The men tighten their grips
on their rifles. Billy smirks.
BILLY
Well look at that.
Sheriff rises from the dead.
Junior says nothing, just stares him down. Wind whips through
the silence, carrying the faint echo of a hymn from inside.
Two men shift uneasily. Even the dust seems to hold its
breath.
Billy’s smile fades.
He realizes, this isn’t fear anymore.
It’s judgment.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller","Western"]
Ratings
Scene
58 -
Resurrection and Reckoning
INT. FRIDA’S ROOM - ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - DAY
Frida lies motionless on the bed, pale against the dust-caked
sheets.
Light filters through boarded windows, a thin, holy beam
cutting the gloom.
Arthur enters, clutching the Green Book to his chest. Bingo
pads behind him.
Arthur sits in the corner chair, small and solemn, watching
her breathe, or not.
Bingo whimpers, climbs onto the bed, and licks her face.
No response.
He curls at her feet, head resting on her legs.
Arthur opens the green book, whispering from it his voice a
thread of faith in the quiet.
ARTHUR
Rise again. Earth from the ocean...
eternally green.
He keeps reading.
Frida doesn’t stir.
Outside, the wind has stopped.
EXT. ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - RITA BLANCA - DAY
No wind. No birds. Only the crunch of boots on dust.
The Okies and townsfolk emerge, from the barn, from cars,
from shattered doorways, circling the Klansmen in a widening
ring. Men and women armed with whatever they could grab,
shovels, rifles, tire irons.
Billy stands tall in the centre, purple robes now brown with
mud. In his hands, the bundle of land deeds.
BILLY
Land’s mine.
JUNIOR
Illegally obtained.
Billy smirks, trying to hold the ground that’s slipping
beneath him.
BILLY
Nobody asked you, Junior. Or is
that it? You’re Big Frank now?
JUNIOR
Sheriff will be fine.
More survivors appear. Guns raise. The circle tightens.
JUNIOR (CONT’D) (CONT’D)
Who beheaded the Garrisons? Who
burned their house?
BILLY
That was you, Junior. You and that
witch whore Nordic bitch.
Junior steps closer, calm, dust swirling around his boots.
JUNIOR
No. That was you. And my father.
He holds up his Outdoor Oklahoma guide, the pages flapping in
the breeze.
JUNIOR (CONT’D) (CONT’D)
Henbane grows where bodies rot,
Billy. Blood feeds the soil. You
made the storm bloom.
A ripple of fear moves through the Klansmen. Arthur steps
forward, pointing at one.
ARTHUR
That’s one of them.
The man’s mask trembles.
NERVOUS KLANSMAN
Billy?
BILLY
Ain’t no boy gonna be a witness to
anything.
The Klansman bolts straight into the arms of the Okies. The
crowd surges.
For the first time, Billy looks afraid.
INT. FRIDA’S ROOM - ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - DAY
Bingo is stood on the bed barking wildly. The room is empty.
Frida is gone.
Her green book rests on the bedroom table.
EXT. HENBANE FIELD - RITA BLANCA - DAY
The storm is gone, but the air still trembles.
Frida walks through the field, waves of yellow and violet
swirl around her, alive with light.
She stops in the centre, eyes closed, face streaked with
tears.
FRIDA
Hvordan kan jeg gi slipp på sinnet
mitt?
SUBTITLE: How can I let go of my anger?
She drops to her knees, whispering from memory:
FRIDA (CONT'D) (CONT’D)
Let all bitterness and wrath and
anger be put away... Be kind...
forgiving one another.
Her voice breaks.
The wind lifts her hair, dust and colour twisting together
like fire.
Frida opens a box of matches.
One strike. One breath.
She sets the henbane ablaze.
Purple smoke curls into the sky, a last offering, cleansing.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller","Supernatural"]
Ratings
Scene
59 -
Resilience Amidst Ruin
EXT. MAIN STREET - TEXHOMA - DAY
Weeks later.
Silence. The world still wears dust. Homes, barns, wells, all
buried under a fine grey crust.
Families dig with shovels and spoons, trying to open doors.
Children cough into damp rags.
Water runs brown. A woman smashes a Coca-Cola bottle, drinks
what’s left.
Inside Dawson’s Bar, looters sit on broken stools, beer
puddled across the floor, the whiskey long gone.
The wind moves again, gentle this time, carrying ash through
the empty street, where signs still read:
“FOR SALE” and “HELP WANTED.”
EXT. GARRISON FARM - RITA BLANCA - DAY
The land lies dead.
Cows and horses half-buried in dunes.
Fences snapped, fields erased beneath grey earth.
Men work in silence, digging wells, fixing windmills,
hammering new fences around what little breathes.
The wind carries the faint creak of pulleys and rope.
A tractor pulls down the Garrison farmhouse.
Wood splinters. The roof folds.
In the dust, Arthur and Bingo stand watching.
Arthur’s face is unreadable, a child staring at the grave of
his world.
The house collapses.
Bingo whimpers.
Arthur doesn’t move.
