INT. HOME OFFICE – DAY

CLOSE UP on Rhea Wright, pensive and wringing her hands. A streak of white desert light from a small window illuminates her face.

RONA (O.S.)

Mom, what’s “pragmatic” mean?

Rhea and Rona sit in their living-room. The space is overflowing with an odd melange of tattered books and highly advanced computers; the desert light cuts through a thin hint of dust. Among maps hung on a primitive wall, the familiar shape of continents—emaciated by high ocean encroachment and devastated by radiation fallout—are clearly marked in large red circles. Rhea turns and looks at Rona with a smirk.

RHEA

Why is it when your father uses big words you don’t ask him about it right then?

Rona, an eleven-year-old girl with dark hair and innocent eyes, draws at a low table. Her clothes, and the thinness of her cheeks, suggest that some not-so-innocent years have already befallen her. She looks up from her sketchbook.

RONA

(looking ashamed)
I do... I just... I dunno.

RHEA

I love that you feel comfortable enough to ask me things, but I promise, Dad won’t think less of you for asking him questions.

RONA

I know, it’s just... I didn’t want to.

RHEA

It means making practical, sensible choices. Do you know what practical means?

RONA

(annoyed)
Yesss mom.

RHEA

Of course you do. We’re very practical people.

RONA

And pragmatic!

RHEA

(laughing)
Do you wanna go tell Dad we’re ready for dinner?

RONA

Yep!

Rona hurries off. Rhea stands up and walks over to the map, pausing briefly as she glances over North America. The smile she had fades away. She leans down to the sketchbook to see a drawing of Rona with her father — Rhea is notably absent from the image.

INT. THE KITCHEN – DUSK

A mix of familiar furniture and futuristic appliances. Rhea stops the burner under a pot of soup boiling on the stove. Michael enters holding a large loaf of bread. Rona trots up behind him.