Station Eleven

I remember damage...

Then escape.

both: Then adrift in a stranger's galaxy

for a long time.

But I'm safe now.

I found it again...

My home. - My home.

It's been a week.

Can you stop worrying about David?

You should be more worried.

He was so sad about his wife.

I wonder what happened to him.

What did he say his wife's name was, again?

Rose.

By any other name.

There probably was no "Rose."

I know that.

Well, so what if people make up who they are?

It's what you all do all the time.

All of who? Actors? - Pre-Pans.

What did he say to you when you were alone with him?

Why do you care so much?

Well, I care,

because if something happens to you, it's my fault.

The world's still a very dangerous fucking place, Alex.

Cartwheel.

Just--don't talk to strangers!

Welcome to the fork in the road,

the beautiful Petoskey Station!

I finished reading it!

It's inspired. Inspired!

Really. - What is it?

Wendy adapted "Hamlet."

Takes place in Portland, Oregon.

Told in the vernacular of '90s indie rock.

It's wild. - All right.

Circle the wagons.

Four watch points.

Swap every four hours.

That's our route.

Learn to love it, Dan. We don't go off-wheel.

Why is Pingtree crossed off?

That way's Pingtree.

Golf course where a bunch of professors live now.

Gil, our second founding member, he retired there.

And that way's Nuevo Santiago.

Whew, they love music.

We used to split up every year.

Actors went that way, and musicians went that way,

and we'd rally here afterwards and all head to Traverse City.

So why don't we do that anymore?

Gil had a second-marriage thing going on at Pingtree.

Some professor named Katrina.

Conductor found out, like, three years now,

and she shot Gil.

She killed our director?

Nah, she winged him. He quit.

Haven't split the troupe since.

Go dig the shitter. - Right.

We don't go to Pingtree.

Stranger.

Stranger. - Stranger.

Hi! Hello! Hello.

No danger. - I finally caught you!

No danger.

I'm very much looking forward to your next performance...

tomorrow.

Dieter, here's a suspicious man

I didn't bother to tell you about from the other day.

Perhaps this is the perfect time

to invite you once more

into the Museum of Civilization.

To the east.

It's only a week away, and I will personally guide you.

Personally guide you.

We're fans of yours, Ms. Larson.

I listen to it all the time.

How? - Uh--

Well, we will not be coming to your town,

but I will be taking this.

Thank you.

I used to be on NPR.

Well, um...

perhaps I'll--I'll try you again in Nuevo Santiago.

The answer's still gonna be no!

Third--third time is a charm!

Remember what you love.

We don't leave the wheel.

"Beware the Prophet. If you see this man,

"cover your ears and run for your lives.

"Beware the terrible prophet in these parts

and the cult of the children who follow him."

Oh, fuck.

That should clear it up.

Okay.

He asked me what it was like

to be the only Post-Pan in the troupe.

I said I didn't think about it that way,

but he said that I should...

That Post-Pans were special...

the first human generation to be rid from trauma...

and that the survivors were the only liars left.

That's what the Undersea thought.

It's from "Station Eleven."

Maybe he read it. - No.

There's only one copy, and I hid it.

Huh.

It's at Pingtree...

in Gil's office.

We should go tonight. Just us.

Check on Gil and...

and make sure everyone's okay.

I'll talk to Sarah.

Let's unload.

Ready? Are you ready? - Yeah. Yeah.

Are you ready? - Go. Yeah, yeah.

Yeah, there you go. - Oh! Fuck!

What's wrong with you?

You're so bad at cards.

We should do this more, though, for real.

I mean, it's not like we have lives or anything.

Yeah, but you've been writing.

Don't attempt to score "Hamlet."

It will kill you.

"The winds of chaos," as my mama used to say.

I saw you...

onstage.

Something had you...

just for a second.

What happened?

Tell me.

Is this what you were playing when I met you?

I was attempting to play that.

You can't play "La campanella" on the keytar.

That's not the reason I can't play it.

I still fantasize, though...

About that harlot being forced to hear me play it for Gil.

Maybe we should go back. - No!

Fuck her, and fuck him.

I did hear something, actually, um...

At St. Deb's.

I don't know. It might have been a rumor.

What?

That Katrina died, actually.

What? How?

Pneumonia.

Although...

I don't know.

You know what? It was secondhand.

And I don't know if...

Everyone!

Oh, Sarah.

Listen up!

We're splitting the troupe.

The actors and I are going back to Pingtree.

The rest of you, take the wagons

and go on to Nuevo Santiago.

We just make up the rules as we go.

Why?

Hey.

Now the road's open,

maybe we can go scavenging again.

We don't need anything.

How about a new book?

I like this one.

Why, though?

Really, I mean, I played the main guy,

and I still don't even know.

Is it actually any good,

or is it just what was in your backpack?

Read me a line.

"To the monsters, we're the monsters."

What does that mean?

You murdered Big Daddy's entire family.

Murdered?

The wolves think you're scary like you think they're scary.

We're the same. - Hmm.

We're not the same.

I don't know. Everything looks safe.

Everything looks normal.

Still the fake minefield. No sign of the Prophet.

I should have seen what he was doing.

No, it's hard to see dangerous people.

You knew it, though.

Yeah, I knew it, but I was dangerous

when I was little.

And people really put their guard down

when you play vulnerable.

I mean, the leg, the dead wife.

What's the situation?

We're not sure.

Does that sign say "minefield"?

Let's go. - Yeah.

There used to be a minefield. - Yeah.

Why are there mines on a golf course?

Just out of curiosity. - Oh, back in Year One,

a whole bunch of Red Bs took this place over.

In the First One Hundred.

And what are Red Bs? - Red Bandanas.

A bunch of militias of crystal meth morons.