Station Eleven

You found me again.

You're dying.

He shot you with poison.

He used to be a dentist.

This is the antidote.

Give it.

Wait.

Hey, Jeev.

Yeah?

You still scared of the dark?

Yeah.

- It's like a spaceship. - We're fucked.

It's gonna get cold.

Jeevan.

It's gonna be okay.

You said we're fucked.

- When spring comes, we're gonna run out of food.

Whoever's left alive is gonna want to fight each other.

We have to think about the future.

We have to leave, because this...

can't last.

I spy with my little eye.

- I told Jeevan to come to you.

You guys should be together.

No. No, no. No.

No, I don't want him here.

- I don't care if you don't want Jeevan--

- Then I'll have the guard stop him.

- Good evening, Mr. Chaudhary. I've got a Jeevan down here.

Says he's your brother. He's with your niece.

Want to come up.

They've got some items for your Christmas party.

- Hey, Frank. - Hi, Uncle Frank.

Send 'em up.

Fuck!

Frank! Open the door, Frank!

- Hold on. - Come on!

- Hold on! - Open it!

- Jeev. Little white girl.

- Okay, this is all comin' in. Back up.

Frank, this is Kirsten. Kirsten, Frank.

- Hi. - We seem to be experiencing

some technical difficulties at the moment.

- Hello, it's Matthew here. Actually--

- Paris is just fuckin' on fire now.

And there was a coup in China.

- Attempted. - Reports of in excess

of 10,000 deaths coming in tonight.

- Yeah, maybe you should turn it off.

- There hasn't been any news on the Ferris wheel.

The story, here, Tina...

Is the speed at which this virus kills.

Imagine dying like that.

Well, the way I see it,

power is on.

Everything will be back to normal

in a couple of days.

- Matthew, this news is a somewhat radical escalation

of what we've been hearing.

- Uh, yes, that's correct, Tina, yes.

What?

Kirsten,

maybe, uh-- do you want to get some sleep?

There's a spare bedroom.

- I'll tell you when my parents call.

Good night, Jeevan. Good night, Frank.

Well, parenting is easy.

What's gonna happen?

Really?

I don't know.

But I'm glad you're here.

How was "King Lear"?

Frank?

Merry Christmas.

That's right.

I--I forgot.

I didn't get you anything yet.

That's okay.

Can I have that back?

"Station Eleven"?

Sure.

Just keep reading it.

Should be doing my work.

It's good, though.

I can relate.

To which character?

All of them.

- Did you put the antidote in the present?

I have to get back. Where is it?

Where is it?

I just made him something.

You can go if you want to go.

I hid the antidote in your pocket.

I knew you wouldn't look there.

No, I could stay a little.

There's time.

She's moving into the closet.

Why do all kids love little Harry Potter rooms like that?

To make the world small.

You think she's okay?

- She just found out her parents died.

She's eight. She's traumatized.

Makes three of us.

Oh, come on, now.

What's wrong with this-- what's wrong with this thing?

- Seriously, how have you made it this far in life?

You got batteries?

Junk drawer.

- Frank, can I talk to you real quick in private?

- Uh, make us more eggnogs. - Is there a recipe?

Pour whiskey into eggnog.

- What the fuck, Frank? - It's not--

- I'm sorry, heroin? We're not heroin people, Frank.

We're barely weed people.

You win awards.

I quit. I'm clean. It's fine.

- People don't just quit heroin, Frank.

Aren't you in withdrawal?

I don't have a cold.

- When did you even start? - Ten months ago.

It's not sad, Jeevan. It just--it just is.

It's not great, Frank!

I can't ghostwrite sober.

Then stop ghostwriting.

It's the only job I can get.

- Frank, there are no more jobs.

Okay.

Whatever's going on outside is irrelevant

'cause I haven't been out on assignment in two years.

Whatever I had, it's gone.

It'll come back.

- Journalists have to go outside.

- Then write a novel. - I don't make shit up!

- If we have to leave, we leave together.

You'll get better. Your hip--

It's not the hip, Jeevan.

We have a kid now.

Listen to me.

Don't write the play.

Hey, Kirsten.

You leave one day too late.

- Will likely happen in phases, I think.

Networks and television have already stopped broadcasting.

Likely the phone system next, and already, it's failing.

Power and the Internet will both hold on,

and people who are holed up will continue

to find one another online,

but this will only conceal the reality

that it's already over.

We've encountered a flu that does not incubate.

It just explodes.

We were not ready for a 1-in-1,000 survival rate.

Chicago's not Chicago anymore.

It's just 2.5 million bodies and--

Thanks.

Any word from your parents?

Frank.

Jeevan's brother.

Remember?

You know, first morning I was here,

I remember the sun rising over that lake, and...

I knew I wanted to be here forever.

East-facing windows, you know?

Did you just move in?

Ten months ago.

What's your job?

I'm a ghostwriter.

What are you ghostwriting?

An autobiography.

- Don't you have to write your own autobiography?

Not if you're rich.

Um...

listen, Kirsten, my brother does...

weird shit sometimes.

He--he brought home a bird once that he found on the sidewalk

with a broken neck.

He's a terrible babysitter,

and I'm sort of a shut-in, but...we're safe.

What do kids eat?

- How's the quesadilla? - I had a brother.

He died before he was born.

Maybe he would have been at home with a babysitter

when Jeevan tried to take me to my house.

I try not to think in maybes.

What happened to your leg?

- Someone tried to blow me up. - Why?

I was in the wrong place.

Sri Lanka.

There's a war there that never ends.

What were you doing there?

- Writing a story for a magazine.

What magazine?

"Vanity Fair."

You heard of it?

I don't know.

- Well, I wasn't supposed to be in the country.

And I went to this bar,

started chatting up the locals,

you know, strangers, no agenda.

Talked to this guy for a while. Hired him as my guide.