Post-America – Episode 102
Ten years ago we had hope, jobs and cash. Then “The Crash” occurred. Now, we rebuild…
Episode 102 – Like Actually
Wheels: We take the fight to them and we take it to ’em hard.
(The rebels of Paris, Maine are gathered in what was once town hall, discussing what to do with the attacking Northern Territories Militia…)
Charlie: I don’t think that’s the wisest approach, Wheels.
Wheels: Oh yeah? You got a better idea, kid? They took your woman!
Charlie: (blushes) Victoria wasn’t my woman. I don’t have a woman. She wasn’t–she was our woman. Girl. (voice cracks) Lady.
Wheels: Regardless. She was one of us.
Charlie: So we send a scouting expedition up to the militia compound in Mexico and assess the situation.
Thomas: Excellent. I’ll lead the expedition. Domingo, you come with since you speak Spanish.
(Domingo, a dark-skinned Spaniard former exchange student in his twenties, looks up frowning…)
Domingo: You do realize Mexico, Maine has nothing in common with Mexico the country.
Wheels: Mexico’s a thirty mile hike north through the woods!
Charlie: I’m coming, too.
Thomas: Charlie, don’t you think you should stay behind with the people and keep an eye on our town?
Charlie: This whole plan was my idea.
(Harriet, a young blonde former Associated Press photographer, steps forward…)
Harriet: If Charlie’s going, then so am I.
Thomas: I dunno, this is becoming a kind of crowded expedition.
Wheels: (rolls forward) Goddammit, I’ll come too.
Thomas: You’re gonna steer a wheelchair thirty miles through the woods.
Wheels: You can stop begging, I said I’ll come.
Thomas: I wasn’t begging. Who was begging? (turns to Charlie) Were you begging?
Jay: (pads forward) Bark!
Charlie: You heard the man–er, dog. He’s not a man, he’s a dog.
(Thomas gives his nephew an odd look…)
Thomas: I take it he said he’s in?
Thomas: (glancing around at the five-man/one-dog scouting expedition) Alright, I think we have more than enough.
Domingo: You know, I’d really rather not go.
Thomas: We leave at dawn.
Domingo: Seems like you have enough people without me tagging along.
Thomas: Domingo, pack the supplies.
(Talbot’s slave-drawn trailer arrives back at the Northern Territories Militia base camp in Mexico, Maine, a heavily-forested area marked by two decaying cooling towers from the former small town’s nuclear power plant. Talbot and Jean step out with the tall African-American militia leader’s even taller head of security, Brant, escorting the captive Victoria Schweppes toward the town’s former jailhouse/police station. Slaves are working in nearby fields gathering crops. Some are being taught hand-to-hand combat by Talbot’s men. Talbot and Jean are met outside the former town hall by ex-MIT scientist Ed “Egg” Whithers, a smallish man with thick glasses and a mound of unruly curly red hair…)
Talbot: Egg, what do you have for me?
Egg: Mr. Talbot, I’ve sent a dozen slaves down to the reactor basement to observe the status of the plutonium. It seems to still be surprisingly stable, given the lack of power and electricity over the past decade.
Talbot: So we’re safe?
Egg: (nods) Those of us above ground, at least.
Talbot: (chuckles) Oh, slaves. Makes you wonder why this system of labor went out of style in the first place.
Egg: I believe it was the matter of extreme moral implications, sir.
Talbot: I was being rhetorical, Egg.
(The next morning, Charlie is kneeling down, petting Jay as the others gather their things…)
Charlie: This is the bravest adventure I’ve ever embarked on, Jay.
Charlie: Of course it makes me feel like a man. I’m a man. I’m a man.
Charlie: Why would you say that, Jay? I’m not going to fail. I’m going to find Victoria and I’m going to return home hailed a hero.
Jay: (licks crotch)
Charlie: (cross) I don’t think I like your tone, Jay.
Charlie: (frowns) This conversation is over.
Thomas: (throws pack over shoulder) If you two are about finished, we’re ready to go here.
Charlie: (glowers down at the happily-panting golden lab) Stay to the rear of the group until you fix that attitude of yours, Jay.
(Victoria is tied to a seat in the interrogation room of the former Mexico police station. Jean is pacing across from her…)
Victoria: Why are you doing this? We’ve never bothered you. We’ve always just minded our own business.
Jean: It’s nothing personal. You’re just in the way.
Victoria: You’re the ones who killed Mr. Nash, aren’t you?
Jean: I must confess I’m unfamiliar with the name. Talbot says it’s unwise to put names to the enemy. Serves only to humanize them.
Victoria: You’re the enemy.
Jean: No, you’re the enemy.
Victoria: Well, you have split ends.
Jean: (eyes narrow)
(Charlie and Thomas Nash are leading the group through the thick woods, armed with old rifles. Harriet and Domingo follow and Jay trots alongside Wheels as he stubbornly struggles to steer his wheelchair through the thick brush and brambles…)
Thomas: Gotta say, I’m pretty proud of you, nephew. Bravely facing down the enemy to save the love of your life.
Charlie: Well, I don’t know if I’d go so far as to call her the love of my life. Maybe the like of my life?
Thomas: Well, like can be a strong emotion, I suppose.
Charlie: Yeah, you’re right. Might be too strong.
Thomas: So…you don’t even like her?
Charlie: Well, I definitely don’t hate her. That’s for sure. Actually, ‘sure’ sounds pretty strong, too.
Thomas: This is all very romantic.
(A militia scout rushes into Talbot’s office — the former Mayor’s office — as he looks over a map of the eastern seaboard…)
Scout: The plan worked, sir. The rebels are sending an expedition toward our compound. Paris is completely unguarded.
Talbot: (grins) Good. Send in the slave army. We’re going to wipe Paris off the map.
Scout: And what should we do about the rebel expedition?
Talbot: Let them come. I’ve got special plans for them. Bwaahahahahaha!
(The militia leader continues laughing maniacally as the scout stands in the doorway, awkwardly averting his eyes…)
Scout: Alright. I guess I’ll leave you to it, then. Do you want this door open or shut?
Talbot: Bwahah–Open a crack is fine. Bwaaaahahahahahahahaah!
Email this militia leader at email@example.com