Only the wind keeps speaking.
EXT. MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - TEXHOMA - DAY
Klansmen, stripped of robes, are herded into trucks.
Their white garments lie trampled in the mud, nothing left
but sweat-stained shirts and fear.
Police officers shove the last of them aboard. The crowd
watches, silent, arms crossed.
Then Billy Dawson emerges in handcuffs, led by Junior.
Billy’s once-proud swagger is gone. His eyes dart between the
people he ruled.
Junior wears his badge and gun belt with quiet resolve.
No words. No victory speech.
He just walks Billy forward, past the ruins, past the dust,
toward justice.
EXT. HENBANE FIELD - RITA BLANCA - DAY
Rows of graves stretch across the field, mounds of freshly
turned dirt, each marked with a wooden cross.
Men in uniforms and work shirts move slowly, shovels biting
into the earth. They uncover bones, rags, fragments of lives
buried in dust.
A few stand in silence, hats off, sweat streaking through
grime.
At the edge of the field, Junior watches, still, hollow-eyed.
The Sheriff’s badge glints in the light.
He doesn’t speak. He just stares at the graves, the proof of
everything that came before.
Behind him, Bingo whines softly.
INT. MUNICIPAL OFFICE BUILDING - DAY
Junior enters his office. He opens a drawer. A half-empty
bottle of whiskey waits inside.
He stares at it for a long moment. Then he picks it up, walks
into a holding cell, and pours it down the sink.
Silence. Just the sound of water trickling.
Back at his desk, he drops the empty bottle in the trash.
Opens Frida’s Green Book.
He begins to read, lips moving, voice barely a whisper.
Outside, a faint wind rises, not the kind that destroys, but
the kind that carries life.
EXT. MAIN STREET - TEXHOMA -DAY
Okies and townsfolk dig, sweep, and shovel.
Children form lines with tin pails and brooms, clearing the
road inch by inch.
Men haul beams, repair roofs, patch shattered windows with
plywood. Women scrub soot from shopfronts, their faces
streaked with sweat and ash.
A wave of cars and trucks heads west, engines coughing,
families stacked on top of their lives, chasing what’s left
of tomorrow.
At the municipal building, boards cover broken glass. New
posters flutter on its walls:
PAYING JOBS HERE. CIVILIAN CONSERVATION CORPS. WORKS PROGRESS
ADMINISTRATION.
A man straightens one, steps back, and smiles faintly. The
wind moves through Texhoma, gentle this time.
For once, it doesn’t carry dust.
Genres:
["Drama","Western"]
Ratings
Scene
60 -
Renewal and Closure
EXT. RITA BLANCA - DAY
A car marked “Soil Conservation Service” stops beside a
field. A man and a farmer speak quietly as Arthur’s voice
carries over, calm, reverent:
ARTHUR (V.O.)
The land rises from the sea, green
again.
Eagles circle above, and life begins anew.
The farmer climbs onto his tractor, cutting soft, curving
lines into the soil.
Grass sprouts behind the blade, tender, defiant.
He pauses, wipes his brow. A single raindrop hits the dust.
Then another.
He looks up. The sky breaks open.
Rain pours down.
The land darkens, rich and alive, washed clean at last.
INT. BARN/ORPHANAGE - DAY
The barn glows with soft, golden light.
Arthur stands before a circle of children, their faces clean
but tired, eyes wide with wonder.
ARTHUR
“The final hall — a golden roof
that shines brighter than the sun.
Where the righteous will dwell in
joy.”
He closes Frida’s Green Book.
The children sit spellbound.
A few adults pause their hammering, listening.
ARTHUR (CONT'D) (CONT’D)
That’s what Frida’s book said…
about what comes after the end of
the world.
Bingo barks once, tail wagging.
The children laugh, soft, real laughter, the first in a long
time. Arthur smiles, a little shy.
Outside, the rain continues, steady, cleansing.
INT. ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH - RITA BLANCA - DAY
The rain falls steady outside.
Inside, Junior sits alone in the pews. No sunlight, no dust,
just the sound of water against the roof.
He looks up at the repaired windows, their glass glistening
with rain, colours bleeding faintly from the stained panes.
Junior wipes his eyes, though he isn’t sure why.
Bingo pads down the aisle, tail low, a child’s doll hanging
from his mouth.
Junior kneels, takes it gently, stares, the fabric caked with
old dust, now damp with rain.
He closes his hand around it.
For the first time in a long while, the silence feels like
peace.
EXT. OKIE’S CARAVAN - RITA BLANCA - NIGHT
A long line of trucks and cars snakes across the dark plain,
headlights glowing like fireflies.
Engines hum. Radios crackle with static and hymns.
Above them, a sky full of stars. Endless. Silent.
On the back of an open truck, Frida sits wrapped in a
blanket.
Her hair drifts in the night wind, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Behind her, the lights of Texhoma fade, first a shimmer, then
nothing.
She breathes deep.
The air is clean. The road ahead is wide.
Frida closes her eyes.
For the first time, she smiles.