INT. HAB - DAY
Mark adjusted the camera, uncertain of how to work the video journal. Darcie sat next to him, resting her feet on an empty corner of the desk.
"Okay. Okay..." Mark began as he typed on the keypad. The NASA timestamp appeared on the frame.
Mark glanced at Mackenzie. She nodded and he continued. "This is... Mark Watney and Darcie Beck. Astronaut and chemist. We are entering this log for the record, in case we... don't make it. It's... oh-six-five-three on Sol 19. And... we're still alive." He thought for a moment. "Obviously. But we're guessing this is going to be a surprise to our crewmates. And NASA. And... the world. So... surprise. Darcie and I didn't die on Sol 18."
Darcie held up her length of antenna and Mark held his up as the former said, "These lengths of our primary communications tore through our- our-"
"Bio-monitors."
"Yes. Thank you. Anyway, they ripped a hole in us as well. It was pretty terrible. But the antennas... and the blood... managed to seal the breaches in our suits. Which in turn kept us alive. Even though the team must have thought us dead. Chris, this may be my last chance to say it, so here goes. I love you, and I miss you so much it hurts. Tell Wes Mommy loves him and misses him."
Mark glanced at Darcie, then turned back to the beginning. "Commander Lewis... If you ever hear this... Listen. It wasn't your fault. Just bad luck. You did what you had to do, and if Darcie and I had been in your position, I would have done the same and she might have as well. We're glad you guys made it. Beck, I just wanted to say that I took care of Darcie right to the end. Strictly platonic, of course. All right, though. That's where we're at. Mark Watney and Darcie Beck, stranded on Mars. We have no way to contact NASA because our communications antenna broke and stuck in my stomach and her shoulder. Which we've covered. And even if we could, it will take... four years before the next mission gets here. And we're in a Hab designed to last thirty-one days."
Darcie let out a sarcastic scoff. "Impossible odds. We're more than a little aware."
"If the oxygenator breaks, we'll suffocate. If the water reclaimer breaks, we'll die of thirst. And if, by some miracle, none of that happens... eventually we're going to run out of food. So... yeah."
Mark trailed off and he and Darcie shared a look, once again realizing how dire their situation was.
"Yeah," Mark repeated.
Darcie chuckled lightly. "Hey, but at least there are more than enough feminine products that'll outlast me long after I'm gone."
INT. HAB - NIGHT
Mark and Darcie sat on their bunks. In his, he drummed his fingers on the wall as he thought. In hers, she was looking at a picture of her husband and son.
EXT. MARS - DAWN
The first slivers of sunlight began appearing over the horizon.
SOL 21
INT. HAB - DAY
Mark flushed the toilet, which began the procedure of vacuum-drying the waste. He glanced back at the system as it finished its process, sealing the waste in a silver bag.
He studied the bag and an idea formed.
Darcie walked up and turned to what he was looking at. "You have an idea."
Mark nodded. "Yeah. I think so."
---
The two made their way to Inventory and removed all the ration packs, stacking them in orderly piles as they catalogued their contents. One case in particular caught their attention.
The label read 'DO NOT OPEN UNTIL THANKSGIVING'.
INT. HAB - DAWN
Mark sat in the darkness next to a sleeping and fidgeting Darcie. He started into the middle distance.
He made a decision and got to his feet, making sure not to wake Darcie. He rummaged through the Hab and eventually found a pencil.
Mark pulled a notecard free from one of his manuals.
He sat at the table and began writing math equations as he said, "Let's do the math."
Later, Mark, again joined by Darcie, addressed the camera. The two looked a little less-terrible than before.
"Our surface mission here was supposed to take thirty-one days," Mark said. "For redundancy, they sent enough food to last sixty-eight days. For seven people. So for just me and Darcie, it'll last three hundred days. And I figured Darcie and I can stretch that to four hundred if we ration. So... we've still gotta figure out how to grow three years worth of food. Here. On a planet where nothing grows. Luckily I'm the botanist. And who knows what Darcie knows." He held up one of his mission briefs and pointed to the word 'Botanist' under 'Watney', then pointed to Darcie. "Mars will come to fear my botany powers and will soon fear whatever Darcie knowns."
Darcie smiled and said, "Chris, if this does work, and if Mark and I survive, I can't wait to tell you all about how we were able to grow food on Mars. Although, knowing you, you'll probably want to hear stories about our failures. I don't know. But I have to hope this will work because I really want to get back to you and our son and maybe have more. So here's to hoping this works. And if I don't make it, just know I love you and Wes with every fiber I have."